“I’ll just stay here,” she murmured.
“No chance, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, his voice deep, husky and so very close to her ear. She felt his arms under her legs, around her back. Then he hoisted her from the front seat and pulled her out into the humid night. His heated curse blistered her ears and the last remnants of the dream faded. He was in pain.
Her eyes snapped open. “What are you doing? Put me down. You’re going to open up your wound again.”
“I’m fine. I’m not going to let you down now that you’ve put me to all this trouble.” His face was set in a grimace, his mouth a hard line. “Just relax.” He turned and headed for the shabby-looking motel that loomed about twenty feet in front of them. A porch spanned the perimeter and a flashing neon sign proudly announced Last Stop Inn.
“You don’t have to do this. I can walk,” she insisted. She caught a glimpse over his shoulder at the open car door and her heart did a dangerous flip.
As if Dylan read her thoughts, he said, “Thomas is already sound asleep inside. I took care of him first, and now I’m taking care of you.”
As usual.
She went still, noticing the tightness around his mouth, the slightly glazed look in his eyes. The curse he’d muttered when he’d pulled her from the car rang in her ears. It must be killing him to carry her like this, but still, he didn’t put her down.
At last they reached the room and Dylan deposited her on the bed. She swayed from fatigue and he caught her easily with his good arm.
“In bed,” he told her, yanking back the sheets on the double bed and steering her down to the edge. “We’ve got a few hours until daybreak and I want you rested.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
She eyed him, stiffening as she met his gaze. “It works both ways, you know. You worry about me, so I can worry about you.” She reached up and touched his shoulder. “We should change those bandages.”
“Later. I’m going to the laundry room. The clerk said we have to get our own clean sheets and towels because the maid was out sick today, and since this place is so small, there was no replacement for her.”
“He couldn’t fold towels himself?”
“There’s an LSU game on. He was glued to the TV set. I’ll be back.”
Dylan disappeared and Julie found herself alone in the motel room with a sleeping Thomas, who snored soundly in the portable crib Dylan must have got from the clerk. She ran a hand over the fluffy pillow. As inviting as it was, the doorway off to one side of the room called her name even louder.
A few minutes later, she flicked on the bathroom light, opened the shower doors and switched the warm water on. She thought briefly about her lack of towels, then opted to put her clothes back on wet if Dylan didn’t return on time. She pulled off her T-shirt and pushed down her jeans. Minutes later, she stepped beneath the warm spray.
Heaven. She’d found pure heaven.
Julie relished the temporary reprieve and let her questions slip away along with the tension that held her muscles tight. She didn’t think of Sebastian or the man who’d knifed Dylan or anything save one very sexy dream man.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DYLAN DIDN’T mean to look. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have. No use looking at what you couldn’t have. But things had changed over the past twenty-four hours. He was through denying himself, and he was through letting her deny him.
When she pushed open the shower door and one slender arm shot out to grope for a towel, his groin tightened.
When she discovered the rack was still empty, the shapely silhouette behind the glass stepped into full view, and a flame lit in Dylan’s belly.
His grip tightened on the towel in his hands. Her towel. All he’d meant to do was bring in one of the clean linens he’d picked up in the registration office, along with an ice bucket and a coupon for a free stack of pancakes at Dotties-the café just across the street.
He should leave. He knew that. He’d had every intention of draping the towel on the rack while she finished her shower. In and out, without her being the wiser. Now was not the time for a confrontation. The kiss had been enough progress for tonight.
As well as an eye-opening experience.
He had to go slow with her. He hadn’t made love to a woman in over a year and a half, since her disappearance. He’d faced his feelings for Julie then and realized that he would never, ever find a woman to take her place. He didn’t want to find one. He’d only wanted her.
Then and now.
One touch of her lips and he’d lost control. He didn’t want to do that. He couldn’t afford to scare her off when she just seemed to be coming around.
She’d felt the desire. The heat.
Slow. That’s what he told himself. He was going to take things slow and easy.
If only his body would go along with the plan. Instead, his blood raced ninety miles to nothing through his system. And there was nothing easy about the hard response of his body at the sight of her.
Water beaded across her creamy skin, slid seductively down to drip on the carpet. She passed her hands over her face and through her wet hair before opening her eyes.
A dozen emotions flashed across her face. Surprise, anger, fear and something else. The very same emotion that blazed across his nerve endings and made him keep looking when he knew he should turn away.
Hunger.
He recognized it, and his erection grew even harder.
She might have thought their kiss a mistake. Maybe she still did, but at that moment, more than anything, she wanted a taste of him. He saw it in her sudden swallow, the way her lips parted and her tongue darted out to sweep across the fullness of her bottom lip.
“What are you doing in here?” The words came out on a rush of breath, and her breasts quivered with the effort. Dylan’s gaze dropped, devoured the full, rounded globes tipped with cinnamon-colored nipples that pebbled at a glance and seemed to beg his attention.
Attention he gladly gave. He couldn’t help himself. He’d spent a lifetime waiting for this woman.
