Deliver Me from Temptation

by Tes Hilaire

  “Fucking hell!” The man swore, and counterattacked by closing that distance more. His mouth clamped down on hers in a punishing kiss, the taste of copper coating the line of her clamped lips.

  Good. She hurt him. Split his lip.

  She didn’t know what possessed her to open her mouth, perhaps it was the shock of drawing first blood in this warped reality, perhaps it was simply the shock of warm lips against her own in the cold landscape of her nightmare, whatever. She did. And it took her assailant less than a split second to take advantage of her weakness.

  The kiss deepened. Liquid heat stroked past her parted lips, branding a path of flame across her tongue that challenged her to deny him. The fact that Jessica found herself unsure she really wanted to was highly alarming, until she realized she could work this to her advantage. She kissed him back, her legs no longer trying to strike but opening to link around his own. Bodies arched, hips twisted as they played for supremacy of the kiss and volleyed for position on the bed. And then just like that, it changed, their battle for dominance turned to something else. Something more about desire than about gaining the advantage.

  Of course, perhaps that was just because it was hard to fight someone who’d given over all control.

  He rolled, pulling her over him, his hands stroking down over her body, the touch soft, though not tentative. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered, his hands continuing on his trail of worship down her body.

  He was worshipping her?

  That truly clued her that she was not in a nightmare, but for another glorious ten seconds she ignored that thought. Worse, she moaned as his hand passed over the side of her breast, her body all but crying with need to follow the retreating heat of his palm.

  “Ah, fuck.” His hands fisted around her hips. She sucked in a breath as he used his grip to move her to exactly where he wanted her…and exactly where she wanted to be. She arched her back, searching for the angle that would allow her to get the most sensation as she rubbed her aching center along the hard length pressing against her. Damn it had been a long time. And hell if she could remember ever aching like this.

  “Jessica.” Her name was accompanied by another caress, this one more firm, more solid as he slid a hand back up her tank top to cup one of her breasts that were all but begging for his attention. It felt good, too good. And okay, whoa, dream lover knew her name. How the hell did he know her name?

  Jessica gasped, blinking as reality intruded. The change of position had also allowed for a change in illumination, her captor no longer a hovering shadow above her, but a very real man beneath her. A man she knew.

  “Logan?” she gasped, staring back into his heated gaze. And wasn’t this a total WTF moment rolled up into one hell of an awwwkwaaard as the reality of their position hit home. They both breathed heavily, his one hand cupping her breast, the other snugged against her buttocks, holding her tight against his pelvis. Her own hands held tight to his biceps as if she’d guided said hands there.

  He didn’t respond—though he did release her breast.

  “Crap!” She thrust herself off him and landed with an inelegant plop on the mattress beside him. Trying to scramble farther away, she bumped her back into the headboard.

  Whoa, they’d really traveled on that bed.

  She pulled her legs back. “I’m not going to ask how…”

  He stood abruptly, bouncing her a bit on the bed as his weight shifted and then left the mattress. She barely noticed as her eyes were stuck on his chest. Ripped. There was no other word. There was not an ounce of body fat on the man. And his abs? They rippled and dipped enticingly, drawing her attention to how his low-slung jeans seemed to hug not only the tight contours of his trim hips but, something else. Something that obviously had enjoyed their make-out session as much as—she closed her eyes, banging her head against the headboard a couple times. Yeah, no reason to complete that sentence. It was easy to see how this had happened. Deprived woman plus hot man equaled…

  “Fuck.” She banged her head one more time then took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It was time to face reality, whatever the hell it was.

  “Sorry…I didn’t mean.” He fisted his hand, dropping it back to his side. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered, unsure whether it was even true. She certainly wasn’t thinking clearly, not if she was plastering herself against a near stranger. A nearly naked stranger. Who also happened to be tied to her case—however remote that tie might be.

  Um, can you say compromised, Jess?

  An awkward pall of silence descended upon the room as she tried really hard to keep her mind on why the best kiss she ever had was not something she dare repeat, but damn if he didn’t keep distracting her.

  He moved across the carpet, grabbing a T-shirt that had been folded in half and draped over the back of a desk chair. Even after he pulled it on she had a hard time dragging her thoughts back, the image of his muscular torso burned into the back of her retinas.

  Did they really make men like him?

  Guess so. If proof was seeing, that is. Of course maybe this was just a dream. Maybe she’d left reality when she lost that chunk of time after the alley. Maybe she was actually home in bed right now, her imagination taking things to places that only her well buried, and long deprived, sex-crazed subconscious wanted.

  She pinched her arm, not exactly relieved by the sharp sting. Nope. Really here. And those really were some nice-fitting jeans.

  He cleared his throat. The sound allowed her to finally drag her gaze up, looking where she should have been—at his face. His eyes were a cold, steely, gray now. Had she imagined the stormy look of heat?

