They were taking her to the station for questioning. She would be safe for the rest of the
night.
Not that he cared. She was nothing to him.
His gut clenched and he broke out into a sweat at the thought of never seeing her
again. Although he might wish otherwise, that woman was nothing to him and she was
part of whatever had happened here tonight.
Swearing beneath his breath, he forced himself to slink closer to the crime scene
where he watched and listened as they processed the body. He wasn't sure what exactly
had occurred in the cemetery tonight, but he'd been drawn here by pure instinct and
the scent of fresh blood. Perhaps it was the unknown woman who had pulled him here.
Whatever it was, it was important to him and he wouldn't rest until he knew why.
Chapter Two
Less than twenty-four hours later, Zane stood in the shadows outside an older
Victorian-style home that had been converted into three separate apartments. Sophia
Daring lived in the smallest apartment on the top floor. He repeated her name silently
in his mind. She didn't look like a Sophia. Someone with that name should be dark-
haired with sloe eyes and pouty, red lips. That was nothing like the woman he'd trailed
to the police station last night.
After he'd finished at the crime scene, he'd made his way back to the station. Using
his contacts, he'd found out who she was and had been surprised to find out that she
was a reporter. That was the last thing he needed in his life. His business was his own,
and he certainly didn't want to read about it in the evening news. It complicated an
already messy matter.
But the cops he'd talked to had spoken of her with a grudging respect. They might
not like reporters in general, but they at least put Sophia a step ahead of the rest of the
pack. He'd heard some stories of how she'd stayed behind when the city had been in
peril, how she'd helped them rescue some folks stranded by the hurricane and, later,
pull bodies out of homes.
He'd lurked in the shadows studying her, watching as she was questioned for
several hours. He figured she was about five foot six and one hundred and twenty
pounds. Zane had always been drawn to women with voluptuous curves, but he'd been
unable to tear his eyes away from Sophia, with her slender build and slim hips. Even
her breasts were compact, less than a handful. His experienced eye told him she was a
B-cup, but just barely. Her torso was short, her legs long. All the better to wrap around
his hips as he pounded into her.
But it was her face that really drew him. She reminded him of a picture of a fairy
princess from a book that he remembered his mother reading to him when he was just a
child. Her hair was a deep shade of red that was cut so short it stood up in spikes on the
top of her head, and it looked as if she made a habit of running her fingers though it.
Her nose was pert and he'd bet his life's savings that she had at least a few freckles
sprinkled across it. Her lips were rosy and surprisingly full, begging a man to nibble on
them before he kissed her. Her forehead was high, her cheeks prominent and her chin
was narrow and slightly pointed, jutting out at a stubborn angle.
Her eyes were huge in her small face and her lashes looked almost too heavy for
her. He would have thought them false except she wasn't wearing any other makeup
that he could see. What he really wanted was to see the color of those amazing eyes, but
she'd never looked in his direction.
She never lost her cool throughout the long, relentless questioning. Although, near
the end, he could see she was tiring. Once again, he'd been filled with an unrelenting
urge to whisk her away and tuck her into bed, preferably with her stretched naked
beneath him.
He bit back a groan at the memory and glanced down at the front of his black jeans.
Sure enough, he was as hard as a spike again. What was it about this particular woman
that sent his hormones into overdrive?
It wasn't as if she was overly beautiful. He'd dated and slept with some
exceptionally gorgeous women in his lifetime, but none of them had made him feel the
tasted every inch of her delectable body. His breathing increased as he imagined
thrusting deep into her hot, wet core. His cock flexed against his zipper, demanding
release. Swearing, he reached down and adjusted himself, but it didn't help.
Tipping his head back against the cool stone of the wall that surrounded the house,
he took a deep breath and slowly released it. This wasn't good. He needed all his
control. Especially now.
He'd had to leave the station house before they were finished questioning her. He
hadn't wanted to, but it couldn't be helped. But what little he'd managed to glean about
the ongoing investigation hadn't been good. The victim from the cemetery had been
drained of blood.
His gut was telling him that the Dalakis brothers had to be involved in this mess
somehow. His instincts had led him to the scene of the crime last night and to Sophia.
Now it was up to him to discover just how she was involved in this whole mess. He
hoped, for her sake, that she was just an innocent bystander who had been dragged into
this. But once again, his gut was telling him that she, like him, was here for a reason.
Pushing away from the wall, he headed toward the front door. It was time to talk to
Ms. Daring.
Sophia stared at the far wall in her office. A large corkboard dominated the center,
and it was now filled with pictures and reports. The young woman now had a name.
