Intimate Knowledge Part 1 (Detectives & Desires) Page 4
I am only just aware of him moments before he blocks my movement. Resting his strong hands on the top rung of the railing, his resolute arms nearly encircle me. They support and enclose me without the constraint of touch as his voice caresses my ear with a gentle, yet firm command.
“Careful, Raisa, it is a very, long way down.”
I am still as I suddenly realize how little purchase I have on the slippery steel of the fragile, shaky barrier. Looking at that very, very long way down, I take a deep breath and shift my gaze to his bare feet just visible on the ground. They are planted slightly behind at either side of me, his long, muscled legs providing further steady support. I let out a gasp, noticing how my own high-heeled clad feet are balanced precariously on the lower rung. Using his feet as a guide, I obey his cautionary command and slowly, carefully disengage my heels from their unreliable perch and step back down to firm ground.
We both let out a slow release of breath. He is so close I can feel his body heat. He lets go of the railing and moves back slightly to give me more room. I resist the urge to mold my trembling body back into him, foregoing the respite of his fresh, musky fragrance and feel. He notices I am shaking and reassures me quietly, his arms encompassing me.
“You’re safe, cara. Relax. I have you.”
His firm, quiet tone brings my hammering heart and shallow breathing under some control. I release a long breath and a blunt statement.
“Jeez, that was really stupid of me.”
He gives a deep, low laugh that seems to reverberate from his body to mine. A creeping, slow heat starts to unfurl in my lower half.
“Thank you for saving me the trouble of pointing that out.” He says wryly. “Although I did speculate, for a moment, as to whether you had decided that rapid death by descent was preferable to slow death by pledgedom.”
I start to giggle, amused at how close he is to my previous thoughts. Only the giggles don’t stop and I know I am lapsing into hysteria. Trained and skilled in dealing with any number of dangerous situations, I am at a loss as how to deal with a simple, textbook reaction in myself. He takes me by the hand and leads me along the walkway to the enclosed balcony. There is a leather two-seater against the wall. Steadying me with a strong hold on my shoulders, he sits me in one of the corners. The feel and smell of soft, Italian leather engulfs me, echoing his reassurance and comfort.
The furnishings and scent of the room seem to reek of him and his commanding presence. Encouraging me to gulp down a number of swallows from a bottle of water, he kneels beside me, his hand caressing my nape and I feel the hysteria subside under his stabling influence. An overpowering sense of security surrounds me similar to the way I felt in his arms on the railing. It is a feeling that is strange, alien, to me. It unnerves me so much, I am driven by the urge to counter it with flippancy. I hold out the half-empty bottle of water.
“Screw this. Got anymore of that beer?”
He grins and then disappears out the door in the wall behind and shortly returns with two opened beers. It must be the entrance into the apartment. Handing me one, he sits on the arm on the other side of the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him. We drink in surprisingly, companionable silence for a few minutes and I marvel at how my irresponsible stupidity has been rewarded by entrance to the lion’s den far more quickly than anticipated. I angle my body to his and ask.
“How did you get there so fast?”
“I was watching. When you got too close to that shaky railing, I came over to warn you. It’s supposed to have a barrier in front. They’re fixing it tomorrow. Someone must have moved it. I was almost beside you when you stood on the railing.”
“I didn’t hear you. I guess because you’re barefoot.” I look at his feet and his gaze follows mine. They are olive skinned, tanned, long and tapering yet solid and masculine, matching the anatomy of his hands, one encircling the beer the other resting on one thigh. Still barefoot, he has otherwise deferred to Rosa’s wishes as he wears a dark green, open-necked t-shirt with his pale grey chinos. I lick my lips and take a sip of my cool beer. He is delicious.
“Possibly, but you were elsewhere. What were you up to?”
I give him a secret grin over my beer. “Believe it or not, I was thinking about the pledge challenge.” I let my libido return, more comfortable with its familiar feel. Even if it is disturbing, it is less unsettling than the potency of his comfort and security.
He grins back and asks in a slow, sardonic drawl. “Really?”
“Really.” I nod and take a sip of my beer. “I had an idea.” I start to pick at the label of the beer bottle. “You know that exhibit, right? You’ve been there. It’s not about hues and frills. It’s about kids suffering and their survival. That painting isn’t just art; it’s art therapy. It’s not just an expression by survivors, it’s what helped them survive.”
I look at him, feeling foolish, wondering where that outburst emerged from. I take my eyes from him and drop my head, grateful when a large chunk of hair falls free from my braid and covers one side of my face. It somehow becomes imperative to concentrate even more on removing the label from my beer bottle.
I push aside the thought that I know exactly where it comes from. I push away fleeting images, tortured memories and childish tears and laughter. For the second time in less than two hours, I think that maybe this assignment is a mistake. Lately my emotions are too raw, too out there. Ever since the gallery opening, I have felt unsettled, too many dangerous images from the past pushing through.
What used to be a simple masturbation fix has transformed into a primal ache and this quiet, intimate moment in this masculine, comforting room. All the raw emotions attached to the art exhibit and the elements of this case are becoming irrevocably entwined, and I fear that I am still susceptible to those dark, hidden yearnings.
