ON DEAN'S WATCH

by Linda Winstead Jones

  The scream that followed was brief, the voice familiar. Immediately Dean released his captive and stepped back. Reva.

  She didn't run from him or toss accusations his way, but spun on Dean and attacked with fists and feet. Blows landed on his chest, his arms, his shins. Reva was a tiny thing, but she put all the strength she had into her attack.

  "Whoa, hold it. It's me," Dean said as he did his best to deflect the blows. Reva either didn't hear or didn't much care.

  He grabbed her again, by both wrists this time. "Stop it," he ordered in a low voice. When she continued to struggle even though he had her effectively shackled, Dean pressed Reva against the wall and held her in place with his hands and his body.

  With his length pressed against hers from shoulder to knee, she didn't have much room to fight. Reva stilled, until her only movement was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He could release her now. She knew who he was; she no longer fought. But he didn't let her go. He kept his body close to hers, his fingers around her wrists, and took a deep breath of his own.

  All around them, the house remained dark and dormant. Moonlight through the window at the end of the hallway illuminated his hand on Reva's, the curve of her cheek, the curve of her shoulder. He had dreamed of this. Reva was soft, yielding, her gentle body fitting against him just so. She was so much a woman she robbed him of his usual control. He responded to her scent and the sensation of her body against his, growing hard. Surely she felt that response. Their bodies were so close…

  "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked in a low, husky voice. "I thought someone had broken in."

  With her wrists in his hands, he could feel the rapid beat of her pulse. She grew suddenly warmer, and when she breathed her breasts, caught beneath the thin fabric of her pajamas, brushed his chest.

  "I heard a noise," she said softly. "A crash in the kitchen. I thought maybe one of Mrs. Gibson's cats had crawled in through an open window again. I just wanted to chase it out."

  A cat? "Where's your flashlight?"

  "I didn't bring one. I don't need a flashlight to find my way around this house at night. I know this place like the back of my hand."

  "You didn't turn on a single light," he said in an accusing voice.

  Reva sighed, then seemed to relax. "No, I didn't. Mrs. Logan is a light sleeper, and if she started asking questions about what I was doing in the restaurant at nearly midnight and it came out that there was a cat in the kitchen, I don't have to tell you what kinds of rumors would get started."

  She was worried about her neighbors' gossip. Gossip that might hurt the restaurant's reputation. Was she also worried about what people might say about them? Is that why she'd been so diligently pushing him away?

  Who was he kidding? There was no them.

  But there could be. He lowered his head slightly, closed his eyes and inhaled. How could she smell so good even now? In a primal way, her scent had always aroused him. From now on he would know Reva in a dark room, with no words, no touch. No woman had ever made him feel this way, no woman had ever roused the beast in Dean Sinclair.

  Reva did just that. Without artifice, without seduction, she woke something within him. Something dangerous. He leaned in for a kiss. He needed Reva's mouth on his, just once. And he needed that kiss now. She held her breath. The house remained still.

  She had been chasing him away for days, but right now her body didn't push and fight. It relaxed. It called to him in a way no voice ever could.

  Downstairs the kitchen door squealed, a step sounded on the back porch. With a curse, Dean dropped his hold on Reva and turned away. He ran, not bothering to muffle the sounds of his steps on the stairs this time. The kitchen door hung wide open, and beyond there was nothing to see but moonlit night. There were too many pockets of complete darkness, and no clue as to which direction the prowler had taken. Dean ran onto the back porch, searching the grounds in all directions. Nothing.

  He heard Reva behind him, spun around to find her standing in the doorway. Legs again. Her pajama top was thin and sleeveless. The matching bottoms were very short. She wore no shoes, and her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was beautiful in moonlight. No—gorgeous. And at this rate, pinning her against the wall so she'd stop hitting him was as close as he was ever going to get to her. The moment upstairs had been fleeting; it seemed unreal even now. His chance to kiss her had come and gone, and he'd missed it, thanks to a very real intruder.

