by Jami Alden
But when the shit came down, Sean had calmly, capably taken charge, kept his head, and gotten them both to safety. Even if his methods had been a bit unorthodox, she thought, wincing as she remembered the cars they’d stolen. He’d stared death in the face and offered himself up as a rock she could collapse against when panic would have floored her before the first gunshot went off.
She knew she couldn’t take it personally. She didn’t fool herself that he might grow to like her, not after everything that had happened, and not after she had, as he put it, dragged him into this shit storm. But that take-charge, I’ll-take-care-of-you-no-matter-what attitude combined with the—call her shallow—intense green eyes and acres of muscles…
Regret burned bitterly at the back of her throat as she realized that had they met under drastically different circumstances, she could have developed a hell of a thing for a guy like Sean Flynn.
“Hey, can you help me a sec?”
Krista snapped her head around. Her cheeks flamed and she ordered herself to calm down. It wasn’t like Sean was a mind reader. He had no way of knowing she was out here mooning over him like a hormonal thirteen-year-old.
“I thought I could get it, but I can’t quite manage the right angle to bandage my leg properly.” His expression was irritated, as though it galled him to have to ask for her help. He’d already closed up the slice above his eyebrow with butterfly bandages that stood out starkly against his tan skin and dark hair.
Krista sprang from the bed, eager to offer assistance, the least she could do after everything he’d done tonight.
“No problem,” she said and swallowed hard when she realized that aside from his khaki-colored T-shirt he wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of boxer shorts. She forced herself not to stare at his long, heavily muscled legs as he walked over to her with a box of bandages and a tube of antibiotic ointment in his hands.
“I managed to clean it.” Sean turned and Krista crouched down so she could get a closer look at the gash that ran diagonally up his calf, starting inside his right ankle and ending just outside his knee. He’d flushed it with hot water and now the furrow was oozing fresh blood. Krista grabbed a gauze pad from the bed and dabbed away the blood. “Sorry,” she said at Sean’s wince of pain. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve had a lot worse than this little scratch.”
Krista gave an involuntary chuckle. “You don’t have to be tough. And if that’s a little scratch, I hate to think of the damage it would have done if it had actually gone through.” She’d seen enough bullet wounds and their aftereffects to know that even a small-caliber gun caused serious trauma as its bullet tore through the meat of a large muscle. She took the tube of antibiotic ointment and started to apply it to the wound with a gauze pad, but with the bad light and her awkward, crouching position she couldn’t quite do it.
She started to have him prop his foot on the bed, but then that meant she’d be kneeling next to his bent thigh, her face entirely too close to…She flicked a furtive glance at the front of his boxers.
No way.
“I think this might work better if you lay on the bed.” Why was her voice all breathy and nervous like that?
He didn’t seem to notice as he stretched out face down on the sheets.
“Be sure to coat the first layer in the antibiotic ointment.” She jumped at Sean’s muffled voice, grateful he couldn’t see the way she blushed as she carefully laid an ointment-smeared layer of gauze over the bottom half of the wound. It took two more sheets to cover the furrow. She secured them with strips of white tape. Damn, the man was in good shape. Of course she’d known he was fit, but his calf muscle was rock hard under her fingers, not a single ounce of fat giving under the skin as she smoothed the tape down.
She stepped back, her gaze guiltily, greedily traveling up his tight hamstrings to the hard curve of his equally tight butt outlined by the soft cotton of his boxers. “I think you’re all set.”
He grunted and rolled over, flexing and relaxing his big right foot to make sure the bandage didn’t pull too tight. Apparently satisfied, he rose to his feet and started gathering up the first-aid supplies and putting them back in order.
Must have been an army thing, she thought as she watched him carefully pack away the supplies and place them on top of the room’s dresser. Then he took the bag of extra clothes she’d bought at Walmart, removed and shook out each item, folded them carefully, and placed them in a drawer.
She looked at her own stuff piled next to the door. He’d probably have a heart attack at the way her two extra T-shirts, jeans, and spare undies were balled up and shoved in willy-nilly. And if he ever saw her house…Christ, she’d have to get a bulldozer to clear out the bedroom or he’d run screaming.
Right, like Sean will ever have cause to see your bedroom.
But the idea had more appeal than she wanted to think about. To distract herself, she grabbed the remote and turned on the television that was perched on the dresser next to Sean. And wished she hadn’t as soon as she saw the screen. Her image took up the left half of the screen, Sean’s the right.
Krista’s picture was a headshot from the state employee directory. With her dark suit, hair pulled back at her nape, heavy-framed glasses on her nose, and a bare hint of a smile on her lips she looked serious, professional, and a good five years older than thirty-one. Just what she’d been going for, and a far cry from the scraggly-haired makeupless mess she’d turned into.
She felt her anger rise when she saw the picture they’d chosen of Sean. Of course they couldn’t use his formal military portrait, the one with him decked out in his dress uniform looking strong and heroic and handsome enough to make Rosie O’Donnell consider switching teams.
They didn’t even use his mug shot from when he’d been arrested for Evangeline Gordon’s murder. Instead, they used the picture of him in the courtroom the day of his sentencing trial, hands shackled in front of him, the expression on his face one of pure fury.
