The words hung in the air between them. The kitchen grew quiet. A night bird squawked in the distance. A car drove by. A drop of water splashed from the faucet into the sink.
Ethan’s eyes dulled as he set his mouth in a grim line across his face. “Don’t love me, Georgie. Do yourself a favor and don’t love me.”
“Too late,” she whispered. She reached down to stroke his cheek, but he bolted up, grabbing her shoulders, shoving her away. Behind him, his chair toppled noisily to the floor.
“For God’s sake, stop it!” he choked. “You want to know about Cathy? Okay, fine. Here it is. Cathy didn’t get sick, she wasn’t in a car accident or a plane crash! I killed her. Do you hear me? Are you getting this, Georgie? Cathy loved me, too, and I killed her!”
Chapter Nineteen
Karma is the fate you’ve created for yourself in this life as a result of your actions in past lives. Also, what you do in this life will affect what happens to you in future lives. In other words, you create your own reality, whether it’s good…or not so good. If you have found love to be elusive, you may, in effect, have only yourself to blame. Strive to solve your problems in this life, or they will circle around to torment you again.
Georgiana Mundy’s Feng Shui for Lovers
It was pathetic, the way Georgie was looking up at him. Pity shone in her eyes. Pity he didn’t want, didn’t need, and sure as hell didn’t deserve.
Just looking at her made his chest hurt. He wanted to shove her away, far away, out of his sight and out of his mind.
He wanted to pull her close, bury his hands in her glorious hair, feel her warm body pressed against him. Lose himself in her.
He wished to hell he’d never met Georgiana Mundy. Then his world wouldn’t have turned inside out, the ache in his heart he’d finally learned to ignore wouldn’t have begun slicing him to pieces again, making him feel things he had no business feeling. When he was with Georgie, he wanted those things, those very things he didn’t deserve to have.
Turning away from her, he started to leave the kitchen when he felt her fingers wrap around his wrist, halting his progress. Compassion shone in her eyes like candlelight, showing him the way to his own personal heaven.
“Please,” she whispered, moving close to him. “Don’t shut me out, Ethan. Share with me what happened. I want to know. I need to know.”
He gazed down at her as his brain battled with his carefully submerged emotions.
Twisting his wrist, he captured her hand in his, tugging her through the door, down the shadowy hall, and into a dark bedroom. He didn’t even know which one, he only knew that telling her what he had done could not stand the scrutiny of a bright kitchen light.
Besides, he didn’t think he could bear to see the look in her eyes when she discovered what kind of man he was, what kind of man he really was.
In the darkness, he sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress dip slightly under his weight. Without a word, Georgie eased down next to him.
The house was perfectly quiet now except for the rhythm of her breathing. As the small room filled with the scent of her floral soap, he inhaled deeply, letting the subtle fragrance calm him.
Releasing her hand, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The wound in his side had begun to ache again; he ignored it.
“I was the detective in charge,” he said. Beside him, Georgie inched a little closer. “We’d been after this guy for a couple of years. Drugs, mostly. Armed robbery. Human trafficking. Bad dude. We finally cornered him with the goods in a ware house down on the docks. But before we had the scene secured, he’d grabbed a couple of hostages, two teenage girls who’d been riding bikes down by the waterfront. The procedure is, when hostages are involved, you’ve got to call for a negotiator.”
“And they sent Cathy.”
He nodded, blew out a harsh breath. “Yeah. They sent Cathy…”
“Hey, handsome,” Cathy’d said when she stepped from behind the wheel of the silver metallic BMW that had been a birthday gift from her upper-crust father. In her white silk pantsuit, she looked like she was on her way to a society luncheon, not heading off to verbally wrangle with some low-life slimeball. “I hear you need a little help on this one.”
Ethan had frowned into her blue eyes. Rays from the setting sun turned her cheeks a pale amber and brushed her blond hair with streaks of gold. “I didn’t ask for you,” he said. “Let me get someone else in here.”
