by Lara Lacombe
“My place?” he said, the words flying out of his mouth like bullets from a gun, unstoppable and just as dangerous.
She nodded enthusiastically, with no hint of hesitation or reluctance. Her eyes were clear and bright, her mouth curved up in a sexy smile that made him want to lean in for another kiss.
His condo was about two miles away—too far to walk, especially given the state he was in. He grabbed her hand, leading her toward the curb, and flagged down a taxi.
Kelly reached for his hand after they’d settled in the backseat and the car started to move, pulling it into her lap and turning it over to trace patterns in his palm with her fingertip. He leaned back into the seat, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of her touch. It had been a while since he’d been with anyone, and he hadn’t realized until now just how much he missed being touched. Not necessarily in a sexual way—he just missed feeling someone else’s body against his, missed the comfort that only came when skin touched skin. He’d read somewhere that babies who weren’t touched regularly failed to thrive, and he understood all too well how that could happen.
Moments later, the car pulled to a stop in front of his building. He fished out a bill for the cabby and helped Kelly to her feet, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her into the building.
She stood close to him in the elevator, the faint scent of her perfume making him want to bury his nose in her neck to get a better whiff. Honeysuckle and something else warm and subtle. Whatever it was, it was deeply appealing, and he couldn’t wait to run his nose over her body to find where exactly she had applied it.
He ushered her into his condo, their progress momentarily halted by the two cats sitting at the end of the foyer, wearing identical expressions of bored superiority. They mewed at him, then turned and headed for the kitchen, confident he would follow along to feed them.
“You have cats,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Why didn’t I know this?”
He shrugged, at a loss. “It never came up?”
“That’s true. I certainly never expected the big, bad FBI agent to have cats. A dog, maybe, but cats? I’m impressed. What are their names?”
“The black one is Edgar, and the orange one is Eliot. They’re brothers, believe it or not.”
She stared at him for a beat, then threw back her head and laughed. The rich, throaty sound had warmth spreading through his chest, and he reached out to touch her again.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Eliot Ness and J. Edgar Hoover?”
He nodded with a grin, leaning down to kiss her. She stood on tiptoe to bring her mouth closer, but she stopped when she heard another meow from the direction of the kitchen, this time louder and more insistent. “I think they’re hungry,” she said.
He cast her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Do you mind if I feed them real quick? They’ll leave us alone if they’re full....” He trailed off, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“No problem. I grew up with cats, so I understand. I’ll just take the opportunity to use your bathroom.”
“Down the hall, to your right,” he said. He watched her disappear into the bathroom, then turned and headed for the kitchen.
He wrenched open the cabinet door, grabbing two bowls with one hand as he pulled open the drawer and reached for a spoon with another. After hastily pulling out two cans of food from the pantry, he pulled the tops off and dumped the food with a splat, the cats winding around his legs as if to urge him along.
He set the bowls down and stroked each cat once, then left them to their dinner and headed into the living room to wait. He sat on the couch, then stood to pace the room.
I can’t believe this is really happening. His stomach fluttered with anticipation, his fingertips tingling with the desire to touch her smooth skin again. Just the thought of running his hands and lips over her body had his heart pounding double time. It was a wonder she hadn’t heard it in the elevator.
Was he doing the right thing? She seemed to want this, too, if her earlier responses were any indication. She’d returned his kisses eagerly, her hands roaming his body with abandon. Warmth flooded his system as he recalled the feel of her gripping him, pulling his hips against her, arching into him and rubbing against the bulge in his pants. She’d been refreshingly direct in her response, and he couldn’t wait to pick up where they’d left off.
Was it because she was drunk though? He frowned at the intrusive thought, but he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. He wanted to take things to the next level, but only if she was fully on board. He wouldn’t take advantage of her intoxication to sleep with her, no matter how badly he wanted her. All the signs were there, but could a woman who had consumed six drinks really consent? He’d worked enough cases in his days as a police officer to know that alcohol and sex were a dangerous combination. He glanced down at his crotch with a sigh, willing his arousal to recede. He should probably set her up in the guest bedroom and go to sleep alone, after taking a cold shower. It would be a disappointing end to the evening, but probably best for all involved.
Resigned to his fate, he walked back to the couch and sat down. It would be okay. They could laugh, blame their kisses on alcohol and go back to the way things were. Safe. Easy. It was the right thing to do, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Now that he knew how she felt in his arms, what she tasted like, it would be hard to go back to being just friends.
I’ll do it, though, he thought with a sigh, stretching out his legs in an attempt to find a comfortable position. Better to have Kelly as a friend than not at all.
* * *
Kelly stared at her reflection in the mirror, amazed that her heart hadn’t pounded right out of her chest. What was she doing? James was her friend—was she really about to have sex with her friend? Yes, the man was gorgeous, with his dark brown hair, bedroom eyes and strong, square jaw, but he was her friend. It had been so long since she’d been friends with a man that she didn’t want to risk jeopardizing their relationship just so she could scratch an itch.
