by Jennie Jones
‘I mean it.’
‘I just want one kiss, Luke.’ And the feel of him against her. She wanted that desperately. ‘Nothing more.’
‘It’s going to be the first of many.’
No, it wouldn’t, but let him think it. She stepped forwards, her hands already reaching for him.
He caught her, his arms coming around her as he pulled her into his chest, his embrace so tender and protective that a rush of pleasure went through her.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ he told her.
Tender yet strong. Bold even, and one breath later she believed him.
Exhilaration rushed through her as his mouth claimed hers. Her stomach rippled with the thrill and her need for comfort, need for understanding, overwhelmed her. Pressed against the hard length of him, she kissed him back, all painful memories gone. She raised her arms, pushing up between his to catch him at the back of his head, her fingertips on his strong neck, tufts of his hair dancing between her fingers.
He groaned into her mouth, and held her just a little more firmly. She craved him; his mouth, his arms, his body. He was against her in the best way. Suffocating her in so much pleasure stars were bursting in her head.
She took a breath when he released her mouth, hungry for air but missing his kiss.
His eyes were darkened, his features a hard mask—of the best kind. Need, want and desire. Loving. Strong. For her.
He kissed her again, and she clung on, eager to be held tightly, pulled securely into him and embraced in this overwhelmingly sensual manner. He changed the intensity without loosening his hold. He softened his mouth, playing with hers, teasing her lips with his tongue. She smelled the power in him, the earthy red dust, the metal and plastic of his equipment, the thick cotton of his shirt. His heavy belt pressed into her but she couldn’t feel anything except the sweet pain of being kissed and held. She trembled, but it wasn’t shock—it was satisfaction.
He pushed his fingers through her hair and held the back of her head, pressing his mouth even more tenderly to hers as the heat of their bodies enveloped them. She was secure in his arms. Safe with his mouth on hers.
When he ended the kiss she inhaled, only to find it was his breath she took.
‘I told you we had something,’ he said, his voice low and deep, awakening her.
‘I shouldn’t have asked for this.’ Shouldn’t have let him. Shouldn’t have allowed it—she had to leave.
‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘It was going to happen. It couldn’t not have happened.’
She shook her head. She’d never known passion like this could exist let alone make her feel as though she was swimming against a tide and drowning in the pleasure of him, of feeling so free with another person, so intimate with a man. Now she’d never forget him—and though it would hurt her for the rest of her life, she still relished the thought of remembering this.
‘Rachel?’ he asked when she frowned. He raised his hand and took her chin lightly in his fingers.
She angled her face away, not wanting the soft touch to shake her up any more than she already was. ‘I can’t, Luke.’
‘Why not? Tell me why not.’
‘No. Let’s stop now—’
‘Please don’t hide anything from me. Whatever it is you’ve done, we can fix it.’
‘You’ve always thought me guilty of this—this something I’ve done. Haven’t you?’
‘I think you’re in big trouble and I don’t think you know how to handle it.’
She pulled from his arms and he stepped back, releasing her and giving her space but he was still close enough that the warmth of him drifted over her.
She watched him watching her. Had he known all along she was lying? Since when? A few days ago or from the start? Had his teasing and flirting been nothing more than a ploy to get close to her?
‘How much do you know?’ she asked.
‘Everything except what you’re not telling me.’
Such a cop. Not even a pause. Ready with an answer because he already had his clues and was working with them. ‘I haven’t told you anything yet.’
He didn’t answer.
‘You think I’m lying.’
‘Covering. There’s a difference, and although I’m sure in my heart and my gut that you’re the victim, I have to know for sure. When did you last see him?’
Victim. Crime. Words she loathed. She closed her eyes on them.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
She couldn’t answer. She had no words to express how she felt.
‘Rach—’ He halted. ‘Rosalind,’ he said.
The breath left her so hard she almost crumpled to the ground. Her real name. The name she’d been given at birth. The name that had been joined in marriage to Peter Fletcher’s.
