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“That sounds like an excellent idea. I want some peace, quiet, and privacy, so we can talk about next moves.”
“Is that all you want the privacy for?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and making her laugh.
“Oh, hell no,” she laughed as he pulled her out of the chair, wrapped his arm around her and headed to the elevator.
Once inside he leaned over and kissed her, his lips softly passionate against her own. He stood there not moving, with his forehead against hers, only straightening back up as the elevator doors opened on her floor. Once more he scooped her up in his arms and carried her down the hall. She had to admit she was beginning to like the way it felt to be cradled in his arms as he strode toward her room.
She used her keycard to open the door and he carried her inside. “We need to draw up a game plan,” she said as he set her down and closed the door.
Pulling his sweater over his head, he said, “Get naked and then put this on,” throwing his sweater in her general direction.
He said it quietly, but Lori knew a command when she heard one, even when it was said in a soft voice. She sat on the edge of the bed, and he pulled her riding boots off, toeing off his own as well. She stripped out of her own clothes and pulled his sweater over her head. It was still warm from his body and smelled like him—clean, masculine, and faintly of the forest and the sea.
Once he’d pulled his socks off, she stared at his naked feet. God, he even had sexy toes. Her entire body sizzled with arousal. He hadn’t even touched her. Neither of them were completely naked, but she felt like an alley cat in heat. Her nipples were stiff, aching, and rubbing against the soft sweater. She could feel arousal roiling in her core, making her ready for that hard bulge behind his fly.
“Ryker…”
He moved across the room, sitting in the lounge chair and beckoning to her. “Grab a pen and pad then come sit in my lap. Work first.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to have to think about anything else when I get you out of my sweater.”
She smiled, feeling like the sexiest siren that ever lived as she crawled into his lap. “You do know there’s a very real possibility I’m going to drip all over your jeans.”
“A spot I will wear with pride,” Ryker said, resting his hand on the inside of her naked thigh.
“I think we need to approach Ezra and Annette about what Lockwood said.”
“The ghostwriting and typewriter ribbon?”
She nodded and watched as he trailed his hand up her leg with the lightest touch, making her shiver. The man, and his touch, were highly addictive.
As if he wasn’t aware his hand was moving up to the juncture of her thighs, he continued, “We already know—or at least are assuming—that Annette probably, knowingly or unknowingly, supplied the typewriter ribbon and that she’s involved with Middleton.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” asked Lori, trying to maintain her composure and finding it more difficult than it ought to be.
After all, it wasn’t like she’d never had sex. It had just been a while and the last time had been with a man who cared far more for himself and his needs than he did for her. It had, however, made her wary of getting involved too quickly, but everything with Ryker seemed easy, natural, and right.
“Not if she isn’t a suspect or person of interest in the investigation, and as far as we know, she isn’t.”
“Lockwood seemed to think Annette and Ezra knew something about ghostwriting for Cobain. Do you think he had a ghostwriter?”
“I don’t know about the rest of his books, but I do know the one I read this afternoon certainly had a feminine voice, and I found the fact that the protagonist was feminine, as well, a bit odd considering what an asshole Cobain was.”
“I think appearing to be direct might work for us.”
“How so?” he asked, running his finger lightly over her clit before bringing it back to rest at the uppermost part of her thigh.
“What if we invite both of them to dinner…”
“Ezra and Annette?”
She nodded. “And without Middleton. We tell them we want their help and that we’re working to find Cobain’s killer. We can, if it comes up, feel them out about ghostwriters and whether or not Cobain used one.”
“Or more. Lockwood seemed to indicate there might be more than one.”
His hand left her thigh, skimming over her mound and belly before cupping her full breast in his hand. Lori found it difficult to not just lean into his touch and moan. She might have questioned whether or not he was doing what he did deliberately, but when she saw the devilish smile playing around the corners of his mouth, she knew the answer. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. She certainly couldn’t complain as her nipple puckered, her clit throbbed, and her core turned molten.
