First Star I See Tonight (Chicago Stars #8) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,54
wooden stair treads. The creepy shadows, the darkness, the isolation . . . It was deliciously sinister. She felt as if she’d slipped into one of the mysteries she’d devoured as a kid. Piper Dove and the Secret of the Lighthouse Murders.
She reached another tiny landing, this one with a round porthole. Still no light visible from the big lens above. She flipped off her flashlight to gaze through the porthole out toward the lake, but the fog was too thick to see anything.
She heard a noise below.
The click of a door opening. The stealthy sound of a foot hitting the bottom tread.
The lighthouse murderer had followed her here.
She knew his identity. He knew she knew his identity. He couldn’t afford to let her leave here alive.
No one to help.
Only herself to depend on.
Alone in a deserted lighthouse with a demented villain who had killed . . . and intended to kill again.
Life didn’t get any better than this!
She flattened herself into the corner, not making a sound, the dead flashlight hanging at her side. He moved with the stealth of a panther. But then, he would.
His footsteps came closer. Closer. Closer still.
He hit the landing.
She sprang out. Shrieked. “Yeeeeeeeeeeoooooooo!”
He yelped. Dropped his flashlight. Crashed back against the wall.
He was actually clutching his chest. As she turned on her own flashlight, she realized she’d perhaps gone a wee bit too far. “Um . . . Hey, what’s up?” she said.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled.
“Just . . . having some fun witcha. I might have gotten a little carried away.”
A low growl rumbled in his throat. He lunged for her. Caught her by the shoulders. Gave her a hard shake. And then he kissed her. Again.
She felt his anger in the force of his lips, the coiled tension in his body. He dragged her against him, making her seem small and defenseless, even though she was neither.
“I have no sexual interest in you. None. Zip. Zero.”
She’d see about that.
She dropped her own flashlight and pressed against him.
He was already hard.
He wasn’t the only one who loved a challenge, and instead of withdrawing, she looped her arms around his neck. Cooper Graham, you are so full of crap. She tilted her head. Parted her lips. He thought he was so tough. Lord and master over all women. Well, not this woman. She slipped off one flip-flop and stepped up on his shoe to make herself taller and deepen their kiss. Making certain he got the point.
Which he did. His lips softened, opened. Their tongues met. She plowed her fingers into his hair. His big hands cupped her bottom. She wrapped her other leg around his as the warmth of his broad palms spread through the thin cotton pajama fabric to her skin. How do you like me now?
Very much, it seemed. Their tongues battled. And . . .
She was melting inside. Melting and burning all at the same time. Her knees grew soggy, forcing her back to arch, ringing alarm clocks of urgency inside her. Buzzing, chiming, flashing alarms of urgency.
She was burning from the inside out. His big, athletic hands lifted her off the floor. Braced her against the wall as if she weighed nothing at all. Their kiss turned into a wild thing all its own. Her hands were under his T-shirt, her fingers sinking into the hard flesh of his back.
He pulled away abruptly. Grabbed her by the shoulder and directed her ahead of him down the stairs. They emerged into the light of the hallway. She spun toward him. Opened her mouth to speak.
“Shut up,” he said before she could utter a word. “I don’t like this any better than you.”
It was the best thing he could have said. They were no longer Piper and Coop. They were simply two bodies in need of release. Depersonalized. Sex at its most primitive.
They were in his bedroom. He made a dash for his duffel. Fumbled around inside it. She could have sworn his hands were shaking, but she was pulling her Bears T-shirt over her head, and that blocked her view. She stood, bare-breasted, in only her pajama bottoms, as he peeled out of his clothes, and, oh, but he was a glorious sight to behold. Fierce muscle and supple tendons, tanned skin and pale scars. She wanted to bite every one of them, but she needed to feel anonymous, and she flipped off the overhead light, sealing them in the darkness.