Take a Chance On Me

Chapter 9 More, More, More

"My customary fee is two hundred dollars an hour."

Thomas felt his right eye twitch-dear God, he'd forgotten about money-and he could just picture Stephano's reaction when he got a load of that requisition form.

He gave a businesslike nod. "Of course. I'll arrange for a professional consulting fee."

Emma's face scrunched up and Thomas watched her nervously fluff her still-wet hair. They'd been sitting on the porch railing for half an hour or more, but her thick hair had yet to dry in the humid air, and slick sections gleamed in the light from the citronella candle between them.

"I don't mean to sound like a jerk about this, but I'll need a written consulting agreement with the state police that specifies how and what I'll be paid."

"You drive a hard bargain, Doctor."

He watched her caress the shock of white fur on Hairy's head. The dog was curled up in the space between her legs, snuggled into the folds of her loose skirt-damn mutant always got the best seat in the house.

"It's just that Aaron left me so much debt." She looked up at Thomas, her eyes full of worry and embarrassment. "Our practice-my practice-is on rocky footing right now. My time and expertise are my only capital and-"

"No need to explain, Emma. You're a professional. I need your help. We'll do it right-I wouldn't want this any other way."

Emma sighed, then flashed Thomas a smile that was part relief and part just plain gorgeous. She was just plain gorgeous.

She'd come out on the porch wearing this gauzy sundress thing with little straps, and Thomas had been unable to stop staring at her elegant neck and the dainty collar-bones beneath the flawless skin. She was such an interesting combination of female loveliness and real strength. Her shoulders and upper arms were soft but obviously worked-wailing on drums, cleaning out horse stalls, comforting frightened animals.

The whole time he'd been sitting there telling her the truth about his job, he'd been lying to himself that he hadn't really noticed the graceful line to her jaw, the ladylike tilt to her head, or the pretty shape of her fingers.

But the truth was, he'd noticed all these things about her, and more.

The dress she'd chosen kind of hung on her like a sack, and except for the loose, square neckline, it managed to hide the goods real well. But the buzz Thomas got from looking at the shapeless dress was getting louder and louder in his brain, as if her modesty was pushing some hot button Thomas didn't even know he had.

As if her modesty was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

Maybe it was because most of the beautiful women he'd ever known used their bodies as currency-a means to control men, trap them, turn their brains into mush so things happened the way they wanted them to. Always the way the woman wanted.

Yet Emma seemed to downplay her body, hide its power, with the simple tees, the baggy sweatshirts, the loose dress-and that's what drove him crazy. It made him wonder exactly what was under there-what juicy and round and firm sections of flesh lurked beneath the fabric-and whether they were simply too dangerous for public display.

God help him if she should ever wear anything even remotely revealing. He might stroke out on the spot.

"So how in the world did you get started with this, Thomas? You've got to have the strangest job of anyone I know."

He felt his grin spread from ear to ear. "Coming from you that's really saying something."

"Yeah. No kidding." She giggled and continued to pet Hairy. "You promised me the whole story."

He nodded. "It's simple, really. I was with the Baltimore County State 's Attorney's Office about three years when I was assigned a murder solicitation case, and it ended up going to trial. I won. Then when the next one came in, I got it. Then the next. And pretty soon I'd prosecuted a dozen cases and become a kind of expert, and when the state put together a task force they asked me to head it up. That was seven years ago."

"What's it like posing as a hit man?"

He shrugged. "It's difficult, but there's a need."

"Have you ever thought of doing something else-something less… I don't know… depressing?"

He laughed at that and studied her lovely face. Sure, he had. He used to think about teaching, high school history maybe, where he could do some rugby coaching on the side. He used to think that as a teacher he might be able to prevent at least some kids from becoming the kind of adults he now encountered on a daily basis. But he was probably just kidding himself.

"Doesn't it get to you, Thomas?"

He watched her lean back against the wide brick pillar and tilt her head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed anyone to ask him questions this personal.

"Sure it gets to me. I've seen enough to know that people are capable of anything. And there are days when it seems like there isn't a decent person on the whole planet. But let's get back to Hairy."

