"I don't care."

"Yes, you do," he said, shaking me. "Come on," he ordered, pulling me roughly back down the hall and into some kind of utility closet.

He shut the door and we were enclosed in the musty, ammonia-scented darkness. The only light came from the crack under the door. I held myself stiffly away from him, trembling, but there wasn't so much room in the little closet that I wasn't completely aware of his every breath.

"You'd better watch out, someone might get the wrong idea and think you're screwing me or something." Sarcasm has always been my defense against tears.

"Stop it. I'm sorry, okay?" His hands cupped my face. I turned it away from him. "Honey, I didn't mean to make you cry." I felt him lean forward and his lips touched my forehead, my hot cheeks.

"I always cry when I'm mad. It doesn't mean anything." I felt him smile against my skin.

"I was jealous. I saw you laughing and flirting like you always do.

Looking gorgeous, and for a second I was back where I was weeks ago, wanting you and hating you at the same time."

"Are you ashamed of being with me?"

"No." He sounded appalled. "Is that what you thought?"

"It's kind of hard not to."

"No," he said, kissing me. "Not ever."

"Uh-huh."

"You want me to prove it?" he demanded. "I'll go right now. I'll walk in there and tell all of them that I love you. I love Deborah Valley."

I put a hand over his mouth. "Shut up." I was crying again, on the verge of hiccupping sobs, and once that happens I'm completely out of control.

So I took my hand away and kissed him instead, and that felt so nice and he tasted so good that I put my arms around his neck and sank into him.

He kissed me back at first, but when my lower belly rubbed against his erection, he tried to pull away. "Honey," he said, catching my arms, "we can't here." I ignored him. "Baby, I have to work. Stevens-"

"Stevens will understand," I said wickedly, and nipped him on the chin.

"But..." he started to say, and I slid my hand down the front of his slacks and gripped him.

"I want you," I said, low in my throat, massaging him with my hand.

"And if you try and stop me again, I'll make sure everyone in this station thinks you fucked me in here anyway, so what have you got to lose?"

He shoved me back against the wall and put his hand on the crotch of my jeans. "When you put it that way..."

I could feel myself getting wet as he rubbed me, and for a few seconds we just groped each other over our clothes. Then I undid the clasp on his pants and slid the zipper down. His erection had already worked free of his boxers, and I gave him one good long stroke to show him how much he pleased me. His hand paused in its endeavors.

"God, I love you."

I gasped and pulled my hand away.

He just laughed and shoved down his pants and boxers. Then he rubbed up against me. "Don't worry. You don't have to say anything."

He put his hands on my shoulders and pressed downward. I went willingly, even eagerly, sliding my hands down on his chest as I went to my knees, curving them around to grip his tight buttocks as I leaned forward.

I sucked his balls first, rolling them in my mouth, and his hands tightened on my hair. Next I probed the tip of my tongue into the little triangle of skin on the underside of his rod, right above his ball sack. I took it gently between my teeth and nibbled, making him hiss.

"Take it in your mouth," he said hoarsely, and I moved to do as he asked, sliding my tongue along his undercarriage, and sucking briefly on the tip before sliding my lips down and taking him deep. I pulled on him once, opening the back of my throat, and waited, teasing. His hips moved forward, begging wordlessly, and I began sucking in earnest, pressing my tongue hard against him. His grip on my neck changed, moving my mouth up and down on his shaft.

I relaxed, breathing through my nose and sliding the wet, hot sheath of my mouth over him again and again. I could feel him getting close; several pearly drops escaped his control. I cupped his balls in my hand and lifted my mouth off him, rubbing one linger along the slick length of him, swirling it gently around the tip.

"Don't stop."

"Spread your legs a little."

He did as I asked, spreading them as far as he could with his pants around his ankles. I licked his pulsing staff as a reward, running the edge of my teeth over the sensitive tip before taking him full in my mouth again. I sucked once, hard, and slid my wet finger over the ridge of flesh behind his balls. I held it there, pressing, while he gasped and panted, then I rose higher on my knees and blew him in earnest, working him, feeling him strain on the knife edge of pleasure.

He came with a loud grunt of surprised pleasure, jerking into me. I swallowed quickly, drinking the evidence of his fulfillment, prolonging his pleasure. When the silky pulses ended, I licked him clean, kissing his softened penis farewell. I grabbed the waistband of his pants and boxers and pulled up as I stood, tucking him away gently and zipping his fly. He kissed me, sending his tongue deep, telling me without words what he intended to do to me.

"Your turn," he said, and slid his hands over my breasts.

I stopped him. "No."

"No?"

I put one hand against his chest to hold him still. I unbuttoned the top button of my jeans and slid two fingers under my panties and between my legs. He couldn't see me very well in the dark, so when I drew my fingers out, wet from my body, and touched them to his lips, he drew in a deep breath.

"Taste me," I ordered, and put my lips to his so that I could feel his tongue sampling the sap from my body. I whispered against his lips, "I want to go home wet from wanting you. I want to think about you all afternoon, coming home and taking me no matter where I am. I want you to think about me waiting for you, so hot that when you get to me, you'll do anything to have me."

"Good sweet Jesus," he groaned. I stepped away from him, buttoning my jeans.

"Come on, Detective, Stevens is waiting." I laughed and opened the door a crack, slipping through when I saw the hall was clear. I walked toward the entrance, taking my sunglasses from where I'd hung them in the neck of my shirt and sliding them on.

I heard him close the door to the closet and knew he was watching me walk away. I lifted a hand over my shoulder and waved, deliberately swaying my hips.

I didn't glance back until after I stepped through the glass doors, and saw him leaning back against the wall like a man who'd just gotten punched in the gut. But the smile on his face, oh, that smile. In that moment I knew I was a lucky woman. That smile would surprise me every time, and I would never fail to appreciate the beauty of it.