But...he had kissed her. Technically, she supposed she had started it. She hadn’t meant to take things that far—she’d just wanted to feel his lips against hers, and if he’d pulled away she could have blamed it on the alcohol. She’d been shocked by his reaction, to say the least.
She blushed as she recalled where her hands had been, how she’d reacted when she’d felt his response to her. It had been so long since she’d felt desirable and beautiful, and the attention of this attractive man had gone straight to her head. Even more amazing was the effect she seemed to have on him, as well. She ran her hand down to her belly, rubbing the spot where he had pressed firmly against her. He wants me, she marveled, a shiver dancing over her skin at the thought.
She drew her hand up, running the palm over her ribs. Her injuries had long since healed, but the ghost of the pain was never far away. All it took was a look, an accidental touch or a whiff of cologne and she was back to that awful night, broken and bleeding and oh-so-scared.
She frowned at her reflection, not liking the direction of her thoughts. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on something pleasant, stuffing the memories and insecurities back into the box where they belonged.
“James is not Gary,” she said softly. “He won’t hurt me.”
Neither did Gary at first.
She shook her head at the errant thought, firmly dismissing it. No. James was not Gary. James was a decent man, her friend—nothing like Gary. She had to start trusting people again, and James was a good place to start.
Her mind was made up, but despite her resolve, she couldn’t ignore the tight ball of nervous energy in her stomach. She pressed her hand there, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. Her lips curved up in anticipation as she imagined kissing him again, running her hands over his chest and lower....
After one last look in the mirror, she walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. He stood when she entered and offered her a seat on the cou
ch, then resumed his place as she settled onto the cushion.
He was warm, and this close she could smell the spicy citrus of his cologne. She inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to press her nose into his neck to get closer to the source. She’d always loved his smell, and soon it would be all over her. Goose bumps broke out on her skin at the thought, and she rubbed her arms absently.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head. “No. Just thinking.”
“Thinking gives you goose bumps?” he asked, smiling.
“Some thoughts do.”
He swallowed with an audible gulp, and she felt her lips twitch as she fought to contain a grin.
“Kelly, are you sure?” His voice was husky and deep and danced along her skin like a touch.
This was it. This was her chance to back down. She could say No, I was just kidding, and they’d laugh it off and go back to being friends. And she’d go back to feeling damaged and alone.
No. Not this time. Gary was gone, and she wasn’t going to let him affect her anymore.
“I’m sure,” she said, leaning forward to press her lips to his.
He was still for an endless moment, as if giving her one more chance to change her mind. Then he pulled her to him with a groan, deepening the kiss as he ran one hand down her back in a caress.
It was several minutes, or maybe hours, later when he rose, pulling her to her feet and tucking her hand into the fold of his elbow. They walked down the hall, past the bathroom and into a large bedroom. Her gaze tracked around the room, her eyes landing on the huge, mission-style bed that took up the center space; the spread and pillows were in shades of dark brown and hunter-green. A matching bedside table, corner chair and dresser completed the room. It was neat and composed, a perfect reflection of James.
He led her to the bed, then pressed her gently down as he kissed her. She was so caught up in the delicious sensation of his mouth against hers that it wasn’t until she felt the warmth of his hands on her bare shoulders that she realized he had undone the buttons of her blouse and was sliding it off her body.
She pulled away from the kiss, breathing hard. He moved closer, but she put a hand on his chest to forestall him. “Wait. There’s something you should know.” It was now or never—she needed to tell him. Her mouth dried up at the thought, but he deserved to know.
He sat back, looking at her with an indulgent expression. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning in to press small kisses along her collarbone. She helpfully lifted her chin to provide him with easier access, shivering as his lips feathered across her skin.
I was attacked by my boyfriend. She wanted so badly to say it, but the words stuck in her throat. How would he react once he knew? She couldn’t handle it if he pushed her away, not right now. She was so tired of feeling damaged.
Chickening out, she said, “It’s been a long time for me, and...”
“And?” he asked, trailing his tongue up the side of her neck.
“And I’m probably a little rusty,” she finished, gripping his shoulders with a moan as he found a sweet spot.
He pulled away to look down at her, a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. “Would you believe it’s been a while for me, too?”
Her gaze traveled over his strong jaw, broad shoulders and trim waist. “No,” she drawled. “I have a hard time believing that.”
A flush rose on his cheeks and he flung himself down next to her, lying on his back with his head pillowed on his hands. “It’s true,” he said, looking up at her, sincerity in his eyes and voice. “I haven’t slept with anyone in about a year.”
“Really? You look like a guy who would have no trouble finding a willing lady.” She lay down next to him and propped her head on one hand, facing him.
“Not so much,” he replied. “Besides, I’ve been so crazy with work, I just haven’t really had time for a relationship.”
“I can understand that,” she said, and he laughed.
“I know you can,” he said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re just as big of a workaholic as I am.”
