Before he could check himself, he pressed his lips to hers and her whisper-soft moan sent bolts of energy careening through him.
She kissed him back, then again. Her kisses were soft and delicate. In that moment, he became addicted to her touch. To the way she could silence his demons and break down his walls with such little effort. He couldn’t control his feelings, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Not having control infuriated the hell out of him, but he couldn’t fight it anymore. He had to have her.
He kissed her again. He loved that she’d worn her hair up, and how the tendrils framed her pretty face.
“I’m so fucking angry,” she whispered. “All the damn time.”
That, he could relate to.
The door opened. “Oh, sorry,” said a woman.
“Room’s all yours,” Stryker said as he led Emerson out of the restroom.
She released his hand. “We havegotto stop kissing.”
“Not gonna happen,” he murmured.
The sadness in her eyes was replaced with a spark of joy.
Mission accomplished.
They re-entered the ballroom, which was filled to capacity. Having Emerson by his side affected him in a myriad of ways. She was close, but not close enough. He wanted to stroke her back or hold her hand. He spotted a few clients and acknowledged them with a smile or a nod, but he didn’t stop to chat. Emerson was the only person he wanted to talk to. The one person he needed by his side.
After sitting down, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Their entrées were delivered and conversations continued around the table, the chatter of the guests filling the room with a cacophony. But Emerson was doing less eating and more studying of the guests. She leaned close, brushed her sultry mouth against his ear, and whispered, “The Wedding Gown Killer could be anywhere, including here.”
That simple caress of her lips against his skin, coupled with her intimate voice, had him fighting against the desire. But it had taken hold and he couldn’t stop it if he tried.
When he regarded her, the look in her eyes told him that he had to have her. “Doubtful, but not impossible.”
“I hate to impose, but I need to go back into your medieval torture chamber and view the club surveillance,” she whispered. “I know you’re busy—”
“I’ll give you the club code and you can review it during the day. Just lock the front door when you’re there alone.”
Her eyes grew large. “Oh, I don’t know if—”
He couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I’m messing with you. You don’t have to go down there by yourself.” He checked his schedule on his phone. “I’m available tonight and tomorrow after work.”
“Thank you.”
A woman stopped by their table. “Hey, Stryker.”
She bent down and her breasts bulged against her lowcut gown, leaving little to his imagination. He had no idea who she was. “How’s it goin’?”
She stared at him. “We met at your club a while back.”
That didn’t help jog his memory, so he pressed on. “Are you here to honor a fallen officer?”
“Oh, sure. I’m here with someone who knows someone, or something. You’re looking good.”
“This is Detective Easton,” Stryker said.
The woman glanced at Emerson, then glued her attention back on Stryker. “Hey, you heading to your club after?”
“I’ve got plans.”
“Maybe another time.” She smiled.