She pushed away but he caught her.
‘Let me go.’ She glared at him. ‘It’s Rachel. Rachel. Rosalind’s long gone.’
She’d always known that he might have run a check, but might was a whole football field away from had. It made her sick, knowing that he’d read about her. He hadn’t given her any inkling before today that he knew so much—so he’d been lying again. Too many lies—too much danger for them both.
She put her hand flat on his chest and pushed him and tried to get her bearings but the landscape blurred and her mind whirled as though all sense of direction had gone. She’d asked him to kiss her—believing that he wanted it too. Believing that they had something and that maybe she could tell him everything, if he had his arms around her while she spoke. If he’d let her do it her way; in her time. If he’d cared about that.
She stepped back. ‘Stay there,’ she told him, her voice brittle. ‘Don’t follow me.’ She was walking away with enough shame and humiliation as it was. She didn’t want him seeing more.
He stepped in front of her. ‘Who’s hurting you?’
‘You are.’ She met his eyes and poured every ounce of dignity still left inside her his way. ‘You accepted that kiss on purpose—to get information out of me.’ She hadn’t thought he’d go this far. How stupid of her. She’d forgotten her own sense, hadn’t packed it in her bag along with her ready cash and running-away gear. She’d let him fool her all along.
She made a fist and hit him in the chest although he hardly moved. ‘You bastard. You said you wouldn’t hurt me. You have no idea just how much you have hurt me.’
‘Rachel—please. Let’s talk. We need to talk more.’
‘I don’t know where he is. All right? I don’t know where he is.’
‘Did you meet him?’
‘Oh, God—you are such a cop.’
‘Rachel—’ He caught hold of her arm and frowned down at her. ‘I can’t let you go,’ he said in a pained tone. ‘We can go to your place and talk, but let me drive you.’
‘No.’ She didn’t want to look at him let alone speak to him.
‘I have to make sure you get home safely. You’ve got to let me do this. And we’ll talk. We’ll talk more.’
She took a step backwards, then another, willing herself to walk past him and get away from his scrutiny and the need for comfort she’d thought he was offering.
‘I’m driving out of here on my own,’ she told him. ‘I won’t talk to you. Get some other police officer to talk to me. I never want to see you again.’
‘I’ll follow you. I need to make sure you get home. Rachel,’ he added, ‘take a breath. Think. You’re about to get into a vehicle and drive off while upset.’
‘So give me a ticket,’ she said over her shoulder as she strode to the 4WD, her senses and her heart battered.
Fifteen
Luke stood beneath the eaves of the club house watching Rachel walk away and breathing as though he’d been in a marathon. She got into her vehicle and a second later she pulled out of the paddock and turned, heading east towards Mt Maria.
He made his way to the front of the club house and caught the attention of a club official. ‘Something’s come up. I’m on a call out
. Can I ask you to collect the club’s gear I was using and put it back where it belongs?’
‘No problem, sarge. Sorry you and your lady didn’t get a hotdog or a burger—hope everything’s all right with you both.’
‘Next time,’ Luke said, forcing a smile. ‘And we’re both fine. Thank you.’
He went to his vehicle. She was already down the dirt track and heading for the road.
He didn’t know what he wanted to do first: punch the door of the troop wagon or have somebody punch him. He practically ripped the door off its hinges as he swung it open, got in and slammed it.
He’d got so far—almost there. And to have her in his arms as he got to that place—it was overwhelming. That kiss had been pure ecstasy, both of them caught in it even though he’d held her harder than he’d meant to. But she’d tugged him to her, holding him just as needily—and he’d still hurt her. By pushing her to talk. Where the hell had his instinct gone? No wonder she didn’t want to trust him.
The engine roared, he put it into four-wheel drive and took off after her, bouncing the vehicle over ruts and bumps.
He caught up with her quickly as she pulled onto the main road, shifting out of four-wheel drive and kicking up dust and gravel as the tyres skidded through the dirt.
