She tilts her head to one side.
“You’re leaving?”
There’s an invitation in those simple words I’d love to take her up on, but I’m determined to do this right instead of rushing. There’s too much at stake.
I reach out to tuck a strand of the unruly hair, she’s been trying to blow from her face, behind her ear and run the back of my fingers along her jaw. I note how her lips part and a small puff of air escapes when I catch her chin in my hand.
“I’m not a great cook and my place is nowhere near as nice as yours, but I’d like to return the favor next time.”
“Next time?”
I recognize the flash of uncertainty in her eyes. I’m sure mine show the same. This is new, and had I been ten years younger, I might’ve pushed to end the night in a different way, but age has taught me to savor each moment.
Like this one, as I bend down until my lips hover over her mouth, my eyes unshielded and locked on hers.
“Next time,” I confirm softly, right before I brush her lips with mine.
The first taste of her is like a jolt to the system and suddenly my hold on her chin is not enough for the power of what was intended to be an innocent kiss. The next moment my arms are locked around her body, anchoring it to mine. Then she slides hers around my neck, restless fingers exploring my skin as her mouth opens under mine, and I’m lost.
She’s bold and my caution is instantly forgotten as her tongue tangles with mine. I turn her so her back is against the counter and mold my body to her front, feeling every soft swell and sloping valley, as I’m sure she can feel every ridge and plane of mine. My hand finds the edge of her shirt and slips underneath, eager to feel the heat of her skin.
Beau’s soft whine followed by a head bump to my leg interrupts us, and I reluctantly lift my mouth.
“Wow,” she mouths, her lips swollen and eyes bright. “Some kiss.” Her hands slide down from my shoulders to rest on my chest, where my heart is beating a mile a minute.
“Mmm,” is all I can muster, momentarily out of breath.
She drops her hands and turns her attention to the dog.
“You need to go out?”
I have no choice but to let her go as Beau’s tail starts thumping against my leg.
“Merry?’ She turns at the sound of my voice. “Great kiss,” I continue. “I’m going to want more of that next time.”
A grin splits her face. “Hell yeah.”
Chapter 9
Meredith
“Casey Shea is here.”
I look up from my desk where I’ve been catching up on reports and following up on lab results this morning since about six. Nothing yet on the body parts.
I didn’t sleep much, most of my night was spent rolling around my bed, trying to alleviate the ache Jay left me with yesterday. The orgasm I gave myself barely took the edge off. I already knew there was attraction, but last night confirmed we had chemistry as well. Blistering chemistry.
That had been unexpected. That first tentative brush of lips, a spark igniting a burn so hot I would’ve taken him down to the kitchen floor if the damn dog hadn’t chosen that moment to make his presence known. Not even the chilly night I took him out in, to do his business after Jay drove off, was able to put out the smolder.
“Thanks, Janey. Can you show her in?”
The woman who walks in a few moments later is not at all what I’d imagined. With dirty blonde hair and a fresh, pretty, girl-next-door appearance, she looks at least a decade too young to carry the credentials she does. The disarming smile she aims at me only enhances that first impression.
I get up from my chair and extend my hand across my messy desk. “Dr. Shea, thank you so much for taking the time.”
“Please,” she says, grabbing my hand confidently. “I think we can do away with that doctor-business. Call me Casey, and it’s my pleasure.”
“Oh good.” I return her smile. “I suck at formalities. I’m Meredith. Why don’t you have a seat? Can I get you something? Coffee?”
“Yes. I’d kill for a coffee. I left home at the butt crack of dawn and was hoping I could grab a coffee on my transfer in Denver but the plane was stuck on the tarmac for almost an hour and by the time we made our way to the terminal, I had barely enough time to get to the next gate.”
“You know what? Why don’t we step out for a quick lunch? Unless you don’t have time?”
She waves her hand, brushing off my concern.
“No commitments until tomorrow. Today is mine,” she says, getting up. “Or rather, yours.”
I grab my bag and follow her outside after letting Janey know where we’ll be.
“The place I have in mind is only a few blocks, do you mind walking?”
She shakes her head. “I’d prefer it. My ass is numb from sitting for hours.”
Casey Shea may be a bit younger in years, but as it turns out she’s my kind of people.
Ten minutes later we walk up to the 11th Street Station, which is basically a parking lot with different food trucks surrounded by cool outdoor seating areas in the middle of downtown Durango.
“This is perfect,” she says when I snag us a free table.
We talk a little during lunch but I save the details of the case until after we’re done eating.
“God, I feel so much better now.” Casey leans back in her chair and plays a drumbeat on her belly. Then she turns serious. “Now, fill me in on your case.”
I take a sip of my coffee and launch into my description of the discovered remains. Casey stops me occasionally, seeking clarification on details or needing more information.
“Are you sure the larvae you found were all the same? Because it’s not unusual to find different insect larvae on a body, each at their own place in the cycle. That might account for the variance in maturity.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure these are all blowfly larvae. I also collected some eggs and a single pupa, but entomology is not my field, so I’m hoping you could have a look.”
She gets up immediately and we make our way back to the office.
“Two different rates of development I could see if—like you mentioned—the remains had been frozen at some point mid-cycle,” she informs me as we’re walking. “Most larvae eventually will die at freezing temperatures. It all depends on how long. What really throws me is the presence of all three cycles—eggs, larvae, and pupae.”
Suddenly Casey doesn’t come across as young anymore. Her entire demeanor changes and I can tell she’s passionate about her work. She’d be a great teacher; she thinks out loud as she processes information and I could see students learning more just by listening to her than from a textbook.
“I’m afraid my lab is painfully outdated and small,” I inform her, as I lead her into the building. “And poorly outfitted.”
She looks around when I open the door.
“You’re not kidding,” she mutters, as she inspects my equipment.
I don a pair of gloves and open the small cooler, which is kept at the same temperature as the much larger version in the morgue, to take out the individual petri dishes. In the meantime, Casey fitted herself with gloves as well and lines up the samples on the table in front of her, the date and case number written on each one facing her.