Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

  Her eyes were serious as she studied him from five feet away. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.”

  Now you can go. Dammit, just go. But still he stood. “Although you’d look every bit as good in a short skirt.”

  Her eyes heated and his heart turned over. “Second -nicest.”

  He took a step forward, testing. She held her ground, but he could see her pulse flutter at the hollow of her throat. At her sides her hands flexed and clenched and he came to a stunning realization. He made her nervous. It was an ego-boosting, courage-building discovery. “About last night,” he said. “I knocked you down.”

  She lifted her chin. “I know. I was there.”

  “I haven’t been shot at since I was in the army. My reflexes were a little rusty.”

  She sucked in one cheek. “Not all of them.”

  It was the opening he’d been waiting for. “So you did notice.”

  “It would have been difficult not to,” she said dryly. “So was it reflex or interest?”

  She’d regained her stride, her cocky balance. And somehow that made what came next more... fair. If he’d pressed his advantage when she was sad and defeated it wouldn’t have been. “And if I said both?”

  “You’d be honest at least.” She regarded him levelly for a moment. “You could have waited until tomorrow to tell me about Wheaton. Why did you come tonight?”

  The moment stretched as he considered his answer, then snapped as with two steps he eliminated the remaining distance that separated them. He slipped his hand around her neck, his fingers up into her hair and did what he’d wanted to do for days. When his mouth covered hers he felt her stiffen, then her arms were around his neck as she lifted on her toes and kissed him back.

  He shuddered, as much from relief as release. It had been a long time since he’d held any woman this way. A long time since he’d tasted a woman’s lips, felt the surge and surrender in her response. It was sweet, he realized. And familiar, as if he’d been here, done this before. Mindful of her bruised cheek he kept it much lighter than he wanted, much briefer than he wished. Stoically ignoring the coiled want in his gut, he ended the kiss, but held her tight against him.

  “I wasn’t sure you wanted this,” he admitted. “You pulled away from me.”

  She rested her forehead against his chest. “I know.”

  It was said so wearily that he pulled back to see her face. “Why did you pull away?”

  “Because I didn’t want to want this. But I do.” Her lashes lifted and it was as if he’d been sucker punched. Her blue eyes were darkly aroused. His pounding heart climbed into his throat and with difficulty he forced it back down so he could breathe.

  “Why? Why don’t you want to want this?”

  She hesitated. “How much time do you have?”

  Time. Shit. “What time is it?”

  “A little past nine. Why?”

  “I promised Beth I’d pick her up at nine and that’s clear on the other side of town.”

  She nodded. “I understand. We can talk more later.”

  He grabbed his coat from the old sofa and took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back around to face her. “She’ll be fine for another few minutes. In fact, she’s probably happy I’m late.”

  Her lips curved. “So how do you propose using another few minutes?”

  “Doing what you don’t want to want.” He caught her chin and tilted her face up and this time she met him more than halfway, instantly taking the kiss to the next level. Hot and wet and full of motion, it set his body throbbing and left him wanting much, much more. Conscious of the time, he abruptly pulled away, and was gratified to see she was breathing just as hard as he was. “Warn me when you start wanting to want it,” he said. “I’ll make sure I bring along a defibrillator.”

  She laughed. “Go home, Solliday. We’ll take this up again tomorrow.” Her smile sobered a shade. “But not around the office, okay?”

  “Okay.” He leaned forward for one more kiss, then turned on his heel with an oath. “I have to go. Lock the door behind me.”

  “I always do.”

  He paused on the landing outside her door. “I’ll see you at eight tomorrow.” With a little physical distance, his mind began to clear. “Don’t go out alone tonight, okay?”

  She looked amused. “Solliday, I’m a cop. I’m supposed to tell other people that.”

  He was not amused. “Mia, please.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  That was the closest she’d come to capitulation, he understood. “Good night, Mia.”

  A sober, wistful look flitted across her face. “Good night, Reed.”

