For Just Cause

by Kara Lennox

  Of course, for all that she was easy to be around, she hadn’t cultivated many close friends or lovers. That had been deliberate on her part; she usually didn’t open up enough herself to let people get really, really close.

  With Billy, she had. She’d trusted him with secrets she hadn’t revealed to anyone else, secrets that could damage her if her trust was misplaced, secrets that she would never have told anyone she didn’t have special feelings toward. That he wouldn’t do the same for her had to mean that he didn’t share those feelings, and that hurt.

  Billy banged the heel of his hand on the steering wheel when someone cut him off in traffic. “I don’t want to drive you away, okay? Some things about me, you aren’t ready to hear. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

  Okay. She turned his argument over and over in her head. It made sense; he cared for her enough that he didn’t want to reveal parts of himself that he thought Claudia might find unpalatable.

  A small ember of hope glowed inside her. If she was patient, if she gave him space, in time he would realize that there was very little he could reveal—short of confessing he was an ax murderer—that would drive her away. Surely his secrets couldn’t be that bad…could they?

  “I can accept that.”

  He flashed a sideways glance at her. “Really?”

  “I think so. I mean, for all the letters after my name, I’m not really that great at relationships. I can tell other people how to do it, but my track record isn’t something I brag about. I’m fumbling a bit.”

  He nodded. “Okay, then.”

  Okay? Had she just agreed to something? Were they entering into a relationship, or were they still negotiating? Or were they back to the friends-with-benefits idea? She’d better figure it out quickly, because Billy was turning in to his apartment building’s garage. They had food to keep their hands and mouths occupied for the next little while, but when that was gone, she was afraid other, more pressing biological urges would take over.

  Ten minutes later, Claudia sat across from Billy at the kitchen table, an amazing array of food as well as a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon between them. He’d probably bought the wine for her; she’d observed that his alcoholic beverage of choice was beer. She appreciated his thoughtfulness, but she wasn’t sure that dulling her normal caution with alcohol was the smartest decision.

  Still, as stressful as today had been, she would never be able to sleep if she didn’t do something to unwind. So, one glass. That wouldn’t hurt.

  Their breakfast dishes had been washed and put away in their absence; the housekeeper must have been here.

  “This food is amazing.” She was so overwhelmed by the choices she didn’t know where to start—with the spinach and artichoke dip, the Vietnamese pot stickers or the sushi? There was also a small tub of fresh, cut fruit, some gourmet cheeses and crackers bristling with sesame seeds. “How come I never heard of Foodi’s before?”

  “I wouldn’t know about it if I didn’t pass it every day on my way home.” He popped the cork on the wine and poured her glass almost to the brim. “Tried it one day when I decided I couldn’t stomach one more take-out hamburger, and I was hooked.” He popped a wedge of chicken quesadilla into his mouth.

  “I may never cook again.” Oh, crab Rangoon, she hadn’t seen that before. She took a bite of the tasty, crunchy morsel and closed her eyes in ecstasy. Maybe it was her recent brush with danger, but it seemed as if since she’d left the hospital, her senses had expanded to take in more. Colors were brighter, music was more complex, she registered smells she’d never noticed before, and food tasted great.

  Or maybe it was the effect of endorphins. She’d studied enough about “love” to know that all the neurotransmitters swimming through the blood of a person who was in a deep state of attraction could alter the physical senses.

  She’d never really thought she would fall prey to what people called love, and she wasn’t sure yet that she had. But something was making her feel different, as if her own skin was no longer big enough for her.

  Or maybe she ought to stop eating so much. She resisted gobbling down just one more bite-size quiche.

  “I think I’m finally full.” Her wineglass was empty, too. That wasn’t good. She didn’t even remember drinking it. “Let’s clean up this mess.” It looked as if a barbarian horde had been through Billy’s kitchen.

  They closed various plastic containers and stashed them in Billy’s immaculate side-by-side fridge. “Your housekeeper does a nice job on the fridge.”

  “The fridge is easy. I pretty much only use it for beer and an occasional box of leftovers. You should see her getting the spots out of my Berber carpeting—now that’s true artistry. She’s a miracle worker. I never had a maid before I lived here, but these apartments come with weekly housekeeping service. Now I’m spoiled.”

  “Nice.” Although she could easily afford maid service, some deeply ingrained part of her hesitated to give herself that small bit of luxury. She well remembered those snotty rich kids whose dorm rooms she’d cleaned as part of her work-study program, kids who deliberately left a disgusting mess on the days they knew she was coming. Maybe a part of her was afraid of being like them. The luxury car she could do, but not the maid. Funny how she somehow justified the distinction, when logically it made no sense.

  When she went to the sink and picked up a sponge, intending to wipe off the table, Billy came up behind her and took the sponge away. “Enough. You’re my guest, you don’t have to clean.”

  The heat of his body radiated through her clothes, and for a moment she fantasized about simply leaning back against him and going limp, falling into his embrace as easily as she might step into a shower.

  She wanted him. She craved his touch, his scent and the lovely mental vacation she could take while they made love. Their interlude at her office was the only time since receiving Mary-Francis’s email—other than when she’d been asleep—that she’d put the woman’s dilemma out of her mind. She’d put everything out of her mind except how good she felt.

