Hold You Close (Seattle Sound Series Book 3)

by Alexa Padgett

  “Pride ain’t that mighty, not when yours is the best love

  I cannot lose,

  So baby, I’m here, needing you—

  If you stay,

  Let me hold you close and keep you warm.”

  I stopped playing. “It’s not finished yet, but I wanted you to hear it.” I dropped my fingers from the keys and wrapped them around her waist, hauling her closer. “I needed you back in my life to be able to write again.” I let my forehead rest against hers. “Know why?”

  She shook her head, just a little, her eyes never leaving mine.

  I took a deep breath, the fear of losing her, of Jordan hurting her, a bitter taste in my mouth. I focused on her deep brown eyes, those rich swirls of color. I might be out of practice, but I knew how to say this.

  My hand moved to the back of her neck, cupping her head in my hand. Cradling it. “I thought about it before, but when you asked me if that’s how I dealt with everything, I realized I hadn’t. I mean, I’ve known for a while I should see you, try to understand why you broke my heart.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  I placed my fingertips on her soft lips, and she inhaled sharply, eyes on mine.

  “It never healed. I did stupid shit, then more stupid shit because I didn’t know how to fix it and I didn’t want to hurt anymore.”

  I removed my fingertips, scooting closer to her on the bench. Her breathing escalated. My heart tried to thump out of my chest.

  “Murphy,” Kevin said. “The police want to talk to you.”

  “Later.”

  “They’re here now, and—”

  “Blood fucking hell.” I stared hard into her eyes. “We’re finishing this.”

  21

  Mila

  I nodded, shoving my tousled hair back from my cheeks. “Yes, please.”

  He stood as he removed his hand out from behind my knees and my body slid down the length of his. We both hissed out a breath.

  “Ms. Trask, Mr. Etsam,” Detective Davenport said with a nod. Murphy shook his hand, so I did the same. Once we were all settled again, this time with water I grabbed for us, Detective Davenport leaned forward. “I wanted to let you know where we are with the investigation.” He raised his eyebrows. “Especially since you seem busy.”

  I stiffened and Murphy wrapped his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re here pretty late,” I said.

  Davenport sat back and cleared his throat. “Full day. First free minutes I’ve had to stop by.”

  “Have you eaten?” I asked. “We can order you something.”

  Davenport smiled, a full one of appreciation, but shook his head. “So . . . we have warrants out on Jordan Jones, both for assault with a deadly weapon against Noelle Markham, and for attempted battery and aggravated stalking of you, Ms. Trask.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to arrest him?”

  Davenport’s lips puckered for a moment. “We want to. But we have to find him first.”

  “The hell?” Murphy growled. “Do your jobs and get the bloke!”

  Kevin cleared his throat and Murphy turned to glare at him, too. “Not that easy,” he said, his voice calm. “Seattle proper has over six hundred thousand people in it. Then there’re the surrounding areas. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack. Especially since he hasn’t used any of his credit cards, and he’s finding ways to get past security. He wore a disguise to get in through the delivery entrance of the hotel.”

  “What about burning down Mila’s house? You going to charge him for that, too?”

  “As soon as I can prove it was him,” the detective said, his voice more clipped. Because Murphy was questioning him or because the situation angered him as well?

  “What do you need to prove he torched my house?” I asked.

  Davenport rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Arson’s tricky. The house flamed really hot, so we know lots of accelerant was used. Gasoline,” he clarified. “But Jordan’s been smart. Once he was in the country, he hasn’t flashed his passport and has paid for everything in cash. And now the disguises. He’s sliding under the radar.”

  “Can you track his mobile? You know, with that find a friend feature.” Murphy waved his hand.

  Davenport’s lip kicked up in sardonic approval. “If I knew his number, sure. Do you happen to have the phone number of the device he’s using here? Because the cell phone in his name is sitting in Rosemary Jones’ house, back in Sydney.”

  I tensed again, not liking the mention of my mother still spending time with Jordan.