  “I um…” she took stock of the room. No doubt this was his place and his room. Not just because the navy and gray color palate screamed bachelor, but because it had neat and orderly stamped all over it, not a pile of clothes in sight. Which confirmed that her subconscious was a horny slut. Theirs was definitely not a match made in Heaven.

  “How did I get here?” That’s right. Concentrate on the important things and not what her body wanted to go back to doing with the really hot guy in the room.

  “You don’t remember what happened?” he asked, his gray eyes scrutinizing her uncomfortably.

  She lifted her chin. Meeting those cold gray eyes stare for stare even as she grasped for memories that seemed just out of reach. “I remember talking with you outside the station. I remember you going all Hamlet with your Heaven and Hell crap.”

  He arched his brow, giving her a silent is-this-really-what-you-want-to-talk-about look.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She knew why she was being snippy. She was scared. She hated having holes in her memory. It made her feel helpless. Out of control. She didn’t deal well with being out of control. It reminded her too much of that day when nothing she said or did could change the fact that her world had fallen apart.

  “Do you remember what you did after we talked, Jessica?” Logan prompted, sitting back down on the bed. He didn’t touch her, but for some reason his simple nearness calmed her frazzled nerves, allowing her to think.

  “Yeah. My partner and I went out, trying to track down a lead.”

  “A new one?”

  “No, an old dead one.” She didn’t share that she thought it might be one with new life to it. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but for it to have been long enough for her to have turned up here with him, then she feared it was probably enough time for the unhelpful concierge to have realized Tom wasn’t going to be coming to get his car out of that garage.

  Evidence. Garage. She rubbed her head.

  “Don’t worry about whatever you’re worrying about now. Just tell me what you did after. Did you go back to the station?”

  “Yeah. To drop Mike off.”

 
“And do you remember what you did after you dropped him off?” he asked carefully, his voice low, even soothing.

  If he knew it was the same tone police officers had been trained to use with the victims of traumatizing events, and that, having once been on the receiving end of that training, it had a tendency to set her off rather than calm her, perhaps he wouldn’t have tread so carefully. But he didn’t know. And Jess could feel the clenching bands of pain in her chest.

  “Jessica, it’s okay.” A hand touched her back, rubbing up and down soothingly. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

  And of course he’d misinterpret what was wrong. She took ten deep, even breaths, fighting back the urge to punch something. It was somewhat surprising to realize that Logan’s steady presence, the rhythmic rub of his hand, the repetitive assurance that she was okay, actually fended off the shakes. No, more than that. His touch, simple, soothing, had her aching to turn into it, turn the tender comfort into something else, something she shouldn’t want from a near stranger.

  She cleared her throat, shifting away. His hand dropped to the bed giving her space.

  “You okay now?” he asked.

  She nodded, taking a deep calming breath. Safe from what? What was it that had happened after she’d dropped Mike off? She tried to remember but all she came up with was a jumble of nightmares. None of which could actually be true.

  She rubbed her temples, aware of her pounding headache. Belatedly, she realized she’d had it since before she’d smashed her face into Logan’s…though it had become more pronounced. The more she tried to remember what happened after she’d waved good-bye to Mike, the more it felt like her head was splitting in two.

  What had happened? If she’d followed her typical pattern, she’d have either headed back to her place for a bite to eat as she pored over the case files, hoping that eventually sheer boredom would send her to bed, or perhaps, if she was feeling really antsy, or unsettled over their findings that day, she would grab something from the diner to take with her before she went out again.

  She hadn’t gone home. She’d felt a pressing need to get something done. To track down a lead. What was it?

  “Tom’s car,” she murmured. Her rejuvenated lead. Of course. She’d gone back to check it out.

  Logan ducked his head, watching her intently as he waited for her to go on, but he didn’t press. All of a sudden, the rest of the memories flowed free. Sneaking into the garage. Finding the red Mustang in C-15. She didn’t want to have any evidence she collected thrown out, and had been about to canvass the apartment building to see if she could get anyone to say they’d seen Tom on the premises or at least the car so as to get a warrant. But she’d left the pictures of Tom and the Mustang in her car and gone back to grab them. She hadn’t been paying much attention to her surroundings. Her thoughts were on other things. Besides, there were plenty of other late commuters out on the streets but then…

  She sat up straighter, meeting Logan’s gaze. “Two men, they followed me. I remember thinking I was just tired and being paranoid, but when I stepped off the elevator they came up behind me and…”

  She looked down at her hands. The palms were scraped up and stung when she opened and closed them, like she had really bad rug burn or, in this case, pavement burn.

  “Jessica?”

  She looked back to Logan, and was immediately sucked into his gaze. His eyes weren’t gray anymore. More shimmery, like polished silver. How did he do that? She didn’t think she’d ever met someone whose eyes were so changeable. Logically, she knew that different lights or colored shirts could change someone’s eye color, but his seemed to do so without any external influences.

  “Do you remember what happened after they followed you into the garage?” he asked.

  She closed her hand into a fist, laying it on her leg as she gathered her scattered thoughts. “I tried to draw my gun but they were too close and disarmed me. Damn, the one guy was fast, hardly blinked and he was on me and I was…down.”

