Chapter Eight

Ian almost let go of the wheel at the double entendre. He gripped the wheel as his pants grew uncomfortably tight.

The image of Fallon spread across his bed, naked and waiting for him, came to mind. Her firm body moving in tandem with his as they traversed the planes of euphoria. He bit back a moan. His erection throbbed painfully.

Down, boy. This woman is going to kill me. A smile crossed his face as he pulled into his garage. But damn, what a way to go.

“Ready for dessert?” he asked as he got out and shut the garage door.

“Bring on the chocolate and whipped cream.” Fallon got out as well and waited by the door.

“Welcome to my home, Fallon Maddox,” Ian whispered in her ear as she walked past him.

Five minutes later, Ian sat across from Fallon at his kitchen table. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had the dessert she’d truly wanted. Before her he placed an apple turnover he had heated and then drizzled on some chocolate. It was the only thing he had in the house. One apple and one cherry. Luckily, her eyes lit up as he told her the options.

“Time’s running out, Cavanaugh. Tell me what you know.”

Ian hesitated a moment, pleased she didn’t call him detective, but wishing it was his first name rolling off her tongue. Her tongue, that sent shivers through him. Delicious ones.

“I know I want you in my bed,” he admitted.

“Planning on taking this all the way, I see.” Fallon shrugged. “You can always tell him I left here a blissfully happy woman.”

Her eyes drifted to his as her mouth cleaned off the fork. He shifted, trying to ease his discomfort. This woman should teach the art of seduction.

Ian held her stare. “You feel it, too. It’s there between us. Heat.” He pushed back from the table. “Explosive, unrelenting heat.” He prowled closer. “I want you, Fallon. It has nothing to do with any other fact than I’m attracted to you.”

Ian grabbed her chair and spun it so she faced him. He reached behind her and pulled the pins out of her hair. The soft strands poured over his skin like black silk. Her natural scent floated about him and infused itself within his soul. Ian crouched before her. Placed his hands on her thighs and asked, “Fallon?”

***

Her mouth was dry like Death Valley. The juncture between her legs flowed like Niagara Falls.

She nearly fell back, spread her legs and said, “Take me, I’m yours,” as he stalked towards her, looking like a dangerous predator. He moved with such purpose, such determination. The way his argent gaze bore into her made her feel special, feminine, and his. All his. Only his. His eyes roved over her body, the intensity burned away her clothes, leaving her bare before him.

Holding those molten orbs with her own, she leaned forward and touched her mouth to his. Fallon brought her hands up to cradle his angular face. Her eyes closed as she swept her tongue through his mouth. Her pussy pulsed with longing as her senses were overtaken by the presence of the man before her. She could taste the remnants of cherry from his turnover and coffee.

I want this man.

Duty overrode personal desires, however unfortunate it may be. With great reluctance, Fallon ended the kiss and opened her eyes. He watched her. Not judging, just waiting to see what was to happen next.

“I can’t do this,” Fallon said. She moved his hands off her thighs.

“Too fast?” Ian asked in a sinfully seductive tone.

“Bad timing.” One hand reached out to touch his hair, slipping through the softness. “I just buried my father. I need to find his killer.” Fallon withdrew her hand, but Ian grabbed it and laced their fingers.

“Does that mean you put your life on hold?”

Ignoring the tremors racing through her at his touch, she responded, “Yes. And you, Detective Ian Cavanaugh, are a distraction of the worst kind.”

His firm lips placed kisses on the back of her hand. “Why is that?”

“Because of the way my body reacts around you and the fact you are a cop.” Pulling her hand free, she looked at the man crouched in front of her. She still saw passion in his eyes but there was also understanding. “I’m sorry for teasing you, but my focus has to remain on this case.”

***

He understood. Didn’t like it. But he understood. Ian felt hard enough to split wood. Once he had Ms. Fallon Maddox, there wasn’t going to be any excuse she could give which would take away from what they would be sharing.

He stood before her, not hiding the hard ridge in his jeans. A smile snaked across his face as he watched her eyes darken as they stared at him.

I will be between those gorgeous legs of yours, Fallon.

“Fine, you want to work on the case, we will.” He walked to his living room and grabbed the file he had brought home. Ian tossed it down before her and sat across from her.

He stared at her while she sat there, leafing through the file and eating the rest of her turnover. Although he was still aroused, it was controllable. Ian admitted the thought of spending more time with Fallon was very acceptable.

She had such a look of concentration as she moved through the photos. His gaze kept drifting to her full lips and the way her thick lashes framed her dark sepia eyes. That calmness or serenity he had seen on her face at the station was back.

He took a drink of his lukewarm coffee. The storm rattling the window momentarily grabbed his attention.

“Where’s the .45 slug?” Fallon’s question brought his head back to face her.

“What .45 slug?”

“The one that killed him.” She met his gaze as she pushed a picture toward him.

“How do you know it was a .45 that made this?” Ian hadn’t seen anything about a .45 anywhere. He had been at the scene when the coroner had loaded the body, and Parsons hadn’t said anything to him then.

Fallon moved her empty plate to the side. Ian stared at her as she chewed on her lower lip. He waited for a response, but was surprised with her answer.

“I just do.”

He began to get upset. “I thought we were working together. I tell you but you withhold? That’s not right, Fallon.”

“Technically, all you did was show me a file I have copies of.” The eyes that met his were dispassionate. Cold.

So unlike the woman that was kissing me earlier. More of the Fallon Maddox mystery.

“Okay, so you have a point, but somewhere we have to trust each other.” Ian got up to refill their coffees.

“Perhaps this was a bad idea. I don’t trust that you won’t take what—if anything—I find out and share with you back to your boys in blue so they can erase it.”

Ian was beyond insulted. “So you don’t trust me, but you were going to sleep with me?” He bit out the question.

She shrugged. “Seemed as though you’d be a good fuck.”

He scoffed. “Maddoxes.” The single word was tinged with a sneer. Ian witnessed a brief flash of rage in her eyes before her veil of indifference masked it.

Fallon stood, carried her dishes to his sink, and rinsed them off. “Thanks for dinner and dessert, Detective.” Grabbing her jacket, she was out his door before he knew what happened.

“What the fuck!” Ian ran to it, yanked it open, and was met by wind and rain. There was no sign of Fallon.

Reentering his house, Ian slumped against the wall. What was wrong with him? Fallon Maddox had gotten under his skin. So much so, he wanted her to trust him. Ian had heard “fuck buddies” in the subtext of her explanation and it curdled his stomach to imagine Fallon like that. Especially with someone else. But for him to be that rude was uncalled for. At one point in his life he had gotten along with a Maddox. Had his mind been soured on them because most of the force didn’t like them? Had Fallon Maddox hit a nerve in accusing him of bleeding blue?

“Damn woman!” he muttered as he stomped back to the table and the file that lay there. Even as he sat down, he began combing through the notes searching for information on a .45 slug. Two minutes later, he got up and left.