There was no way to resist Megan’s unspoken invitation. Hell, I wasn’t even going to try. Instead, I took what she offered, teasing along those lush lips until they parted, letting me in. My hand tightened on her ponytail when she didn’t shy away but met my advance with one of her own. Her tongue danced with mine as we fed the fire racing between us. Her taste—heated spice and traces of tea—seared through my bloodstream like a lit detonating cord, triggering an explosive hunger that left me hard and aching.
With the hand that wasn’t holding her in place, I stroked her neck then moved downward until I could brush my knuckles over the warm skin of her upper chest. I kept my touch gentle as I traced a path down the soft material of her scoop-necked shirt and over the slope of her breast.
She tore her mouth free, and her quiet whimper filled the space between us. The very feminine sound made my dick twitch, and her hands fisted my T-shirt as she tried to pull me closer. Happy to accommodate, I leaned in and laid a line of open-mouthed kisses along her exposed neck. As much as I wanted to keep going, the Jeep’s interior wasn’t exactly comfortable. It took every bit of my hard-earned discipline to pull back from the temptation. Somehow, I managed to do it without inflicting serious bodily harm.
Her lashes lifted, revealing blue eyes dark with feminine hunger. That, along with her flushed face and lips reddened from our kiss, created a picture that would fuel my fantasies for a fucking long time. The urge to finish what I’d started rode me hard and left me harder, but the gentleman my mama had tried to encourage managed to rein in my baser instincts.
God, I am in so much trouble here.
She blinked, and the flush crept up along her cheeks as she pulled against my hold. Not wanting to hurt her, I let her go and moved my hand to her back. Instead of drawing away, she dropped her forehead against my sternum until it rested above her hands, which were tangled in my T-shirt. “Okay,” she murmured on a breathy exhalation. “Well, wow.”
Yeah, that was one way to put it. Hiding my satisfaction at her comment, I pressed a kiss to the top of her bent head and made a noncommittal sound. She took a shuddering breath but didn’t look up.
Since staying in position might leave me crippled, I finally said, “We need to head up.”
“Right.” She pulled back and let go of my shirt. When she ran her hand over it, carefully smoothing the material out, I wanted to smile. It was obvious she was trying to get her bearings.
I let her go and undid her seatbelt, waiting for her to open her door before I made my exit. Getting out with a hard-on wasn’t easy, but by the time I made it to her side, I could at least move without imitating the hunchback of Notre Dame.
We moved through the parking lot, passing through the pools of illumination cast by the scattered lights. We were roughly halfway to Megan’s building when the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Considering the fact that we were in a well-lit complex in a fairly upscale neighborhood, my reaction was highly unusual, but I would have been beyond stupid to ignore it.
Letting Megan move ahead of me, I scanned our surroundings, trying to pinpoint the threat. The parking lot was full, the cars dark. An older couple was walking a small fur ball, and some kids on bikes were shooting the shit.
Megan headed to the bank of elevators tucked between two buildings and hit the button for her floor. Coming in close behind her, I continued to scan as the itch at my neck got worse. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing an empty cage. Ushering Megan in, I hit the button, and once the doors closed, the aggravating itch eased a bit.
The warm weight of Megan’s hand landed low on my back. “Bishop?” I craned my neck to find her studying me with a small frown. “What’s wrong?”
The quiet ding as we bypassed floors chimed. I shrugged. “Maybe nothing.”
“But?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Just an itch.”
She bit her lower lip and dropped her hand as her gaze shifted away. “Got it.”
Not missing the stiffening of her shoulders, I caught her hand and held it. “We’re good, Megan. We’ll just play this smart, so let me go first, okay?”
She gave me a doubt-filled side look and a careful nod but didn’t say anything.
The final ding sounded, and I let her go. Stepping through the opening first, I did a quick assessment of the hallway. Empty both ways. Despite the soundproofing, I could hear soft murmurs from behind the closed doors of the other occupants. I moved aside, keeping a hand on the elevator door so it wouldn’t close, and motioned Megan out.
