well-fitting linen trousers and a tailored cotton shirt, but something was different. There was an aura of freshness and energy about her that he hadn’t noticed in months. “Something happen?”
“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked absently, tossing a finished folder to one side.
“Well, you look like something good happened. Something break on the River Drive case?”
Rebecca blushed. After dropping Catherine off the night before, she’d found herself more restless than usual. Her normal antidotes hadn’t seemed to work. She’d driven around, stopped at the gym for a late workout, even contemplated cleaning her apartment when she’d finally arrived home. Eventually, she’d stripped down and pulled on a tank top and pair of loose boxers, finally deciding to try to sleep.
She stretched out on the bed, something she hadn’t done since her last lover left. Amazingly, when she shut her eyes, it wasn’t the case she thought about, but Catherine
—
the astonishing warmth in her gaze, the tender tone of her voice, her gently curving smile. She remembered, too, the light scent of perfume and the outline of breasts under a sheer silk blouse. Heartbeat quickening, without intending it, she imagined the soft weight of breasts in her palm
—
nipples stiffening under her fingers
—
and the heat of pale, perfect skin under her lips.
She brushed her hand under the thin cotton of her tank top, gasping at the quick contraction of her nipples. She squeezed them firmly, her legs parting involuntarily as she began to harden and swell. She drifted, thought surrendering to sensation. Light teasing strokes down her abdomen made her shiver. Legs tensed as one hand trailed up the inside of her thigh, fingers finally slipping under the edge of the loose shorts. Breath rushing in and out—not thinking, just feeling—all her attention focused on the pressure between her legs. Moaning softly, spreading wetness over the hard prominence of her clitoris, circling, pressing from side to side, feeling it
become impossibly larger. Legs twisting in the sheets as she clenched her teeth, denying herself as long as she could. When the
distention became almost painful, she broke. Bearing down harder with her fingertips, she worked herself faster, pushing toward the edge. Groaning, her skin flushed with the heat of need and loneliness and desire, she hovered on the brink. So close, she tugged at the engorged base, arching her back, every muscle tensed to explode. She shouted when it hit, grabbing herself with her whole hand, squeezing out the last spasm as she jack-knifed on the bed from the force of the orgasm.
She looked at Jeff, her expression carefully blank. Something had happened all right, but she wasn’t about to tell her partner that she had awakened, still wet from the night before, with Catherine Rawlings on her mind. She didn’t want to think too much about wanting her last night…this morning…now. She didn’t want to admit to herself just how much she had enjoyed her company. She knew only too well how devastating it could be to need a woman.
“No,” she said, more harshly than she had intended. “There’s nothing new. I might get to interview Janet Ryan this afternoon, though, if Catherine gives us the green light.”
Jeff didn’t miss the first-name reference, but he let it pass. They were as close as two partners could be, and he considered Rebecca his friend, but he knew better than to ask for details. He respected the distance she demanded in their relationship.
“Sounds good to me. Want me along?” he asked.
Rebecca thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “Not this time. She might talk easier if it’s just me. Then again, she might not talk at all.”
Jeff loosened his tie a fraction of an inch, which was his only concession to the stifling heat in the room. He was always Brooks Brothers neat, unlike most of the other male detectives, who seemed to cultivate the disheveled look. “I agree.
“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked absently, tossing a finished folder to one side.
“Well, you look like something good happened. Something break on the River Drive case?”
Rebecca blushed. After dropping Catherine off the night before, she’d found herself more restless than usual. Her normal antidotes hadn’t seemed to work. She’d driven around, stopped at the gym for a late workout, even contemplated cleaning her apartment when she’d finally arrived home. Eventually, she’d stripped down and pulled on a tank top and pair of loose boxers, finally deciding to try to sleep.
She stretched out on the bed, something she hadn’t done since her last lover left. Amazingly, when she shut her eyes, it wasn’t the case she thought about, but Catherine
—
the astonishing warmth in her gaze, the tender tone of her voice, her gently curving smile. She remembered, too, the light scent of perfume and the outline of breasts under a sheer silk blouse. Heartbeat quickening, without intending it, she imagined the soft weight of breasts in her palm
—
nipples stiffening under her fingers
—
and the heat of pale, perfect skin under her lips.
She brushed her hand under the thin cotton of her tank top, gasping at the quick contraction of her nipples. She squeezed them firmly, her legs parting involuntarily as she began to harden and swell. She drifted, thought surrendering to sensation. Light teasing strokes down her abdomen made her shiver. Legs tensed as one hand trailed up the inside of her thigh, fingers finally slipping under the edge of the loose shorts. Breath rushing in and out—not thinking, just feeling—all her attention focused on the pressure between her legs. Moaning softly, spreading wetness over the hard prominence of her clitoris, circling, pressing from side to side, feeling it
become impossibly larger. Legs twisting in the sheets as she clenched her teeth, denying herself as long as she could. When the
distention became almost painful, she broke. Bearing down harder with her fingertips, she worked herself faster, pushing toward the edge. Groaning, her skin flushed with the heat of need and loneliness and desire, she hovered on the brink. So close, she tugged at the engorged base, arching her back, every muscle tensed to explode. She shouted when it hit, grabbing herself with her whole hand, squeezing out the last spasm as she jack-knifed on the bed from the force of the orgasm.
She looked at Jeff, her expression carefully blank. Something had happened all right, but she wasn’t about to tell her partner that she had awakened, still wet from the night before, with Catherine Rawlings on her mind. She didn’t want to think too much about wanting her last night…this morning…now. She didn’t want to admit to herself just how much she had enjoyed her company. She knew only too well how devastating it could be to need a woman.
“No,” she said, more harshly than she had intended. “There’s nothing new. I might get to interview Janet Ryan this afternoon, though, if Catherine gives us the green light.”
Jeff didn’t miss the first-name reference, but he let it pass. They were as close as two partners could be, and he considered Rebecca his friend, but he knew better than to ask for details. He respected the distance she demanded in their relationship.
“Sounds good to me. Want me along?” he asked.
Rebecca thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “Not this time. She might talk easier if it’s just me. Then again, she might not talk at all.”
Jeff loosened his tie a fraction of an inch, which was his only concession to the stifling heat in the room. He was always Brooks Brothers neat, unlike most of the other male detectives, who seemed to cultivate the disheveled look. “I agree.
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