“That’s fair. I get it.” Still, if she could have the files, her exposé would be complete.
“Keep us informed, Spencer.” Holden looked distracted.
Spencer nodded and walked back to the SUV.
As soon as she shut the door, Bella followed Holden into the kitchen where she watched him start a pot of coffee.
“Isn’t it a little late for caffeine?”
“Normally, yes. But it’s going to be a long night.”
“Again.” She rounded the counter and stood next to him. “I’m sorry that you haven’t been able to get much sleep.”
“It’s my job. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to go without. It’s always worth the final results.”
“It seems a high price to pay, your health.”
“Lack of sleep is manageable, short-term. But most cases aren’t solved as quickly as we’re hoping this will be. It’s not like on television or in the movies. I’ve worked as long as three years on a single case before connecting the dots well enough to not only get the criminal, but to ensure the case is solid for the prosecuting attorney.”
“I know it’s not like the movies, trust me. Spencer is my brother, remember? I also know that you’re being modest. It takes an incredible amount of tenacity to hang in there, day after day.” She knew; reporting was often the same.
“You’re trying to show me that you do the same thing, Bella, but it doesn’t equate.” His tone was cooler than it had been since he’d first made it clear he wasn’t a fan of reporters almost three weeks ago.
The most revelatory few weeks of her life. Not that she had time to process it all right now.
“I’m not trying to manipulate you into believing something you never will. If I have something to say to you, I’m direct. You should know that by now, if nothing else.” Heat rushed her face and she turned away, damning the tears that threatened to fall. Anger at herself for falling for this unreachable man combined with frustration at reaching the end of the pageant with not a heck of a lot of exposé material, save for whatever the archival files Becky turned over might have, had made her a hot mess. Plus the fact that maybe it was time she faced some hard facts about Gio’s illness and its causes. She might never have that answer, and she had to figure out what to focus her reporting on, besides Ms. Mustang Valley pageant wrong-doing. The pressure of it welled inside, adding fuel to her tears of frustration.
Think.
There was plenty to draw from with all she’d learned as a contestant, albeit undercover. The scholarship award was particularly noteworthy, as the motives for each contestant to win were deserving of their own story. The other topics she’d inadvertently learned so much about were eating orders and mental illness. There was never enough light shone on them, as far as she was concerned. She’d figure out a story topic, even though her emotions were making it seem impossible at the moment.
“Hey, hang on.” Holden reached for her and she dared herself to look up at him. “We’re at the tough part here. It’s normal to feel like it’ll never end.”
“Stop it with your constant stream of FBI platitudes. I know what I’m feeling and while it’s probably hard for you to believe, you can’t read my mind.” She watched his face as she challenged him and where she expected an answering anger she saw heat...of a different kind.
“Bella. When are you going to get it that much of my—what did you call them, oh yeah, platitudes, are my way of staying on the straight and narrow, where I have to be to do my job?”
“Your job is to catch a killer and you’ve given yourself the additional assignment of protecting me. Unless you see me as the ideal lure for the murderer.”
“Never.” He pulled her up against his chest, her breasts flattened by the sheer masculine wall, and lowered his mouth to hers. Hadn’t she just told him she was direct with communication? Holden had the direct part of physical communication down.
His kiss turned into their kiss as they didn’t waste time on preliminaries. Mouths opened, tongues swept, breathing hitched. Desire rose and pooled in the most delicious, torturous way as Holden’s hands caressed her cheeks, her throat, then grasped her breasts with unabashed need.
“Holden,” she moaned against his mouth and he began to kiss her jawline, her throat, as his hands moved over her belly and down to the molten hot spot between her legs. Her knees felt as impermanent as the desert sands, the quaking he caused making her hang on to his massive shoulders. “I can’t take this much longer.”
“Then don’t, babe.” He lifted her into his arms with zero fanfare and walked into the living room where he deposited her on the sofa. Her question must have been in her gaze as she looked at him, marveled at how her fingers had tousled his hair, her kisses had made his lips fuller, his eyes half-lidded. “It’s safer out here.”
“Okay.” She sat up. “Let me get—”
“This?” He pulled a condom from his jeans front pocket and grinned.
“Were you expecting this?” She’d thought she’d never experience his lovemaking again, not during the investigation and definitely not if he really couldn’t stand her profession.
“Never expected, but hoped.” His words were as hot as his tongue and fingers, setting her already flaming want into a full-raging inferno.
Unlike the other time they’d made love, she wanted to undress him. He shucked out of his T-shirt and she got on her knees, the sofa cushions buckling underneath. “Let me.” Kissing his chest, licking the skin through the tufts of his chest hair, she heard him sigh, groan. She unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the single jean fastener. Unzipping his jeans was the single most sensual moment she’d ever had. Her reward for going slow, slow, slow was grasping his erection and freeing it, pushing the pants down with her other hand.
“You next.” He sucked in air as he spoke, and the huskiness of his voice made her aware of how wet she was, how ready to be one with him again.