"All right." Emma gave him a soft smile. "You were about to tell me how Hairy's owner met his untimely end."

"His name was Scott Slick," he said, relieved to change the subject. "Age forty-one. Ran a very successful sports betting operation in Baltimore. Died from blunt force trauma to the left temple, hit by the edge of a blender. There was a struggle. I think Hairy was hiding somewhere watching the whole thing. He was sitting by the body when I found Slick dead."

Emma's brows knit together. "Really? Sports betting?"

"Yeah-college and pro football and basketball mostly. But also boxing, hockey, even baseball."

"Hairy belonged to a bookie?"

Thomas laughed softly, amused to hear street slang from Emma's sweet mouth. "Yeah. A very rich bookie. And up until tonight, Hairy had been doing so much better. Then Pam turned on the blender… "

As Thomas described Hairy's extreme physical reaction to the sound, she realized he could be right-Hairy may have witnessed the crime. And Thomas may have even hit on the method they could use to glean more details from the dog.

"Besides the blender, have you exposed him to any other stimuli associated with the murder? Have you given him something to smell? To hear?"

Thomas shook his head. "I don't have anything."

"You have no physical evidence?"

"Well, a shoe print. Some trace skin and hair that's being analyzed, but nothing like the guy's shirt or something that Hairy could get a good whiff of." He watched her nod. "What do you think?"

She shrugged. "We can try. We'll use a process of elimination, introduce one stimulus at a time and categorize his response." She saw Thomas give her a little frown. "Let's backtrack a bit. Dogs have basically four ways to deal with something they come across out in the world-we vets call it the four F's-flight, fear, fight, or… well… sex."

After a two-second beat, Thomas leaned his head back and laughed, then lowered his eyes right on hers. "Sex doesn't start with an f."

"Vet humor." Emma swallowed. "Anyway, it's going to take a while, and there is absolutely no guarantee that we'll come up with any helpful information."

"I understand."

"And you still want to hire me?"

Thomas nodded. "Hairy is our only witness. We've got to at least try."

Emma let her gaze fall to the creature in her lap. She stroked his warm skin and scratched behind his ear. "I'll have to think about this a little, establish a protocol for the tests. And I'd like to visit the crime scene and see whatever evidence the police have. Is that possible?"

"You got it, Doc."

"Then it's a deal." Emma stretched out her hand to shake on it. The second Thomas's warm palm slipped against hers, she remembered that touching him was hazardous to her peace of mind. She pulled back too quickly.

"A deal," Thomas repeated, kind enough not to let on that he noticed her nervousness.

They remained quiet, and Thomas looked out onto the sloping lawn in front of the farmhouse. He watched the fireflies flash, listened to the crickets talk. It was beautiful here, peaceful and dark and full of the smells of open land. It brought back memories of the summers he spent with his grandparents, memories long buried by the accumulated sensory assault of city life.

"I haven't seen this many lightning bugs since I was a kid." Thomas nodded toward nature's laser show. "It's wild."

"Yeah. And it's late in the season-I'm amazed they're still out here in those numbers." Emma's voice trailed off as she followed his gaze. "It's like the last singles dance of the year."

"Of their lives," he said.

Emma glanced at him, intrigued. Thomas Tobin continued to surprise her with his somewhat skewed take on the world and the combination of sorrow and humor that leaked out of him. His job went a long way toward explaining his pessimism, but there was more to Thomas than he was sharing with her. She could feel it.

He continued to look out on the grass with what Emma thought might be longing, and a touch of irony.

"Do you know anything about fireflies, Emma?"

"Mmm. A little." She took a deep breath of the night air, and got a whiff of Thomas himself-undertones of male musk with lighter notes of soap and-oregano, maybe? It made her shiver.

"I think I remember reading that the males fly up in the air and the females remain near the grass." She watched the dance of light on the lawn. "The flash we see is the result of a chemical reaction inside their bodies, and along with the flight pattern, it works like a kind of signal to attract potential mates. That's what all the commotion is about."

Thomas shot her a bemused smile. "Isn't it always?"

