Together, they moved deeper into the house, their steps stirring motes of dust into the thin shafts of light filtering through the grimy windows. Each room they checked yielded the same result—stripped bare. No furniture, no papers, no hidden compartments or signs of recent life. Only shadows and silence.
“This can’t be it,” Josephine whispered, her voice nearly swallowed by the empty air. She turned slowly in the center of the big room they’d started in, the key suddenly cold against her skin. “There has to be something.”
The lieutenant moved with purpose, knocking along the walls, running his hands along the stone of the fireplace. Jaw tight, his frustration simmered just beneath the surface. “I think someone made damn sure there was nothing left to find.”
All the work today. All for nothing. Tears stung Josephine’s eyes, threatening to unleash a torrent of emotions. She came to a stop in front of the mirror, the tarnished surface distorting her image. The lieutenant stood behind her, his reflection a mere shadow.
“I wasted so much of your time.” A heavy ache wrapped around her heart. “I’m so sorry.”
He stepped forward into the light, his gaze locking with hers. “I’m not.”
Chapter Nineteen
Isaac took anotherstep toward her, eyes on the clouded glass.
A tightness wrapped around his heart as disappointment etched Miss Montclair’s face. She was upset. Not for the lack of answers. Upset for him, forhisdisappointment—spurred by a genuine care for him. The warmth of her concern settled in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time—perhaps ever.
He swallowed, the sound echoing through the room. He should turn away. She deserved better than stolen moments and second thoughts.
And he…
He didn’t deserve her at all.
Yet he wanted her more than anything. More than whatever that blasted key unlocked. More than finding Thorne.
As the thought materialized, it unlocked something inside him. All afternoon, he’d wrestled with the urge to touch her again. To pull her into his arms. He’d fought a multitude of battles in his head, rationalizing all the ways she didn’t—couldn’t—fit into his life, how she deserved so much more than he could offer. He’d reasoned, resisted, reminded himself who he was.
To hell with reason.
Another step. She stood still, her eyes unblinking in the mirror’s depths. He eased closer, until the warmth of her scent curled around him. If he stretched his arm just right, he would be able to touch her. Could he? If he did, the line between duty and desire would blur for good.
As if in a trance, he reached forward, curled one finger until it brushed the inside of her wrist. A shock coursed through him at the simple contact, the sharp current of heat sending his pulse jumping. He eased his hand back, but she twisted her arm to follow his movement, bumping against his knuckles. The barely-there touch shattered his restraint and he closed the space between them.
She started to turn, but he shook his head, holding her gaze in the mirror. He positioned himself directly behind her, his hands hovering on either side of her waist. Her breath came out in a shudder as he closed his hands around her hips. With the searing contact, his last chance to walk away evaporated.
He leaned in and nuzzled behind her ear. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”
His teeth closed on her earlobe and her needy gasp sent a thrill coursing straight to his groin. Both hands skimmed up her sides until the heavy weight of her breasts rested on them. With a soft groan, he cupped them, never taking his eyes off hers as her nipples hardened beneath his palms, straining against the thin fabric. Emboldened, he unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, baring the silky skin at her neck. Another button and the swells of her breasts teased him, promising him so much more. He shifted his weight, his erection already thick and hard. One more button.
He growled his appreciation when the blouse parted, baring her to him. Even in the shadows, the dusky pink of her nipples pebbled beneath his gaze. Her lips parted when he rolled one between his fingers, and his body answered with a surge of possessive hunger. With slow precision, he traced the outline of the key where it rested in the valley between her breasts.
Her chest rose and fell beneath his touch and he fanned his fingers out, running them in a whisper-soft circle around each perfect globe. The need to turn her became an overwhelming urge, to claim each nipple with his mouth. Gritting his teeth, he resisted, instead closinghis hands over them.
Her body melted into his hands, her back arching as if pulled by some magnetic force as the soft curve of her breasts yielded to his touch. He groaned. So damn perfect. A frantic pulse raced beneath his hands, each beat drumming against his palm. He kneaded, firm and demanding, and the air around them crackled with tension, the weight of her desire matching his own. With a shaky gasp, her breath caught as he let his hands fall away and reached for the hem of her skirt.
Muslin twisted in his hands as he inched it up, baring the softness he yearned to claim. His knuckles grazed the smooth skin of her thigh when he pulled the fabric higher. No drawers. God help him. With a shuddering breath, he continued his path up, inch by agonizing inch. The soft brush of curls stilled him, the heat of her searing through him like flame, and he paused for the briefest moment.
“Tell me to stop.”
Her gaze found his in the mirror, steady and unflinching. “Don’t stop.”
The simple words, spoken with conviction, snapped his controlled movement. His palm settled over her center, her gasp lost beneath the roar in his ears. She was his. Not in a way that could be measured or explained—not yet. That clarity could come later. For now, all that mattered was the undeniable truth of it, pulsing between them like a shared heartbeat.
His finger dipped between her folds, and he groaned at the slick warmth that met his touch. Her hips shifted as he circled gently, then pressed deeper. She rewarded him with an aching cry that sent his cock throbbing.
“Look at us,” he rasped against her ear, his voice frayed and low.
Her gaze locked on the mirror. Her blouse hung open, her flushed chest rising and falling with every breath, his hand hidden beneath her skirt, working her with relentless purpose. While she staredthere, he found the entrance to her womanhood, slipped his finger inside. Herlegs trembled as he curled it, stroking her from the inside.
