Mine to Hold (Mine #3)

Mine to Hold (Mine #3) Page 9

He lifted her up against that door frame. “Wrap your legs around me.”

She did.

“Hold tight.”

She did.

And he thrust into her as hard and deep as he could go.

Just as Noah had known…the feel of her sensual grip pushed him right over the edge. There was no holding back this time. No slow build. No sensual foreplay.

He thrust, and he took.

And he wanted everything that Claire had to give.

She was arching against him. Squeezing him with her tight little sheath. She was so tight it was almost as if she were a virgin.

She’s mine.

He lifted her up, easily controlling the motions of her body. Then he pulled her back down as he thrust again. He made sure his cock slid over her clit, and Claire gasped.

Then she moaned.

He did that same move again and again. He was so wild for her, so desperate. He pinned her to the door. Thrust deep. Loved it when her nails scraped over his skin.

He put his mouth on her throat. He could feel the frantic beat of her pulse beneath his lips. Her scent surrounded him.

When she came, it was his name that she cried out.

He erupted right after her.

Noah’s breath sawed out of his lungs as the release pounded through him. It seemed to never end, and her sex was squeezing his cock and damn near making his eyes roll back into his head.

Finally, finally, his heart rate started to slow down. He was still holding her against the door, and he hoped he hadn’t scared her. He’d be better next time. He’d be—

“I like that,” Claire whispered. “Can we do it again?”

Hell, yes.

He kissed her.

Noah glanced at the clock. “Come on, Claire, we need to go. The jet’s waiting on us.” The sooner he got her back to New York, the better he would feel.

The bathroom door opened. “I’m ready.” She was wearing all black—the woman just looked good in black. Black pants. Black top. Those sexy shoes he loved.

Get her on the plane, then fuck her. Those were his immediate priorities.

He grabbed her bag. “Let’s go.”

She nodded and hurried to keep up with him. He didn’t want to tell her why they needed to rush. Claire would just worry. She’d been in the bathroom when he got the phone call that tipped him off about the visitors coming their way, so she didn’t know what was happening.

I’ll tell her…later.

When he got her in the elevator, he pulled Claire into his arms. He kissed her long and deep. The woman still tasted like candy to him.

But he forced himself to pull back a few seconds later. The doors slid open. He locked his fingers with hers. Claire. He finally had her just where he needed her to be.

They stepped into the lobby. Hurried toward the hotel’s main doors.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a couple talking with Chuck. The woman was small, attractive, with light brown skin and a haircut that skimmed her jaw. A blond male was at her side. Tall. Wide shoulders.

Something about them put Noah on alert.

His fingers tightened around Claire’s. They were almost to the doors.

“Mr. York?” The voice calling to him belonged to the blond male.

Noah kept walking.

Claire stopped.

Dammit. When she stopped, he had to stop, too.

“Mr. York? I’m Detective Lane Scott. I’ve got some questions for you.”

Claire still wasn’t moving. Because of that, Noah had to turn and fully face the cops—he was sure the woman was a cop, too.

“What’s happening?” Claire asked as she edged closer to Noah.

Then the man and woman were right before them. The guy’s gaze slid to Claire. “You’re Claire Kramer.”

Claire nodded.

The woman with Lane Scott asked, “Want to tell us where you were last night?”

Noah stepped in front of Claire. “What’s this about?”

The woman’s dark eyes cut his way. “I’m Detective Gwen Lazlo. Lane and I work the D.C. homicide division.”

“Good to know,” Noah murmured. “But we’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Senator Colby Harrison was murdered last night,” Gwen said. When she made this reveal, she’d made a point of maneuvering to the side so that she had a line-of-sight with Claire.

“What?” Claire gasped.

“Um…” That non-committal sound came from Lane. “Someone shot the guy—right in the head—last night between one and three a.m.” Lane paused as his gaze swept over Claire. “Where were you then, Ms. Kramer?”

Noah turned back to Claire. She’d gone ashen. Her eyes were too wide.

“In the…in the head?” Claire whispered.

Just like her parents.

Because he’d read the autopsy reports on them. He’d needed to read them, had to learn as much as he could, after he’d met Claire.

“It’s all right,” Noah told her and he made sure that his voice was calm. “Look at me, Claire. Look at me.”

Her gaze met his.

“It’s all right,” he repeated. They had to be very careful here. If Claire hadn’t left last night, his staff would have been able to vouch for her.

I didn’t count on her leaving.

That had sure wrecked his plans.

Claire nodded slowly.

“I don’t know that it is all right,” Lane drawled.

Noah glanced back at him. The blond was scratching his jaw.

“I mean, a man is dead. Half of his head was blown away and—”

Noah heard Claire’s sharp inhalation of breath. His jaw clenched. “Be very careful how you proceed, Detective,” Noah warned him. “You don’t want to make any enemies today.”

Lane’s eyes widened. “You threatening me?”

Noah had to laugh. “Threats are useless. Why bother with them? I make promises.”

Lane glanced at his partner.

“Ms. Kramer hasn’t answered our question,” Gwen said, voice tight. “We need to know her whereabouts. It’s come to our attention that she and the victim had an…altercation last night.”

“Bullshit,” Noah snapped before Claire could speak. “I’m the one who had an altercation with the drunken idiot. He came into my hotel and insulted my guest, so I threw his ass out.” He flashed his teeth in a hard grin. “End of altercation.”

“But Ms. Kramer—” Gwen pressed.

“I didn’t kill him,” Claire said. She eased to Noah’s side. Stared at the detective. “That’s what you really want to know, isn’t it? If I killed him?” Claire shook her head. “I didn’t.”

