Free Out of the Shadows by Kay Hooper Page B

had their own pew."

"Not the atheists." Her brows rose. "Or had you forgotten that?"

He had. Ignoring her question, he asked one of his own. "How did you manage to get elected in this conservative town with that on your resume?"

Miranda shrugged. "Oddly enough, nobody asked. Are you here for a reason, Bishop, or just window shopping?"

"We need to talk."

"About the investigation?"

"No."

"Then," she said, "we don't need to talk."

"Miranda—"

Her voice still pleasant, she said, "I'm on my way back to the office. See you there."

For an instant, Bishop was tempted to grab her arm, to force her to talk to him here and now. He wanted to find out if he could still read her while he was touching her, but thought better of the idea. For one thing, Miranda was a black belt.

And she had a gun.

So he stood there and watched her walk a few yards down the sidewalk to where her Jeep was parked, and he didn't say another word.

But, for the first time in his life, Bishop faced the cold and certain realization that not everything carelessly broken could be repaired. Ever.
     
    *  *  *
    "If my mother finds out about this," Amy Fowler said with a giggle, "she'll skin me alive."

Steve Penman grinned at her. "Then let's make sure she doesn't find out. And make sure your dad doesn't find out either. He'd do more than skin me." He toyed with the top button of her pretty Sunday blouse while his other hand pulled the tail of his shirt from his pants. "We don't have much time, honey. Seth says his boss comes in sometimes after church and Sunday dinner."

Amy looked around at the dirty, greasy-smelling back room of Cobb's garage and stifled a sigh. It had seemed exciting at first, meeting her eighteen-year-old boyfriend in whatever odd place he or his friends could recommend for an hour or two of privacy, but after two months both the secrecy and the inevitably tacky surroundings were beginning to depress her.

"Steve, don't you think—"

He kissed her, cutting off the beginnings of a problem he didn't want to hear, much less deal with. Not today. Maybe tomorrow, or next week, but for now she was still fun and eager and willing to try things he'd only read about in the magazines hidden under his mattress.

She let him push her back on the cot and unbutton her blouse, and didn't object when he unfastened the front clasp of her otherwise prim white bra and pushed the cups aside. He lay half on top of her, his body hard from the rough season of football behind him and heating with a fever she recognized.

Amy closed her eyes and stroked the back of his neck, enjoying the sensations of his mouth on her, but it didn't last long enough for her to get anywhere near his level of arousal. It never did. Too quickly, he was pushing up her skirt and working her panties down her legs.

She tried to slow things, reaching for his fly but taking her time about it, sliding the zipper down and unfastening the snap, reaching inside. He was hard and hot, and she held him in her hand, using a gentle touch rather than the rougher one he preferred, because it excited her more. He was still new and strange to her, still a fascinating alien creature to be explored and savored—but he never seemed to understand that.

He groaned and wrapped his hand around hers, forcing her to hold him harder, rub him more roughly. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and shoved his pants down over his thighs.
Slow down!  she wanted to plead, but already he was kneeing her legs wide apart and preparing to mount her, muttering a few hoarse words that might have been encouragement or endearments or just raw want.

She thought he might forget, but at the last minute fumbled in his pocket for the rubber and managed to get it on before he plunged inside her. Amy gripped him hard with her legs and tried to slow him that way, knowing from experience that the friction would be pleasant even if not as wildly exciting for her as Steve seemed to find it. But she could tell from the look of