“Well?”
I lift my head and look at him blankly.
“Your idea.”
I pick at the label again and shake my head. “It’s silly, really.”
“All creative ideas seem silly under scrutiny. It’s the psyche’s way of protecting you from the pain of rejection. Just spit it out.”
He looks at me encouragingly, his head tilted very slightly to one side. His gold-flecked, smoky orbs mesmerize me and I find myself telling him my ideas of the two trellises as skeletons of suffering and survival. On one structure, stark and raw representations of the various scenarios: barbed wire for refugee camps, guns and drugs for child soldiers, broken plates and dolls for domestic abuse. On the other, their own symbols of triumph: an open book, a well-made bed, a playground, a collage of texts, Facebook and cell images.
“Those images haven’t really become clear yet. I need to see the exhibit again. It’s such a short time, though and if the structures are unsafe…?”
“They’ll be safe by Saturday. They need to be for the unveiling on Sunday.”
“Yes, but I’d need to get near them to plan before that.”
“Maybe not.”
He stands and disappears back into the room beyond and comes out with a tablet. Moving the laptop off the desk, he sits in the swivel desk chair and brings over its companion from the corner. Setting up the tablet, he pats the seat of the chair and beckons with his hand. I sit and watch as his fingers move deftly over the keyboard and apps on the screen. I glance at the tablet now and then, as I study his beautiful profile and observe him as his eyes dart from the screen to the patio. In front of us, on the tablet, a 3D architectural drawing of the patio corner with the steel structures swiftly takes shape.
I take my eyes from the screen and let them rest once more on his purposeful features intent on the task. I look at him, and deep in my gut, I know it is with that same proprietary look he casts on me. I know it is time. I know what I should do. I know I should start my montage of movie projector protection.
But, I don’t. No, rather, I allow myself to look, to indulge in this foolish, treacherous moment instead.
Intim
ate Knowledge - End of Part 1
A note from Helen
Hi,
I hope you enjoyed this book. I love feedback from my readers and would appreciate it if you could take the time to rate it and write an honest review on Amazon. Just a few words really count!
Helen Karol x
If you would like an advanced complimentary copy of the next installment to read for review, email me at helen@helenkarolchoices.com and I will send you one. (Available to the first twenty readers to email me)
Scroll down to see some more of my current titles and excerpts from my two planned 2014 releases Haunted Spaces and A Calculated Choice.
Detectives & Desires Series. By Helen Karol
Detectives & Desires is my new erotic romance series. Each story centers on a detective, their cases and most importantly the passionate desires that bring them, eventually, to their HEA. The three detectives are Detective Raisa Gordon, a Boston 15th Precinct vice-cop, Detective Rick Andrews, a small town cop for the Lake Andrew’s Sheriff’s department, and Detective Luke Kincaid, Boston 15th Precinct homicide detective. The action takes place in Raisa’s and Luke’s Boston. Rick and Sara’s Lake Andrews. As well as in Leo’s native Italy. Although separate novels, the characters visit in each other’s stories and the plots entwine now and then. Each story is a trilogy told from the alternating POV’s of the two main characters. I will release the books in installments as I am writing them only a few installments ahead. I try not to make them too horribly cliffhanging, but it is inevitable to have teasers, as that is a big part of the fun of a series. I hope you will join me the world of Detective & Desires.
Intimate Knowledge Detective & Desires Series#1
A Fifty Shades and Because You Are Mine fan, but are ready to move on from reading about 20 something virgins and young tortured CEO’s? You will fall in love with this new series of a seasoned vice-cop and her obsessive younger lover.
How long can Detective Raisa Gordon resist, Leo Gold, her undercover target? It is one thing to imagine and explore all kinds of hot scenarios in the safe haven of your own head; it is quite another to be in the position of actually having to pay the piper. That is exactly the position Raisa finds herself in when her fantasies start materializing into reality everywhere she turns.
One of Gold’s operatives stumbled upon an encrypted file of letters she wrote years ago exploring her deepest darkest taboos. Now, Leo possesses intimate knowledge and is setting out to to satisfy her needs by enacting those taboos one by one. Will the FBI’s plan to use his passion for her to bust the entire Gold operation wide open succeed? Or will Raisa surrender to her treacherous desires?
This the first part in a series that will unfold over multiple volumes ranging from 10,000 to 20,000 words each. Intimate Knowledge is an erotic romance with explicit sexual content with elements of BDSM. It has a delectable slow build to consummation
Her Keeper Detective & Desires Series#2
The feud between Detective Rick Andrews and Sara Michaels is legendary and no one ever wants to stand in the line of fire when they go at it.
Rick can’t deny the chemistry between him and Sara. Hell, just the thought of her makes him hard. Her intelligence and her spirit intrigue him and, for some unfathomable reason, the need to protect her consumes much of his waking hours and a few of his dreams as well. But she’s too high maintenance. Especially as she holds a long time grudge and knows just how to push his buttons. No way does he want an argument with his woman every time he turns around, no matter how beautiful her face and adorable her ass.