  He didn’t move away, but neither did he touch her. His breath tickled the back of her neck, and she knew he was waiting for a signal from her.

  “Do it,” she whispered.

  “Do what?” he asked innocently.

  How dare he tease her! Did she have to spell it out? “Touch me.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Would I ask if I didn’t want it?”

  He lifted the hair off the back of her neck and planted the softest of kisses there. “I need to take a shower. Want to join me?”

  Her knees actually buckled, and she had to support herself on the edge of the counter with her one good hand. Was she really going to do this?

  A sudden rush of cool air wafted over her back, and she realized Billy had pulled away. He was walking out of the kitchen without a backward glance, putting the decision squarely in her court.

  She saw what he was doing. He didn’t want her to be able to say, later, that he’d seduced her or caught her in a weak moment. If they had sex again, it was going to be a conscious decision on her part. If she followed him to the bedroom, to the bathroom, took off her clothes and hopped under the spray with him, she was fully consenting, no reservations, to sex and, she was afraid, a whole lot more.

  But that was exactly what she did. No more analysis, no more second-guessing. If it was a mistake, it probably wouldn’t kill her. She’d either be really happy, at least for a while until the half-crazy love-haze faded, or she would learn something from her folly. The experience would help her better understand the illogical actions her patients sometimes took in the name of love…right?

  She followed the hallway to Billy’s bedroom, where she could hear running water beckoning from the bathroom. With one flick of her arm, her tank top was over her head and gone. She kicked off her heels and wiggled out of her skirt and her Walgreens bra and panties, then gingerly removed the splint from her arm. She entered the bathroom.

&nb
sp; Billy was already buck naked, and he was a sight to behold. He was golden tan all over except for the parts covered by shorts or trunks outdoors, and his muscular glutes gleamed pale in contrast. As he leaned into the shower to adjust the spray, Claudia’s breath caught in her throat.

  Why on God’s green earth had she hesitated?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BILLY TURNED TO FACE the warm spray and caught movement from the corner of his eye. For a split second his old reflexes surfaced, and he reached for a gun that wasn’t there. Then sanity returned, followed quickly by excitement and arousal. Claudia was here, standing not four feet away, wearing nothing but a smile.

  The glass door was still open a crack. He pushed it open farther, beckoning her into the warm steam cocoon.

  Once they came together, they were in a private world where nothing else could intrude—not doubts or dangers, unhappy memories, guilt or insecurities. There was only Claudia, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. As she wrapped her good arm around his neck and let the other rest on his shoulder, he realized with a pang why she looked so beautiful.

  Her eyes were open and filled with love—or at least something he interpreted as love. The wariness, the caution, were absent for the first time since he’d known her. Not even the bruises on her cheekbone and around her eye could detract from the ethereal beauty.

  The trust she’d begun to build had matured until it was almost complete.

  He wished it was a two-way street, but even that uncomfortable thought drifted away as he claimed her mouth with his.

  As they kissed, he maneuvered her around until the gentle spray was on her shoulders, wetting her hair and slicking her back. Feeling his way to the niche in the tile where he kept soap and shampoo, he grabbed his trusty bar of Ivory and ran it up and down her back until a layer of slick bubbles coated her smooth skin. He moved her again so the shower wouldn’t wash it all away, then worked the suds up and down, to her neck and then to her hips, giving her a firm massage.

  Claudia groaned, which he took to mean she liked what he was doing. Her muscles were probably still sore from the beating she’d taken. He lightened his touch when he encountered the purple bruises and tried not to think about the animal who’d done this to her.

  Later. He would get his revenge before this was all over. But for now, there was only Claudia.

  Before he’d realized what was happening, she’d gotten possession of the soap. Even without the use of her left hand she was incredibly clever, running the creamy white soap all over him, and for a while they were content to kiss and squish those delightful bubbles all over each other’s torso and arms, neck, face.

  “You want your hair shampooed?” His voice was hoarse.

  “Mmm. You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do just about anything to make you feel good, mi amor. Besides, I figure it takes two good hands to shampoo a head of hair.” He grabbed his shampoo bottle. It was nothing special; he tended to buy whatever bottle he saw first, so long as it didn’t smell like flowers. This one was almond extract and green tea, and though he’d never paid much attention to the smell, as he worked the liquid into Claudia’s pale blond hair, he noticed it smelled slightly sweet, a little bit tangy.

  He swiveled her around so she faced away from him, then worked the lather all through her hair, gently massaging her scalp, being extra gentle near the discoloration at her right temple. He massaged the back and sides of her neck, feeling the tension there melt away.

  Eventually, playing the role of masseur wasn’t enough. His hands strayed down, splashing lather on her breasts as he cupped and caressed them. Her nipples, large and rosy, were hard as nail heads.

  She grabbed one of his hands and guided it down to between her legs. Standing there with the warm water tumbling over them, he slipped into her silky warmth and slowly stroked the pebble-hard nub he found there, pausing to circle, slowing things down, speeding them up until she was begging him to finish her off.