  Reva stepped onto the porch, her eyes never leaving his face.

  "Someone was in my restaurant."

  "Yeah." Probably not Eddie. Pinchon wouldn't have run without a fight. "Do you have problems with break-ins in the area? Vandalism? Petty theft?"

  She shook her head. "No."

  "We'll call the sheriff, file a report, and tomorrow I'll put sturdier locks on all the doors." He tried to ignore what had happened upstairs. He tried to dismiss the way he'd responded to her, the way he continued to respond. "I can stay here in the restaurant tonight if you'd like, just in case—"

  "You have a gun," Reva interrupted. At the moment she looked oddly fragile.

  "Yeah."

  She swayed on her feet, and Dean reached out to steady her. "I hate guns," she whispered.

  * * *

  Dean insisted on walking with her to the cottage, then searching all the rooms when he discovered she'd walked out without locking the front door behind her. He wouldn't listen to her when she explained that most people didn't lock their doors in Somerset, that no one had slipped into the cottage in the few minutes she'd been gone.

  Her eyes kept drifting to the gun stuffed so casually into Dean's waistband. It had been a long time since she'd seen one so close. Sheriff Ben Andrews often carried a weapon, but it was always tucked into a massive leather holster so that she couldn't actually see it. And she expected the gun to be there when Ben came around. She had the chance to steel herself before facing him, and it. Dean's gun was a surprise, and without a holster to disguise the harsh metal lines, it was so very real. She couldn't ignore it.

  Dean's gun wasn't exactly like the one Eddie had threatened her with, but it was close enough. Too close. Her stomach turned over. No. She would not throw up. Not here, not now.

  Not until Dean left.

  "I'm fine," she said when he walked toward her.

  "You don't look fine," he said.

  A dull roar settled in, deafening and disorienting. She tried to appear calm, steady, perfectly normal. Otherwise, Dean would never leave. "I'll call the sheriff in the morning," she said. "There's nothing he can do tonight, anyway. It was probably just a kid."

  Dean cocked his head and his brow wrinkled as he studied her. "Are you okay?"

  She read his lips, since the roar in her ears drowned out everything else. The gun was right there, tucked into his waistband. Cold, metal, hot, dangerous… She stared at it.

  When he reached out to touch her, she stepped back.

  "You have to go," she said. It had been a long time, but she could still feel the muzzle of Eddie's gun pressed to her temple, her cheek, her mouth. Her tongue. She remembered the way Eddie had laughed when she'd started to cry. Cooper had already been growing inside her, but she hadn't told Eddie, not even when she'd been sure she was going to die. She could never tell Eddie about the baby. If he wouldn't let her go, he would surely never let a child get away.

  Dean started to talk again, but she couldn't make out the words.

  "Go," she said. "Get out." Her eyes were pinned to the gun. "You can't be here."

  He said something else she could not understand. Her response was, "You have a gun."

  Dean stepped into the kitchen. A moment later he was back. No gun. Not that she could see, anyway. The roar began to subside.

  "The pistol scares you," he said gently.

  Reva nodded. "I'll be okay." That assurance sounded so weak even she didn't believe it.

  Dean took her arm and led her to the cou
ch. He made her sit, and then he sat beside her. Close. Too close.

  "Where is it?" she asked.

  "On top of the refrigerator behind the bread box," he answered. "Honey, it's not going to hurt you. I know how to use a gun. There's nothing to be frightened of."

  "Ever had one shoved down your throat?" she asked, angry and quick, immediately regretting the impulsive question that revealed too much.

  Dean took her face in both hands, forced her to look at him. She was prepared to see revulsion in his eyes, but she was not prepared for anger and passion. "When?" he asked softly. "Who?"

  She shook her head. "Just go home, Dean. Forget I said anything."

  "How am I supposed to forget something like that?" He continued to hold her face gently, even when he lowered his head to kiss her … on the forehead.

