by Beth Andrews
Dean watched her steadily. Patiently. Warmth suffused her, settled in her stomach. Her response to him was so elemental, and undeniable. But was that enough to warrant her desire to open up to him? To trust him when she hadn’t been able to trust her family?
She cleared her throat. “He discovered some things…things that made me realize how wrong I’d been—”
“How wrong you’d been? Jeez, Allie, give yourself a break.”
“How can I?” she cried. “All I could think about was that boy Miles had molested, and if his own son was suffering the same abuse. I had to make things right.”
Dean frowned, his gaze intense. “Make things right? How?”
She stared down into the sink. “Worrying about making another mistake wouldn’t help me or my clients, so I quit my job. The rest you know.”
“What happened to them?”
“Who?”
“The wife and kid?”
The nape of her neck prickled. His question seemed innocent, so why did she feel as if he was digging for something? Didn’t he realize she’d already told him all her secrets?
Or at least the ones that were hers to share.
“I have no idea. I never saw Lynne Addison again.”
SHE WAS LYING TO HIM.
During his years as a PI, plenty of people had lied to him. So why did it make him so mad that she was doing it?
Dean fisted his hand. He wanted her to tell him the truth. He wanted to forget the job and stop all the games between them.
He wanted her to trust him.
He couldn’t ask her about the phone call Lynne had made to her office the day she and Jon disappeared. He had to tread carefully. He’d almost slipped up once by mentioning how Addison’s wife had stood by him, and Dean couldn’t blow it now. Not when he was finally getting somewhere.
He’d gotten the confirmation he needed to prove he’d been right all along. Allie did know what happened to Lynne and Jon. He’d bet his reputation on it.
She may have given up on saving the world, but something told him she hadn’t given up on saving the Addisons.
In his front pocket, his cell phone vibrated, but he ignored it. “You’re not to blame,” he told her as he walked over and stood next to her. He gently gripped her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You’re not to blame,” he repeated, because she was too stubborn to see it herself. “Not for what he did to that boy and not for any abuse his kid might have suffered.”
“It’s just that…all I’ve ever wanted to do was help. But like with Richie, wanting to help wasn’t enough.” She rolled her eyes. “God, I hate whiners.”
Dean dropped his hand. “You sound like someone who wants to make a difference. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“It’s hard to make a difference when you don’t trust yourself to make the right decisions.” She glanced at him. “When you’ve lost your ability to trust in others.”
Before he could analyze the movement, he swept her hair back. Once his fingers were intertwined with the silky strands, once he was close enough to feel the brush of her thighs against his, feel warmth, he couldn’t back away. He curled his fingers in the hair at her neck.
“I don’t think you’ve lost that ability,” he said softly. “You trusted me.”
When he would have removed his hand, she tilted her head so that he cupped her cheek. “I guess I’ll have to wait to see if that was a smart move.”
“Not trusting yourself because of an error in judgment isn’t so smart. Seems to me you gave up a lot more than just your job because of that guy. You said I was punishing myself by staying away from my family, but what about you? When are you going to stop letting your mistake rule your actions?”
She reached up and squeezed his hand. “That cowboy insight of yours is right on target.”
“I’m not sure about that.” He linked his fingers with hers. “But a person’s character shows up best when tested. And yours showed up big time.”
She laughed softly, her warm breath caressing his cheek. His body tensed. In her eyes he saw the same desire he felt coursing through his veins.
He traced her jaw with the tip of his finger. Then he raked his fingers through her hair, combing the length of it before massaging her scalp. She made a mewling sound and her eyes drifted shut.
Every day for the past week he’d fought his attraction to her. But now, standing in her tiny kitchen—with her wearing ugly, shapeless sweats and no makeup—he wanted her more than ever.
Damn it all to hell.
She wrapped her free hand around his forearm, her other hand still gripping his. Sexy. And beautiful. She looked unsure and at the same time so hopeful. He’d be a first-class idiot if he walked away.
And a first-class asshole if he didn’t.
Slowly—so slowly he had plenty of time to evade her—she closed the distance between them. Her breasts pressed against his chest and he flinched, unsure how long he’d be able to maintain control.
Unsure if he even wanted to control himself any longer. Not when giving in meant he might get the chance to kiss her again. To keep touching her.
“Remember when you said I need to start putting myself first?” She slid her hand up his arm, under the sleeve of his T-shirt, to wrap around his biceps. “Is that what you really think?”
“Yeah,” he croaked. He shut his eyes and cleared his throat. She turned him inside out. “Yeah. I do.”
She glanced up at him from under her lashes. “So, that means if I…want something…I should go after it?”
No. No, no, no. no. Hell no. “You should. Definitely.”
“Good.” She lowered their linked hands and, watching his face, pressed his open palm to her breast. “Because what I want,” she whispered, “is for you to touch me.”
He glanced at his hand on her. Jerked his gaze up so that he was looking over her head.
