Small Town Secrets

by Allie Harrison

  “Not in the aftermath of Stan’s violence. Right now, I want to keep you safe. I want the episode to be a little further behind you. Because when I touch you—and I do plan to touch you—I want you to only think of my touch. When I kiss your throat, I don’t want you to be reminded of any pain he gave you there. I want you to only enjoy it.”

  He cupped her face with one hand. His touch was…breathtaking. She leaned into it.

  “I want every part of you feeling every part of me. Nothing else.”

  Sweet heavens, the man should write poetry, she thought.

  Then he kissed her. Warm. Full. Perfect. Wonderful.

  The rest of the world stopped.

  His kiss was exquisite. This wasn’t just a quick, urgent, punishing rush of lips like the one he’d pretty much forced on her when they’d been out by Marston’s Tunnel that first evening he got into town. It was exploring, and it stole the breath from her lungs.

  It made her feel new, whole somehow. It seemed to touch her in her soul with warm fingers and heal the part that Stan had tried to choke out of her.

  When it ended, he held her gaze for a long time. Then he smiled a small smile.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Kissing you just took me back to…”

  “To what?”

  “A few weeks ago, I thought there was an open door when it came to you. The only thing is, your kiss took me right through that door and a step forward.”

  There was something more he wasn’t telling her, something specific that triggered the memory of her kissing him, but before she could ask about it, he continued, “I’m not in limbo land anymore. And I know I want to keep moving forward. I do want you, Lizzy, but you’ve had a traumatic experience.”

  She chuckled bitterly. “I’ve had more than one since you waltzed back into town—not that any of them are your fault. In fact, I’m sure I would have discovered all of these things at one time or another. I would have found your letters in the storage unit while I was searching for an attachment for my pastry mixer. I have no doubt I would have eventually noticed all the scratches on Stan’s arms.” She let out a loud sigh. “I certainly hope I would have learned about his need to jack off the way he does. If I had stayed with him long enough, which I doubt. There simply was never any spark between us.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and faced her squarely. “I’m just saying before we take another step, you need a little time. The last thing I want between us is any regret. Especially when you might need to deal with emotions regarding the violent—”

  “You’re damn right it was violent. My throat still hurts. And I admit it’s left me badly shaken, but I can’t let it control the rest of my life.” She paused and scratched her neck.

  “Thanks to you and knowing that cat is safe, the fear is already beginning to fade. The bruises will, too. Please don’t treat me like a child who doesn’t know what’s best for her. I know my own feelings. Do you know what I find worse than having Stan choke me, choke a cat? I don’t care if he needs to jack off all day. God, I still hear the sound of that poor animal hitting the wall…”

  “What could be worse than that?”

  “Knowing him almost my whole life and never having a clue as to that—that’s worse. Do you know what else?” She stared at him, taking in his bare chest. She grabbed her glass of water and took another cool drink.

  “Tell me.”

  “In that moment when I knew I had to do something or I might die, I thought about…”

  “About what?”

  She took an easy breath. It felt good to talk, good to let it all out. “He saw us out at Marston’s Tunnel. He saw us kiss. He yelled at me that I never kissed him like that—which is true. When his hand was on my throat and he was staring at me with such a crazed expression, the thought that I wanted more kisses like that. I wanted just plain more of that feeling. And I wanted it with you.”

  The room was quiet for two heartbeats, and damn him, he didn’t say anything. So she went on, “What was worse was the idea I might never feel that again. Yes, he scared the hell out of me. I have no doubt I’ll have a few nightmares in my future, but I didn’t have one last night because you held me all night. You make me feel human. And safe. You make me feel alive. I felt it the moment you stepped into my shop. That, Mac, is what I want. If there is one thing Stan showed me it’s that I don’t want to waste another moment not having what I want because it can all be gone in an instant.” She set the glass down again, this time with a heavy thud.

  She stepped closer to him. Her breasts touched his chest. There was the thin cotton of the shirt he’d given her last night to wear between his skin and hers, but damn if she couldn’t feel his warmth. She leaned against him, leaned the side of her face to his hard, perfect chest and listened to his heart beating as she breathed in the enticing scent of him and soap. “Let’s please quit wasting time.”

  Mac held her closer, putting his arms around her as he closed his eyes and breathed in a deep breath, which filled him with the alluring scent of something musky. She was all soft woman. And when she took in a breath, her nipples…

  He tried to breathe. He was trying to protect her. He was trying to stay the cop on duty. Until Stan was found, he planned to protect her. He needed to protect her if the police—Jake Swornson, who obviously thought women were toys to be played with—considered this nothing more than a lover’s spat. All he had to do was see the hand prints on her throat to know it was more than that. In order to do his job, he needed to keep the head on his shoulders thinking straight. He couldn’t let the one in his jeans confuse things.

  “I have to protect you, Lizzy.”

  “Damn straight, you do,” she agreed. “However, I do know a bit about how to protect myself, too, and I’ll do it again if necessary.”

  “You don’t make this easy.” He breathed in the flowery scent of her hair and wanted to lose himself in it, in her.