He caressed her with his eyes, wishing like anything it was his tongue circling the distended tips, gathering the drops of water from the puckered flesh. He wanted a taste of her more than he’d ever wanted anything before.
He took a step inside the bathroom, his feet moving almost of their own volition. What was he doing? He should toss her the towel, turn and walk out. He would have, if she hadn’t been staring at him with those wide, hungry eyes-eyes that called him forward even as common sense pulled him back.
Yes, he should leave.
He didn’t.
“I...” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as if she’d run out of words. She, who could talk up a storm when the notion hit her. She’d talked his ear off on more than one occasion, confided in him, trusted him.
Friends.
The notion sent a burst of determination through him and he took another step toward her.
“You,” he murmured, his voice raw, echoing the strange ache gripping his body, “are all wet.” Another step and his body blazed hotter, his gaze lingering on her mouth. The most kissable mouth he’d ever seen.
She turned a deep shade of crimson, as if realizing her naked state. Dylan had the incredible urge to reach out, pull her into his arms and shield her, but he didn’t.
Instead, he let his gaze sweep the length of her, lingering on the inviting patch of gold curls at the apex of her thighs. His smile faltered and a shudder went through him.
She was beautiful, and she was right here. An arm’s length away. And she wanted him. He saw the desire hot in her gaze, even brighter than when she’d kissed him earlier that evening.
She’d kissed him, and not some friendly peck on the cheek. If he’d had any doubts about Julie seeing him as a man, they’d been extinguished the minute she’d pressed her lips to his, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was alive and at her fingertips.
&nbs
p; As if she feared he might disappear and she might lose that one moment forever.
But Dylan had no intention of disappearing. He was here and he was staying here, and they had plenty of time. He didn’t want to screw this up by rushing into something she still might not be ready for. He wouldn’t push her, and so he tossed her the towel.
The action gave him one last glimpse of those perfect, cinnamon-tipped breasts as she moved to catch it. Then he turned and retreated into the bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind him.
Slow.
He drew in a deep breath and fought to calm down his body. Checking on Thomas, who slept soundly in his portable crib, Dylan ran a finger over the child’s chubby cheek and smiled. Then he walked over to the dresser, retrieved the small bottle of whiskey he’d picked up at the liquor store and made his way back to the bed. Sinking down on the edge, he fixed his gaze on the bathroom door.
Minutes passed. He heard her moving around, but still the door didn’t open. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle and downed a huge swallow, grimacing at the heat that scorched his throat.
By the time he took the next swig, the liquid had lost its bite. He drank another swallow, wishing like anything he had a bottle of painkillers. It was just a flesh wound, but it was deep. He didn’t normally drink. Not like this. But a liquor store had been easier to find than a pharmacy, and there’d be neither in this town. No fast-food restaurants, or pizza parlors. No round-the-clock convenience store. Nothing that stayed open past five in the afternoon.
The whiskey would do the trick. Help him sleep a little and maybe forget the woman in the bathroom. Yes, it was better if he simply put her out of his mind for now.
Two more swallows and he stretched back out on the bed, not bothering to climb beneath the covers. While he’d taken every precaution to make sure that no one had followed them—he’d backtracked on the highway twice before circling back around and exiting for the country road that had led here.
No one had followed. He felt it deep in his bones, his gut. A calm that seeped through and lulled his eyes shut when he normally would have been wired. He, Julie and Thomas were safe. For now.
But tomorrow...
They would be at Hattie’s, and Dylan would be prepared for whatever happened.
He closed his eyes. Through a sleepy fog, he heard the door opening. Soft footsteps padded across the floor. He willed his eyes to open, wanting one more glimpse of her before he gave in to the exhaustion tugging at his muscles, but the effort was too much. He was so tired, his head heavy, and it was all he could do just to keep his ears alert. The sounds came from far away...the soft rustle of fabric, then the creak of floorboards.
He waited to hear the squeaking of bedsprings or the whisper of sheets, but she must have decided to keep her distance.
The knowledge sang through his head, filling him with a rush of satisfaction. Maybe he had, indeed, succeeded in getting Julie to see him as more than a best buddy.
He wanted to open his eyes, to catch one more glimpse of her to fuel his dreams before he gave in to the warmth seeping through him. Not that he had to. She was there in his subconscious—creamy, satiny skin, cinnamon-tipped nipples that throbbed and puckered at the flick of his tongue, and the softest, most yielding mouth he’d ever tasted. She hovered over him, a sultry smile on her face as she reached out.
“Dylan?” He heard the soft murmur of his name. It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard the desperation and frustration that he himself was feeling in that one word. It was a question, an invitation, a plea...a very real plea that echoed in his head.
And the dream that followed seemed just as real, and very pleasant. Nothing like the violent dreams he’d grown accustomed to after years with the Dallas PD. Instead, he felt her hands, the brush of her skin, her warmth...
In fact, he could almost believe it wasn’t a dream at all, but real. As real as the pulsing length of his erection, which begged for satisfaction. For her.
Then again, if it had been real, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to touch her. Not yet. He was trying to give her some time to come to terms with her newfound awareness of him.