“Such a worrywart.” Smiling, she tapped him on the chest. “It’s my job, and I’m good at it, and my name was next on rotation. You just cover my ass, okay, good-lookin’?”
“Cathy, I—”
“Not your call, Inspector,” she said, pulling her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, fastening it with one of those elastic things. In the dying light, as she slipped into her Kevlar vest, his engagement ring sparkled on her left hand. “Let’s do this. Tell me what we’ve got.”
He stared down at her for a few more seconds. Blue and red lights flashed around them, bathing them both in fire and ice. In the distance, sirens blared, announcing the approach of more police units. Somewhere along the line, a bubble-headed TV newscaster had shown up and had to be hauled away to a safe distance outside the perimeter.
“This isn’t good, Cath,” he said. “Perp’s holding two teen girls hostage. Access to weapons, and at least three armed men backing him up. If it goes bad, you’ll—”
“What’s his name? What’d he do? What does he want?”
Ethan shook his head in frustration, but finally allowed her to ignore his concerns for her safety. Inside his stomach, his guts twisted painfully.
“Charlie Wong,” he said, his voice all business now. “Narcotics, mostly. Hasn’t made any demands, but I’d imagine a free pass out of here would be high on his list.”
She’d nodded, given him a wink, then gone out to do her job.
The hours dragged by, tensions mounted. At first, Wong wouldn’t talk to her, but as time passed and he and his thugs grew restless, hungry, and worried, he finally caved.
With her cell phone to her ear, she said to Ethan, “He wants a van, a full gas tank, he takes the girls with him, and lets them go once he’s sure he’s not being followed.” To Wong, she said, “No deal, Charlie. You release the hostages, then we’ll talk again.”
Flipping the phone closed, she met Ethan’s eyes. “He wants a face-to-face, right now.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Yes, it is. My call, Inspector. The girls are in bad shape, Ethan, you know what I’m saying? We’ve got to get them out of there.”
“Shit.”
That was the last thing he’d ever said to Cathy. She’d taken that stupid-ass sentiment with her into eternity. Why couldn’t it have been I love you? In the last six years, he’d asked himself that question a thousand times.
Next to him, Georgie eased a little closer, slid her arm around his back.
“She was good at her job,” he said quietly. “Very good. I thought it would be okay. I didn’t know the guy was determined to die. Suicide by cop, they call it. He knew there was no way out, didn’t want prison. Decided to take as many cops with him as he could.”
The warmth of Georgie’s palm seeped through his shirt, reassuring him, silently encouraging him to continue.
“Wong exits the building,” he said, reliving the scene—the uniforms moving quickly into position, the shouts ringing in his ears, the scream of sirens. The stench of tension and fear fills his nostrils. The goddamned fog is thick, getting thicker. His visibility’s impaired. Under his breath, he spits out a vile curse.
“He’s holding one of the girls in front of him. Kid’s crying, terrified. Sharpshooters are in place now. We all have weapons drawn. Cathy’s wearing her vest, but has no weapon. She reaches to pull the hostage away from Wong. The girl stumbles, falls to her knees, putting Cathy in the direct line of fire.”
Cathy hadn’t budged. She’d held her ground, keepin
g herself between Wong and the frightened teenager, giving the girl time to crawl to safety.
“A heavy mist has rolled in and I can’t see Cathy very well. The scene isn’t favorable for us, and I want to just get her out of there. I yell at her to step back so we can get a clear shot, but suddenly there’s a barrage of fire from the ware house. Wong goes nuts. Makes a grab for Cathy just as his cohorts burst from the door behind him. We return fire.”
He stopped, licked his lips, trying to remember, desperate to forget.
“Cath…Cathy goes down,” he whispered. “I see her pitch forward and fall from the pier into the water. I go in after her. Damned water is like ice. I shout her name, but I hear nothing but fog-horns, gunshots, sirens.”
He’d splashed around in the water, calling for her over and over as cold salt water filled his mouth, his nose, stung his eyes.
“My hand…I feel…it’s Cathy. She’s face down. Face down in the water.” He ran splayed fingers through his hair. “She’s face down.”
