Next to Die by Marliss Melton Page A

that.” She tackled his shirt buttons with efficiency, steeling herself against the thrill of baring his shoulders. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt that highlighted the breadth of his torso, making him look like a superhero, or every girl’s wet dream.
    She filled his sink with cold water and left his shirt and washcloth soaking. “Would you like some privacy?”
    He was squinting at her. “What for?”
    “Never mind,” she said, hot in the face. “Let’s get you into bed.”
    She helped him to his feet and, keeping a firm grip on his elbow, steered him toward his mammoth-sized bed. He’d lapsed into silence—embarrassed, no doubt. She pulled back the covers and moved him closer. “In you go.”
    He put one hand on the mattress, but with his world still reeling, he lost his balance and grabbed her to slow his descent.
    Penny ended up sprawled on top of him for the second time that night. Only he didn’t wrestle her down. Instead, he groaned with pain, his grip on her arm almost painful.
    “Are you okay?” she asked in consternation.
    “Don’t move,” he begged with his eyes squeezed shut.
    She remained still, loath to cause him any more discomfort, but she couldn’t help but note that she was sprawled across his dense body like they were lovers.
    Bit by bit, the grip on her arm eased, and then he gave a sigh, as if a spasm had passed.
    “Go to sleep, sir,” she whispered, thinking he’d just passed out.
    He rolled without warning, causing her to slip into his embrace as he turned onto his side, captured her face in one hand, and lowered his mouth.
    She let it happen, stealing a purely selfish moment to gauge whether her fascination with this man was warranted. With stealth that made her gasp, he swept his tongue between her lips and kissed her, with one purpose only. Penny’s adrenaline skyrocketed. She told herself she would pull back shortly.
    But the whiskey-laced kiss intoxicated her. It went on and on until the encroachment of his palm on her breast roused her to reality. “Good night, Commander,” she muttered, squirming away from him.
    To her relief, he let her go. She slipped off the bed and scuttled to the door. Snapping off the light, she shut it behind her.
    He didn’t say a word back. Perhaps he’d passed out already.
    Penny tottered into his family room. Mercy! No wonder women flocked to his door! The man had skills that would make the devil jealous. Too bad
that
would never happen again; she was sure he hadn’t known he was kissing the lieutenant next door.
    As she crossed his still-dark family room, she made out the silhouette of a table lamp, lying on the floor. Curious to see what other damage he’d done, she flicked the light switch and caught her breath.
    The room was a disaster. It looked like a bomb had detonated, especially with all that blood smeared across the cream-colored carpet. “Oh, no,” she murmured. The carpet would be ruined by tomorrow—unless someone got the blood out tonight.
    Envisioning Joe’s response tomorrow to the destruction he’d wrought, she groaned. He was already heartsick over the death of one of his men. He didn’t need to deal with this and what promised to be a monstrous hangover. That left only one thing to do.
    With a sigh and a squaring of her shoulders, Penny headed for the kitchen in search of carpet cleaner.
     
    Joe felt like he was being stabbed in the eye with a needle. It turned out to be a ray of sunlight piercing his blinds. He groaned and turned toward the wall. That move prompted pounding in his head and a wave of nausea.
    Oh, God. What had he done to himself?
    At least he was safe in his own bed, though he was still dressed in his clothes, for the most part.
    What time was it? He blinked at the clock. It took several seconds to process that it was afternoon already—three o’clock in the afternoon, to be precise. Jesus. How late had he stayed up? He tried to remember and drew a blank.
    Careful not to jar his pounding head, he