His kiss wasn't what she'd expected. She wasn't entirely sure what she had expected, but it wasn't this. There was a tenderness in his touch that was more than just passion, more than just desire. His lips burned heat through her heart, her soul, and sent common sense flying. All she could do, all she wantedto do, was respond.
He whispered her name, his breath warm across her skin, then wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. She could feel the strength of his arousal, feel the wild beat of his heart. Knew they were an echo of her own. She touched his face, his neck, then ran her hand down to his hip. Lord help her, she wanted him, as she'd wanted no other—right here, right now on the balcony. No matter how dangerous that might be or how much she might regret it later. Seize the moment, enjoy the danger, Helen had often preached. But until this moment, she'd never truly understood what Helen had meant. His lips left hers and moved to her neck, branding her skin with his kisses. She sighed and slipped her hand from his hip, down the outside of his jeans until she touched the hard length of him. She caressed him, teased him through the material, until she felt him quiver with need. She moved her hand away, slipping it inside his shirt, reveling in the hard, flat planes of his chest and stomach. He groaned softly, then his lips seized hers again, and he kissed her urgently. He pushed up her sweater, thrust a hand under her bra, catching her nipple, teasing it, teasing her. Heat pulsed through her, and deep down the ache increased. God, it felt so good...
Downstairs, a door slammed and voices rose. She froze. He pulled away, his breathing harsh and fast, staring past her, his body tense as he held her close. Footsteps clattered on concrete, moving away. A man and a woman, from their voices. Another voice broke the silence, calling them in an authoritative tone. A cop, she thought, and hoped Doyle was right—that the shadows would indeed hide them. She doubted the police would believe they were just an oversexed couple who couldn't wait to get home. Especially seeing they couldn't exactly explain how they got up here without admitting they'd been near Rachel Grant's.
After five minutes or so, doors slammed and a car started up. Doyle relaxed and glanced down at her, a chagrined look touching his features. "Sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen."
She studied him for a moment. "Liar."
A smile touched his lips. "While I don't mind making love outdoors, believe me, I'm not an exhibitionist. Especially when cops are among those who could spot us."
With his dark hair tumbling across his forehead and his smile crinkling the corners of his blue eyes, he looked so darned sexy she just wanted to kiss him again. She pushed away instead. Now that the heat between them had died a little, common sense was returning. She wasn't an exhibitionist either, but somewhere in the last few moments, both of them had almost become just that. Thank God the owners of the house had come out and stopped them. She thrust a hand through her hair and rolled onto her back. Lord, what on earth had she been thinking? While there was no denying her attraction to this man, she knew if she took it too much further, she'd end up getting hurt. Not only was he a total stranger, he was more than certainly a thief and an adventurer. Visions of him snapping the vampire's neck flashed through her mind, and her breath caught. And yet, deep down, she knew he wasn't a killer. Yes, he'd killed to protect her, but it wasn't something he'd enjoyed, of that she was certain.
What she wasn't so certain of was whether she could trust him—not with her life, but with her heart. She very much suspected the answer was no. Or was that merely cowardice speaking?
He touched her face, gently running a finger down to her lips. She resisted the urge to kiss his fingertips and moved her face away from the warmth of his touch. "This is neither the time nor the place, and I think we both realize that."
"But the minutes did pass by rather nicely, didn't they?" His voice was little more than a throaty growl and sent shivers of warmth running down her spine. "And you and I know it won't end here."
She glanced at him, more than a little scared by his words. Because deep down she knew what he said was true. As much as she might deny it, as much as common sense told her to go no further, she knew what had began here they would finish.
But what would happen afterwards? Surely a fire so quickly ignited would just as quickly be doused. It wouldn't last. Couldn't last.
Have fun and the future be damned, Helen would have said. Only she'd never been like Helen, as much as she'd tried. She couldn't disconnect her emotions from sex, couldn't have one without the other.
And the very fact that she was even thinking about such things when the man in question was very much a stranger scared the hell out of her.
"I can't play this game," she murmured, looking away again. "I just can't." He touched her chin, gently bringing her gaze to his. "I never said it was a game, Kirby."
"But what else could it be? Once this case is solved, you'll be heading home, back to America, won't you?" He didn't disagree, just watched her with that all-too-knowing gaze of his. She pulled her chin from his grip. "You don't really want someone like me."
"You have no idea what I want."
Her gaze flashed to his. "That's right," she said, an odd surge of anger rushing through her, constricting her voice. "I don't. I know nothing about you, because you won't tell me. You want me to trust you, and yet you won't offer me the same."
"I have my reasons—"
"Yeah, well, so have I. Now, let's get the hell off this balcony and out of here." Before she did something stupid—like give in to the desire to touch him again.
He studied her a second longer, then nodded. "Stay here." On hands and knees he moved back to the window. Pulling the sliver of metal from his pocket, he thrust it up between the windows, wriggling it around for several seconds. Then, as easy as that, he opened the window.
"Are you sure there are no alarms?" Surely it couldn't be that easy. Surely people wealthy enough to own a terrace in this part of Carlton would be wise enough to put in a security system.
There's an alarm on the house two doors down from this one, and on the one three doors past Rachel Grant's. But there's nothing on the rest, which is why I retreated this way."
"Oh." He had to be a thief. Normal people didn't notice things like that. She certainly hadn't.
He climbed in through the window, then looked out. "You coming?" She followed him through and looked around. She was oddly relieved to see it wasn't a bedroom, but some sort of sitting room. Antique looking furniture filled every corner, making the place look too crowded, too formal, for her liking.
"And mine," he said, catching her hand in his. "Come on, let's get out of here."
His fingers were warm against hers, the palms callused. Not what she'd expected the hands of a thief to be. "Won't the police question us when we leave?"
'They won't even see us if we do so quietly. We'll probably have to abandon the car for the moment, though."
"I don't think walking is a good idea." Especially if someone kept sending monsters after her.
He squeezed her fingers, then released them, working his magic on the deadlock barring their exit through the front door. He had it open in a minute flat.