Sara Michaels has never forgiven Rick Andrews for humiliating her during her freshman week in college. Now eight years later, their ongoing feud is reaching combustion level, in no small part because of the throbbing his angry, alpha male hotness creates between her thighs. If only he wouldn’t frame his advice in ‘do as I say’ commands, she might be inclined to listen now and then. His dominant attitude just makes her go for the knee-jerk response every time Only, now Sara has crossed the line and Rick is determined to use the power her transgression grants him to lay down the law in a way she can't escape.
This the first part in a series that will unfold over multiple volumes ranging from 10,000 to 20,000 words each. Her Keeper is an erotic romance with explicit sexual content with strong elements of BDSM. It has a hot cop (two actually), sexy frisking, spanking, cuffing, a crazy, hot proposition yet to come and two people who are stubbornly in love.
Haunted Spaces Detective & Desires Series#3
Excerpt
She is hauntingly lovely.
Luke Kincaid doesn’t often depart from the down to earth and straight and narrow – but she plucks at him and draws him from the mundane. Not that murder could ever be mundane, but the paperwork is another matter. She seems familiar, but he knows he’s never seen her before. Despite her beauty, nobody pays her any attention and she makes no claims on anyone in the bustling detective room. Here, tragedy is commonplace and victims invisible, so it is no big deal that no one appears to notice her.
Luke is pretty much entranced.
She doesn’t notice his looking. Her attention is fixed elsewhere. She is expectant, waiting, hovering. He’s seen that look before. His gut clenches because in this room that look never ends well. There is someone she is hoping to see, someone who may not want to see her or who is past that capability. He goes back to his paperwork.
Minutes pass and he looks up and she is still there. Time passes. He imagines it flitting around them in stop motion sequence from an indie movie or TV show. Everyone a moving, colored blur around the two of them; him intent at his desk looking across at her standing with that suspended tautness, waiting for the one she needs. Deep in the pit of his stomach, he wishes it was him just so he can erase that troubled look. Don’t engage he tells himself. Too late. Already done.
He pushes away from his desk and walks over. Her gaze never wavers; she doesn’t seem to notice his advance or she thinks he doesn’t notice her. He reaches her and stands beside her. He is too close; too much in her private space, but she stays put, no flinching or stepping back.
“Hey.” He asks in a soft drawl. “Is there something I can help you with?”
She starts as if his voice reverberates from a disembodied void, instead of oozing richly out of him like honey, a sound sexy enough on its own, but when it is supported by his 6’1” 200lbs of ripped, solid masculinity is just plain sinful. He is a man most women consider pretty fine. A bit rough around the edges maybe, but fine. She’s clearly not most women. She ignores him and then when he stays she turns and says.
“Oh, you mean me. You’re talking to me.” Neither sentence is a question; they are statements, incredulous ones. Like she is surprised he means her, as if she doesn’t expect to be noticed. Like his seeing her is out of the ordinary. It is, because he’s breaking protocol. You’re not supposed to engage with victims or suspects that you’re not directly attached to, and those are the only non-law enforcement personnel that ever enter this room.
“Yeah, gorgeous. I mean you.” He is already out of bounds, but he decides she’s needs shaking up. The honey drawled endearment will either arouse or incense her. Either way he reckons he’ll get to see those turquoise eyes catch fire. He’s wrong. They darken into deep, dark navy pools; it is the rosy, fleshy moistness of her parted lips that that starts the fire in him.
She is tiny; only comes to the middle of his chest. A hot rush of lust invades him, along with a desperate need to pick her right up off her feet, to draw every inch of her softness hard and fast into his firm body. To curl her securely next to his solid chest, cupping those lush buttocks tightly so that her hot pussy is flush against his hard arousal. He will take his time, nibbling, sucking and easing in and out of the voluptuous plumpness of those blush pink lips, as he slowly conquers that soft, disbelieving, little mouth. Then he will just as slowly conquer the rest of her, especially the wet folds of her lush, lowers lips. He imagines parting those, slipping
and thrusting his tongue full inside, sucking her clit and tasting her juices, just before he…
Get a grip, Kincaid.
He remembers where he is and is grudgingly grateful that he has only imagined the scene not enacted it. What’s the matter with him? He can’t remember ever getting this hot for a woman this fast. Except. Fuck! That’s why she looks familiar. They must be related. Now he takes a real good look at her, he sees the likeness is so marked, he feels like an idiot not to have seen it right away. It is the lighter hair and eye color that fooled him.
Luke can hardly remember a time when he didn’t lust after his training officer and ex-partner from vice, Raisa Gordon. From the first moment, he arrived from the Academy, that convoluted combination of badass and fragile beauty floored him. He’d given up on meeting a woman who affected him as strongly. He figured she had ruined him and just accepted it as an unavoidable fact of life, the same way he accepted the crimes he worked on each day.
He never acted on his feelings. She was thirteen years older than him and his superior while a rookie. They were colleagues, eventually partners and although she flirted now and then, she showed no signs of sharing his intensity. She made it know that she didn’t do relationships and never hooked up with anyone she might really like. He was glad when he was promoted to homicide and it took him away from her on a daily basis. There were other woman of course, but none that took. Certainly none who made him want to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off every time he saw her. None, that is, until today.