  If he didn't leave soon, she was going to ask him to stay. Goodness knows she didn't want to stay alone, not tonight, not with that memory she'd thought she'd buried well rising to the surface, so real it seemed as if that terrible night had happened yesterday, not seven years ago.

  Reva shifted slightly against Dean. She knew he wanted her, if she'd had any doubts, tonight's reaction when he'd pressed her against the wall would have killed them all. He wanted her, and she didn't want to be alone.

  "Fine," she whispered. "If you're not going to leave, then kiss me."

  His mouth touched hers in a gentle first kiss. Hadn't she always known that Dean would kiss her before he left town? Of course she had. The unspoken promise of this kiss had been teasing her, dancing just out of reach, hiding from her. No, she'd been hiding from it. Running. Denying what she felt. Her lips parted as Dean kissed her.

  The roar in her ears came back, gentler than before. This time it was the passion that made her blood rush, not fear, not memory of terrors long past.

  She held on to Dean and let him kiss her; she kissed him back. Gently arousing, this was the kind of kiss that could help a woman forget. Tongues danced, tentatively, then more deeply and without restraint.

  It wasn't just the kiss that swept her away, but the way Dean held her. His arms were so strong, so sheltering. She was safe here, warm and alive. She tingled, she quivered, her body responded to the kiss completely. And no matter how perfectly he kissed her, she wanted more.

  As forgotten sensations came to life, Reva began to believe that Tewanda had made a valid point. They could have sex for the sake of sex, without love, without commitment, without the sharing of deep, dark secrets. She was a fully grown, modern woman living in the twenty-first century. She would be a fool to turn her back on something that felt so good, so right.

  Besides, she didn't want to be alone, not tonight. She wanted Dean beside her, on top of her, between her and the world. Just for one night.

  Dean took his mouth from hers, and she found herself unexpectedly breathless. Were they lying down? Apparently so. The sofa yielded unevenly against her back. Dean's weight was heavy and warm.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. "Cooper's staying the night with Terrance."

  "I know."

  She raised her eyebrows.

  "I saw Tewanda and the boys walk off this afternoon, then later on you headed that way with a duffel bag and came home alone and empty-handed."

  "You're very observant."

  "I'm a cop, remember? I'm paid to be observant."

  She shivered. No, she had not remembered. She had forgotten, as she had forgotten so many things. "Retired, right?"

  Dean sighed. "Not retired. On vacation."

  If she had to lose her head over a man, why a cop? Cops asked too many questions. They insisted on having all the answers. They never gave up.

  Lost too much in what she wanted, what she craved, Reva decided it didn't matter that Dean was a cop, not where one night was concerned. She kissed him again. She'd made a fool of herself with the man, drooled over him, run from him, gotten tongue-tied and fumble-footed and tried to attack him. Twice. But the hard length she felt pressing against her thigh told her that he wanted her, anyway.

  "You can stay here tonight," she said. Butterflies danced in her stomach. Something forgotten clenched, lower and harder. "I don't want to be alone."

  "I'll stay if you want me to," he said.

  They were stretched out on the couch, his warm weight on her, his hands in her hair and on her face. So close. They were so close to taking the next step, the step from which there was no retreat. A shift of his clothes and hers, a shift of her hips… Her body responded just thinking about how close they were.

  "We can have sex," she said softly, deciding the words make love would promise much more than she was willing to give.

  Dean kissed her again. His mouth delivered silent promises. He promised safety, pleasure, affection, a night she would always remember.

  And then he took his mouth from hers and whispered, "Not tonight."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  Reva's entire body stiffened beneath his.

  "I can't believe I just said that," Dean said.

  He'd wanted her from the moment he'd seen her, before he'd known who she was. And even after he'd discovered her identity, desire he knew he couldn't act on had driven him half-crazy. None of that mattered. Not like this. Not while Reva was scared and looking for a place to hide.

  "What's wrong?" she whispered.

  "Are you on the pill?" Dean asked.

  She shook her head.

  "Got any other forms of birth control handy?"