  Wednesday, November 29, 10:05 P.M.

  He’d finally come back. It had certainly taken him long enough.

  He’d thought his target would wait inside Flannagan’s for fifteen minutes, but he’d waited an hour. During which he’d hidden in the back floorboards of the man’s car, biding his time.

  The first part had been so easy and fast. He’d been early, waiting in the shadows. He’d watched as the man locked his car, which was a total joke. He’d been able to pop the lock with his trusty slim-jim in fifteen seconds. Then he’d gone flat in the backseat, pulling on the ski mask and waiting, visualizing in his mind what had to be done.

  It wouldn’t be pretty, but it would be fast. And painless. Because his target was his friend and didn’t deserve to writhe in agony, like Mrs. Dougherty would tonight. But first things first. Focus. They’d been driving for fifteen minutes. It wouldn’t be long now.

  He wanted to sigh, but kept it in. He’d never killed someone he liked. There was a first time for everything, but he wasn’t relishing the task.

  He eased up on his elbow and stole a look out the opposite window. Good, they were on a small road, one lane each way. There was an all-night shopping center nearby where he could steal a car when he was finished. He drew his knife.

  He’d sharpened the blade yet again. He wanted it to be quick. Springing to a crouch, he whipped the knife around and held it to his friend’s throat. “Pull off at the next light,” he instructed, keeping his voice low.

  His friend’s eyes whipped up to the rearview, wide with terror, but he knew he’d see nothing but the black ski mask. “If you want the car, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t hurt me.”

  He thought it was a carjacking, which was exactly what he’d hoped his friend would think. No use in risking identification, should the plan go south. They were off the main road now. The area was a little too populated for his liking, but it would do.

  He grabbed his friend’s hair and yanked his head at an angle. “Slow down. That’s right. Nice and slow. Pull off onto the shoulder. Farther. Now stop.”

  “Don’t kill me. Please.” He was sobbing. “Please don’t kill me.”

  He frowned. He’d expected him to go with more -backbone. What a girl. Maybe he wouldn’t make it so -painless after all. But his knife was sharp. It would slice deep given the smallest pressure. “Put it in park. That’s right. Now roll down the window.”

  Cold air rushed in, feeling wonderful against his overheated skin. “Take the keys from the ignition.” His target hesitated and he put more pressure on the knife. “Do it.”

  The car’s engine went silent. “Now throw the keys out the window.”

  The keys hit the snow with a muted jangle.

  “You won’t get away with this,” his target said, desperation in his voice.

  How cliché. He’d choose his friends more wisely when he started his next life.

  “I think I will,” he responded in his normal voice and had one moment to savor the look of wild recognition before he yanked straight back and brought the blade across the man’s throat. Hard.

  Blood gushed. Spurted. Filled the car with its metallic odor. He wobbled the head side to side and found he’d nearly severed it. Cool. He’d never done that before.

  He let go of the hair and climbed
out of the backseat. With a handful of snow he cleaned his knife, then picked up the keys. Keys made a nice souvenir.

  His jacket would have to go. His sleeve was covered in blood. He’d have to get a new jacket at some point. Perhaps when he got to the shopping center, he’d find a car with a coat in it. He’d walk to the shopping center, steal a car and have plenty of time for a nap before the Doughertys. He wanted to be fresh after all.

  Wednesday, November 29, 11:15 P.M.

  The house was quiet. Beth was asleep and Lauren was on her own side of the duplex. Reed sat on the edge of his bed and shuddered, torturing himself with the fantasy yet again, imagining what would have happened had he not needed to leave. Her mouth had been soft and sweet and hot and urgent all at the same time. Better than he’d imagined. And that was only a few short kisses. When he got her to bed...