“Dean,” she asked uncertainly, “do you want me?”
He pressed his free hand to the small of her back and rocked his hips against hers. Her eyes darkened at the unmistakable feel of his arousal.
How could he not want her? But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t cross that line, not when so many lies were between them.
She slid her hands into his hair and totally blew what little control he had out of the water. “I want you, too.”
ALLIE KISSED DEAN BEFORE she could change her mind.
His body stiffened and his mouth was unyielding under hers. The only way it could’ve been worse was if he’d turned his head at the last minute so she’d ended up kissing his cheek.
A tactic she’d used many times herself.
She fell back to her heels, her face on fire. She wished something would happen to distract him from this moment. A meteor shower right about now should do the trick.
She smiled ruefully. “Well, that was humiliating.”
And the way he stared at her, his fierce expression, was unnerving. She dropped her hands to his shoulders and started to step back, but he tightened his hold. She frowned. “Wha—”
“I’m sorry.”
She winced. She’d been wrong. Him apologizing for not wanting to kiss her was even worse than an evasive do-not-kiss-me maneuver.
Still, she did her best to salvage some pride. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“Not yet,” he said, cupping her breast through her sweatshirt. His thumb brushed against her nipple and she caught her breath. “But I’m about to.”
His mouth crushed hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing against him. He gently kneaded her breast. Her nipples tightened, rubbed against the material of her sweatshirt.
He kissed along her neck, and she dropped her head back to grant him better access. Her mind whirled when he scraped his teeth across the sensitive skin below her ear.
He kissed his way back up to her mouth, shoved his fingers into her hair and
held her head still. She smoothed her own hands over his broad shoulders, down his arms and back up again. Frantic to touch him, to feel his skin, she tugged the hem of his shirt up and caressed his lower back.
He twitched and jumped, so that her fingers brushed his sides. She took the opportunity to skim her hands over his rib cage, trailing her nails down the flat panes of his stomach. He growled and yanked her to him, trapping her hands between them as he spun them so that he leaned against the counter.
She stood between his legs, his hands gripping her butt. He rolled her hips forward and she arched against him.
He spun them again. With Dean’s mouth on hers, his body pressed against hers, she didn’t care that the hard edge of the counter dug into her spine or that she was pawing at him as if she’d go insane.
All she cared about was him. She wanted more.
She brushed her palm down the length of him. He swore gutturally, gripping her upper arms as if to hold her still.
That was such a crazy thought, she couldn’t help but smile. “It’s okay,” she told him, “I won’t hurt you.”
But he didn’t return her smile. If anything, his expression darkened. “I don’t want to hurt you, either.”
She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right, but then he kissed her again, and in one smooth move, he’d stripped her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it aside. The cool air in the kitchen washed over her heated skin.
She raised her arms to cover herself but he just looked at her. Her heart hammering, she slowly lowered her arms.
Dean’s breathing was uneven as he skimmed the tip of one finger down her left breast. She shivered.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He cupped her breasts in his hands, rubbed the rough pads of his thumbs over her skin. “And that’s the honest truth.”
He bent his head, took one nipple in his mouth and sucked. Allie’s hips bucked. She shoved her hands in his hair as he rubbed his tongue against her before moving to her other breast. The rasp of his tongue, the gentle abrasion of his teeth against her sensitized flesh made her knees wobbly. Her thigh muscles quivered.
He raised his head and, watching her face, skimmed his fingers along the elastic at her waist. She involuntarily sucked in her stomach. Gooseflesh prickled her skin. Inch by inch, he pushed her sweatpants past her hips. Down her legs. When her pants were pooled at her feet, he glanced downward.
He exhaled heavily and hooked one finger under the leg of her red, silky panties. His knuckles rubbed against her skin as he slid his hand up to her hip bone, then down. He brushed at the curls between her legs, and her pelvis jerked.
He reached behind her, shoved aside the skillet he’d put there earlier, and lifted her. She gasped, both from the feel of the cold countertop against her bare thighs and the ease at which he’d set her up there. When she reached for him, he forced her arms back to her sides.
“Hold on to this.” His voice was ragged as he pressed her hands against the counter edge. He must’ve seen her confusion because he shook his head. “I lose control when you touch me.”
His admission made her feel sexy. And powerful. “I don’t want you to be in control.”
“Yes. You do. And so do I,” he said, so solemnly, she wrapped her fingers around the counter’s edge.
He smiled and her heart picked up speed. He leaned forward and kissed her, kept kissing her while he caressed her breasts. Her body grew warm and relaxed. Still kissing her, he skimmed his hands down her rib cage, over her hips and settled them on her thighs. He pulled back and searched her face as he trailed his fingers across her collarbones, over her shoulders and down her arms.
Her own fingers tightened their grip on the counter. Dean lightly stroked her legs, over her knee to her ankle and back up. He placed one hand on each thigh and nudged them apart.