Emma said nothing, just studied him, watching the graceful turn of his head as he went back to scanning the yard. She wasn't certain what was happening here, but she knew it wasn't about fireflies. It was about the two of them-two very different people who had some kind of strange affinity for each other that neither knew what to do with.

She gave Thomas a good once-over, and the nervous fluttering in her belly was back with a vengeance. The man sitting in front of her was beautiful, something she'd known from the first. But tonight, she saw him with greater clarity, and appreciated what she saw-what she sensed. She felt her blood run hot and her breath quicken. She felt the anticipation build.

And she smiled to herself.

Emma knew the accepted theory on the human sexual response: males became aroused primarily from visual stimuli while females responded to an amalgam of more subtle sensory input-ambiance, so to speak. She looked over at Thomas and nearly snorted with laughter-she was a textbook example of the female sexual response tonight, no doubt about it.

And the stimuli she was getting right now were mighty stimulating indeed. Thomas radiated sexual heat. He broadcast his sexuality. His voice vibrated with it. His eyes sparkled with it. He smelled like sex.

She looked down at his body. He was wearing a pair of worn but nice-fitting jeans and a soft gray, short-sleeved Henley unbuttoned at the throat and untucked at the waist. He was in his usual Nikes with no socks.

His long legs were slung over either side of the wide, flat porch railing. He rested his palms on the thick surface of his muscled thighs as he leaned back. She stared at the way his golden hair shimmered in the candlelight, and the way the light played on the curly blond down of his ropy forearms. And yes, she let her eyes travel down his flat stomach to his narrow hips and the vortex of those big legs, and did a little mathematical calculation having to do with relative size of anatomical parts. She hoped she wasn't foaming at the mouth.

She jerked when she heard his voice.

"You got to hand it to the little bastards." Thomas caught her eye. "They're out there in their flashiest outfits, facing the possibility of rejection, giving it their best shot. Those little bugs have guts."

Emma had been looking at his crotch-no doubt about it. This was an excellent development, but Thomas didn't quite see how he was going to capitalize on it.

Emma was sparking at him. There she was with her face tilted coyly, flushing prettily with well-deserved embarrassment. Her hair fell loose on her shoulders and her eyes shone up at him. A faint smile pulled on those kissable lips. Her hands caressed Hairy gently and rhythmically-where he sat between her legs.

Thomas bit his tongue and closed his eyes. With indirect communication like this, who needed words?

He opened his eyes and locked his gaze with hers, knowing with certainty that biology had the upper hand tonight, over there on the lawn and right here on the porch railing. In fact, right about now, Thomas could say with confidence that for him, biology had become reason. Biology ruled, biology spoke, and God yes, he was listening.

He wanted this woman. She was special. She was different. He'd been waiting for her.

Could it possibly be that simple?

"I can't help but see that you're flashing at me," Thomas whispered.

Emma's eyes went huge and she laughed nervously. "Only because you've been flashing at me."

"How kind of you to notice."

"Would you like some more iced tea?" She'd abruptly dumped Hairy into his arms, jumped off the railing, and swept away their half-full iced tea glasses before he could even respond. She was already inside the house, and he sat there, stunned.

If Thomas didn't kiss her soon, he would implode-no question about it.He had to fix things so that when she came back, he could nonchalantly get her into a good kissing position.

He placed Hairy on the floorboards of the porch. "Go play with stinky Ray." As if he understood, Hairy toddled over to the much larger animal and circled around by his side, then curled up and plopped down, soliciting only a few curious sniffs from the old, blind dog.

The front screen creaked open, then slammed shut, and Thomas turned to see Emma walking toward him on alluring bare feet. The foyer light shone through her filmy dress and provided a nice outline of her hips and breasts. Her hair lifted off her shoulders in the light breeze. It was like a scene in a wet dream, only better.

Emma gave him a shy smile and bent forward to put the glasses of tea on the table, and oh, yeah, Thomas looked down the neckline of her sundress. He tried not to. He really did. But he was too weak. And her breasts were creamy and full and looked like they'd fit perfectly in each of his big hands. They looked perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Implosion was imminent.