Janice Barton had been a fulltime student, studying to be a teacher. Now she'd never
have a chance to finish. She'd volunteered at a soup kitchen once a month, was well
liked by her teachers and her friends and had left behind a family who was grieving
deeply.
Turning away, Sophia dug the heels of her hands into her burning eyes. She'd only
had a couple of hours' rest in the last forty-eight hours, and those few had come before
the phone call last night. But every time she closed her eyes, the gruesome scene from
the cemetery filled her mind. She could forget about rest, at least for now. Work was the
answer. She'd work until she was too exhausted to think any longer. Hopefully then
she'd fall into a stupor and sleep for at least a few hours.
She'd gotten home just after dawn this morning and had immediately written up a
story. It had been front-page news in all today's papers, and not just locally. Sophia
now had several contracts for follow-up pieces. Sometimes how she made her living
sucked, but it was what she did, who she was. What she really wanted to do was to
bring Janice Barton some peace by finding out who had done this to her.
Shuffling out of the room, the long ears of her puppy-dog slippers dragging on the
hardwood floor, she made her way to the kitchen. She hadn't really eaten all day either.
Didn't really want anything now. But she knew that she needed fuel if she expected her
body to keep functioning properly.
The shower she'd had when she'd finally gotten home just after six this evening
had revived her slightly. Once she'd toweled off, s
he'd yanked on her cotton drawstring
pajama bottoms and a matching pink tank top and gone straight to her office. Now, two
hours later, she was no further ahead and her stomach was complaining loudly.
Opening the refrigerator door, she peered inside. Not much to choose from here.
She'd forgotten to get groceries. Again. There was a partial bottle of mayonnaise, some
French salad dressing, a part of a block of butter and a container of milk that she knew
had been there way too long.
The cupboard was no better--a partial box of cereal, some stale crackers, a can of
tuna and a jar of peanut butter. Slamming the door shut, she reached for the phone,
making her decision. Takeout it was. Dialing by rote, she tapped her foot against the
floor as she listened to the rings. A harried-sounding young man answered on the sixth
ring. Sophia quickly ordered a large pizza with the works. She figured that way she'd
have leftovers, so that took care of tomorrow's food as well. Hanging up the phone, she
decided to try to relax while she waited for her supper to be delivered.
Padding into the tiny living room, she sank her tired bones down into her favorite
chair. It was slightly rounded in shape, covered in plush blue velvet and was incredibly
comfortable. Sophia liked it because it was large enough for her to curl up in.
She'd placed a table alongside it and a reading lamp behind it. She'd passed many
an evening reading or doing a crossword or just relaxing. And how pathetic was that,
she thought as she drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. She really
didn't have much of a social life. But then again, she never had. Social interaction
wasn't easy for her. She felt awkward and gawky, just as she had since she was a child.
Give her work any day. When she was working, she had no trouble talking to people.
Of course, she wasn't really talking to them--more like just questioning them.
Tilting back her head, she closed her eyes and let out a huge sigh. She was too tired
for such introspection. Besides which, she'd been through it all before and had come to
terms with who she was. Two failed relationships had taught her that she was better off
on her own.
Reaching up behind her, she started to pull down the thick blue throw blanket that
was draped across the back of the chair. Before she could do more than touch the corner
of it, a loud, authoritative thump came on her front door.
She frowned as she uncurled her legs and pushed her tired body out of the chair. It
was too soon for the delivery guy. The more she thought about it, the more it sounded
like a cop's knock. Cops had their own way of announcing themselves.
She hoped it wasn't the detectives in charge of the case with more questions. She'd
had enough questions last night and again this afternoon when she'd taken her
answering machine tape in to them. She'd thought Detective Simpson was going to
blow a vein in his forehead, his face had gotten so red. Maybe she should have
mentioned the tape, but she'd wanted to make sure she'd had a copy for herself first.
Then there was the question of the note she'd taken from the crime scene last night.
It had been pure instinct that had made her shove the note in her pocket. She wasn't
sure why she'd kept quiet about it, but she had. Now she was guilty of withholding
evidence, but she still wasn't sure what she was going to do about it.
Ever cautious, she grabbed her cell phone out of her purse where it sat on the small
hutch situated just inside the front door. After what she'd seen last night, it would be
stupid not to be careful. She still had no idea if the person who'd called her had been
the murderer, but the police thought it was likely. With her finger on the speed dial for
the cops, she looked through the peephole.
"Who is it?" Whoever was out there was standing to one side of the door so she
couldn't see them.
"My name is Zane York. I'm a cop."
