Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [48]
Sam shook his head. “When the car passed under the intersection lights I caught a good look despite the tinted windshield. The driver was wearing a ski mask over his face.”
It was cold for Florida, but not that cold. I shivered and Sam’s arm tightened around me. “Still, he could have been gunning for you.”
He brushed his lips against my forehead. “I think tonight is connected to Saturday’s phone call. They’re both personal. You sure have royally pissed someone off, Red.”
I lifted my face and kissed him. “I have a funny way with people.”
An hour later the adrenaline buzz had changed into an edgy hunger. A need to celebrate being alive. The moment Sam closed the door after we stepped inside his townhouse, I turned and pressed my body against his. Even as I hauled his head down with one hand to kiss him, I used the other to trace my fingers along the bulge pressing against my stomach. His erection grew, hardened.
“Umm. Nice.” I sucked gently on his lips, enticing his clever tongue to surge into my mouth. His kiss was deep, bone-melting hot. I released my grip around his neck so that I could use both to tackle his belt.
Sam broke off the kiss. “Christ, honey, slow down. The bedroom—”
“Too far.” Belt buckle undone. Waistband button next up. I attacked it feverishly.
“Sofa then.”
“Not if I get your pants off first.” The button popped loose and I went after the zipper.
With a groan, Sam fitted his palms to my butt and lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tried to hook my thumbs into the bands of both his briefs and pants.
He staggered into the living room. “I’m going to drop you if you don’t stop.”
Laughing, I nipped his ear. “I thought with proper motivation you could still haul ass.”
Sam drew me so close that my hands were trapped between our bodies. He strode across the room and dropped me squealing onto the sofa. He sprawled heavily on top of me. Passion whipped through me as the juncture of my thighs cradled his erection. He kissed me deeply as he reached down and hauled the skirt up to my waist. His callused hand moved on my thigh. The exquisite sensation was so intense that I cried out.
He paused and lifted his head to search my face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Don’t stop.” I shoved my fingers through his hair and dragged his mouth back down to mine. My eyes closed as the haze of desire filled me.
He groaned low in his throat and I heard something tear. The crotch of my panties I realized a moment later when his fingers parted me and I felt the broad head of his shaft. He entered me only slightly and paused.
I lifted myself against him, trying to take him deeper. “Now, Sam.”
“Demanding, aren’t you?” he murmured. His back muscles strained beneath my hands. “Open your eyes, honey. I want to watch them glaze.”
I obeyed and, with a smile, touched his face. “Here’s looking at you, Sam.”
He surged into me and as our bodies found a rhythm only we shared, I allowed the sense of the connection to sweep me to completion.
Chapter Twelve
“Do you realize what you’re doing?”
Thursday morning, I sat in my office staring at Claire and Brian Whitman. The repercussions of the bomb they had dropped were staggering, and I knew exactly who was behind this maneuver—Damian Quint. Melissa, who was sitting in the corner to observe, stirred. With an effort, I kept my voice even.
“Demanding a speedy trial means the state has to try your case within sixty days. Claire, that means very little preparation time. I may not be able to depose all the state’s witnesses. I may not be able to complete the entire discovery that needs to be conducted.” It was sad but true. Justice didn’t always come before people’s schedules.
Her once vibrant face now only a strained mask, Claire looked to her husband for guidance. Brian gripped her hand. “You yourself said that two of the key witnesses are dead. Without Dr. Hassenfeld’s testimony and no autopsy performed at the hospital, the prosecution will