In that split second, forever frozen on film, Sean looked like a killer.
Under the pictures was the text Exonerated murderer shoots cop, kidnaps prosecutor.
“Huh, the librarian and the beast,” Sean said grimly.
Krista switched off the TV before she had to hear the anchor’s BS voice-over about what had supposedly happened. But even without his image staring at her, she couldn’t get that picture out of her mind.
It was impossible to reconcile it with the man who hadn’t hesitated to put himself in mortal danger to save her life today.
That she’d helped put him in prison, sentenced him to an existence so miserable he’d chosen death as a preferable alternative, brought the ever-present guilt bubbling up to the surface.
It bothered her even more than it had before, the idea that Sean had chosen to go the suicide-by-state route rather than keep fighting.
She still wasn’t claiming great knowledge, but after everything they’d been through tonight, she just couldn’t see Sean as the kind of guy who would just give up, no matter how bad the odds. It didn’t fit with anything she’d witnessed today. Sean was so strong, so determined, so capable, so willing to fight even when the odds were stacked against him, it seemed impossible he would just throw in the towel and call it a life.
“I don’t get it. Why did you give up?” The words rushed out before she could think about it.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“When you were on death row, why did you stop the appeals? Why did you want to die?”
Time seemed to freeze with his silence. “Why do you think?” he finally asked. His green gaze narrowed on her.
Krista swallowed hard, forcing herself not to shrink under his hard stare. Alarm bells rang in her head, warning her that she’d walked up to a sleeping tiger and poked it in the eye. Maybe probing Sean Flynn’s secrets wasn’t such a good idea. “It was a stupid question. I’m sure I can imagine why.”
He took a ste
p closer, close enough for her to smell the soap drying on his skin, the dampness of his hair. It struck her again how big he was, his wide chest blocking out the light, his body seeming to take up all the space in the hotel room. “Really? Then tell me. What do you think made me give up and want to cash it all in?”
He folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance, the muscles in his thighs rippling as he shifted his weight. Her whole body flushed as she was reminded yet again that his lower half was clad only in boxer shorts.
She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth and tore her eyes from the shift of bulging quad muscles under tan, hair-roughened skin. “I guess the loneliness would get to me. The endless waiting, wondering if your appeal would be granted, never knowing if anything was going to pan out.” His eyes got a faraway look and grim lines bracketed his mouth as though he was remembering. Funny, she had never once thought about what it would be like to be in prison, much less solitary, other than the vague knowledge that it was a horrible experience. As it should be, in her opinion.
It wasn’t like the guilty criminals took their punishment gamely, but how much harder must it have been for Sean and others like him, innocent men locked up. Knowing they’d done nothing to deserve their treatment. The guilt weighed on her like an anvil. Were there others she’d prosecuted who were innocent? Framed like Sean or railroaded by the system?
Innocent men who looked at death as the best option to cope with their misery?
The questions, the doubts plagued her. Calling everything she worked for, everything she believed in, into question.
She shook her head. “It must have been awful. I can only imagine—”
“No, you can’t imagine,” Sean said, cutting her off. “The loneliness, the waiting—that’s the tip of the iceberg. Imagine every personal freedom you take for granted being taken away. Being told when you’re going to eat, when you’re going to take a shower, when you’re going to take your next breath of fresh air. Imagine having nearly everyone in the world you thought were your friends believe you’re the kind of monster who could rape a woman and cut her throat.”
Krista pressed her fist against the ache forming in her stomach.
“Imagine not hearing another human voice for days at a time. Only seeing someone you love once a week behind a pane of glass.”
He took a step closer and Krista’s pulse leaped in her throat. “Imagine never having anyone touch you except to push you around, or never touching anyone again.”
She thought of his hard hands, gentle despite their size, curled into fists, craving the feel of another person’s touch. “I thought I’d never touch a woman again.” His low-pitched voice put goose bumps on her skin, the ache in her belly turning to something different at the heat emanating from his body.
He reached out and caught her hand in his. She didn’t pull away. He caught her other hand and ran his hands up her forearms, pushing up the sleeves of her pullover so his thumbs could trace the sensitive skin of her inner arms. “Never feel smooth, warm skin under my fingers.”
Heat coursed through her. Common sense screamed at her to pull away, get out while she could, but nothing could drown out the fact that she wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted to feel those big callused hands on the smooth skin of her shoulders now, cupping her cheeks and skimming his thumbs along the curve of her cheekbones.
And call her crazy, call her stupid, but she wanted to touch him, give him this, as though it could make up in some small way for her part in what had happened to him.
“Do you have any idea how crazy that would make you? How it would make you ache?” He closed the distance between them. Yes, she could imagine the ache. It was consuming her right now, making her blood run thick and hot through her veins, making her clench her thighs against the pulse pounding between her legs.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he murmured and she felt the warmth of his breath on her face and yes, he was going to kiss her. His mouth came down on hers, hot and fierce. She parted her lips and licked into his mouth, loving the way he shuddered and groaned at the contact.