  “Right. So. To clarify . . .” Murphy said. “You have lots of warrants and probable cause. You’re actively searching for the wanker but just haven’t found him. When you do, you plan to put him in jail for the rest of his ruddy life.”

  “As soon as we catch him,” Davenport averred.

  “When will that be?” I asked. I twisted my left fist around my right pointer finger, in an effort to relieve my building anxiety and my burgeoning need for another dose of Xanax. Alpie cooed from her cage, and I considered letting her out to comfort me because Murphy wouldn’t give me the pill until tomorrow, and I needed to come up with new coping skills to deal with all this tension.

  I licked my lips thinking of the best relaxation method. What was it my psychiatrist said? Skills before pills. Well, Murphy had mad skills in the bedroom, and I’d bet they’d improved this past year. Not that I wanted to think about why that was . . . and I was back to being concerned about why Murphy wanted to have sex with me.

  Davenport took a long drink of water. After setting the glass back on the table, he held first Murphy’s gaze then my own. “I want this guy. I want him behind bars. Now. Not because the Seattle PD appears incompetent—that’s the chief’s PR problem. Jordan Jones is a bad man doing bad things. I don’t want another fire or another person harmed. I don’t want to have to come back here and tell you we’ve failed again.”

  I cleared my throat, thankful for the ability to focus on something besides the rabbit trail of Murphy’s sexcapades. I leaned forward, away from Murphy’s drugging scent and warmth. “I don’t think you’ve failed. And you’re the first police personnel to believe me. Thank you for that.”

  “We just want him in custody,” Murphy added. “Unable to terrorize Mila any further.”

  “We all do,” Kevin said. “Would make my life a lot easier if I didn’t have to worry not only about a gunman but also about your reaction to him.” He raised his eyebrows, still irritated about Murphy’s stunt in the garage. Murphy shrugged, clearly not willing to apologize for his concern over my safety. Oh, how I wished I really was Murphy’s top priority.

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “We keep searching and hope we get a good lead,” Davenport said. “Something to break the case.”

  Murphy ended the interviews with a speed that bordered on terseness. If I didn’t know him well, I’d think he was being a rock star diva dickhead. But he kept tugging at his eyebrow ring, flicking his lip piercing, fidgeting with his hands. Murphy was nervous about our conversation, and the fear of being shot at still coursed through us. As soon as Detective Davenport shuffled his papers, Murphy stood and practically hauled me from the room.

  I would have been embarrassed if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with what Murphy had begun to tell me earlier. I’d broken his heart and it hadn’t healed. Did that mean he still loved me? Could I believe him if he told me that now?

  The situation we’d been thrust in was dangerous. It escalated emotions and physical reactions. I knew that—I was a doctor. Yet, here I stood, my body practically begging for Murphy to touch me, make me forget my fears and anxieties.

  He fumbled with the door. “It’s locked,” he muttered. “Mila, I—” Instead of finishing that thought, he leaned down and kissed me. This meeting of lips, teeth, tongue was slow, soft, banked with more hunger than I’d ever felt from him before. I kissed him back, trying to make up for lost time.

  He ripped
his lips from mine, his eyes dark with lust. “I want to make love to you, Mila.”

  I cupped his cheeks. Ignoring my pounding heart, I said, “Because of the adrenaline? To feel more alive?”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “No. Because nearly losing you today, worrying you were hurt or dead, made my heart pound and my hands sweaty and my soul ache.”

  I blinked up at him. Not the declaration of love I wanted, but the words, their starkness, melted my heart. And . . . to be honest, I wanted Murphy, too. Just as much—maybe more—than he wanted me.

  “I can’t have sex with you,” I said, sighing. Stepping back was hard.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I’ll want to be in a relationship. An exclusive one.”

  His frown cleared. “But we are.”

  “Since when?” I asked.

  “Since I saw you again.”

  “You were so angry at the Tractor Tavern.”

  He shook his head. “I was hurt. Part of me still is. I’m also angry you didn’t trust me with the situation with Jordan then.”