He stayed a decent gap behind her until he clocked her doing thirty over the speed limit and worried for her. He flashed the headlights repeatedly.
She slowed eventually and he breathed a sigh of relief as he put his foot on the brake to maintain the gap. She had to drive through town to get to the southbound road and her house. They both slowed as they entered High Street, and regardless of the adrenaline flowing through his system, he hoped to God he didn’t see a fight going on at Breakers, because he wasn’t going to stop for it.
It was almost dusk and the town’s LED street lamps were lit. A number of guys trawled the pavement, heading to or from the motel and Breakers. Will’s vehicle was outside the cop shop and the light was on inside the station. The other officers on shift tonight would be out on a call or cruising around looking for possible trouble. They’d had enough in the last week, and it wasn’t about to end.
Rachel picked up speed again when she exited town and Luke followed suit. He couldn’t think of her as anything but Rachel—no way was she Rosalind or Rebecca.
Twenty minutes later she turned into her driveway. He stopped the wagon just past the gateless entry. She pulled up in front of the house, got out of the car, walked steadily along the concrete path, unlocked the front door and walked inside, slamming the door behind her.
He pulled his mobile from his pocket and took a couple of deep breaths before he punched in a text message.
You deserved that ticket. I clocked you at 130.
No reply.
Rachel, please talk to me.
Nothing.
Rachel, I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.
Have a nice evening.
Damn it. He looked up. He’d give her some time. Hopefully she’d calm down. He could bust in the front door, but he doubted she’d respond to that sort of aggressive attitude any more than she was currently responding to him. He had to get her to calm down so that she’d talk to him and tell him everything. She wore stubbornness like he wore his uniform—always in it, always ready, always thinking it would assist in controlling any situation.
At seven pm he was fidgeting on the seat. He hadn’t moved from the driveway. The heat from the evening took a stroll through the opened windows of the police vehicle. Heat never bothered him but tonight it was sticking to the back of his neck and beneath his shirt like an extra layer on his skin. He flexed his shoulders, concentrating on staying alert. He’d only had about five hours sleep over the last forty-eight and most of that had been at his desk. He needed time off. Long enough to clear his head and sort through the puzzle that wasn’t yet a jigsaw. But he wasn’t going to get it.
What was Jack playing at? Something behind the backs of the detectives on the operation—but what? Luke had called him and got nothing but his answer service. Surely if Jack had discovered something important—something that might affect Luke as officer in charge of this district, or affect Rachel—then he’d have passed on that information.
He glanced around. It was one desperately lonely road she’d chosen to live on. Nobody had driven past. Why had she hidden herself away here? Was she worried Fletcher might find her? Surely she’d have lived in town if that was the case. Or maybe she’d been hiding away until she’d sorted her emotions out. She’d been running for long enough and from a lot of pain. And he’d pushed her, like a jackass bully; thinking he had the right to because he was a cop. He’d never forget the look in her eyes or the expression on her face as he questioned her. No matter that he’d done it gently, he’d forced her to answer. And no matter that no-one at the club had overheard their conversation, it had been a public display—one he’d caused. He’d forgotten he liked the woman. He’d forgotten to be caring.
This was such an un-cop type of thought-process he pulled a face at the idea of his colleagues seeing him—sitting here like an idiot, in uniform, fully armed and not doing a damn thing. But Rachel deserved time. She deserved his patience. If he could keep it.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He couldn’t do anything more until she talked to him or until Jack told him what was going on, and he wasn’t going to pressure her by kicking her door in, tempting though it was. He was being confrontational enough by not leaving her driveway.
His personal mobile rang. He glanced at it, vibrating and lit up on the passenger seat. He grabbed the phone and nearly dropped it in his rush to answer when he saw the caller ID.
‘Don’t hang up!’ Why he’d said that when she’d called him, he didn’t know. But it was an entry into the conversation. ‘Please don’t hang up, Rachel. I need to apologise.’
