Enjoying the play, he slid a finger gently over her gorgeous mouth and whispered, “How about this . . .”
The kiss, their first, was all he hoped it would be. She rose up slightly to better fit herself against him, and her sweet taste fired through him like the afterburn of a SpaceX Falcon rocket. He gathered her closer, she came willingly, and the kiss deepened. Her tongue played shyly against his, then gained a sensual boldness that made him want more. He’d been wanting to feel her beautiful body against him, and it didn’t disappoint.
He trailed slow, wandering kisses down her trembling throat, then over the bare skin above the bodice of her dress. She moaned softly.
“Been wanting to hear that sound since we met,” he confessed.
Jasmine wondered how she was going to reconstitute herself from the warm, lust-filled puddle he’d turned her into. She’d known simply by looking at him that he’d be a good kisser, but experiencing it was a whole ’nother thing. His big hand slowly sliding up and down the line of her body from her waist to her back bared by her sundress made her senses simmer. When he lowered his mouth to one of the straps bisecting her shoulder and gently nipped the skin there, she dissolved even further. He slid the strap aside and brushed his beguiling lips against the curve. “Such beautiful skin.”
She loved her body, and to be with a man who seemed intent on worshipping her when society deemed her and women of her size unworthy, she had no words. So she gave him more kisses and ran her hands over his lean, muscled arms to learn their shape and imprint the feel of his obsidian skin against her own. Kissing his throat, she breathed in the faint scent of his cologne, which was as dark toned and spicy as the man wearing it. He cupped her breast, toying scandalously with the nipple, and she whimpered sensually. Lowering his head, he bit her gently through her dress and bra. Hot, feverish want stacked up like erotic storm clouds between her thighs.
The loud, piercing sound of an air horn made them jump apart. Out on the water was a boat with a man watching them through binoculars. He waved their way with the red horn in his free hand. Torr cursed. Jasmine too.
“Good thing I don’t have a weapon,” Torr voiced furiously. “I’d blow his ass right out of the water.”
Jasmine glared at the voyeur. “Me too. Come on. Let’s go inside. Maybe his boat will get swamped by a freighter.” She rose to her feet and left the porch.
Torr shot the man an angry middle finger and followed her inside.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jasmine continued silently cursing the man who’d interrupted them as Torr entered behind her. He walked up and wrapped his arms around her waist and eased her back against him. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“I know.”
She turned within the circle of his arms and gazed up at his lean, dark face. “What are we doing here, Torr the Brave? Are you really interested, or is this just a short dalliance for you?”
“I’m very interested. Too old for short dalliances, and I like being around a lady who uses words like dalliance.”
She smiled and then nodded. “Okay. We’ll see where this goes because I’m interested too.”
“Good to know. How about we share our search findings, because if I start kissing you again, I may not stop until Christmas.”
“And I might be down with that, so what did you find?”
They sat. “Both the murdered Canadian and Mr. Vernon’s partner, Boyd, had done time for forgery.”
That surprised her. “I wonder if Uncle Elliot knows that. I assume he does. So does that mean the items I’ve purchased through them are fakes too? That’s not good news.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Jasmine thought that over for a few moments and mentally cataloged the things she’d gotten through their company. She wondered about the authenticity of the maps she’d provided her baller customer. “Do you think they were going to forge copies of the book from Timbuktu?”
“Possibly. Most of the books are in an old version of Arabic.”
“And Detroit has the largest population of people from the Middle East in the country. If the book wound up here, did it need translating, or was Boyd looking for someone to copy the text?”
Torr shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“And what is your friend Gabriel’s role? Who does he represent?”
“My guess is the smuggling ring, but in what capacity is the question.”
“Truth be told, we have zero answers on that part of the equation. Zip. But I checked Vital Statistics and used my account from one of the genealogy sites. Uncle Elliot was born in Black Bass, Alabama, which is not on any online maps, by the way. It’s a two-hour drive south of Birmingham.”
“How’d you find that out if it’s not on the map?”
“Called the main library in Birmingham and talked to one of their reference librarians. She said it’s a teeny-tiny town, but it does exist. She scanned me a page from an old Triple-A map they had at the desk.”
He laughed softly.
“When in need, call your local library.” And she smiled. “Uncle Elliot has no living relatives, so not sure he and his wife would head there, but Aunt Loretta has a ton of family in Chicago and St. Louis. Maybe they decided to hole up with some of her people.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“Like I said, we librarians love a good search.” Her phone sounded. Fishing it out of her bag, she saw her dad’s name on the caller ID. “Hey, Daddy. What’s up?” Listening to her father, Jasmine suspected her face must have given her away because Torr watched her with concern.
“Okay, Daddy. Thanks. Let me know if you hear anything else.” She ended the call. “Somebody attacked Aunt Loretta’s pastor. Beat him up pretty bad. He told the detectives it was a man with an accent and two others. They wanted information on the Vernons’ location. When he told them he didn’t know, they started in on him, threatened to torch the church and leave him inside to burn alive, so he told them what he knew.”
Torr’s jaw tightened. “Which was what?”
“He told the detectives at the hospital he’d gotten a text from Aunt Loretta because she wanted someone to know where they were. They’re driving to Alabama, but she didn’t specify where.” She thought about the search she’d done on Uncle Elliot. Torr apparently was thinking the same.
“I’ll put my money on Black Bass.”
She agreed. “Daddy said the Detroit police will reach out to the Alabama state police, but he doubts they’ll give it much priority. Uncle Elliot’s not wanted for murder or anything serious like that. Just for questioning.”
“But at least he’s in their system. You and I will be flying south in the morning.”
That surprised her.
“I want this mess to be over, and we need to grab the Vernons before Gabriel and his people do, otherwise that pastor may be preaching at their funeral. You’ll need to change clothes?”
“Yes, and pack an overnight bag. Not sure how long we’ll be gone.”
“Let me get the ball rolling with my crew, and we’ll make a run to your place. I have a spare bedroom you can use tonight.” He added, “As much as I’d love to have you in my bed, I’d for sure be making love to you until sunrise, then wake up and make love to you again, and probably spend the rest of the day in bed listening to your sighs. Can’t have that. At least not yet. We’ve got work to do.”