So she was right. Sophia leaned her head against the hard surface of the door and
cursed softly. She so did not need this right now. Glancing down at her less than
professional attire, she sighed. "This isn't a good time." Maybe he'd go away.
"I won't stay long. I just have a few questions."
Nope, he definitely wasn't going to go away. Knowing that she really had no
choice, she undid all the locks and dragged the door open. "I didn't think you guys had
any questions left that you hadn't..." The word "asked" was lost as her mouth dropped
open and she stared at the man standing outside her door.
Gorgeous was just too weak a word. Primal, maybe. Dangerous, definitely. Her
gaze roved upward. He had to be almost a foot taller than her. Okay, maybe that was a
stretch, but not by much. He was just so darn big that he appeared huge. The man was
definitely a couple of inches over six feet. His shoulders seemed to fill the entire
doorway and stretched the seams of his tight black T-shirt.
His face was a work of art. His cheekbones were high, his jaw was strong, but not
quite square. He had full lips that were set in a serious line. His hair was as black as a
raven's wing and looked just as soft. It was cut short, but she wanted to run her fingers
through it. His eyes were a surprise. A muddy brown in color, they didn't seem to suit
the rest of his face, but his lashes were black and thick.
There was an animal magnetism that seemed to roll off the man, a barely
suppressed need for action that pulsed just below the surface. He sighed, waiting not
quite patiently as she perused him. Too bad. He'd have to wait. Speaking was beyond
her at this moment.
She caught a whiff of him and almost moaned with pleasure. Damn, he smelled
fantastic. She wanted to bury her face in the curve of his neck and just inhale. She'd
never had this kind of immediate reaction to any man in her entire life. At least not to
any living, breathing man. The phantom lover in her dreams was a whole other story.
He was the only other man she'd ever had this kind of reaction to and he wasn't real.
Pheromones, yeah, that was it. It had to be pure chemistry. If she could bottle whatever
this man exuded, she could make a fortune. The urge to tear off her clothes, throw
herself onto the floor and offer herself to this man was almost overwhelming.
Her breathing was getting shallower and she felt slightly dizzy. Her breasts were
swollen and aching, the tips hard pebbles pressing against the thin fabric of her tank
top. But it was nothing compared to the throbbing heat between her thighs. She wanted
to arch her hips against the hardness pressing against the front of his jeans. Oh yeah, he
was as aroused as she was. And from what she could see, he had a rather impressive
bulge there. Liquid trickled down her inner thigh as her pussy lips softened and
thickened.
She'd certainly never seen this man before. A woman would never forget a man this
hot.
Like a bucket of cold water, her thoughts finally permeated her muddled brain. She
didn't know this man, hadn't spoken to him at the station. Hadn't even seen him there.
Fear surged through her bloodstream. She slammed the door, but it was too late.
His large, booted foot jammed into the opening. Remembering the phone in her hand,
she hit the speed dial ev
en as he pushed the door open.
Sophia turned to run, but he was on her before she could take one step. He calmly
pried the phone from her fingers, turned it off and tossed it onto the table. Nudging the
door closed with his foot, he stared down at her.
Terror gave her strength and she began to struggle and kick, damning her soft
puppy-dog slippers when they did absolutely no damage against his thick shins. She
opened her mouth to scream.
His mouth came down over hers, absorbing her small cry, drinking it into him. His
lips were warm and soft as they covered hers and her struggles lessened. He captured
her hands easily and held them over her head as he pushed her up against the wall. His
body covered hers and she could feel his hard erection pressing against her stomach.
She whimpered--part fear, part desire. What was wrong with her? She should be
fighting and kicking. Instead, all she wanted to do was to sink into this man, take him
into her body and give him everything he asked for.
He eased his mouth from hers and she almost cried out at the lack of contact. As
kisses went, it really hadn't been much more than his lips touching hers. At no time had
he even tried to deepen the embrace. Still, it had devastated her senses. This man was
dangerous in more ways than one.
"Shh," he whispered as he nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck just behind her
ear. "I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you." Sophia stilled, sensing not just the
sincerity, but also the pledge behind his words. "I promise, I'm a cop and I just want to
talk."
"I don't know you." Her voice wasn't her normal no-nonsense tone. She sounded
breathy, almost sultry. She cleared her throat. "Who are you?" She knew he'd said his
name but, as muddled as she felt right now, she couldn't remember it.
He leaned back, which pressed his erection even tighter to her stomach. She fought
the urge to hook her leg over his hip and grind her pelvis against his.
"My name is Zane York and I want to talk to you about what you saw last night."
He slowly released her hands, running his fingers over the insides of her arms. He
traced her collarbone and downward between her breasts before taking a step away
from her.