When she moved into the hallway and turned to her apartment, I followed, the persistent itch making me uneasy. Busy monitoring the hall, I almost ran into Megan when she stopped short. My hands closed on her rigid shoulders. Following her fixed gaze, I realized she was staring at her door, which wasn’t fully closed.
I pulled her back and to the side and put a finger to my lips. Her throat worked as she swallowed, but she wrapped her arms over her stomach and nodded, keeping quiet and still.
Since I wasn’t currently carrying, a fact I’d remedy as soon the opportunity presented itself, I put my back to the wall on the hinge side of the door. Before I pushed it open, I visualized the layout of Megan’s apartment, cataloguing angles where her possible intruder could be situated. Thanks to the open floor plan, the possibilities were restricted to the couch, the kitchen, and a hall to my left.
Not keen on getting plugged full of holes, I dropped into a crouch. My focus narrowed to surviving the fatal funnel of the doorway and clearing the apartment. Using the flat of my hand, I shoved the door wide and braced.
Fortunately, there was no welcoming hail of bullets, so I rushed into the room, staying low to present a limited target, my head on a swivel. Light from the patio painted broad strokes through the apartment, but a quick scan didn’t reveal anyone lurking in the shadows. I stayed closed to the walls near the door as I took in the no-longer-neat living room.
My instincts were grumbling that I was late to the party, but I wasn’t ready to risk letting Megan in until the entire apartment was cleared. Praying she’d stay put, I made quick work of the task. I hit Megan’s room, and my anger spiked, threatening to breach my control. The violation of her personal space was unmistakable. Drawers were partially open, their contents spilling out and onto the floor. A few bottles of whatever feminine shit she had on the dresser were leaking across the top of it and clogging the air in a sickening mishmash of odors. Books had fallen to the floor in a haphazard pile by the end table, and torn sheets of paper were mixed into the mess. When I flicked on the light in the walk-in closet, I found more of the same.
I stalked out of her room and over to the one that belonged to her sister. The previously closed door was open in invitation. In that room, I noted fewer signs of a search. Either the intruder hadn’t been too interested in that room, or Megan’s sister was a lax housekeeper.
By the time I retraced my steps back to Megan, I had no doubt that whatever this was—threat or warning or both—was aimed at her. Stepping through the door, I barely had time to brace before a pale-faced Megan rushed at me. I held her back by not moving out of the way. “Hold up.”
She rocked to a stop, rolling up onto her toes before dropping back to her heels. Her hands landed on my chest, this time not to pet but to push me away. “Move, Bishop.”
I had to give her credit—she almost pulled off making her words a command if I ignored the slight hitch at the end of my name. “Not until you take a breath and agree to stay at my side.”
I didn’t think she could get much paler. I was wrong. “Oh God.”
Realizing she’d taken my advice the entirely wrong way, I pulled her hands away from my chest. I held onto one of them just to ensure she’d stay at my side. “It’s a mess, but that’s probably the worst of it.”
It was a lame attempt at reassurance, but it seemed to work. She stilled, and watching her pull it together, I couldn’t help but admire her inherent strength as she faced another violation. It might not be as bad as the one she’d already endured, but it was another shitty addition to the already craptastic pile she was dealing with.
“Ready?” I asked.
After getting her nod, I led the way inside, taking time to turn on the hall light. Behind me, she gave a small gasp, and the hand in mine tightened and pulled free. “Holy shit.”
“Hang tight.” Leaving her frozen at the edge of the living room, I closed the front door and came back to her side to survey the mess. Her reaction was justifiable. At first glance, it looked like someone had torn through the room with a vengeance. Only on closer inspection did the destruction’s pattern become clear.
“Keelie is going to be pissed.” Megan sounded angry, which made me happy.
“I’m assuming you two have renter’s insurance.”
She toed a torn-up couch cushion. “We do, but we’ll need a police report.”
“I’ll call Delacourt and let her handle that.” I had no intention of spending the next couple of hours dodging questions I couldn’t answer.
“Sounds good.” She spun in a slow circle, taking in the stuffing scattered like snow. “What on earth did they want?”