He thought he heard Georgie say she was sorry, but the buzz in his ears was too loud to tell.
“There are others in the water now, trying to get Cathy out. I’m giving her mouth-to-mouth, but…”
In between breaths, he yelled her name, begged her to come back to him.
But she was gone.
And all he could think was, he’d said Shit, when he should have said I love you.
What can a man do when he doesn’t get a second chance to make things right? He was a man who fixed things. Where was his do-over? Where was Cathy’s?
“Ethan,” Georgie said gently, “it was the circumstances. You can’t keep blaming yourself—”
“No?” he shouted, surging to his feet. In the dimly lit room, he could see her upturned face, her eyes wide in shock. She thought that was all there was, but wait until he dropped the big one on her.
“You don’t understand, Georgie,” he snarled. The pain in his side burned like a son of a bitch. The words he was about to say lodged hard in his throat—the damning words that would push Georgie out of his reach forever. But he had to say them, she had to know. It was the only way she’d realize he wasn’t the man she thought he was. “You don’t get it, do you? When they did the autopsy, they found…they found…hell, it was my bullet that killed her, Georgie. My bullet. Mine!”
Scrubbing his face with his open palm, he paced the room. “I’ve gone over the scene a thousand times, maybe a million. I don’t know how it happened. But it did. It fucking did.”
He tightened his jaw, willing himself to stay calm, unemotional.
“She was going to be my wife, Georgie. I loved her, and I’m the one who killed her! How can I justify that? How can anyone? Huh? The bullet severed the carotid, lodged in one of the verte-brae in her neck. If it hadn’t stuck there, I never would have known, always would have assumed. But it was mine. She was dead before…before I could—”
“Ethan,” Georgie whispered, his name mere breath on her lips. Rising to her feet, she pressed her palms to his chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I’m no hero,” he growled. “Don’t love—”
“Shh,” she hissed, putting her fingertips gently to his lips, silencing him. “Don’t do this. It’s okay, it’s okay. C’mere. Come. It’s okay.”
He stood unbending, unyielding, as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. She whispered things in the dark, he had no idea what. His brain was still back there, under that pier, in that black water, his arms still held Cathy’s lifeless body as he choked out her name.
Suddenly the strain was too much, and he bent his head, burying his face against Georgie’s warm neck. His arms whipped around her, yanking her hard into him as he let himself succumb to her soft words and caresses.
Her silky hair was warm, and he reveled in the scent and sensation of it. Woman…soft woman…loving woman…Georgie. He needed this. His tortured soul needed this. Needed her. As wrong as it was, he just couldn’t shove her away.
She pulled back a bit, lifting her head, and he felt her lips against his mouth.
The dam exploded. The emotions he’d suppressed for so long, the pain, the sorrow, burst from his chest. He thrust his fingers through her hair, arching her neck, kissing her violently. The kisses became hungrier, more urgent, more carnal. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t, not until he’d consumed her. A fire burned inside him, scorching his guts, and only Georgie could soothe the wounds.
Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, he tasted her, slid his tongue along hers, turned their bodies until they fell onto the bed.
“Ethan,” she panted against his open mouth as she began pulling at his clothes.
Unable to speak, he made a strangled cry at the back of his throat—the sound of a beast in heat. He tore at her clothing until she was naked. Blindly, wildly, he ran his hands over her body, cupping her breasts, devouring her nipples with tender nips and bites.
She squirmed beneath him, sliding her fingers through his hair, keeping his head against her breasts, urging him to feed himself on her passion.
Reaching down, he popped the buttons of his jeans, but her hand was there, tugging the fabric aside, gliding her fingers along his slick length. She moaned, whispered words of encouragement, then parted her legs to let him settle deeper into their embrace.
He nudged her knees wider apart until nothing stood between him and his goal. In one long thrust, he was inside her, pumping hard. The headboard slammed the wall in time with Georgie’s gasping breaths. Inside his chest, his heart thundered against his ribs, but he bared his teeth, and thrust again, and again.