As Emma resumed her place across from Thomas, sitting cross-legged and leaning up against the column again, she saw that Thomas had done some rearranging in her absence. He'd moved the citronella candle behind him and left his pillar to scoot much closer to her. There was nothing between them anymore, and it made her a little nervous.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered.

That I want to jump you and howl at the moon, she thought. What she said was, "It's a beautiful night," and nearly rolled her eyes at her pitiful lack of imagination.

"The most beautiful I've seen in a long time, Emma."

Her heart stopped. "Really?"

She noticed that she'd somehow adjusted her position to mimic his. She'd straddled the smooth wooden shelf with bare legs, shoving the sundress down for coverage. When had she moved? Why couldn't she remember moving?

But she was now painfully aware of the exact location of every part of her body, because certain parts of her were starting to hum. Her breasts felt irritated and confined even in the loose dress. She felt her thighs fall open a bit more, relaxing, parting, and that small fine-tuning caused her to swell and moisten under her dress. She caught Thomas's eye and began to strum and tingle all over.

Hoo boy.

Emma needed to regroup. This was not the way it usually worked with her. She was usually slow to build, slow to burn-but there was nothing slow in the way she responded to Thomas. It was hard and fast and hot and like nothing she'd ever felt before in her life. Not with Aaron. Not with anyone.

And the kicker was he hadn't even touched her. She'd been rendered stupid just from looking at him. Being near him. Thinking about what it would be like to press her lips against his, place her palms against that muscled wall of a chest.

Thomas captured her eyes with his, so penetrating, and the corner of his mouth hitched up. Her head began to spin-had she really ever thought him cold and unfeeling? Had she called him "Robot Boy"? Hadn't she seen right from the start that this man was burning, scorching alive?

Of course she had. But she'd been protecting herself, staying smart, considerations that were apparently no longer important because the only thing that mattered to Emma was that he touch her. Now.

"Thomas?" she whispered, not sure what she was asking for, just that she was asking for it.

He scooted forward another notch and balanced his weight on his hands as he leaned in. Emma found herself doing the same, the inside of her wrists widening her legs as she leaned closer to him. She was buzzing with awareness and knowledge-of the proximity, the heat of him.

He moved closer, and Emma took in the masculine contours of his face in the low light, the solemn look in his eyes, and bit down on her lower lip in anticipation of his kiss-because kissing was exactly what was going to happen now and she damn well knew it.

Then Thomas narrowed his right eye-taking aim-and slowly dipped his head. His lips parted, showing a hint of his white teeth.

And he fired-his mouth was hot and smooth and as soon as his lips covered Emma's, she was lost.

Thomas shook, his whole body tensing and shuddering from the power of the kiss. For a blissful moment, he slipped his tongue along the seam of her sweet mouth, taking it, taking her, as if he was absolutely certain this was the right thing to do.

But the certainty was soon replaced by a sickening panic. She was a woman! He didn't trust women! And even if he could, she wouldn't want him. How could he have forgotten that little detail?

But then Emma parted her lips to receive him and the response was so earnest and trusting and female that he lost his train of thought. He moved his mouth against hers mindlessly, blindly, trying to remember what it was that he was concerned about, what was at the crux of his hesitation.

Right. This woman deserved the best. She deserved it all. And he'd never be able to give it to her.

He tried to pull away, but Emma's soft hands slipped up the sides of his neck and her fingers eased into his hair and a small gasp of need flowed from her mouth into his.

And that's when it happened-a great surge of confidence came over Thomas, clearing the way to her, disintegrating all his doubts, shouting a resounding "Yes!" to everything that was Emma. He didn't know where it came from, but he thanked God for it and rode the crest of this baffling force, feeling himself grow hotter, stronger, harder, until it took everything he had not to attack her like a platter of buffalo wings at a Super Bowl party.

God, she tasted sweet and smooth. She felt like wet silk, as soft as he knew she would. And somehow, for some reason, he was suddenly sure this would all work out in the end. It would be all right. It would be great. No doubt about it.

Thomas's kiss left Emma dizzy.