Gwen pursed her lips as she assessed Claire. “A woman fitting your description was seen at the senator’s hotel, right around the time of his death. Actually, the senator’s manager, Vincent Finch, didn’t just say she fit your description. He’s sure that she was you.”

“He’s wrong,” Noah said flatly. “And there are plenty of blonde’s in this city.”

“But there aren’t that many who would probably take a savage satisfaction in blowing out Senator Harrison’s brains,” Gwen said. Her voice was low, and her eyes were still on Claire. “After what happened to you, I could see where you’d want payback. Your boyfriend killed your parents. Maybe you just got around to evening up that score.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Claire said, voice soft.

“Why don’t you come down to the station and answer a few questions for us?” Lane asked her, and the jerk was trying for a solicitous tone. The man must think Noah was an idiot.

You aren’t getting Claire any place near your station.

“We have a plane to catch,” Noah said.

Lane shook his head. “We have an active murder investigation, you can’t just leave—”

“I can. We will.” Noah cocked his head to the right. “We’ll be in New York for the next few days. If you want to reach me or Claire, you can contact my attorney.” He rattled off the name and number of his lawyer. The lawyer in question was a lady who would chew up and spit out anyone who ever came after Noah.

Then he rolled back his shoulders in what he hoped appeared to be a careless shrug. “Now, I’m sure you have plenty of work to do. After all, there’s a killer out there for you to find.”

He took Claire’s elbow and walked with her toward the doors.

“Ms. Kramer?” Gwen called out.

And, of course, Claire glanced back.

Noah sighed.

“I’m curious…are you glad he’s dead? Because, in your place, I would be.”

Noah had to give Gwen credit. The woman was very skilled at the good cop role.

“Yes,” Claire whispered. “I’m glad.” Then she walked through the door. Noah made sure that she didn’t have the chance to stop again.

“Well, well…” Lane exhaled as Noah York and Claire Kramer left the hotel. “That went pretty much as I’d thought.”

Yeah, it had gone nowhere.

Gwen rubbed the back of her neck. Tension was thick there, knotting the muscles. She’d been awake for almost twenty hours, and she needed to crash.

Unfortunately, every time she closed her eyes, she saw Colby Harrison’s body.

“You think she did it?” Lane asked as his arm brushed against hers.

Gwen looked over at him. He’d been her partner for a year.

Her lover for six months.

“If I’d been her, I would’ve probably killed him,” Lane added. “I mean, shit, you read the file on her. The fellow’s son went full-on stalker over the woman. He had a gun to her head when the cops arrived. Everyone there knew just what he’d done, but then the Senator started spinning that bull about Claire being the mastermind—”

Gwen’s sigh cut through his words. “Men. You see a pretty face, and you forget the danger.”

He blinked at her. Then he leaned in close. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “You’re the only pretty face I see.”

Gwen wouldn’t let her reaction to his words show. She’d learned to be very careful with Lane. With everyone. “I’m saying I think there is more to Claire Kramer than meets the eye.”

Lane ran a hand through his hair, tousling the short locks. “Despite what he said, I’m betting that Noah York is going to put an army of lawyers in our path, not just one lady, if we go after Claire Kramer again.”

Lawyers didn’t scare Gwen. “Then we just have to be sure that when we go after her, we have enough evidence to knock our way right through that army.” And she knew just where they had to start with that evidence. “Let’s go get Vincent Finch. I want him brought into the station.” She had plenty of other questions to ask the guy.

If Claire Kramer had killed the senator, Gwen wasn’t about to give the woman a free pass. She might feel bad for what Claire had been through—

But you don’t get to kill in my town.

The plane was in the air. Noah exhaled slowly. He’d wanted to get away before the cops stopped them, but…well, we’re still clear.

Claire was beside him. She wasn’t looking at him, though. Her gaze was locked on the window.

The pilot was up front. They were alone in the back. Secure. So he waited, knowing that sooner or later, Claire would turn to him.

Five minutes later, she did.

“Do you think I killed him?” Claire asked as her delicate eyebrows arched.

Noah shook his head.

“Why not?” She seemed confused. “I don’t have an alibi. I don’t—”

“You misunderstand me, Claire.” He caught her chin. For this part, he needed her to look directly into his eyes. “I don’t care if you killed him.”

Her lips parted.

“But I will make sure that no matter what else happens, those cops stay away from you.”

“I didn’t do it!”

He kept staring into her eyes. “Were you at his hotel?” Say no. It would be so much easier to cover up if she just—

“I was.” Her gaze lowered. Her long lashes shielded her eyes. “I asked the bellman at our hotel where the senator had gone. He-he’d been there when the taxi driver got the destination.” She eased out a soft sigh. “I thought about talking to the senator alone. Asking him to pl-please stop. To just leave me alone.”

Anger surged within him. She shouldn’t beg.

Then Claire’s lashes lifted. Something new was in her eyes. A spark. Anger of her own. “Then I realized he’d just like it if I went to him, pleading. He wasn’t going to stop harassing me. There was no point in me talking to him. The bastard was going to hound me for the rest of his life.” Her breath eased out slowly. “I’m glad he’s dead. That should make me feel bad, but it doesn’t.”

It didn’t make Noah feel bad. During his life, he’d seen plenty of death. Before he’d started York Towers, he’d been a soldier, one too good at killing. He’d gotten a spot on an elite military team.

He and Trace Weston had run that team. Their job had been to rescue high-level prisoners who’d been captured by U.S. enemies. Collateral damage had been a way of life.

His fingers stroked down her neck.

Collateral damage.

After he’d ended his last tour, Noah had kept working with Trace. They’d gone independent. There were still individuals who’d needed their help. Powerful men and women who’d gotten caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Some of their clients had been extremely grateful.