Chapter Ten

Thirteen hours later I opened my eyes to an infomercial for some miracle cream. I was lying on my bed, decked out in a black satin nightie and smelling like a harem dancer. I'd gone shopping for the nightgown after I'd left that afternoon and had spent the rest of the time getting ready.

I must've fallen asleep.

I looked around. There was no sign of Marshall.

Pulling on my robe, I padded into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. I drank deeply, spilled some down my front. I grimaced, brushing the droplets from the black satin.

I wandered into the living room to check my machine. Zero messages. I dug my cell phone out of my bag. Same thing. The man was gonna get an earful when I saw him again.

There was no way I could go back to sleep. Nine hours was more than enough.

I tried to work, but I kept getting distracted by thoughts that something terrible had happened and Marshall was lying in an alley bleeding to death. When I ruined the third print of my four Italian ladies frolicking naked in the ocean, I knew I had to do something.

I called Marshall's cell phone and got a message. I called the station and got some newbie I didn't know who refused to tell me anything. I finally said to hell with politeness and called Darla. She answered on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Darla, it's Debbie. Sorry to call so early."

"That's okay. I wasn't asleep."

"Do you know where Stevens and Scott are?"

"They didn't call you?" she asked, surprise in her voice.

"No, they didn't," I muttered ominously.

"Oh," she said very carefully.

"Yes, oh. Are they all right?"

"They're fine," she rushed to assure me. "They got a call. Someone found a body down by the Oceanside pier about five o'clock. It turned out to be the mayor's youngest daughter."

"Shit."

"Yeah, I don't think we'll see them until sometime tomorrow."

"He still should've called me."

"I know."

"Men suck."

She laughed and said she'd call me if she heard anything more. I said okay and hung up.

I tried making some more prints of my ladies, but couldn't really concentrate. I knew that the tattoo investigation was probably tabled because of the mayor's daughter's death, but I thought checking the Internet was worth a try.

I wanted to scan one of the photos and send it to some friends of mine who did nothing but play on the Internet and surf all day, but knew I'd need Marshall's permission to release that bit of information. I ran a Google search for images with similar descriptors and read what I could about the Del Mar fair vendor application process and history before a pounding headache forced me to give up. I changed into my bikini and wetsuit and went out in the hazy dawn light to catch some waves.

I only stayed in for about an hour, and even then I mostly just sat on my board and drifted in the deeper water. My heart just wasn't in it. Peace eluded me today. So I dragged myself back home.

I looked up when I got to the corner of my house, and there he was, my handsome stranger, still wearing the clothes he'd had on the day before and sitting on the steps to my house with his head bent and his keys dangling from his hands. He seemed exhausted.

I sighed and went to him, leaning the surfboard against the wrought- iron railing. His head jerked up like someone who'd caught himself nodding off. His eyes met mine. I concentrated on the dark brown depths of them and let the rest of his features sort of fade out.

"Are you sorry?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, then," I said wearily, and tried to move past him to unlock the door. He caught my legs and hugged me to him. I sank my hands into his hair and held him in return.

"I'm getting you all wet," I said after a second or two.

He laughed and released me, moving out of the way so I could get past.

I held my hand out to him as I went through the door.

He took it, smiling sleepily, and I felt a rush of affection for the big idiot. I led him into the bedroom and pushed him down. He kissed me. A long deep kiss that seemed to have no other purpose but to connect us for a time, to ground us both in the realm of the pleasant and familiar.

I pulled away and went into the bathroom to peel off my wet suit and take a quick shower. When I came out, he was sound asleep.

I ran my fingers through his hair again and bent down to kiss his forehead, then changed into my favorite pair of boxers and a T-shirt and wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. I was starving, but nothing looked appetizing. I ate half a bowl of Cheerios and poured the rest into the sink, then unrolled my yoga mat and tried to meditate for a while. When that didn't work I gave up and went back to the bedroom.

I crawled in front of him on the bed so that he was spooning me and pulled the covers over both of us. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep, but I wanted to be held for a while. He was a cop, and if the gods were kind, then I was going to be with him for a while. There would probably be many nights like the one that just passed, and I thought that would be okay, as long as there were moments like this afterward, moments where I could feel the warmth of his body against me and the strong grip of his arms holding me tight.

A warm kiss was dropped on my lips and I smiled in my sleep, stretching my arms like a cat. They were caught and pulled deliciously upward while a deep voice whispered in my ear.

The click of cold metal around my wrists woke me. I opened my eyes and saw him above me, covering me like a mountain lion does much smaller prey. I was handcuffed to the headboard. Excitement tightened my body in a rush that was its own kind of pleasure. I hadn't expected this when I'd crawled in beside him.

"Surprise, honey," he drawled from somewhere in front of me.

"What time is it?" I asked him, writhing a little impatiently against the cuffs, watching his eyes follow the motion.

"Lunchtime," he said slowly, giving each consonant and vowel due consideration and meaning, "and I missed breakfast."

"Oh," was all I could think to say. I was bombarded by a mental picture of him pulling down the stretchy waist of my boxers and feasting on me.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"Nothing," I mumbled, blushing.

"That's what I'm thinking about. What I did think about. All day yesterday. I damn near killed Stevens and me trying to get back to you.

And then that call came in."

He pushed away from me and I lifted my head, straining my neck, to follow him. "What're you doing?"

"Using my new camera. I love it, by the way. I meant to tell you sooner."

Oh, God.

"Well, well," he said, standing on the edge of the bed and looking at the viewfinder on the back, "I think I'll use the portrait setting, or maybe the landscape," he teased, reaching out to pinch the soft skin where my ass met my thigh.

"Come on. Quit teasing," I ordered.