“Guilty as charged.”
He reached for her, and she moved willingly until they were pressed flush together. “I’m off duty now,” he whispered, using his teeth to slide her bra strap off her shoulder.
She gasped, her fingers moving to his hair. “So am I,” she said, ending on a moan when his hand found her breast.
“What a coincidence,” he said, rolling her onto her back and rising over her. “Now, no more talking, Doctor.”
She reached up to his shirt, making quick work of the buttons and pushing it off him. The feel of his bare chest against hers sent sparks of tingling warmth shooting through her limbs, and she fumbled to get her bra off, wanting nothing between them.
He stood for a moment to shuck off his pants, and she took the opportunity to wiggle out of hers. She reached for him as he came back, but he gently moved her hands above her head. “It’s my turn now. You can have a go later.”
“Promise?” she whispered as his hands and mouth did delightfully wicked things to her body.
He made a sound of assent, not bothering to pause in his ministrations. He worked his way back up to her mouth, ending with a smacking kiss. “Yes. Just lie back and enjoy yourself.”
She did.
* * *
The tree branches outside James’s bedroom window cast moving shadows across the ceiling in the pale gray light of approaching dawn. Kelly watched them flicker and move in the wind, swaying back and forth in a hypnotizing dance that was oddly soothing.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been awake—long enough for the sky to fade from inky-black to smoky-pearl—but James slept soundly by her side. His breathing was deep and rhythmic as he slept the sleep of the satisfied, and she smiled knowing she’d been a part of that.
Last night had been wonderful. James was a considerate and skilled lover, and her skin still tingled in remembrance of his touches. She turned her head to look at him; his outline was fuzzy in the dim light. He slept on his stomach, arms stretched out, his face relaxed and so beautiful. Despite her presence in his bed, he’d had no problem dropping off to sleep. She envied him that, his trust in her, his surrender in her presence. She had been like that once, too, until Gary had changed everything.
No, she thought firmly. I will not let him ruin this moment for me.
Too late, though. As usual, the thought of her ex-boyfriend made her heart beat a little faster, and her stomach tightened. She focused on her breathing in an effort to keep from drowning in panic. In...out...over and over, she counted her inhalations until the fluttering in her chest subsided and she felt somewhat normal again.
James stirred, turning and stretching out a hand in her direction. She moved away carefully, not wanting his touch right now but not wanting to wake him, either. His hand landed on the mattress next to her and curled gently before relaxing again. His skin was dark against the pale sheets, the color of it warming as the light improved.
Such beautiful hands, she mused, tracing the long, graceful fingers with her eyes. Strong and capable but still elegant, with dark hair trailing from his forearm to dust across the back. Would they ever fist in anger or be used to hurt? She didn’t think so, but she’d been wrong before.
Gary’s hands were much different. Wide-palmed with thick, blunt-ended fingers, she’d always thought his hands were the ultimate example of practicality. Still, they had brought her pleasure, at least at first. Eventually, sex with Gary had become more like a race to the finish, a contest she had rarely won. He’d never put her pleasure before his own, never watched her fall apart with warm, focused eyes and a smile of male satisfaction. Never held her close and stroked her gently, whispering dark, seductive words in her ear as she came back down to earth.
She knew now that Gary had never truly cared about her. He had been her first, though, and she’d been too naive and unsure to really stand up for herself. You control your or
gasms, babe, not me, he’d pointed out. I can’t make you come—only you can do that. Maybe he was right. After all, hadn’t she read the headlines of women’s magazines in the grocery store checkout line? Take Charge of Your Sex Life! Lose Your Inhibitions and Take Back Your Pleasure! There had to be some truth to that. She just needed to work harder, that was all.
Still, she couldn’t deny there was a little voice inside her head that said, This isn’t how it should be.
She’d tried to rationalize that voice away, with varying degrees of success. Passionate, no-holds-barred love affairs made for great movies, but how often did that happen in real life? Never, as far as she could tell. So she convinced herself that things were all right, that real adult relationships weren’t perfect and this was about as good as it was going to get.
But then the abuse started.
He’d never left visible bruises—he was too smart for that. No, he preferred to target her elsewhere. A pinch here, a sharp poke there. It had begun slowly, small events that could be explained away. I’m so sorry, baby. I just don’t know my own strength, he’d say after a particularly forceful slap on her bottom. Or You’re just too sensitive. Maybe you should see your doctor, make sure you don’t have a clotting problem or something after she’d pointed out the bruise left behind from one of his pinches. He always had an excuse at the ready, always turned it back around on her. He was so convincing that she had started to think the problem was her, not him.
After months of these “love taps,” he’d graduated to outright hitting. The first time, he’d slapped her face during an argument over holiday plans. The shock of it had kept her frozen in place, and he’d taken advantage of it by pulling her close. I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry, he’d soothed, running a hand down her back. I’m just really stressed at work, and I don’t know what came over me. It won’t happen again.