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“You stop and I’ll kill you,” she mumbled with her last coherent thought.
“You keep threatening to kill me. Maybe this isn’t the right place to be doing that,” he said with a chuckle.
“Okay, I won’t kill you. I’ll castrate you.”
He flinched. “Go back to the death threats, if you please.”
“Take me, Mick,” she whispered.
No more laughter, no more words, no more hesitation. Instead, he slid into her, making love to her right there in the trailer. He lifted her legs around his hips, cradling her butt in his big, warm hands. When he’d drove deep, filling her completely, she gave a little, helpless sigh, which made him smile broadly. Then he began to move, pulling her with him in a wild tango to their own unheard music.
Outside the voices of the crew carried through the morning air as they set up for the shoot. She didn’t care. She cared about nothing except the excitement and the danger and the incredible pleasure of feeling Mick’s body joined with hers.
Their rhythm was driving, forceful, unusual for him since he usually liked to draw out the pleasure for hours. They strained and panted and then finally exploded together and fell to the love seat.
When they could breathe again, Mick leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Tomorrow, I’m bringing pancakes.”
She gave him a flirtatious look. “Withmaplesyrup?”
He shook his head, nuzzling her neck and whispering, “I think I prefer Caro.”
She could only shudder in anticipation and draw his mouth up so they could exchange one more long, loving kiss, before they separated to prepare for their day.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MICK SHOULD HAVE known that sooner or later the state investigators were going to come knocking on his door. He was just glad they hadn’t shown up at the trailer when he’d been nose to nose with Renauld Watson. He might have been questioned this week along with Sophie.
He was also glad they hadn’t shown up today when he and Caroline had been, um…having breakfast.
“Mick?” his assistant, Sandy, said after buzzing him at his desk Friday afternoon. “I think you’d better come out here.”
He expected exactly what he saw. The two state detectives—who, unfortunately, didn’t look nearly as incompetent as Chip and Dale—were talking in quiet tones. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions if we may.”
He cast a quick glance at Sandy. “Hold my calls.”
“Consider them held,” she muttered under her breath. She then gave him a surreptitious thumbs-up as he led the two cops back to his office.
“Can I get you something?” He played host despite knowing these bastards were out to nail a murder on his sister.
“No, thanks,” the one officer, Detective Willis, said. Then he got to the point. “We’d like to ask you about the gun.”
The gun. Shit, of course, the gun. It all came back to that, didn’t it? “You mean Louise Flanagan’s gun, I assume?”
The officer nodded.
Mick quickly affirmed what Caroline had already told them, making light of the whole situation, including making fun of himself for being caught with his pants down.
Willis had a twinkle in his eye. Lyons remained emotionless, standing in the corner of the room, almost out of sight. When Mick had finished, he shrugged and lifted his hands in helpless resignation. “What can I say? I wasn’t thinking straight enough to even remember the gun until much later.”
“You never picked it up?”
Mick shook his head. “Never touched the thing.”
Lyons leaned over the desk, appearing out of the corner so fast Mick hadn’t even noticed. “So, someone else took the gun out of this office while you were showing Ms. Lamb the property?”
“Look, I’m not sure she even left the damn thing here.”