But in his dream he touched her freely, boldly, leaving not an inch of her unexplored. He sank inside her, felt her tighten around him, draw him deeper.
In his dream Julie became one with him.
The trouble was, a dream wasn’t enough. Dylan wanted more.
* * *
THE SOFT CRY pushed past the sleepy fog holding Dylan hostage and his eyes snapped open. He blinked several times before his vision focused on the numbers glaring in red neon from the bedside table. He felt as if he’d been sleeping forever when, in reality, it was just two hours later.
Another cry and his gaze shifted to the baby lying on his back in his bed next to Dylan. Thomas waved a fist before putting his fingers in his mouth and sucking.
A soft sigh drifted across the room and Dylan turned to see the woman curled up in the chair, the nightstand lamp bathing her in a pale-yellow glow that made her complexion look warmer, more golden than he remembered. With her arms wrapped about her, feet tucked up beneath the edges of an oversize T-shirt, she looked so small. So fragile.
She wasn’t. She was a strong woman. She’d lived on the run—alone and pregnant, then with a small child—and she’d survived.
Admiration welled inside him, along with the need to hold her, touch her, kiss her...slow.
Another cry and his attention shifted back to Thomas.
“You hungry, little fella?”
The baby waved his fist wildly and gurgled and Dylan smiled. Thomas had Sebastian’s dark hair, but that’s where the resemblance ended. His eyes were wide and bright blue and warm—just like his mother’s. And when he smiled he had the faintest dimples, just like Julie.
“Come on, fella,” Dylan said as he gathered the baby close and reached over for the clean bottle and can of formula on the bedside table. Quickly he opened the can and filled the bottle. At least it would be room temperature. Cradling the baby in his arms, he settled back against the headboard, knees bent, feet flat on the bed, and slid the nipple into Thomas’s eager mouth.
The baby sucked wildly, waving his fists a few minutes more before settling into Dylan’s arms.
Dylan had always liked children. His partner for five years back in Dallas had had four of them, and Dylan had spent many Sundays at Dave’s house. Wrestling with his eight-year-old. Tickling his five-year-old. Reading stories to the three-year-old. Rocking the six-month-old. But he’d never felt the warmth that filled him at this moment.
There was just something about the way Thomas clung to one of Dylan’s fingers, his other chubby fist tucked beneath his chin as he sucked his bottle. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut once again.
“He likes you.”
Julie’s voice drew his attention and Dylan lifted his head to find her watching him.
“Of course he does.” He winked and fingered the bottle. “I’ve got the goods.”
“No, he really likes you. He doesn’t let just anyone hold him.” She cleared her throat, as if the thought had stirred a lump. “He used to let Hattie hold him.” She swallowed again and licked her lips. “He’s comfortable with you,” she finally said.
“He’s a great kid. You’re lucky.”
“I am.” A light shone in her eyes. “In more ways than one.” The room was quiet, the only sound that of cold air rushing from the air conditioner. “You’re a good friend to me, Dylan. I’m so sorry you were hurt tonight.”
Friend. The word echoed through his head, stirring his irritation.
“We’ve already been over that. It’s nothing.” He settled a soundly sleeping Thomas in his crib and tucked a blanket around him before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His gaze locked with Julie’s. “I don’t want your gratitude, Julie. That’s the last thing I want.” He stood and took a step toward her. “I want more from you than that.”
“Don’t.”
She shook her head. “I know what you’re going to say.”
Another step. “I want you.”
“You don’t.” She shook her head and turned toward the window. “I mean, you do, but it’s only because I’m a woman. I could be any woman, and you could be any man.”
“Is that what you really think?”
He watched the indecision play across her face before she nodded. “It’s true.”
He felt a surge of anger because he didn’t want to be any man to Julie. He wanted to be her man.
“So any woman would make me this hard?” His question drew her attention and she lowered her gaze, obviously noting the bulge of his erection.
Something flickered in her gaze and she swallowed before managing a nod. “I—I guess so.”
He reached out then, trailing his fingers down her collarbone, over the soft cotton of her T-shirt to where her nipples formed tight little buds beneath the material. Her breath caught, but she didn’t shrink away from him, and Dylan knew that, as surprised as she was, she was just as excited.
He knew it, but he wanted her to admit it.
“And any man would make your nipples this hard?” He fingered one ripe tip.
“Y-yes,” she managed on a sharp intake of breath.
“And what about goose bumps?” He touched her shoulder, trailed his fingers down her arm until flesh met flesh and her skin prickled. “Would any man do this to you?”
“I, um,” she licked her lips. “I—I think so.”
“And what about the heat, darlin’?” His fingertip dipped below the hem of her T-shirt and touched the triangle of satin. She drew in a sharp breath, her gaze never wavering from his. “Would any man make you this hot?” He dipped past the elastic of her panties and touched the slick folds between her legs. “This wet?”
“I...” She struggled for a breath. “I—I don’t know.”
“Then let’s see what we can do about making up your mind.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE SHOULD STOP. She needed to stop.
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