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“Jack,” I moaned.
His hands caressed my shoulders and slid sinuously down, following the dip in my waist and then flaring out as he reached my hips. His fingers tightened and he pulled me closer, so I could feel every inch of his hardness. He pressed my hips against him, and my eyes rolled back in my head just before my lids fluttered closed.
Everything was happening too fast. My brain couldn’t quite catch up with my body, and part of me still thought this was all an illusion. Maybe I’d finally gone over the edge.
His head dropped to my shoulder, and his rapid breaths heated the side of my neck. “We’ve got to stop,” he finally said. The cold was starting to seep in, so I snuggled closer to draw his warmth. “Christ, Jaye. Don’t move or I’ll end up embarrassing myself.”
For some reason that made me giggle, and I buried my face against his neck as exhaustion and euphoria took control. The tears hadn’t completely run their course, but I wiped viciously at my eyes, determined to force them to subside. I wasn’t a crier. There was no need to start now.
“Jesus, Jack. What are we doing? This is insanity.”
“Feels pretty sane to me,” he said, unwinding my arms and legs from around him. He lifted me enough so he could stand and then helped me to my feet. My knees were wobbly and I knew I probably looked like hell, but Jack had already seen me at my worst, though this time was probably running a close second.
He all but carried me to his cruiser and helped me into the seat. The shivers had come back with a vengeance, and there was no hope of warming up when every inch of me was soaking wet. I watched, my brain foggy, as Jack gathered my stuff from the Suburban, pocketed my keys and then tossed my things in the back seat. His lips were blue by the time he got in and started the car.
“I can tell you exactly what we’re going to do, Doctor Graves.” He did a u-turn in the middle of the road and headed back down the lane. “We’re going home. And we’re going to get warm and eat soup and talk about murder.”
My whole body relaxed against the seat, and I’d just realized I’d been scared to death he was going to ravish me as soon as we walked through the door.
“And maybe while we’re doing all that, you can work on getting used to me kissing you.”
Chapter Fifteen
I shoved the photograph I’d found in George’s throat at Jack the moment we walked inside, much to his surprise. I escaped upstairs, where I tried to get my composure back under the hot spray of the shower. I pulled on a pair of old sweats—mostly because my subconscious was trying to tell me to wear something as sexless as possible—and I headed back down to face Jack, having practiced what I was going to say while I was in the shower.
Those thoughts seeped out my ears the moment I smelled food. It took two cups of coffee and a large bowl of soup before I started to feel human again, and somewhere along the way I caught my second wind.
“So—” I said. “You said something about murder. We should probably talk about that. And then we should go to bed.”
Jack grinned at me, and I felt the heat rush to my face.
“Separately, I mean. Because it’s been a long day, and I’m kind of tired.” The temperature rose and my old sweats weren’t doing the job of being sexless if the look he was giving me was anything to go by. “Is it hot in here to you?” I wished Jack would show some mercy and just shoot me between the eyes, but luck wasn’t on my side so I continued on. “And I’m supposed to meet with Reverend Thomas and Mr. Oglesby tomorrow after church services to talk about the Reverend’s interment. Should be a packed house. And then there’s Mrs. Perry’s hair and makeup to schedule.”
“You want some more coffee?” he asked.
“No, why?”
“I just figured your throat might be dry. I’m not sure I’ve heard you talk that long since you’ve been back. It’s nice to know I make you nervous.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I sputtered. “You don’t make me nervous. Can we please talk about dead people now? Did you see anything in the photo I gave you?”
“Nothing on the surface, other than the fact it was taken several years ago.”
“I noticed that too.”
“It obviously has some meaning or it wouldn’t have been shoved down his throat.”
“I was thinking about that,” I said. “And I don’t think itwasshoved down his throat. I think he tried to swallow it himself.”
Jack’s brows rose with interest. “Explain.”
“There was no damage to the inside of the mouth. There would have been scrapes along the inside of the cheek or even a chipped tooth if someone had tried to force him to swallow it. And it was far enough down in the trachea that he had some success at swallowing it before they killed him.”
“Huh,” Jack said. “That changes things some.”
“Did you find anything else out today?” I asked.
“I’ve called in some help from Agent Carver in the Richmond FBI office. He’s going to drive over in the morning. We’re going to have to form some type of task force between local law enforcement and the federal guys.”