His lips were firm but gentle, and they slipped delicately, lovingly, over hers. His tongue was doing all kinds of remarkable things-sliding along her bottom lip, tasting, tempting, pushing, flicking. It was almost as if he was sampling a delicacy he'd never had before, something exotic. Then she heard him breathe her name against her mouth-"Emma"-and it sounded profoundly carnal, so much desperate need packed into two simple syllables. She was going down fast.

He pulled his lips away and hovered just inches from her face.

"I need you closer. I need to get my hands on you or I'm going to die."

His voice was strained, the look on his face pure need, and she found that all she could do was nod and swallow. Instantly, he cupped her bottom in his two big hands and pulled her to him, closing the gap between them with decisiveness. She fell forward, her hands slapping down onto the tops of his thighs. The worn denim did nothing to hide the muscle and heat beneath.

Then-oh, damn. His hands began to move over her bottom, stroking up and around, lifting from underneath with wicked fingers, squeezing, then finally coming to rest on her hips. It was a thoroughly possessive gesture that stunned her, and though somewhere in the back of her mind she realized she should be worrying about the fact that his hands were on the biggest asset she had, it didn't matter.

Her self-consciousness had melted in the heat of his gaze, his touch. His hands and eyes stayed locked where they were for a very long moment, enough time to pass a message to Emma: there was no turning back.

Then he grabbed her thighs and pulled her legs up and over his, scooping her up in his arms. She thudded against the hard, muscled front of his body and her head fell back from the force of it. He arched over her. He took her with his mouth.

Now this was some kiss, and Emma felt her body dissolve and become profoundly alive at the same instant. She held on through the shock wave of wonder and pleasure that came from being clasped in his powerful arms, prodded by his slick tongue. This was nothing but pure sensation, complete sensory overload, and she brought her arms around his rock-solid back and heard herself groan.

God, he was amazing! So big and dense and her hands wouldn't stay put on just one spot-they pushed down his hard biceps to his elbows, across his back and into the nape of his neck, and oh, she needed to feel his skin-skin on skin! Her fingers wiggled underneath his shirt, smoothed up his stomach, and landed on the scorching surface of his chest.

Oh, daddy!

Never in her life had she had anything remotely like Thomas Tobin in her hands. She could hardly believe he was real, and a single word throbbed through her brain like a mantra: More. More. More.

Then he hoisted her up onto his lap and there was no mistaking what had just jammed between her legs and she nearly screamed with the thrill of it. Thomas was a big man-just as she'd hypothesized-and the knowledge of that caused her brain to short-circuit.

So she pushed her sundress up around her waist.

Then she felt her hips begin a slow rotation, back and forth, up and down, side to side against his fabulous erection, as though-if she wiggled in just the right way, rubbed up against him in just the right spot-she could get through the barriers of silk, denim, and zipper to what she really wanted.

Him.

It slowly dawned on her that she was acting like a crazy woman.

Then she felt his hands travel up under the back of her sundress and toward the front of her body, where his palms spread wide over her bare breasts and he growled-there was no other word for it-he growled into her mouth as he drew big circles over her nipples with the flat of his palms, then pinched, rolled, until they stung with need.

Her lungs began to burn. Her toes began to curl. It was the beginning of the end.

"You want me right here, right now, don't you?" Thomas had freed his mouth from hers long enough to gasp into her ear. "Tell me what you want, Emma. I'll do it."

It occurred to her that unless something seriously huge happened in the next few seconds-on the scale of earthquake, fire, flood, or asteroid impact-she was about to drag Thomas Tobin to the barn, where she'd tell him exactly what she wanted and expect to get it. Big time.

Then she had the oddest sensation that they weren't alone.

She stopped her gyrations. She stilled her hands. "Stop," she whispered to him. "Please. God. No."

Emma eased away from Thomas's body and turned her head.

Leelee stood behind the screen door, framed in the hall light, her face wracked with horror and rage. A small cry escaped her mouth. Then she whipped around, her summer nightgown swinging at her shins, and raced up the stairs.

"Oh, shit!" Emma extricated herself from Thomas's grasp and stood on the porch, hugging herself, then hiding her face. After a few gulps of air she looked back at Thomas, still on the railing, somewhat hunched over and gasping for breath.