  She wanted him. He’d have her. Another shudder shook him. God. It hurt, he wanted her so much. He drew the chain from around his neck and held it up, the ring at the end shining softly. He’d worn the ring on his hand for the five happiest years of his life, then another two as he grieved. It was only at the worried insistence of his family that he’d finally taken it off, but it hadn’t gone far. He’d worn it on a chain around his neck ever since. Knowing it was there was like keeping a little piece of Christine to himself. Just like Christine’s poetry, it kept her alive in his heart. But tonight it wasn’t dreams of Christine that crowded his mind. Mia was there, firmly entrenched. She’d stay there until he’d ridden this thing out, wherever it took them. Whatever it cost.

  He set the ring swinging, like a hypnotist’s coin. He could go over there right now. And have her. The blood was pounding in his head, drowning out all the reasons he shouldn’t. He lowered the ring until it hit the nightstand and let the chain pool inside it.

  He picked up the phone, hit Lauren’s speed dial. “I need you to stay with Beth.”

  She yawned. “Give me two minutes. I’ll be there.”

  He hung up, guilt for the deception eclipsed by a need that left him trembling. She’d wanted him, even though she hadn’t wanted to. He’d find out why.

  Wednesday, November 29, 11:50 P.M.

  Mia blinked. She’d read that name before. Her eyes were tired. It was time to stop.

  She sat back in the hard chair and twisted, stretching her neck muscles. She’d made it through a month of Burnette’s case files, specifically the month before Manny Rodriguez was sent to Hope Center. She’d carefully cataloged every name, every place mentioned on every case Burnette had supervised or been associated with.

  It was a nasty list. She didn’t envy Burnette his Vice -clientele. But other than being a nasty list, there was nothing useful or unusual about it. Not a single name or place popped. It was a tedious task, and she still had tons of paper to wade through.

  But, as tedious tasks went, it had been a halfway decent way of pushing Reed Solliday and his intriguing mouth to the back of her mind. Well, not the back of her mind, really. More like... dead center. Front row. Hell.

  She’d kissed him. And now she knew how he tasted. How his lips felt against hers. How it felt to press against that solid wall of muscle he called a chest. And now, having tasted him, she wanted to taste him again. She wanted it a very great deal.

  Goddamn hamburger. She blamed Dana for this. She’d been happily miserable until she’d started craving hamburger. So what would happen when Solliday wanted to go upscale? Move from hamburger to filet? She’d get her heart broken, that’s what.

  And maybe break his, too. It was a sobering thought. But not enough to squelch the craving. She didn’t just want to kiss him. Now that she’d taken the plunge... well, if he walked in this minute, he’d be a very happy man. At least for the short term. She was fairly good at sex, Mia knew. Sex itself had never been the problem. Intimacy was.

  She stood up, stretched her back again. She was still sore from Solliday’s tackle last night but she wasn’t sleepy. There was too much caffeine in her system for her to sleep. So now she would lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and wish she was getting laid.

  Damn that Dana. She probably was getting laid, right this minute. It wasn’t fair.

  She paced restlessly, wondering if Solliday was sleeping. She certainly hoped not. She hoped he was—

  A heavy knock at her door made her jump. Cautiously she drew her weapon from the shoulder holster she’d draped over a chair. Holding the gun down at her side, she stood on her toes and peeked through the peephole in the door.

  She huffed out a relieved breath. She opened the door to Reed Solliday, who stood on her welcome mat wearing a forbidding frown. “You scared me to death,” she said, bypassing any greeting, then got worried. It was almost midnight. “What’s happened?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Immediately she stepped aside and let him in. He stalked in, his stride almost belligerent. She closed the door and leaned against it. “What’s happened?”

  He took off his trenchcoat and dropped it on her sofa. He’d shed his suit coat and tie at some point. His shirt was unbuttoned so that a glimpse of coarse dark hair teased. Her heart started a slow pounding in her chest. The pounding got harder when he took the gun from her hand and returned it to her holster. And when he approached her with a hard, predatory cast to his face, the pounding spread low. And deep.

