Full Blooded (Jessica McClain #1) 2

I laid my forehead against his chest and cried out. My hands clutching the back of his arms, his muscles flexing in my palms. My nails dug in, following his movements, urging him. I whispered, “More … Please, more.”

He broke his hold on my waist and ran his hands down to my wrists. He grabbed hold and stretched them above my head, pinning me fully to the wall, pounding into me fiercely with his hips. The strength and power radiating between us made me dizzy. Each thrust sent shock waves though my body, amplifying everything until I screamed with pleasure.

“Jesus bloody Christ,” James ground out, releasing my arms and encircling my waist. “I’m not going to be able to keep up this pace for much longer. It feels too damn good.”

My hands found his firm ass and I grabbed his finer, tighter curves, pulling him closer to me. “James,” I breathed. “I want it harder … please.” I guided him faster, my nails urging him on. I met him thrust for thrust. We were both coated in a slick sweat.

He threw his head back and roared, the intensity between us reaching its peak. “Jessica, please … you need to come now … I can’t …”

Two more and I was finished. I cried out, pressing my face against his chest as I came. The orgasm hit so powerfully I clung to him as frantic spasms rocked every cell in my body.

His response was immediate.

He let out a savage howl, crushing me back against the bricks as he pumped his furious release into me. My body exploded again as I came for a second time, delicious currents raging though me, my nerve endings pulsing with heat. With the last thrust we collapsed against each other, panting heavily.

My body rang with pleasure.

We were both satiated, exhausted of all remaining usable energy.

So we did what wolves do.

We made our way back to my bedroom and crawled into bed together naked and satisfied, curling around each other for warmth and comfort.

Neither of us moved a muscle until the next morning.

When we were rudely awakened by incessant pounding on my still very broken door.

11

Someone was jackhammering their fist against the wood. I was amazed the door still held. If they were trying to wake the dead, they were succeeding. I jumped out of bed and threw on the first robe I could find. It was a smooth black silky number with large pale flowers and a decidedly geisha feel. I didn’t have time to be picky, since the pounding reverberated around my empty apartment like an echo with a vendetta.

James rolled off the bed behind me, running an absent hand through his hair. He looked completely unfazed by the early morning wake-up call, which was good news. It meant our visitor wasn’t a serious threat. I was happy to know I wouldn’t have to start the day off with my fists.

“Morning, Jessica,” James murmured as he strode toward the bathroom. “Call me if you have any trouble.” He shut the door behind him.

The pounding intensified as I belted my robe. I hurried out of my bedroom wondering who the mad knocker was. It could be my father, but I hadn’t sensed him. That didn’t mean much, since I hadn’t sensed last night’s attacker either. I sampled the air, but there were still too many other lingering scents in my living room from last night. A residual blast of pheromones gave me a little jump. Yikes.

I stopped in front of my nailed-together, barely still upright door and paused. It was probably an angry neighbor coming to give me grief about all the racket I caused last night. But there was no way I was making the same mistake twice.

I pressed my face up against the door right by the defunct deadbolt and inhaled deeply through the tiny opening.

I barely needed a full breath to figure out who was on the other side.

Crapola.

I wondered for a second if I could get away with not answering. This so wasn’t how I wanted to start my day. It was six-thirty in the damn morning.

Another stream of fist-pounding, followed by a muttered curse. “I know you’re in there, Hannon. I can wait out here all day if I have to. There’s nothing on my agenda today more important than nailing your ass to the goddamn wall. Now open up!”

Dammit all to hell. How was I going to get the door open without causing a scene? “Hold your horses, Ray,” I grumbled. “I’m here, but at this ungodly hour I was asleep like most of the other normal people on the planet. Gimme a minute.”

Most likely, when he arrived at work this morning he discovered that a police car had been dispatched to this address last night, so he hightailed it over without thinking it through. Now I had to deal with him.

“I’m going to wait for exactly five more seconds, Hannon. Then I’m going to kick it in.”

“Ray, are you holding a warrant for that?” I called. “If you have one, you’ve been a very busy boy this morning. If you don’t, kicking my door in would mean lots of nasty paperwork for you—not to mention some serious legal hassles. I’m not sure I’d rush into that direction if I were you, but honestly, be my guest …”

He grunted his response, adding a few choice words.

