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“You were right. Someone was in there.”
“Who are all those people?”
“They’re from the agency. Let’s get you back in bed.”
Cope went off to get the wheelchair while I kept watching the shadows of the people in the apartment across the street.
“Where are my bags?” I asked when he came back and helped me into the chair.
“Someone will bring them over shortly.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“The guys are still gathering evidence.”
He wheeled me into the bedroom and helped me get back into bed.
“There’s a lot you aren’t telling me.”
He scrubbed his face with his hand. “There’s a lot I don’t know.” He walked to the door but hesitated and leaned his back against the jamb. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Do you need anything?”
I nodded slowly and he smiled. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Stay with me.”
The smile left his face, and I held my breath. He closed the door, walked around the bed, and stretched out beside me.
“What did you think I was going to say?”
“That you wanted the last two pieces of baklava.”
“That you ate?”
He nodded and smiled sheepishly.
“I’d rather you kiss me again.”
He raised a brow, and I had to admit, I wasn’t normally quite so…forward. Or stupid. I had no business starting a physical relationship with this man, but I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was the pain meds, or maybe it was just Cope. I wanted to feel his lips on mine more than I wanted dessert—or in the heat of this moment—to do my job.
“Pretty demanding,” he murmured, with his head above mine. “I like that.” He leaned forward and kissed me, tentatively at first, like he had earlier, but it quickly deepened. His tongue snaked its way into my mouth, exploring in the same way I wished I could explore his body with my hands. I raised my left arm; I didn’t feel any pain, so I lifted the hem of my shirt.
When he noticed what I was doing, he stopped kissing me and watched. He gasped when he saw I didn’t have a bra on and my breasts were exposed. Without putting any weight on my body, he leaned forward and swirled his tongue around my nipple. He scooted his body back and moved my blouse away from my side, kissing the skin beneath. “You’re bruised,” he murmured, running his fingertips over the part of my body that hurt the worst.
“Ali,” he whispered, gently kissing the places where his fingertips had just been. “I’m so afraid I’m going to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I whispered back.
His hand came back to my breast, as did his mouth. Knowing that if I moved, pain would shoot through my body, I stayed as still as I could. It was almost as though he’d restrained me. The idea alone drenched my panties.
“What was that thought, Ali?” He raised his head just slightly, so he could look into my eyes. “Tell me,” he demanded with a grin.
“I can’t move.”
His pupils flared. “I see. So the idea of being forced to take all the pleasure I give you, gets you wet?” Without hesitation, he reached between my legs, cupping my mound through my yoga pants.
“You’re soaked,” he muttered, increasing the pressure at the base of his palm. “Do you know how hard that makes me?” I wanted to find out for myself, but I knew if I reached for him, it would hurt, and then he’d stop. “Where else are you bruised? I need to know where I can touch you, Ali.”
“Help me get my pants off,” I murmured, hoping I wasn’t pushing too hard too fast.