  Not taking his eyes from hers he flattened his palms against the door on either side of her head. She was caged in, but there was no fear. Only excitement and the dark thrill of arousal. When he lowered his head and took her mouth it was savage and greedy and left no doubt as to why he’d come back. She let herself be swept away. Just his mouth on hers. She moaned and he jerked his head back. She stood, eyes closed, the door bearing her weight. His breath beat her hair and she knew if she lifted her hand to his heart, she’d feel it thunder against her palm.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he whispered harshly. “I could only think of you. Under me. I have to have you. But if that’s not what you want, tell me now and I’ll leave.”

  Her heart physically hurt. Her body was throbbing. He was what she wanted. This was what she needed. Now. “Don’t go.” She lifted her eyes to his. Then lifted her hands to his face and pulled him down for another bruising kiss that made her knees go weak. He ran his hands down her sides, over her breasts, shaping and reshaping. Flicking his thumbs across her nipples and she shivered. Violently.

  It had been too long since she’d had a man’s hands on her. Too long since she’d had her hands on a man. She reached for his shirt and pulled at the buttons, yanking at the fabric until she pulled it free. For a full minute she ran her hands over yards of muscle, then raked her fingers through the coarse hair that covered his chest.

  With a muttered curse he grabbed her rear end and lifted her off her feet until their bodies aligned and supporting her weight, thrust against her. He was hard and hot and just where she needed him to be.

  No, not exactly where she needed him to be. Not yet. His mouth left hers and kissed a path down the side of her neck. The hard ridge no longer throbbed against her as he lifted her higher, pulling her legs around his waist.

  She opened her mouth to protest, when his mouth closed over her breast and sucked. Hard. She cried out, the protest disintegrating to a moan. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him there, suckling. He pulled away, moved to the other breast and she let her head drop back against the door and... absorbed.

  Abruptly he straightened and startled, she grabbed his shoulders. “Grab my coat,” he said and she blinked at him.

  “What?”

  He carried her to the sofa. “Grab my coat.”

  She clutched one of his shoulders and leaned over to do what he asked. “Why?”

  He was already heading back to her bedroom. “Condoms in the pocket.”

  She dug in one pocket, then the other and pulled out a white plastic drugstore bag. She let his coat fall to the floor and leaned in to nip at his lips. “Got ’em.�
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  He knelt at the foot of her bed, lowered her carefully to the mattress. He stripped her pants down her legs before she could blink and unwilling to sit on the sidelines, she pulled off her shirt. She was reaching behind her for the hooks of her bra when he set his mouth to her, right through the silk triangle of her thong. She fell back against the pillow, clutched the bedspread in both fists, and once again, simply absorbed.

  “You’re wet,” he muttered. “So wet.” He lifted his head and his eyes glittered. “I was hoping you would be.”

  “I was thinking of you.”

  His brow lifted and he looked like the devil himself, but the image enticed. “What were you thinking?”

  Reflex had her lifting her hips, wanting him back where he’d been, doing what he’d been doing. Never before had it felt so incredibly good. “Solliday, please.”

  “First you talk.”

  She lifted herself up on her elbows. “That’s extortion.”

  He grinned and licked her through the silk. “Sue me.”

  She could play the game. “I was thinking about last night. How you felt against me.” She lifted her brows. “You’re... incredibly well endowed, Solliday.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Take off your bra.”

  Her hands steady, she did, pulling her chain and dog tags off with it.

  He drew a breath. “So are you.” He pulled the thong aside and dragged a guttural moan from her throat with his mouth.

  “I thought about your mouth the first day,” she said, panting. Then his tongue stabbed at her and she closed her eyes. “Please.”

  “Tell me if I do something you don’t like.”

  “I don’t like when you stop,” she muttered and he laughed. Then got busy again, dragging her higher, winding her tighter, tauter. She bucked her hips and he pressed her into the mattress and sucked and she arched like a bow. The orgasm shot through her like an electric shock, hard and complete, leaving her weak and gasping.

  He slapped a condom in her hand. “Do it,” he bit out, pushing his pants to the floor.