Free Lover Undercover by Samanthe Beck Page B

motive and opportunity.”
    She blinked, so stunned she hardly dared hope this particular nightmare might actually be over. “Are you going to arrest him?”
    “We’ll pick him up for questioning. In the meantime, if you could keep clear—?”
    “Not a problem. I don’t work again until tomorrow night. But what about the other dancers? Are they safe?”
    “They’re fine. We’ve never established a link between the dead men and any of the other dancers.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but held his tongue. Instead he picked up the remote control and tapped a button that she assumed stopped the cameras, then leaned back in his chair and looked at her. A strange awareness simmered in the depths of his dark eyes.
    Now her nerves rushed back, along with something else—something she didn’t want to think about. Restless, she straightened the side seams of her gray workout tights.
    “Thank you for your help, Stacy.” His expression, the timbre of his voice, triggered butterfly wings in her chest.
    “My pleasure.” Concerned by the weak, almost longing sound of her reply, which echoed the weak longing in her heart, she stood. Time to put some space between herself and Detective McCade.
    He rose as well, and unnerved her by taking her hand. “It’s been my pleasure, actually.”
    Her mind flashed back through a montage of erotic memories: Trevor watching her onstage the first night she’d danced, giving him a lap dance…the private performance. “Not entirely,” she admitted, as heat snuck into her cheeks.
    She stole a glance from beneath her lashes. The raw desire she saw in his expression warmed her face even more.
    “You’re a beautiful, intriguing mystery,” he said quietly. “Scrupulously honest, but clearly hiding something. An experienced exotic dancer who somehow manages to project a sweet innocence. Nothing fits.”
    “I’m not trying—”
    “I know you’re not. That’s the hell of it. But I’ve always loved a mystery, and damn if I can resist you.” In hypnotic slow motion, he tilted her face toward his and lowered his mouth, stopping with his lips a mere hairbreadth from hers. Her eyelids drooped. She inhaled in anticipation.
    He hovered there, his warm breath feathering over her lips, while his big, strong hands moved. One cupped her neck, and the other slid down her back with an intimacy that made all the calculated eroticism she’d attempted at Deuces pale in comparison, and left her hungry for more. Desperate to satisfy the craving, she gave a tiny warning cry, then surged to her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.
    Such a simple thing, really—just lips against lips—but oh, she felt the magical electricity of it all the way to her toes. Rather than sate her hunger, the gentle kiss was like a taste of chocolate to a starving woman. She wanted, needed, couldn’t deny herself more. Her fingers threaded through his hair and held on, as if she possessed the strength to keep him in place if he decided to move. But he didn’t. He stayed absolutely still while she brushed her tingling mouth over his upper lip, with its fascinating center dip and the tiny, vulnerable little scar riding the outer edge.
    When she strayed to his lower lip, captured it between hers, and slowly nibbled the irresistible curve, he groaned, low and deep. The hand at the small of her back slid lower, cupped her backside, and hauled her against him. Her breasts crushed against the warm, solid wall of his chest, and all the barriers—her workout bra, her thin T-shirt, his dress shirt—might as well have evaporated. She parted her thighs, so her soft, yielding parts aligned intimately with the hard ridge straining the fly of his gray trousers.
    A subtle tightening of his hand on her butt lifted her higher. The blunt head of his erection found and pressed a pleasure button she barely knew she possessed.
    She practically crawled up his body, curling her arm around his neck, wrapping her leg around