What had she done?

"I've got to go to her." Emma could feel the heat flying off the surface of her skin into the evening air. She was coming down from her high, away from the edge. She was seeing things the way a mature adult woman responsible for a child should see them, not some sex-crazed maniac.

Thomas was experiencing a slowdown of his own, but he also felt in shock-not just from the sudden loss of her heat and passion-but from the otherworldly power in just that one taste of Emma Jenkins.

He'd been right-this was going to work out. It had to. Because nothing in his life had ever felt that real, and suddenly Thomas felt compelled to claim her, mark her for his own so that no other man in the world could ever touch her.

All from just one kiss.

"Emma, I-"

"I know," she snapped. "You are absolutely right."

Thomas frowned and eased down off the railing. "I didn't even say anything." He took a careful step toward her.

She straight-armed him in the chest. "Yeah, but you were going to say it was a mistake, and I completely agree. I'm glad we're on the same page."

"Dammit, I was not going to say that!" Thomas grabbed her outstretched hand and pulled it to his lips. "Emma. That was not amistake." He kissed her little clenched fist and made eye contact. In a soothing voice he said, "Baby, that was a lot of things-wild, surprising, amazing-but a mistake it wasn't."

"Okay. No. Wait. I can't talk with you about this because I've got to go to Leelee. Do you understand? I have to go to her-now. She's the most important thing in the world to me."

The instant Emma withdrew her hand from his grasp her knees gave out. She started to fall, but Thomas caught her in his arms.

"No!" Emma went rigid and twisted away toward the door. "Oh God-I've screwed up so bad." She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Leelee's in there! My dad's in there! And I'm out here behaving like a-" She let out a frustrated groan. "We should forget this ever happened. I'll help you with Hairy, but this-whatever this thing is between us-it's just not the right time for me. Good night."

"Stop right there." Thomas spun her around, and before she could protest, he put his mouth on hers again, calming, stroking, sealing the understanding between them.

"There are no mistakes between us, Emma." He kissed her forehead. "Take care of Leelee. We'll talk tomorrow."

She was already gone. The screen made a sharp crack when it closed, followed by the deep thud of the old oak panel door and the slide of the dead bolt.

Thomas stood on the porch, still erect, still in shock, still trying to get his bearings. He felt a soft brush against his ankle, and saw Hairy gazing up at him.

Thomas let go with a sharp laugh. "That sure sucks, doesn't it, pal?"

No kidding, Big Alpha. What are we going to do now?

"We'll figure something out." As Thomas bent down to retrieve the dog, Hairy leaped into the air to meet him halfway, as if making it easier for him.

Thomas smiled and cocked his head, taking a moment to study the dog. "Huh." Then he tucked Hairy under his arm and headed down the front steps.

Thomas dropped the dog on the passenger seat towel. "When am I gonna catch a break with that woman, Hairy? When monkeys fly out of my butt?"

If Hairy had been physiologically capable, he would have laughed. Poor Big Alpha.

"Let's go home, little buddy."

Hairy grinned up at him. Yeah. Let's go home.

Aaron woke up gagging.

His arms were imprisoned painfully at his sides. His head was tilted back at an unnatural angle. The metal felt cold and hard in his mouth and he could taste the blood pooling in the soft upper palate.

Dimly, he realized he could choke to death on his own blood in this position.

He felt his eyes fly wide in terror, but he couldn't see much-other than the open-pored, scarred skin of the Ugly One, too close in the light of the motel reading lamp. The Ugly One must be holding the gun. Aaron couldn't see the other man at all, the one who held his arms.

"Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?" The Ugly One's breath was sickeningly sweet, like peppermint over rotted flesh. "We get every fucking penny, or you die. We get half of it Friday or we torch your precious little Z. Do you understand?"

Aaron tried to nod but the gun barrel scraped against the tender flesh of his mouth with the slight movement. Another stab of pain ripped through him. All he could think was, Not the Z! Anything but the Z!

Aaron felt himself being turned on his side. He heard the cracking thud on the back of his head just as the world went black.