His tongue glided over her bottom lip, and she slid her hands into his damp hair, making sure he wouldn’t pull away again. Against her belly, she felt him grow hard, and it thrilled her to know she could do that to him.
She kissed him deep, sighing into his mouth. His big hands slid down to cup her butt and fit them more closely together. His erection jerked against her, hot and hard, and just like that, she was wet and ready for him, dying to feel him push inside her.
“The kitchen floor works for me,” she told him as she reached for the top button on his jeans. She kissed her way over his wide jaw and down his neck, where it was easier for her to reach. Her hands shook, making the job of undoing his jeans much harder than it should have been.
“Wait,” Grant rasped out, covering her hands with his to stop her. “We can’t.”
His hands shook with restraint, but they held firm.
No way was she going to let him stop her now. Not when her body was hot and ready and she knew he wanted her just as much as she did him. “Yes, we can. I won’t cling or cry when you go. I swear it.”
He gathered her wrists in his hand, holding her tight. His chest worked hard as he tried to catch his breath, and a fine sweat dampened his brow. “We can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“What wouldn’t be fair is to leave me hanging on the edge like this.”
He closed his eyes and dragged in a ragged breath. “I’d do just about anything to have the chance to make you come, honey, but not like this. Not unless you’ve had time to make sure it’s what you want.”
“I’m sure.”
He stroked the back of her hand with one thumb as if trying to soothe her. It didn’t work. She was aching inside, almost frantic to force him to keep going. “You and me have the kind of chemistry that could set a house on fire, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be sorry later. I want you, but I care about you too much to hurt you.”
“It’s just sex.”
He lifted a blond brow. “So you do this with men all the time?”
“You are not all men.”
“That’s my point. Who was the last man you slept with?”
“My last boyfriend.”
“Did you love him?” he asked with a blunt directness that made her believe he already knew the answer.
“I don’t see how that matt—”
“Did you love him?” he asked again.
Isabelle forced herself to look him in the eye. “Yes.”
“And that’s why we can’t do this. I don’t have enough friends to risk losing you, Isabelle. Not you.”
“But you wouldn’t lose me. I’m a grown woman, perfectly capable of making rational decisions about who to sleep with.”
“And when you were rational, you told me no.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Fine. If that’s still the way you feel about it after you cool off, then we’ll talk. But for now you need to get to work. And so do I. The sooner we find the killer, the sooner we can stop tempting each other with a fantasy we both know would never work.”
He was right. Isabelle hated it, but she knew he was right.
Detective Mathews stared at the man hanging lifelessly from his own ceiling fan and felt nothing. A couple of years ago, he would have cared that some mild-mannered accountant had been murdered, but a lot could happen in a couple of years.
“Another suicide?” asked the photographer as he captured yet another angle of the scene. “Is there something in the water?”
“It’s not a suicide,” said Mathews, his voice harsh and rough from too much worry and not enough sleep.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Forced entry. There were signs the lock on the back door lock had been tampered with.” That, and the fact that the man hanging by his neck was the next person on the list some special forces hotshot had given the police.
Mathews had checked out Grant Kent and found plenty of interesting reading material. Kent had already murdered one man before he went into the military. Chances were he’d done it again now that he was out and back in his old hometown, free to do whatever he pleased.
Mathews didn’t care how clean his military record was. Once a killer, always a killer. He had Kent’s prints on file, both from his juvenile record and his military one. Maybe the guy was cocky enough not to have worn gloves. And even if he had, all Mathews needed to bring the bastard in was a scrap of evidence, just one sign that Kent had been here.
As spotless as the accountant’s home was, Mathews didn’t think they’d have any trouble finding something out of place.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Isabelle was already late for work when Grant pushed her out the door. He felt like a pansy for getting all sappy at her like that. He never should have told her how he felt about his dad. He’d never told anyone else, so why her? It was only going to make her think he was weak when she needed to be able to depend on him to be strong.
What Grant needed to do was suck it up, keep his dick in his pants, and do his job.
Easier said than done.
He never should have kissed her, though he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not something as good as that. How could he regret a kiss that was so hot it made him hard, yet so sweet it made him ache that it had to end?
Grant shook his head and tried not to think about it.
He rinsed off the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher, then straightened up the kitchen so she wouldn’t have to come home to a mess.
He’d told her that if she still wanted him, they could talk about it. Maybe she’d come home and do just that. Sex didn’t have to be about love—he knew that without a doubt. Maybe Isabelle could learn the same thing. They could enjoy each other while he was here, then part ways. No problem.