Instead of answering, I gave her something else to focus on. “Why don’t you check out your room and let me know if anything’s missing.”
She gave me an absentminded nod and headed down the hall alone.
I made the call to Delacourt, who promised to have someone come by to take the report. Of course, she then demanded I catch her up on what had happened with Wolf. By the time I finished, Megan reappeared.
Hanging up with Delacourt, I asked, “Anything missing?”
“Not that I can tell.” She leaned against the wall, arms wrapped over her stomach, and stared at the living room. “What the hell was the point of this?”
In the short time I’d spent with her, I’d learned not to sugarcoat my answers. “To rattle you.”
She switched her gaze to me. “Well, they succeeded. I’m not sure I can sleep here tonight.”
She said that as if staying had even been an option. “We won’t be. We’ll get a room after we talk to Delacourt’s police contact.”
“I should call Keelie,” she murmured, wan and drawn with defeated exhaustion.
“Tomorrow’s soon enough. For now, let’s see what we can salvage.” Noting the fear creeping back into her shadowed eyes, I decided it was time for a distraction. In the kitchen, a little poking around netted me a broom and dustpan. After a little more digging, I struck gold, locating a half-full box of garbage bags.
I turned to find her standing there with her hands out. “Here, let me.”
Recognizing her need for action, I handed over the broom and dustpan then moved into the living room. Picking up one of the couch cushions, I noted the long rip. I stacked the rest of the cushions in a pile. A judicious application of duct tape would be enough for most. “Got any duct tape?”
From the kitchen came the sound of her rummaging, then she returned with the familiar gray roll. “Here.”
I took it from her and went to work on taping the cushions back together. We worked in silence, the quiet broken by the rough rasp of tape and the dull clink of shattered dishes being dumped. With the last cushion temporarily repaired, I started restuffing.
“Bishop,” Megan called.
I looked up.
She was shaking her head. “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?”
“Okay, why are you doing that?”
Because it keeps me busy and keeps me from stewing in my temper. “Might as well salvage what we can.”
She stood there, broom held like a staff, the dustpan forgotten in the hand at her hip. “Should we even try?”
“Why not?”
“Well, not that I’m familiar with filing police reports, but should we have left things alone until they got here?”
She was probably right, but I knew what an impending panic attack looked like, and Megan had been a hairsbreadth away. “I’m sure sweeping up the broken dishes and doing a patch job on the cushions won’t undermine their investigation.” I was betting that there wouldn’t be much to find by way of fingerprints. This toss job held too many professional markings.
A knock sounded, followed by Rabbit’s distinctive drawl. “Y’all home?”
I took a step to the side until I could see Rabbit coming through, Jinx on his heels. “You beat the police.”
“We were nearby when Delacourt called.” Jinx picked her way around Rabbit and moved to Megan. “Hey, Megan, sorry about your apartment.”
Megan managed a half-hearted smile. “Unfortunately, it’s my sister’s.”
“Even worse.”
“Yeah.” Megan blew out a breath. “Bishop, if we’re not staying, can I go grab some stuff while we wait?”
I gave her a nod and shot Jinx a look. “I’ll come help,” Jinx said.
“Thanks.” Megan turned and led the way down the hall.
As the two women disappeared, Rabbit stopped next to me. “Quick-and-dirty job.” He eyed the intact TV and electronics, and his hazel eyes grew cold and turned serious. “Scare tactic.”
“Yeah.”
He dropped his voice. “What the hell does she know or have that’s got someone runnin’ hot?”
I grimaced. “Hell if I know.”
“Any luck with Wolf?”
Since Megan was having a hard enough time coming to terms with the idea that she might have joined the psychic brigade, I kept that theory to myself. “Not much, but we’re meeting with Rico tomorrow.”
Rabbit’s eyes narrowed. “‘Not much,’ but you’re bringing in Rico?” He folded his arms. “What ain’t you sharin’?”
“It’s not mine to share,” I muttered. Then, so he’d stop pushing, I added, “not yet.”
Before he could continue, a brisk knock announced the arrival of the authorities.