Nobody Does It Better

Chapter Thirteen

Lucas woke at daybreak, after maybe an hour of sleep. What had he been thinking , kissing Detective June? The answer was that he hadn't ---been thinking. He'd been too busy feeling. Too busy coping with the volatile emotions June provoked. Too busy touching the supple body he'd already memorized, a body so vibrant with feminine energy he'd wanted to bury himself deep and feel her around him. It'd been a helluva long night.

It was going to be a helluva longer day.

He flung back the covers, sat up, and put his feet on the cold, wooden floor. Damn, it's freezing in here. Outside, the wind moaned, it's north eastern force scraping nearby towering tree branches against the roof. March had come in like a lion. Roaring with blustery strength.

Naked and sporting a morning hard-on, he got out of bed and padded barefoot toward the bathroom. After taking a leak, he turned on the shower and waited for the water to go from cold to hot before stepping under the warm spray. He lathered and rinsed his hair, then soaped his body, his hand lingering over his erection.

Flashes of June zipped through his mind. The way she had looked up at him, flushed, aroused, and ready to give herself to him.

Damn, why hadn't he just taken what she offered? God knows he'd wanted her, wanted her so badly that even now, thinking about it made him painfully hard.

Lucas circled his penis, closed his eyes, and thought about screwing June. As he jerked off, he imagined what it would feel like to be buried deep inside her. Within a couple of minutes, he came.

Taking deep, shuddering breaths, he pressed his forehead against the tiled shower wall. Why was he having sexual fantasies about June? In the eight months since they'd first met, they had been at each other's throats at every encounter. Had never interacted outside of work. Not even a phone call. Never would he have ever pictured himself jerking off to the thought of June. But the more he had gotten to know her, the more sexual fantasies he had had of her.

That doesn't mean you like her. You want her, maybe. But you don't like her.

Lucas hurried through his shower, then returned to his bedroom and dressed quickly in dark blue jeans, a white collared polo shirt and white sneakers. Once in the kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee and checked the time. Eight-forty. He had instructed Stanley to skip making him breakfast today and inform everyone who was part of the investigation team to meet at his study at exactly nine o'clock. Everyone would be on time, if they knew what was good for them. Lucas hated tardiness. It was one of his pet peeves. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he walked out onto the back porch and breathed in the fresh, frigid morning air.

I can get through this morning just fine. I don't care if she's still here.

All he had to do was keep his priorities straight, rein in his libido, and his hard won peace would return. He could do that. He would do that.

Cursing himself for allowing his thoughts of June to get such a powerful hold on him, Lucas went back inside, poured himself a cup of black coffee, and slowly downed it, all the while checking the time.

Draining the last of his coffee, he rose and moved to the sink. The hot water sputtered along with his frustrated thoughts.

His attraction to June was dangerous and inconvenient, a cursed itch he couldn't scratch. Which of course made him itch more. He hadn't been so hip-deep in poison ivy since his first year in university.

Scowling, Lucas rinsed his cup and wished that June was the radical, man bashing woman he'd first thought.

Thrusting away from the sink, he headed for the study. At exactly eight fifty-five o'clock, Lucas sat at his desk. June was the first to arrive at Lucas's door, only a couple of seconds before Agent Susan Keziah.