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“Now what?” she murmured.
“Now we lie down in the shadows and wait for the hubbub to die down.”
She gave him another long look. “You’re kidding, right?”
He shook his head and somehow managed to restrain his grin. He could certainly think of worse fates than lying down with her—even if it was for something as innocent as waiting out the cops. “Sorry, no. If we try to leave now, someone will definitely stop us. So we wait.”
She crossed her arms and didn’t move. “Why can’t we just sit here? Why do we have to lie down?”
“Because there’ll be less of us to notice. By lying down and lying still, we’re a part of the shadows. Believe me, it works.” He’d had many a narrow escape by doing precisely that.
“I just bet you have,” she muttered. “And not all of them narrow escapes from thieving jobs, either.”
She was reading his mind as easily as he was hers. Odd. He grinned and didn’t refute her inference, though he’d never been a womanizer. Far from it.
“I suppose,” she continued softly, “that we have to stretch out beside each other, not lie toe to head, for the same reason?”
“Afraid so.” Her raised eyebrow suggested she knew he was lying. Smiling, he stretched out along the wall, then patted the boards in front of him. “Come along. I don’t bite.”
“I’ll reserve judgment on that,” she muttered, but lay down beside him—facing him rather than the road.
To keep an eye on him, he thought with amusement. Or rather, on what he was doing. Not that he could do much with the cops five doors down and the owners of this house moving around downstairs.
He reached for his phone. She tensed, then relaxed when she saw it. He smiled and dialed Camille.
“Don’t you be hassling an old woman,” she answered, voice tart. “I’m almost there.”
“I’m calling to say don’t bother. When the murderer departed she left a rather large zombie to cover her tracks. I’m afraid we only just managed to escape, and the cops are crawling all over the place.”
“Where are you?”
“Stuck on a balcony five doors down. We can’t really move until either the cops or the owners of this house leave, and I have a bad feeling we should check on Russ before it gets too light.”
“I’ll head over to Russ, then. Meet you there unless you hear from me in the meantime.”
“Will do. And I’ll send you the pics I took.” He did so, then shoved the phone away and glanced past the curve of Kirby’s hip to the road. More cops were arriving. It was going to be quite a while before they could move.
He met her gaze. In the warm green depths of her eyes he saw wariness and something else—longing. Desire.
Without really thinking about the consequences, he leaned forward and kissed her.
HIS KISS WASN’T WHAT SHE’D EXPECTED. SHE WASN’T entirely sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. There was a tenderness in his touch that was more than just passion, more than just desire. His lips burned heat through her heart, her soul, and sent common sense flying. All she could do, all she wanted to do, was respond.
He whispered her name, his breath warm against her lips, then he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. She could feel the strength of his arousal, feel the wild beat of his heart. Knew they were an echo of her own. She touched his face, his neck, then ran her hand
down to his hip. Lord help her, she wanted him as she’d never wanted another—right here, right now on the balcony. No matter how dangerous that might be or how much she might regret it later.
Seize the moment, enjoy the danger, Helen had often preached. But until this moment, she’d never truly understood what Helen had meant.
His lips left hers and moved to her neck, branding her skin with his kisses. She sighed and slipped her hand from his hip, down the outside of his jeans until she touched the hard length of him. She caressed him, teased him through the material, until she felt him quiver with need. She moved her hand away, slipping it inside his shirt, reveling in the hard, flat planes of his chest and stomach. He groaned softly, then his lips seized hers again and he kissed her urgently. He pushed up her sweater, thrust a hand under her bra, catching her nipple, teasing it, teasing her. Heat pulsed through her, and deep down the ache increased. God, it felt so good …
Downstairs, a door slammed and voices rose. She froze. He pulled away, his breathing harsh and fast, staring past her, his body tense as he held her close.
Footsteps clattered on concrete, moving away. A man and a woman, from their voices. Another voice broke the silence, calling to them in an authoritative tone. A cop, she thought, and she hoped Doyle was right—that the shadows would indeed hide them. She doubted the police would believe they were just an oversexed couple who couldn’t wait to get home.
After five minutes or so, doors slammed and a car started up. Doyle relaxed and glanced down at her, a chagrined look on his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
She studied him for a moment. “Liar.”