  When he did, her cries echoed against the white tile of his shower. He wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her in place as he drew every last cry of ecstasy from her.

  Gasping for breath, she turned to face him, her eyes glazed with pleasure, water dripping from her blond hair, kiss-swollen lips parted, and he thought she was the sexiest, most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. He could easily have lifted her up and impaled her on his erection, and the temptation to do so was fierce. With his need driving him so strongly, though, he feared he would be too rough—Claudia was brave but she had been badly injured and those bruises on her hip looked painful.

  Besides, he wasn’t looking for a quickie in the shower. He wanted to take his time.

  Billy switched off the water and opened the door. Claudia didn’t protest. He grabbed a fluffy white towel and blotted her dry, sopped the worst of the moisture from her hair, then quickly ran the towel over himself. Finding another dry towel, he wrapped it around Claudia and lifted her into his arms.

  She squeaked in surprise, then grinned up at him. “What have you got in mind?”

  “Just a bed, that’s all. You, me, a bed and all night long, how does that sound?”

  “Bring it on.”

  He made love to her slowly, kindling her desire once again like rubbing sticks together to start a fire. He made sure she took as much pleasure from each step as he did.

  When he entered her, her breath caught in her throat, and then she sighed; when he lengthened his stroke, she grasped him, pulled him hard into her. And when he finally unleashed himself and peaked, buried deep inside her warmth, he let loose with something that sounded like a war whoop, and Claudia climaxed, too, laughing and crying at the same time.

  Afterward, he held her for a long time and they were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

  This is it, he realized. This was what his sisters had meant when they told him that someday he’d find someone to love, someone whose soul meshed with his seamlessly.

  And yet…he still wasn’t sure he was ready. His thoughts lingered way too often on Sheila and her horrible fate. He hadn’t been in love with her; hadn’t felt the way he felt about Claudia. But he’d liked her a helluva lot. Respected her. Depended on her. Desired her. Spent more hours with her than anyone else.

  They wouldn’t have stayed together in the long run. They clashed too much, what with both of them being bossy and territorial. Still, her death had left a hole in his heart that a herd of cattle could stampede through.

  He could see himself long-term with Claudia. Until recently, he’d thought no woman would tempt him to give up his independence. This woman, though, was certainly in the running.

  She couldn’t fill the hole in his heart. It was there to stay. But somehow, she made his heart feel bigger, as if for the first time he had enough room in there to love someone.

  Claudia slid out of bed to brush her teeth and put her splint back on her arm, but when she came back she happily cuddled up against him and sighed contentedly.

  He allowed her that contentment. He could give her that, at least for a while. But a nagging voice inside him warned him that this moment of perfection was temporary. They’d reached an agreement that covered here and now. But the future was one big question mark.

  * * *

  CLAUDIA SNUGGLED MORE DEEPLY under the lightweight chenille spread, drowsy and content and so darn comfortable. She didn’t know if it was Billy’s bed, or the fact that he was in it next to her, but for the second night in a row, despite her aches and pains, she slept like a contented puppy.

  She woke up once, at about two in the morning according to the bedside clock, but hearing Billy’s steady breathing next to her, feeling his warmth and the arm thrown possessively across her body, even in sleep, reassured her and she immediately drifted back to sleep.

  That all changed when she awoke suddenly to Billy thrashing around in the bed next to her. He’d kicked the covers off; one of his pillows was at the foot of the bed, the other on the floor, and
he was in the midst of a terrible nightmare.

  He shouted out angry, unintelligible words, whipping his head from side to side and obviously in severe emotional pain.

  Claudia’s adrenaline surged, and her first, very human instinct was to reach out and shake him awake, to hold him and soothe him and tell him it was okay.

  The professional side of her urged her not to do anything foolhardy. Adult nightmares were often the result of post-traumatic stress syndrome. In his dream state Billy was mostly paralyzed, prevented from acting out whatever violent actions were taking place inside his head. In that split second between waking and sleeping, his mind would still be in the dream but he could move his body, and she might wind up having two black eyes instead of just one.

  She grabbed a pillow and scooted off the bed. “Billy! Billy, wake up, you’re dreaming.”

  “No!” he shouted, still in his dreamworld. Then, a long, agonized, “Nooo! Sheila, oh, God, Sheila!”

  She couldn’t stand this. Holding the pillow in front of her like a shield, she closed the distance between them and reached for his shoulder, shaking him hard.

  “Billy!” she said again. “Wake up!”

  When he moved, he moved fast. He came out of the bed swinging, and the only thing that saved her from getting hit, aside from the pillow, was that he pushed her off balance and she fell to the floor, landing painfully on the same hip she’d injured in the parking garage.

  He took two more steps, lashing out with his fists. He ran into the dresser and knocked off an old ashtray full of change.

  Coins exploded everywhere and scattered across the carpeting. The dish slammed into the wall and shattered into hundreds of glass shards.

  Billy stopped moving, breathing as if he’d just run three blocks to catch a bus. Dawn light seeped through the blinds enough that she could see his eyes were open. He looked slightly confused, but completely sane again.

  He looked around, spotted her crouched on the floor. “What just happened?”

  “You were having a nightmare.”