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  His control broke, and he began thrusting deep and hard, over and over, and what had begun as simple pleasure became something more, something wrenching and powerful. Daisy clung to him because she could do nothing else, because with that one word she had demanded everything he could give her and could hold back none of herself. She arched in climax, her heels digging into his thighs, the shuddering starting deep and spreading out in convulsive waves. For a long moment she stopped breathing, stopped thinking, caught on a peak of sensation so sharp it blurred the world around her. Then it faded and slowly she went limp, muscle by muscle, legs and arms falling open and releasing him to move fast and strong in his own orgasm.

  His heavy weight crushed her into the mattress, but she couldn’t find either the strength or the will to protest. He was utterly limp, his heartbeat slamming against his rib cage, his breath rushing in and out of his heaving lungs. Maybe they dozed; time certainly seemed to disappear.

  After a while, groaning with the effort, he withdrew and moved off her to lie on his side and hold her close. Daisy buried her face against his throat, acutely aware of the wetness between her legs. This could be a disaster. But it didn’t feel like a disaster; it felt. . . right.

  Gently he stroked her. She tried to think of something to say, but there didn’t seem to be anything to say, nothing that needed saying. All she needed to do was come to terms with what lay between them, a sudden awareness that this was much more than an affair.

  It couldn’t be. Could it?

  “God, I’ve got to get back to the office,” he muttered. “I can’t believe I let myself get sidetracked like this.”

  “I’m sure five minutes one way or another won’t make much difference,” she consoled.

  He opened one eye and glared at her. “Five minutes? I beg your pardon. I’ve been better than five minutes since I was sixteen.”

  She twisted around to look at the clock on the bed-side table. The problem was, she didn’t know if they had dozed, or for how long. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Then I’m sure an hour one way or another—”

  “An hour! Shit!”

  He bolted out of bed and went into the bathroom. She heard the sound of water running, the toilet flushed, then he came back out and went to the foot of the bed, where he’d left his clothes on the floor. He looked down and froze.

  Alarmed by his expression, Daisy struggled up on her elbows.

  He looked up then, and in a very even tone said, “Your dog ate my shorts.”

  She tried not to laugh; she really did. She managed to hold it in for about one second; then giggles started shaking her like little earthquakes. Once one erupted, they immediately morphed into a belly laugh that rolled her onto her side, holding her stomach as if she could contain them that way.

  He bent down and picked up the puppy, holding him at eye level. It was impossible to deny Midas’s guilt, because shreds of the dark green boxers were hanging from his mouth. He seemed very happy about it, too, wagging his tail at a frantic beat, paddling his feet as he tried to get within licking distance.

  Jack said, “Fuzzbutt, you’re a pain in the ass.” But he said it in an almost crooning tone, and he cuddled the puppy to him as he removed the shreds from the little mouth.

  Daisy looked at the fuzzy puppy and the big, naked man holding him so gently, and she thought her heart would leap right out of her chest. She had already been halfway there, but in that moment she fell completely, irrevocably in love.

  No, this wasn’t an affair, at least not on her part. It was much, much more.

  He put Midas on the bed, leaving Daisy to deal with the puppy while he got dressed. As she fended off big feet and a madly licking tongue, Daisy watched the jeans slide up over his naked butt and had some very lascivious thoughts.

  When he was dressed, he leaned over her and kissed her, and the kiss became longer and deeper than either of them had intended. Spots of color burned high on his cheekbones when he pulled back, and his eyes were narrowed again. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered.

  “All I’m doing is lying here.” She caught Midas as he began pulling on the bedspread, told him no, and removed the fabric from his mouth.

  “That’s what I said. A naked woman and a fuzzy puppy: what more can a man want? Well, maybe a beer. And a good ball game on the tube. And—”

  She grabbed one of the pillows and threw it at him. “Go!”

  “I’m going. Remember, don’t open the door—”

  “—to anyone but you,” she finished.

  “I don’t know what time I’ll be back. There’s a Huddle House next door if you get hungry.” He scribbled some numbers on the notepad by the bed. “This is my cell number, the number of my office, and Todd’s numbers here and at home. Call any or all of them if you need anything.”

  “Why do you have Todd’s numbers?” she asked curiously.

  “I might have known you’d ask,” he muttered.

  “Well, why do you?”

  “Because he’s helping us locate Sykes. He has some good contacts we’re using.” He kissed her again, scratched Midas behind the ears, then was out the door and gone.

  Daisy climbed slowly out of bed, her legs protesting. Midas went over to examine the big wet spot on the bedspread, and she hastily grabbed him, setting him on the carpet. He followed her to the bathroom, nosily sniffing around as she washed off.

  Embarrassed by the thought of the motel maids finding the bedspread in that condition, Daisy industriously worked at the spot with a wet washcloth and a hand towel until she was certain nothing would show when the spot was dry.

  Her first wet spot, she thought, staring at the dark circle. She hoped it was the first of many, because she wanted Jack Russo to be the father of her children.

  It remained to be seen whether or not he wanted the same thing. He hadn’t run when her mother had made that pointed comment about the kind of mother-in-law she was, but then he wouldn’t, not with a murder investigation going on and her to protect. He wasn’t a man who shirked his responsibilities.

  She really should have made him stop, she thought as she dressed. She didn’t want him to marry her because she got pregnant; she wanted him to love her. This time it would probably be okay—the timing wasn’t right—but Mother Nature had a way of playing tricks and she wouldn’t breathe easy until she got her period.

  She sat down and looked around the motel room. As motel rooms went, she supposed, it was nice. It was larger than normal, maybe because it was one of the rooms for people with pets. There was a recliner for sitting, a round table with two chairs, and a tiny refrigerator with a four-cup coffeemaker sitting on top. The bathroom was functional but unremarkable.

  Now what?

  On impulse, she got out the phone book and looked up Sykes. She didn’t know this particular Sykes’s first name or where he lived, so there was no point in the exercise, but she looked at the list of Sykeses and thought about calling each one. She could say something like, “Mr. Sykes, this is Daisy Minor. I hear you’re trying to kill me.”

  Not a great idea. What if he had Caller ID? That would tell him where she was.

  She didn’t normally watch much television, but there was nothing else to do. Midas had decided to have another snooze; when he woke, she would carry him out again, but how much time would that occupy? She picked up the remote, settled in the recliner, and turned on the television.

  She didn’t like waiting and doing nothing. She didn’t like it at all.

  At least her family was out of reach. Daisy knew she would have been a nervous wreck if Jack hadn’t gotten them out of town. Her mother was sure to call this evening to reassure herself Daisy was all right, and she’d be worried when there was no answer. On the other hand, Jack seemed to think of everything, so he had probably given her mother his cell phone number or another way she could check.

  But what about Jack? She went cold. It was no secret they were involved, not after the way he had sat beside her in church. Wh