The Yearning by Tina Donahue Page A

dinner in bed.” She eased back.
    He looked at her through slitted lids. “And after dinner? What happens then?”
    She was afraid to think of it. Upstairs, handcuffs waited. So did Ben. He’d seen her and Mike together. Jasmine had spotted him at the top of the stairs when Mike startled her as she’d left her office. In that moment, Ben’s handsome face darkened with jealousy. Luckily or not, he’d already retreated as Mike looked over his shoulder.
    Consumed with worry and possessed by yearning, she breathed, “This.” Her mouth molded to his with her suggestive kiss.

Chapter Four
    Mike didn’t have long to enjoy it. All too soon, Jasmine deserted his mouth and stood. “Your bed awaits.”
    Her enticing offer reminded him of a story he’d read in high school: Homer’s Odyssey , specifically, the Sirens’ song to sailors. As Mike recalled, the sea nymphs’ sweet voices tempted mariners to shore as long as the men could get safely past the boulders. The poor bastards never did. Climbing her staircase seemed as daunting, given his fatigue. Not that he’d tell her. With meager energy and grace, Mike groaned inwardly as he got to his feet and scrubbed his face with his hands.
    Jasmine ran her nails lightly down his backbone.
    God. Shivers feathered outward from his spine to his fingers and toes. Heels leaving the floor, his legs wavered.
    She looped her arm around his waist, draped his arm over her shoulder and placed his hand on her ungodly soft breast. “You ready?” Not waiting for an answer, she pushed to her toes and suckled his neck.
    A tingling warmth reached parts of his body he didn’t know existed. He huffed. “Let’s go.”
    She headed toward the steps. He did not. Though beat, he possessed far more strength than she and encountered little difficulty turning them both toward her office.
    Jasmine tightened her arm around his waist in a foolish attempt to hold him back. “What are you doing?”
    Mike stopped and finished his yawn. “Getting my Glock.” Having it in her office while they were down here was one thing. Leaving it one floor away as he dozed in her bedroom was quite another.
    She shook her head. “What’s a glock?”
    “My pistol.”
    “No. Why? Nothing’s going to happen to it on my desk.”
    “Something might, if anyone breaks in here.”
    “No one’s ever broken in here. This is a safe neighborhood.”
    He rested his head against hers, closed his eyes and failed to inject any energy into his voice. “Then why’d you tell me to park my bike in your garage?”
    Her body stiffened as though she recalled her earlier words.
    “See what I mean?”
    “No, I don’t. I wanted it in the garage so no one would hit it. My neighbors are elderly. They don’t see as well as they used to.”
    If they were that old with bad eyesight, they probably didn’t cruise the streets at midnight, now did they? Rather than point out the obvious, he stayed firm on his gun. “Whether your place is safe or not, there’s always a first time and I don’t intend to take a chance on either of us getting hurt. I’d feel better having it at my side.”
    She shrank away. “You’re going to wear it in bed?”
    He warned himself not to laugh at her adorable naiveté. “I’ll put it on your nightstand. You do have one, don’t you?”
    “I have a dresser. We could put it in one of the drawers.”
    He pictured it beneath her underwear, if she owned any. Planting a small kiss on her forehead, he blinked repeatedly until he got his lids to stay up. “We’ll pick the spot together, how’s that?” Unwilling to give her time to debate it, he broke her embrace and dragged his tired body to her office.
    She grabbed his wrist with both hands, stopping him from opening the door. “I’ll get it. Wait here.”
    He used the muraled wall for support, overcome by another yawn before she returned. This time, unlike the last, she held the holstered gun in one hand and as far as she could from