Cripes, this man pissed me off. I should let him break down the door. He would get reprimanded and if nothing else, maybe someone without an evil grudge against me would be assigned to my case. But deep down I knew there was really no way to get rid of him; like a homing pigeon, he would always come back.

So I did the only thing left I could do. I braced my silky geisha-clad shoulder against the door, grabbed on to the knob with both hands, and gave it one swift, hard yank.

The door popped instantly free of the opening. I stumbled back a few steps ungracefully as it wobbled against me. I’d used too much strength, but I recovered nicely, and calmly placed it a few feet to the right of the opening.

I turned back to Ray with a sunny smile on my face, like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “Hi, Ray. So glad you could drop by.”

Ray was momentarily stunned. He tried to recover himself, but it took a second. “What in God’s name is going on here now?”

“You know, Ray, people keep asking me that and I don’t really have a good answer. But I promise when I have one you’ll be the first to know.” I turned and headed to my kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Ray chased after me, lecturing my retreating back.

“Did you happen to know a police car was dispatched to this location last night at approximately eleven-fifteen p.m.?” he barked. “And they left without even coming in. The officers who responded actually said they ‘forgot’ to file a report. Doesn’t that seem a little strange to you, Hannon? A little too out of the ordinary for this quiet building to get hit again so soon?”

“Ray, right now nothing seems strange to me.” I dumped some fragrant Colombian coffee into the filter and poured enough water to fill the pot. Ray situated himself outside my breakfast nook to better harass me.

“By the looks of your mangled door,” he went on, “it seems you’re the source of the complaint. I can find out who called it in with a quick search of your neighbors’ phone records. You can’t cover all your tracks, Hannon. No matter how hard you try. Or have you forgotten what you learned when you were still on the straight and narrow?”

I braced my hands on the kitchen counter to give me strength, and then turned my tired eyes on Ray, giving him a full dose of my stare. He wiggled immediately and dropped his eyes. It was damn satisfying. “I never left the straight and narrow, Ray. You only choose to believe I did to pacify your own overactive imagination. I left the force because it wasn’t the right fit for me, and because I didn’t like dealing with overzealous cops who thought they knew everything. Cops who dogged me, made my life hell with their craziness, cops who can’t seem to leave well enough alone. I’m not the bad guy here, Ray. You’re the one with the vendetta. I’d say it’s more than time for you to drop this whole damn thing so we can both get on with our lives.”

“My imagination?” he barked. “You’re the one who’s living in la-la land, Hannon. For one, your apartment’s been royally trashed by someone who hates you—hates you enough to bring in their fucking pet. Your door’s been blown off its hinges since the last time I was here. You had enough horse tranq in your possession to put out an army of Clydesdales, and your made-up camping buddy has yet to show his face.” He must’ve called in several favors to get the lab results that quickly, if he wasn’t just guessing. “Then there was that guy you beat up at the movie theater—a mere nine hours ago—who was DOA.” Dammit, Drake’s death would definitely complicate things. “And you’re worried that I’m the one with the overactive imagination? Now that’s hilarious, Hannon.”

A throat cleared behind me. “I’m sorry, but were you just referring to me?” James asked, his voice gravelly and rough with sleep and menace. “You know that part about the ‘made-up camping buddy’? I assume you meant me.”

I turned to see James framed perfectly in my kitchen door-way like a page out of one of those hard-bodies calendars.

He was naked from the waist up.

Droplets of water from his shower still lingered on his chest. His hair had been slicked back with his fingers, because, I guess, brushes were for sissies. He’d managed to find his pants, which was probably a good thing. I didn’t really feel like explaining Ray’s heart attack to any of the attending officers when they came to remove him from my apartment.

James leaned his half-naked, wet body against the doorjamb and casually crossed his arms, making his biceps jump. He had a small smile on his lips. He was enjoying this.

But I wasn’t fooled for a second.

Tiny hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood at attention when our eyes met. He was every inch a lethal predator, and in about half a second Ray would know it too. James wasn’t going to mess around. This was all business.

Ray had inadvertently stepped backward into my living room when he had seen James. I bet he hadn’t even realized it yet. It was a common reaction. Humans instinctively wanted to get away. Ray’s mouth opened a few times, but nothing came out.