Foul Play - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,24

guess that eliminates breaking and entering.”

“What a shame. I had my heart set on it.”

Jake cut the engine, and they sat motionless in the dark car, the silence feeling heavy in the humid Virginia air. Jake stared straight ahead into Turner’s windows, one hand casually draped over the polished wood steering wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, between the black-leather bucket seats.

Amy was more intrigued with the man beside her than the town house windows. She watched his chest rise and fall, studied his calm profile, the strong column of his neck. She wondered why he was doing this. She suspected it was partly play, partly something more. Who knew? Maybe in another life he had been Robin Hood, Zorro … Indiana Jones.

“Now what?”

He kept staring at the house. “I don’t know. I’m new at this. It’s Saturday night. I was counting on him to be out.”

“Why are we doing this? The police are conducting an investigation …”

“The police suspect you!” How could he tell her what that did to him. How it tore him up inside. It was so dumb! A rooster, for crying out loud. Dammit, it burned him up to have that weasel Turner pointing his nasty finger at her, and it galled him to watch her garbage get pawed through.

Man, love was the pits. It made you crazy. It was painful. Sometimes love was soft and incredibly beautiful. He couldn’t tell her how he felt. She’d think he was nuts. She might be right.

Besides, there were other reasons. “Someone broke into my clinic and took a sick animal. I feel violated and outraged and disgusted. I know this is stupid, but I need to feel like I’m doing something helpful. I hate sitting around, feeling impotent and victimized.”

A car pulled into the small pipestem parking lot, flashing headlights into Amy’s rear window.

“Uh-oh,” Jake said, “we should look busy. I’d hate to be recognized here.”

He hauled Amy halfway across the gearshift and wrapped her in his arms. “I think I’ve just found another good reason why I’m doing this,” he said, as his mouth closed over hers.

For the first moment they kept their eyes open, watching the car pull into the parking space next to them.

“Holy cow,” Amy whispered, “that’s Veronica Bottles.”

She felt Jake’s arms tighten around her, pulling her down across the seat so that she was almost under him. He kissed her again, and the reality of Jake’s body pressed against hers drove out all thoughts of the brunette next to them. Amy closed her eyes and wound her arms around Jacob Elliott.

Jake knew the moment it happened … when they had stopped hiding and started loving. He felt it in Amy’s body, the way it suddenly grew pliant, yielding under him. And he felt it in her mouth. Soft and inviting. He was lost to the feel of her under him and wanted nothing more in life than to be a part of her. He wanted to be her lover, and he wanted all the responsibilities and privileges it carried. He wanted to take care of her when she was sick, and laugh with her when she was happy, and he wanted to make her feel like a well-loved woman.

He swept his tongue into her mouth as his hand slid under her shirt. He heard her breath catch in her throat. It was a sound that brought such a rush of emotion it frightened him.

Lord, she was sweet. He wanted to taste every inch of her. He wanted to teach her the pleasures of passion. And that wasn’t going to happen here, he thought, dragging himself up from the depths of his own desire.

He held Amy tight for a moment, coming to terms with his own runaway emotions. He kissed her hair and looked into her eyes, hazy with longing. “We can’t do this here.” His voice was tender, almost a murmur.

Amy didn’t respond immediately. She was lost in her newfound sexuality, struggling to comprehend Jake’s words, struggling with the knowledge that she hadn’t wanted to stop. She was touched by the tenderness in his voice, and was suddenly guilty about her motives. She’d selfishly encouraged something that, deep down inside, she’d known was doomed from the outset. It was physically impossible to lose your virginity in her car. Well, maybe not impossible, but definitely difficult. She owed him an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry we stopped, or are you sorry we started?”

“Both. And I’m not ready to elaborate on the fact that I’m