‘You mean you have another twenty questions for me.’
‘No.’ He winced. ‘Yes—but not the way you think. Not that way. I promise you.’
He glanced at the house. The kitchen blind was open slightly. It had been closed before so she must have opened it to check on him. She was probably standing behind the slats looking at him as he sat in the police vehicle, looking at her behind the blind. A light was on but it was only dim. Maybe a lamp.
‘You can’t promise me anything,’ she said. ‘Nobody can.’
‘I can. And I do.’ He took a breath. ‘If you won’t see me, will you talk to me now, on the telephone?’
‘I’m here, aren’t I? I don’t imagine I’d get very far if I left. I can’t outrun the siren and the flashing lights, can I?’
‘I wouldn’t do that to you—unless it was for your protection.’
‘When?’ she asked. ‘When did you run the check on me?’
He kept his features set in case she could see his face—he had the windows down. But he had to think quickly before answering. If he told her it was before they’d shared that first kiss in the café, before he’d played her and eventually got her to the pistol club where they’d shared another, far more passionate kiss, what would she think and would it do either of them any good? ‘I ran the check on your vehicle because I thought something wasn’t right,’ he said carefully. ‘I don’t apologise for it.’ Maybe there was a bit of regret that she hadn’t told him weeks ago. But this wasn’t the time to delve into that. Anything between them could be dealt with after. When this scenario had finalised. If she wanted him back. At the moment, he doubted it, but there wasn’t time to wonder about that either.
‘Oh, God—you’ve known all along, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘You’ve known from the start.’
‘No. Not from the start.’
‘Before the café? Certainly before you let me ask you to kiss me today. How could you do that?’
‘That’s not fair, Rachel. You could have told me you were in trouble, or thought you were in trouble—you should have told me. I’m a cop, remember?’
&nb
sp; ‘And?’ she asked. ‘What did you find after you ran the check? What did you see or read in those photos and reports that you wouldn’t have seen or read a hundred times before?’
He opened the door and turned on his seat, gripping the phone more tightly as he placed his feet on the rough earth of the driveway. ‘I saw you,’ he said, staring at the kitchen window. ‘I saw what he did to you. Do you know how that made me feel?’
‘I’m sorry anybody has to look at those—but I’ve been hurt too, remember? Do you know how it made me feel? I can give you a detailed description … do you want an update on pain management?’
He wanted to close his eyes, turn his head and block out the sound of her voice. Breathy, velvety—and pained. But he kept his gaze on the kitchen window. ‘I did the right thing.’ He hadn’t raised his voice but even he heard the commanding tone of a police officer. ‘If you think about it—you’ll agree with me.’
The silence dragged on for so long, he thought perhaps she’d cut him off.
‘We’re kind of in the same position here, aren’t we?’ he said. ‘You’re annoyed with me for checking on you and I’m sorry you didn’t think you could tell me what had happened to you before now.’
‘I don’t want it to be like this—’ There was a sob in her voice—or a sigh of regret.
‘Like what?’ he asked.
‘I thought we—’
‘What did you think about us? That we had a chance? Is that what you mean? Don’t … please don’t cry.’ He pushed from the seat slowly and stood. He stared at the kitchen blind, knowing she was behind it and knowing she was looking at him.
‘I’m a big girl. I can look after myself. And anyway,’ she finished, sounding weary now, as though pent-up annoyance and maybe old memories had worn her out in the last couple of hours. ‘I’m too old to cry. And too tired. Go home. I’m not going anywhere. Send someone else to interrogate me because I’m not talking to you about any of it. I don’t want to have to look at you.’
‘Tough,’ he said, ignoring the barb in his heart. ‘Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere,’ he repeated, hoping she understood that he was sticking around to do more than keep an eye on her. He was telling her he wanted to be with her—as in, forever. But he couldn’t say it explicitly. Not yet. Not like this.