  And here we were. Back to the lack of trust, to the bitterness we’d both created over the last year. If I asked him how we got past this, I might never have another chance to feel Murphy’s arms around me, his skin sliding over mine. Was I ready to throw away our chemistry—whatever this second chance was?—because our relationship hadn’t aligned perfectly? I was still in love with him, would be for the rest of my life. So if this was all I could get, these few stolen days punctuated by the fear of Jordan’s stalking, I’d be a fool to not live them to the fullest.

  I stepped back, my limbs shaking. I opened my robe and let it fall from my shoulders. “Make love to me, Murphy.”

  Meeting his gaze and the emotion there caused me to step back in. Closer. I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to pleasure and be pleasured.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  I snorted. He placed his hands on my hips, cupping my bum. “I mean it. No one compares to you, Mila.”

  “Enough sweet talking. Kiss me already.”

  He did. And it was hot, wet, glorious. His tongue stroked mine, relearning the textures of my mouth. I moaned, pressing my body fully against his, my hands in his hair.

  “I’ve got to feel you against my skin.”

  He disentangled our arms, and I whimpered. His smirk disappeared behind his T-shirt. And then his chest was bare. I touched his collar bones, slid my hands down his pecs and traced his puckered nipples. His breath hissed out and he moaned when my fingers drifted lower, over his abs to the button of his jeans.

  He cupped my shoulder blade with one hand, the other covering my breast. I leaned into his palm, needing the friction. Right . . . there. I gasped as my nipples hardened.

  “Please.”

  “What do you want, Mila?”

  “You. I need you.”

  I undid the fastening on his jeans. Reaching inside, I cupped his erection. He was so hard, so warm in my hand through his underwear.

  “Don’t stop,” he groaned.

  “Don’t plan to.”

  With my free hand, I managed to shove his jeans over his hips. They puddled over his boots. He dipped his head and I tilted mine, knowing he wanted to kiss my jawline. I jumped when his lips, then his tongue, touched the upper swell of my breast. Not what I expected but good. So good.

  He quivered as I cupped him harder, pressing him into my palm.

  His hand at my shoulder drifted down my spine. His arm tightened around my waist, low, just above my hips. He tipped back and we fell onto the bed.

  I sprawled over him, my hair cascading around our faces. His hand cupped my bum, weighing it, caressing it, while his thumb and forefinger plucked at my nipple. This time, he kissed my jaw, near my ear.

  I whimpered as I ran my free hand down his side. I needed more of him. I would always need him.

  He pulled me up so that my breasts were even with his mouth. When we collapsed on the bed, I lost my grip on his erection, and now my hands were splayed across his chest. I loved the soft, springy hair there, and I tangled my fingers in it, tugging just enough for him to growl.

  He toyed with one nipple, his tongue swirling around it until it hardened into a tight bud. He went to the other side, massaging my flesh. I wiggled against him, managing to straddle one of his thighs and I pressed my heated core onto his leg. We both moaned at the contact.

  “You’re so wet.”

  “I want you,” I gasped.

  He chuckled, burying his face between my breasts. “You’re going to have me, love.”

  I pushed up, off him and knelt at his feet. I pulled off his boots, his socks and then his jeans. He’d leaned up on his elbows, and I took my time scrutinizing this delicious man as I crawled back up his big, muscular body.

  “Been working out, I see.” I touched his broadened shoulders, following my hand with my lips. He shuddered as my hand, then my mouth, drifting down to the more defined muscles at his core.

  “Surfing, actually. I spend most of my free time doing that and kayaking.”

  “It’s working for you,” I purred.

  He flipped me over so I lay beneath him.

  “God. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you like this.”

  He ran his fingertips between my breasts and over my stomach. He pressed his palm against my heat and I moaned.

  “I like this. How wet you are for me.” He kissed me, his teeth tugging on my lower lip. I bucked against his hand, wanting, needing more.

  He slid his fingers over my clitoris, and I raised my hips, splaying my legs wider. He licked his way over my lips before delving into my mouth. I kissed him back, fingers tangled in his hair.