Her legs curled around his waist, holding him in place while she raised her hips off the bed in time with his ravaging thrusts. In his ear, she sighed his name again, and again, and again, caressing his heated flesh with her fingertips.
He stilled, fighting for breath, fighting to keep his brain separated from his actions. He didn’t want to think, only wanted to feel. Only wanted Georgie’s softness all around him, her sweetness. He thrust again, and she cried out. Again, and she nearly screamed. Once more, and she tumbled, her body jerking, her cries of completion urging him on.
He came, hard, hot, fast, inside her, emptying himself, filling her. In that moment, he ceased to be a man, but became a mate, a primal creature bonded completely with his feminine opposite. They moved together as one, breathing in time, holding on tight, reveling in their wholeness.
Clenching his jaw, he pinched his eyes closed and fought to fill his lungs with air. Under him, Georgie had gone limp and languid, her gentle fingertips sliding up his back, along his shoulders, making little swirls as she eased them up his neck to caress his hair.
“Georgie,” he whispered, resting his forehead on hers. “God. I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry…that was—”
“Shhh,” she panted softly. “It’s okay…it’s okay…don’t be sorry. You’re so good…you make me feel so good…don’t ever be sorry…” Her fingers played with the damp ends of his hair as she seemed to relax beneath him.
I love you. I love you, Georgie. I wish I could tell you…
Unable to say the words, he rolled off her, then wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her body close into his. He bent his head and placed a gentle kiss on her neck, hoping tenderness would be enough for her to know his feelings.
He felt her back move against his chest as she inhaled a deep breath. She wiggled a little, nestling her sweet butt into his crotch. Sliding his leg over hers, he trapped her there and let himself enjoy the feel of her in his arms.
“I need to get something straight,” she said, then placed a kiss on his forearm. “And it’s not what you think.” She bumped him with her butt, and he chuckled.
“Keep doing that, and something will be straight, and it will be what you think.”
She settled closer. “Okay, think about this, then. Six years ago, a bullet from your gun found its way into the body of an on-duty hostage negotiator during a viol
ent and confusing confrontation with a drug dealer and his gang, and you’ve been blaming yourself for it ever since.”
He thought about it for a moment. “Granted,” he said cautiously. “That’s one way of putting it. Where are you going with this, Georgie?”
“Well, what if the situation had been reversed?”
“You mean, what if I had been the drug-dealing—”
“No.” She wiggled free of his embrace, turned, and faced him. “What I’m saying is, what if Cathy had been the detective, and you had been the negotiator? What if the scene played out the same way, but instead of you shooting her, she shot you?” She searched his eyes as though seeking some long-lost truth. On a mere breath, she said, “What if you had been the one to die? Ethan, would you have wanted her to beat herself up forever and ever because of a horrible accident? An ironic and bizarre twist of fate?”
He blinked at her. At her bare waist, his fingers tightened. “Of course not. But that’s not the way—”
“Maybe that’s not the way it happened, but the fact remains, if the situation were reversed, and she was the one who accidentally shot and killed you, you’d want her to forgive herself, wouldn’t you? Not blame herself for something that was nobody’s fault? You’d want her to put it behind her, find someone else, be happy. Isn’t that what you want for someone you love?”
His eyes burned. “You have no right—”
Her hand came up and she cupped his jaw. “I do. I really do. I do because I love you, and I hurt when I see the pain in your eyes.”
“You have a little hurt in your eyes, too, you know.”
In the darkness, he saw one brow arch. “Don’t try and redirect the conversation, buster. It won’t work.”
“Fine. But you’re hurt, and I see it. It makes me crazy. Makes me want to go after every person who’s ever harmed you.”
Her mouth found his in a gentle kiss. When she pulled away, she said, “See? Like I said, everybody’s champion. But I’m flattered, nonetheless.”
He swallowed, letting her words rumble through his brain. “Okay, we’re both in pain. It’s the price you pay for being human, I suppose.”
Satisfaction Page 19