  Again she shook her head. This time, she added a sigh. "You should have something," she said, a hint of accusation in her voice. "I mean, you're a man. You're supposed to be prepared."

  "I didn't expect this," he said honestly.

  "Neither did I."

  He didn't tell her that lack of birth control wasn't the only reason he'd said not tonight. If she still wanted him when she was no longer scared, if she asked him again, he'd be ready. And willing. And definitely able.

  "But I will stay," he said, kissing her again. "At least until I know you're okay." He sat up, brought her with him. If he was going to be a noble jackass tonight, he needed to get Reva out from under him. He might be a nice guy, but he wasn't a saint.

  He sat back, and Reva's head immediately fell onto his shoulder. He raked one hand through her hair, trying not to look at her legs. They really were great legs. Having her here like this, so close and inviting, made him question everything that had led them to this point. Every decision, every move. Especially his insistence that they shouldn't go any further tonight.

  And then he remembered her reaction to his pistol.

  "You can tell me, you know," he said, "about the guy who did that to you."

  Had it been Pinchon himself or one of his cronies who'd shoved a gun into her mouth? Didn't matter. Pinchon had dragged Reva into a world where things like that happened. He wanted to tell her that he understood, that he knew … but he couldn't. When he thought about what Pinchon had done to Reva, Dean didn't want to arrest the escaped con. He wanted to kill him. What a mess. What a tangled, messy state of affairs.

  Something unwanted niggled at Dean's brain. If it had been Pinchon himself who'd hurt Reva, then why wasn't she terrified that the man might find her now that he'd broken out of prison? In the days following the escape, the news had been in all the major papers and they'd shown Pinchon's picture on CNN and the other news channels. Since then, coverage had been much more low-key, but still, she had to know.

  Did Reva think she and her son were so well hidden here that Pinchon would never find her? If that was the case, she was more foolish than he'd ever imagined her to be. These days it was too easy to find a person, any person, no matter how small and isolated the town they chose to live in might be.

  She certainly should have known better than to go walking into the restaurant on her own in the middle of the night when she'd heard a noise. Judging by that action, it wasn't Pinchon who scared
her. What was she really afraid of?

  "I've never told anyone even that much," she said. "I shouldn't have told you."

  "Might help to talk about it."

  She laughed harshly. "It happened a long time ago. How could it possibly help to talk about it now?"

  Reva shifted one bare shoulder and rested her cheek against his chest. Damnation, she was not helping matters. It was bad enough that she was warm and soft and willing. Couldn't she at least be still?

  "If you keep a secret buried long enough, it starts to fester," Dean said, ignoring Reva's small movements. "Sometimes it helps if you get it out. Let it loose. Set all your secrets free."

  She considered his argument for a moment, and then she shook her head.

  "You should've called me tonight when you heard the noise."

  "I'm used to taking care of myself," she said. "I don't call on anyone else to handle my problems. Besides, I thought what I heard was just one of Mrs. Gibson's cats."

  "It wasn't."

  "I know. Who would want to break into the restaurant?" She shivered along the length of her body. Dean grabbed an afghan from the back of the couch and covered her with it. "Maybe it was just kids," she said as she snuggled beneath the afghan and into him. "Kids making mischief."

  He could tell that was a convenient and easy explanation she wanted to believe. "If you hear any more noises, anything going bump in the night, you call me," he insisted.

  "I can't—"

  "You call me," he interrupted sharply.

  She hesitated before replying. "I don't think I should get accustomed to calling someone else to handle my problems for me. Not even you. I have to be able to take care of my own difficulties."

  "There's nothing wrong with asking for a little help now and then."

  Reva relaxed and closed her eyes. "Yes, there is." Five minutes later she was asleep with her head on his chest and her arm wrapped around him. She tried very hard not to trust anyone, not to depend on anyone for anything, but by sleeping this way Reva proved to Dean that she did trust him. And she needed him, like it or not. Dean looked at the woman in his arms, shook his head and wondered if he'd done the right thing.