  He pressed a finger into me and my head fell back, mouth open, as my back bowed.

  “Christ, Mila, you’re tight.”

  “Feels good. Don’t stop.”

  He found a rhythm with his finger, sliding in and out of my body, pressing forward into that spot I loved. His thumb circled the bundle of nerves.

  “Murphy,” I whimpered.

  “Here with you. Let go. I’ve got you.”

  “No, I want you with me.”

  “We have all night, Mil.” He pressed more insistently against my clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of my body. My hips bucked wildly. The pleasure built too fast, too big. I kissed him with all that passion inside me as I pushed down his boxer briefs. Soon, I’d admire his bum in them. But right now, I wanted him inside me.

  I tugged his cock forward, but he wouldn’t stop caressing me with his fingers.

  “Murphy, I need you inside me. Please.”

  His fingers were gone and then he pressed against my entrance. He both moaned and gasped.

  “Condom,” he muttered.

  The crinkle of a foil packet, the weight of his knee next to my hip, his body covering mine. He slid inside me before I really considered the need for protection. I threw my head back and gripped his shoulders, my hips rising to press tighter to his groin. I’d missed him, missed this. He pulled out. I leaned up as he pushed into me and bit into his shoulder. He reared back but I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him closer.

  I teetered on the edge.

  “Christ. I’ve missed you.” He caught my lips in another kiss and I tilted my hips to accept his next thrust. Murphy was back in my body, pulsing inside me. He held himself there, pinning me to the bed with his hips. He stared down into my eyes. His face flushed, his features sharpened with lust. He pulled out once more, his eyes on the place where we joined. He pressed back into me just as slowly. He hissed and I whimpered at the sensations pulsing through me.

  One more thrust sent me over the edge. I convulsed around him, my vision going black at the edges as he continued to pump into me, milking my orgasm that seemed to go on and on and on.

  I eased back from the pleasure just in time to feel him stiffen over me. He came on a low groan, his forehead
against mine. I pressed a kiss to his lips and pulled him tighter to me as he finished falling over the edge.

  22

  Murphy

  Intense. The best orgasm ever, and this woman was the reason for it.

  Much as I’d wanted to draw our coupling out, bring her to the pinnacle of pleasure multiple times before I entered her body, Mila had her own agenda. Turned out, she knew what she was doing.

  Catching my breath, I wrapped my arms around her and shifted us so we both lay on our sides. She reached up and touched my cheek, smoothing back my hair.

  The gentleness of the caress combined with the love shining from her eyes loosened something in my chest. Tears filled my eyes. I blinked, shocked. I didn’t do much in the way of emotions outside of angry, hungry, lustful, and relaxed. But this was some type of cleansing.

  I pulled her tighter to me and dropped my head to the crook of her shoulder. She smoothed her hand over my head, down my back as the tears flowed. When I pulled back, Mila wiped away the wetness from my cheeks and I returned the favor.

  Her eyes were bloodshot, the tip of her nose red. I couldn’t look any better.

  With a sigh, I slid from the bed and padded to the bathroom. After disposing of the condom, I washed my face and wet a cloth for her.

  Mila propped herself up on the pillows, the covers pulled up to her chest. Her hair, tangled and wild, spilled across her shoulders. I slipped under the sheets next to her and handed her the cloth.

  After she’d cleaned up, she snuggled against my side, her head against my shoulder. My arm wrapped tight around her waist and I breathed in the scent of her hair.

  “I always have firsts with you,” I said.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Getting weepy is new.”

  Mila laid her hand on my chest. “Getting shot at, the constant worry . . . our feelings over losing Kyle. It’s been a lot.”

  “For the first time in much too long, I’m happy and I think I have a shot at sleeping all night.” I ran my thumb across her shoulder and she stiffened, pulling away. Right. The scars. She didn’t say a word about it, but I knew she was comparing herself to the women I’d been photographed with—every air-brushed bit of perfection. She stiffened further until she was straighter than a board. Not easy to hold.