Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [41]
“I love . . .”
“What?” he said, unable to hear her over the noise.
She stood on her tiptoes and leaned against him until her lips practically touched his ear. Her warm breath had him holding his. “I love this song.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight against him. The dance floor wasn’t large, about ten feet square, and more people joined them, pushing them closer. She kissed the side of his neck and Mitch held her tighter, one hand on the small of her back, the other on her neck.
Throughout the evening they danced, they drank a bit, and Mitch wanted to be nowhere else in the world but with Claire.
She wrapped an arm around his waist at the end of the evening and said, “That was fun.”
“I agree.”
They walked out to the parking lot, arm in arm. Mitch unlocked the passenger door for Claire. He’d taken out everything that might identify him as an FBI agent. His gun was in his trunk. He felt naked without it, but Claire would have been able to see—or feel—the piece on him.
“Wow, chivalry,” she said and turned to face him.
She kissed him. Everything about Claire was larger than life, and her kiss was nothing less. Her mouth parted and her tongue found his. She tasted of hops and peppermint. Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her, her fingers rubbing his muscles, his hair, his shoulders. Her lithe body molded to his and all Mitch wanted to do was take her to his bed, right now.
His mouth opened to suggest it, but he stopped himself. He was staying at Nolan’s house. Nolan had a damn congressional medal of honor on his wall with the salutation “Special Agent Nolan Cassidy” plus a bunch of news articles in his den, extra guns in his bedroom. Damn.
“Come home with me,” Claire murmured.
Was she drunk or just tipsy? What was he thinking? It didn’t matter! She was Tom O’Brien’s daughter. He couldn’t sleep with her, no matter how much he wanted to.
He was about to protest, but instead pinned her to his car and kissed her as hard as she’d kissed him. Their bodies were as close as possible while still being fully clothed. He held her chin, kissing her repeatedly, not wanting to give up this moment.
Reluctantly, he pulled himself away. Her blue eyes looked black in the yellow light of the parking lot. Her skin was flushed, breathing heavy, lips red and lush.
“I want to.” He swallowed. “But—”
She put her finger to his lips. He kissed it and she smiled. “No buts. No promises. I want to, you want to.” She gave him a feather of a kiss that was as erotic as the deep kiss a moment before.
“Claire.”
He wanted her.
He couldn’t have her.
“I’ll take you home,” he said.
If she was hurt by his rejection, she didn’t show it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He wanted to make love to her.
But not like this. Not with lies between them.
He drove the short distance to her house.
“Thanks,” she said, making a move to open the door.
“Claire—” He took her arm, pulled her across the middle seat, and kissed her. Long and hard, showing her his feelings when he couldn’t speak the whole truth.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?” he whispered as his lips pulled back, lightly touching hers, teasing both of them.
“Okay.” Her voice was hoarse.
“Good night.”
“ ’Night.”
He watched her walk into her house alone, and he prayed he had the willpower to resist her next time they went out.
And he knew the only way he’d be able to resist her would be if he never saw her again.
But that wouldn’t happen.
ELEVEN
Steve walked through the door of the Fox & Goose at seven thirty. Mitch had to get him out of there before Claire showed. He doubted Claire would be early, but he wanted Steve gone by eight thirty.
“You started without me.” Steve slid into the chair next to him and motioned to the waitress to get him what Mitch was drinking.
“You’re late.”
“Got a lead on the Pinter case, but it didn’t pan out. Arrested one of his minions, though, practically