Free Anything but Mine by Linda Winfree

seeing Tick’s ex-girlfriend the yoga instructor do. The movement lifted her breasts higher beneath the thin cotton sweater. “What will you do?”
    Probably suffer unrequited lust even after a cold shower. He laid his fork across his plate. “Go to bed early, try to get some sleep. Pulled doubles the last three days, and I’m beat.”
    He rose, stacking her plate on top of his and grabbing the serving platter with the remains of the chicken. She reached for their glasses and the breadbasket. “Are you sure you don’t want help cleaning up?”
    With his hands full, he couldn’t tuck that errant wisp of chestnut hair behind her ear or stroke a comforting finger down her bruised face, as badly as he wanted to. “I’ve got it. Enjoy your shower.”
    She pushed the patio door open with her elbow. After setting the glasses and basket down, she glanced at him. “Um, do you mind if I use yours?”
    He shot a quick look at her. She’d always loved the openness of his semi-outdoor shower, one of the main reasons he’d bought the big cedar contemporary overlooking the Flint River. He’d loved the things they’d done in that glass cube, open to the stars and night air. “Sure. Go ahead.”
    “Thanks.” With an impish smile, she disappeared down the hall.
    Stanton rubbed a hand over his face. He needed to call Tick, find out what Nate had had to say. Maybe, just maybe, that would take his mind off the woman getting naked in his bathroom.

    Tick took the back steps two at a time. His stomach gnawed at his backbone and he still felt grimy and soiled after his little conversation with Nate. He flipped through his key ring and unlocked the back door, well aware Caitlin never left a door or window unlocked in the house. He felt like crap. But home? Coming home felt pretty darn good.
    The mail sat in a neat pile on the kitchen island and scents of spicy tomato sauce and melted cheese lingered in the air. Lasagna. Or Caitlin’s incredible spaghetti Bolognese. His stomach gnawed harder and his mouth watered.
    Caitlin’s laptop stood open on the dining room table, glossy crime scene photos lying amid scattered reports and a legal pad full of her neat handwriting. He tossed his keys on the island and picked up a photo, grimacing a little at the dead girl’s face. She was just a baby, not more than fourteen or fifteen.
    He dropped the photo. “Cait?”
    “I was wondering when you’d straggle in.” She emerged from their bedroom clad in a faded Quantico trainee shirt and brief gray gym shorts. A pair of his boot socks covered her feet and he grinned. Beautiful runner’s legs, but the coldest feet known to man. Married little more than a month and he was still getting used to those feet hitting his calves in the middle of the night. Still getting used to being a husband after years as a bachelor.
    Smiling, she went into his arms and he wrapped her close, kissing her. Tugging his mouth free, he buried his face against the sleek mass of her black hair.
    “Lord, I missed you.” He exhaled hard, the tension already draining out of his body. “It’s been a long day. Sorry I’m late.”
    “It’s okay. I held supper for you. It’s in the microwave.” She arched into him, arms twined around his neck. He trailed his mouth down to the hollow of her shoulder and she sighed. “You need to eat something. I’d lay money you skipped lunch.”
    “You’d be right.” He pulled the neckline of her T-shirt to one side, giving him greater access to her soft skin.
    “Tick?”
    He made a noncommittal sound in his throat.
    “You’re not the only one who’s late.”
    “Yeah?” He scraped his teeth lightly against her shoulder, the gnawing in his gut turning to a different type of hunger.
    “Mm-hmm.” She ran her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, caressing his spine. “Three days.”
    The words and her thinly veiled excitement penetrated the desire. Her period was late, but that wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like he could