Her response was fast, ferocious, startling in its intensity. One kiss and she was fired up, more turned on than she could ever remember being. It had been way too long since she’d had a man’s hands on her skin, his mouth on hers, but even that couldn’t explain the way her body went from zero to sixty in two seconds flat.
It was almost scary, her body’s reaction to him, of all people. A spike of fear broke through the heat of desire, a voice warning her to pull back before she went plummeting over the edge, past the point of no return.
As though sensing her hesitation, Sean tightened his hold. One hand fisted in her hair as the other skimmed down her back, chasing away any thought of stopping him in their tracks. They both groaned as his fingers gripped the curve of her ass, yanking her against him until she felt the rock-hard column of his erection against her stomach. A rush of wetness soaked her sex in response.
He released her mouth long enough to pull the fleece over her head and toss it across the room.
She sucked his tongue into her mouth, a little whimper escaping her throat at the feel of his hand sliding up the back of her tank top. She ran her own hands up under his T-shirt, reveling in the feel of smooth, hot skin and corded muscles under her hands.
Sean yanked her tank top over her head, pulled off his T-shirt, and drew her against him. Hot, hair-roughened skin teased her nipples, sending an electric pulse through her body, making her moan.
His answering groan pulsed through her as his arms pulled her close, molding her so tightly to him even a beam of light couldn’t have gotten through.
It was too much, too fast, and she knew she should stop it before it went too far. But the tangle of lust, need, and, God help her, affection for Sean was too far gone, off the rails, and she could do nothing but surrender.
Chapter 8
Sean couldn’t keep his hands from shaking as they ran over Krista’s body. It was like a dam had burst, flooding him with all the sensations that had been blocked away for years. The taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her coursed through every cell, every nerve, sweeping him away on a wave of total sensory overload.
His lips sucked at hers. His tongue swept in to explore her mouth, absorb the sweet salty taste of her. Her skin under his fingers was beyond anything he’d ever imagined, warm, smooth, giving under his hands as his fingers sank into her silky curves.
The soft weight of her breast in his hand, her rigid nipple against his palm, threatened to send him over the edge.
He cautioned himself to ease up, to not be too rough, but it was so fucking hard not to go after her like some wild animal.
He pulled his mouth from hers to catch his breath and look down at her. Big mistake. The sight of her, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen and red from kissing—good God—her milk-white breasts with their pink-brown nipples peeking through his fingers. All of it was enough to make his cock harden another inch, stretching him so tight he was afraid he might burst through his skin.
But the real kicker, the thing that made him clench his teeth and struggle not to come right then and there, were her eyes. The heated, heavy-lidded look that told him, rough or not, she was ready and willing for whatever he was going to dish out.
He could feel her heart pounding under his hand, see her pulse fluttering in her throat. He bent his head, needing to taste the pulse beat against his tongue, the need so strong he couldn’t stop himself from following the flick of his tongue with a nip from his teeth, like a wolf nipping at his mate.
He could taste the salt of sweat on her skin, feel her gasp of pleasure jolt through him like an electric current. He wanted to fucking devour her.
He backed her up until her legs hit the bed and tumbled her back. She bent her knees and pulled him on top of her so his hips nestled perfectly between them.
Any doubts he might have had about how much she wanted this turned to dust as she rocked her hips, grindin
g against the pillar of his cock so he could feel how hot and wet she was even through the layers of their clothing. His balls tightened and he shuddered, felt a spurt of liquid bead on the tip of his dick and he struggled not to come.
He shifted back to ease the friction and bent his head to capture the tip of one breast in his mouth, groaning as the taste and feel of her exploded in his brain. He sucked, bit, licked at her breasts, barely hearing her moans over the roaring in his head.
Her nipples were dark pink, shiny wet when he lifted his head, and her breasts bore faint red marks from where his stubble had rubbed the tender skin. Krista curved her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.
“This is crazy,” she panted against his mouth as her hands swept up and down his back and sides, rubbing herself against him like she couldn’t get her fill of him any more than he could of her.
No shit, it was crazy, the way the heat exploded between them until he thought he would spontaneously combust.
But nothing was crazier than the fact that it was Krista of all people who would put every sense on high alert, to let loose the rush of lust and bring his libido roaring back to life. Right now his brain wasn’t capable of dissecting the fucked-up psychology behind that, analyzing all the reasons why getting in deeper with her on any level was a really bad idea.
Not with all the blood in his body pulsing ferociously between his legs. Not with—holy shit—her hot, smooth palm shoving down the front of his boxers, her fingers curving around his cock to squeeze. Sean let out a strangled groan and buried his face in her neck, sucking at the delicate skin as his hand slid inside the front of her pajamas.
His fingers pushed aside damp silk and slid over the plump folds of her sex. Her clit was a firm little bud, begging to be stroked and flicked. She jumped and shuddered and gave his cock an answering squeeze. He wrestled for control as he slid his hand lower, needing to feel her tight and wet around him. He slid his finger in, and Jesus, she was so fucking wet, drenching his hand in a rush of desire. And tight, her muscles rippling around his finger. So tight he would have to be damn careful at first when he fucked her, easing in slowly to get her used to his size before he rode her hard like he wanted to.