  She took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. She didn’t think she’d ever felt so helpless. At least not since her sister died. The impotent feeling she’d had after being told her sister had been murdered eclipsed even this. If Jessica had gone with Julia to that party like she had wanted. Or if she’d insisted that she pick Julia up. But Jessica hadn’t and Julia had gotten drunk and had willingly gotten into that car.

  After that, Jessica had decided she would never be helpless again. She’d learn to protect herself and others. She’d get her badge and use her skills to put assholes who preyed on the Julias of the world behind bars. She’d uphold justice and sleep at night knowing she’d helped make the world safer for others.

  She’d done all that. But obviously not well enough.

  In that garage she’d been helpless. She’d almost become another statistic. Would have, if not for Logan.

  “Thank you for helping me.” There was no hiding the choked quality of her voice, though she honestly didn’t know if it was residual terror from the near miss or anger that she had to say the words at all. She was a cop, not a damsel in need of a white knight.

  “No problem,” he replied sincerely. The fact that he made no production about it, nor did he preen, helped and she found herself admitting, to herself at least, how spectacular he was back in the garage. Though not white knight material. Not with those moves.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her mind’s running filmstrip of alternative endings.

  “I learned a bit here and there.”

  Which explained the lack of a distinct style, though, holy crap, it had worked. She found herself scanning him, partly because yeah, he was damn fine to look at, but more because she still couldn’t figure out how any man could have pulled some of the moves he had, even in his admittedly stunning shape. Her gaze narrowed on an angry pair of scrapes that ran across the base of his collarbone. It looked like something had punctured deep into his skin and then been jerked out as he pulled away.

  “You’re hurt,” she pointed out. And why did that piss her off so damn much?

  Probably because he got those injuries protecting your stupid ass, Jess.

  His mouth twisted up, his eyes crinkling slightly in the corners. “No worries. I’m okay. But thanks for the concern.”

  “Being injured in a fight is nothing to smile about,” she snapped.

  His smile faded. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t smiling at being hurt. More that we’re both okay. Well, basically okay,” he conceded.

  “What happened?” She shook her head, fighting against the foggy headache that seemed to obliterate her memories from that point on. “I can’t seem to remember much after hitting the pavement. I thought there was another man, but I can’t remember anything after that.”

  Logan folded his arms across his chest, a scowl turning down the corners of his mouth. “I don’t recall seeing another man, but I was a bit preoccupied.”

  Jessica frowned, trying to remember that part of the incident. Couldn’t. There was absolutely nothing beyond Logan telling her to run, going for her gun, and then a very fuzzy memory of the man in the rumpled business suit standing in front of her. “Did I pass out?”

  He shifted on the bed, opening another inch between them. “You seemed to be in shock. You passed out for good right after I dispatched your attackers.”

  Dispatched her attackers. Okay, then. Forget the no-ego bit. She shook her head. “And the other man I saw?”

  He shrugged again. “Like I said, I never saw anyone besides your attackers.”

  “He didn’t stay to help?” She could have sworn he’d picked up her gun. She thought he was shocked by the violence, or perhaps unsure of how to use it, and she went over to him and…

  She clamped her fingers over the bridge of her nose, trying to pinch awa
y the abrupt pain that slashed into her skull.

  Logan rubbed a hand across his jaw, his gray eyes unfathomable as he looked at her. “I never saw the man you’re talking about. Sorry.”

  She gnawed her lip, unwilling to believe she’d imagined the third man. But it didn’t make sense that Logan hadn’t seen him at all, unless the man bolted the moment he got a full bead on the situation. She could understand that a bystander might not want to get involved. But why hadn’t he called the police?

  “He didn’t come back? No other police officers showed up?”

  “I didn’t exactly want to wait and see.” He indicated the angry cut on his collarbone. “You don’t mess around with those who can do that.”

  That might be a good point, but… “And you brought me here. Instead of taking me to a hospital…?” More important, how had he been there to do the bringing? But she’d get to that in a moment.

  He shifted again, his gaze dropping slightly before leveling back out on hers. She waited him out, giving him a look that said she was still waiting for his answer.

  “I’ve never been comfortable in hospitals.” He flashed a chagrined look. “I’m sorry. I guess I tend to assume everyone holds my prejudices.”

  She merely hummed in response. The fact that she did, in fact, dislike hospitals was not something she was going to tell him. That would be like saying it was okay that he brought her to his home. Which it wasn’t. And not just because she didn’t know him from Adam—even if her body seemed to want to.

  She folded her arms, hands tucked under her armpits. Better that than give in to the urge to touch his collarbone to check out his wound—and then check out the rest of him. Why her imagination kept skittering off into unwanted territory was beyond her.

  “Okay. Assuming all that is true.”

  “It is.”

  She glared at him. “I said I was assuming it was. What I want to know now is how you were there to come to my rescue at all. And don’t try and tell me that you just happened to be in that garage at that moment in time.”