When she tensed and tried to draw her knees together, he lifted his head. “Trust me,” he whispered.
She swallowed. That was the problem. She liked him. He was steady and solid and one of those guys who loved to ride to the rescue. And she wanted him. Wanted him so much it scared her.
But trust him? How could she when she was too afraid to trust anyone ever again?
None of that mattered now. She needed to forget, just for a little while. To stop worrying. Stop thinking.
All she wanted was to feel.
And Dean seemed more than willing to help with that.
She let her legs fall open. He stepped between them and kissed her once, stroking her hair. He touched her everywhere, his hands caressing her as if he wanted to memorize the shape of her. The feel. From her breasts to her thighs and calves and back again, leaving tingles of sensation in his wake…
Her head fell back against the cabinet as he repeated the process. He took her breast in his mouth again and she squirmed. He pulled her closer so that she sat at the edge of the counter, and then he skimmed his fingers over her panties, between her thighs.
It felt so good. But it wasn’t enough.
Dean continued those feathery strokes as he moved to her other breast, his free palm rubbing against the nipple he’d just released. Her mouth opened as she dug her heels into the counter below and thrust against his hand.
But instead of heeding her silent command for him to touch her harder, faster—to tear away her panties and touch her, skin to skin—he continued his slow torture.
He released her breasts and dropped to his knees. “Watch me touch you,” he commanded softly.
And he pressed his mouth to her and exhaled, his hot breath washing over her. The world spun, pressure building slowly, and when he scraped his teeth against her, she cried out as waves of pleasure spiraled through her.
Breathing hard, her entire body a quivering mass, she slid to her feet. But Dean was there to hold her up, his face pressed against her neck, his body taut against hers.
She finally managed to lift her head and brush her hair back. “I’m going to need a quick moment to recover the use of my legs. Or else,” she said huskily as she kissed his neck, “you could always carry me up to the bedroom.”
He reacted as if she’d taken a big old bite out of him.
She blinked. “You okay?”
He nodded, but didn’t look okay. His mouth was tight, his hands clenched at his sides.
She was more than ready to finish what he’d started. But when she reached for him, panic crossed his face.
“I have to go,” he blurted.
Her eyes widened. “What? But…why?”
He took two quick steps back. “I just…have to.”
Goose bumps covered Allie’s skin and she pulled up her pants. Picking up her sweatshirt, she held it in front of her. “Dean, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.” But he wouldn’t look at her. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Then he left. As fast as he could go.
Persephone padded into the kitchen, sat and tilted her head at Allie.
“Don’t look at me,” she said, slumping back against the counter. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
And while she usually liked surprises, this one just plain sucked. If she hadn’t been on the receiving end of his very clear interest, if she hadn’t felt his arousal, she’d be having a major case of performance anxiety about now.
She straightened and roughly pulled her shirt on. After a few calming breaths, she picked up her cat. There was definitely more to Dean’s quick escape then second thoughts. Something important.
“I have no idea what happened,” she said as she scratched behind Persephone’s ears. “But you can bet I’m going to find out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DEAN DROVE WITH BOTH windows down and the heater off. He pulled into the motel’s driveway before his blood cooled off enough for him to think straight. Parking in front of his room, he rolled the windows up.
He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he gotten out of there when she’d lied to him abou
t not seeing Lynne Addison again? He should’ve hightailed it back to his room, called Nolan and gotten to work trying to link Allie to Lynne and Jon’s disappearance.
Instead, he’d given in to his need to comfort her.
And then he’d just given in to his need for her.
There had been nothing contrived or planned in his actions. Hell, he’d even managed to maintain control when she’d kissed him. But then she’d looked up at him, a self-deprecating smile on her beautiful face, and he couldn’t stop himself.
He hit the steering wheel again. He should’ve stopped himself.
Who was he kidding? He’d crossed a line. There was right and there was wrong.
The worst part was, he couldn’t even regret it. He’d just have to make damn sure it never happened again.
He climbed out of the truck and unlocked the door to his room. After tossing his motel key card and truck keys on the table, he fell face-first onto the bed. And tried not to think about what he was missing by not carrying Allie up to her bedroom.
His cell phone buzzed and he shifted, digging it out of his front pocket. Caller ID showed Nolan’s number. Dean flipped his phone open. “Hey. What’s up?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour,” his partner groused. “What’s the use of having a cell phone if you’re not going to answer it?”
“I didn’t hear it ring,” Dean lied, remembering when it had vibrated back at Allie’s house. “You need something?”
“I may have found that connection.” His excitement meant he believed they were close to a breakthrough. “The one that proves your hunch about Allison Martin is on target.”
Dean rolled over and sat up. “What?”
“Lynne and her son were last seen in that high-priced bookstore-café, Montgomery’s, right?”
“Right. Lynne bought a couple of books for the kid and paid with her credit card. It was the last credit card transaction she made.”