  “Oh?”

  “I’m thinking you should give up the bakery and become a lawyer.”

  She softly laughed in his arms, and he felt more of her breasts—all of her, really—against him, like a piece of a puzzle made to fit him.

  She leaned back just enough so she could put his arms around his neck and draw him closer to her. Her lips on his were soft and perfect. He understood what she meant when she said he made her feel alive, because she made him feel the same way.

  Then her tongue tickled against his. And he thought he was going to have to undo his fly in order to be able to breathe.

  He held her closer. He should never have kissed her.

  Ending it was almost as hard as his dick. The kiss left them both breathing heavily. He cleared his throat. “Pancakes are ready.”

  Then anger clouded her expression. “If you’re toying with me…”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then stop riding a see-saw with me.”

  Anger filled her expression. Color deepened in her cheeks. He liked to think it was his kiss that did that.

  “I’m not—” he tried again, but she interrupted.

  “Yes, you are. You rip the rug out from under me by telling me about letters I never even knew about, and then you avoid me. Then you hold me in your arms. You tell me you plan to touch me, but you don’t. After I pour my heart out to you, you suck it out with a kiss, but afterward you shove me away. If that’s not a see-saw ride, I don’t know what is. Decide right now and tell me how you want it. Either this is one hundred percent or it’s zero. None of this back and forth shit. All or nothing.”

  Right then, he wanted more than all. He could have grabbed her, shoved her up against the planks of the barn wall, and kissed her while he held her hands over her head and made love to her. He thought it would be easy enough. After all, he was certain she wore nothing under his shirt.

  He met her gaze. Saw her need there—as strong as his felt. And he thought why the hell am I punishing us? Why wait? Why waste any more time?

  He gave
into that need. And kissed her again.

  He didn’t shove her up against the wall. He gently took her there, his kiss unending. He laced his fingers of one hand through those of one of hers and held tight, as if letting her go would be the end of him. He would have held onto her other hand, too, but he was busy using that one to undo his fly and get his jeans and red boxer briefs out of the way. Jee-zus, those underwear had not felt this tight when he put them on after his shower a short time ago.

  Finally.

  Freedom. Sweet freedom. He felt like he could breathe as he let his jeans and underwear fall to the floor. All the while, he made love to her mouth with his. Kissing her was heaven to his soul, and she kissed him back with total abandon. She was shorter than he. He was stronger.

  He lifted her up, raising his shirt she wore. Her stomach was smooth beneath his hand as he lifted that shirt out of the way. Her panties were lacy and nothing more than a sliver of material that covered her. His fingers of one hand brushed along her velvet flesh as he slid her panties down. Nothing else had ever felt so fine. She kicked them off, still kissing him.

  Then they were both free, and she could wrap her perfect legs around his waist. He helped her. For the first time in weeks, his leg didn’t burn with the morning. In fact, it didn’t ache at all as he lifted her and easily maneuvered her into just the right place. He paused for a second, perhaps two.

  “What are you waiting for?” Her question was breathy, her voice husky and seductive.

  “Nothing.”

  He slid inside her.

  And when he met resistance, he simply pushed through.

  It wasn’t until he felt her tense and heard her moan did he understand. It was too late.

  He couldn’t have stopped then if her father burst through the door. No, he was lost.

  In her.

  In the way she clung onto him.

  In the way her heart beat with his, and her heat filled him.

  In the way her kiss kept him from drowning.

  In the way she fit him so perfectly.

  In the way she made his world, his life, everything he knew complete.

  Only then did the rest of his body join his lips and make love to her.

  It was so much more than action, more than a mere thrust of his hips. It was an ancient dance that finished when their souls joined. When he climaxed and his moan was lost against the hollow of her throat, neither of them was reminded of Stan’s fingers squeezing there. In fact, there was only the two of them as the rest of the world melted away in the heat of their moment.

  Moments later—or was it hours? Perhaps weeks? He couldn’t tell—he stood with her, still holding her, her breasts against his chest, her back against the wall. She was still snaked around him, holding tight. Now the fingers of both his hands were laced with hers over her head, and he couldn’t remember moving to get there. He rested his forehead against hers and listened as together they panted. Their breaths were the only sounds in the room.

  “You should have told me,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t have let it be so hot, hard, and fast. I would have been gentler or at least tried to be.” He felt as if his words were a lie. He wasn’t certain he could have.

  “I didn’t want you gentle. I just wanted you. You can be tender next time.”

  He would have questioned her more on the fact she was a twenty-nine-year-old virgin, but her next time stopped him in his tracks. As he thought about it, he didn’t need to question her. He could tell all the work she put into the bakery. She poured her time into it. And her energy, neither of which she obviously put into any relationship.

  Slowly, he lowered her to her feet, carefully. His jeans were still around his ankles. The last thing he needed, last thing his wounded thigh needed, was to trip on his own jeans and fall to the floor. He didn’t want to explain that to his surgeon. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m all right. Quit treating me like a doll that might break.”

  He also hoped to hell she didn’t just let him do what he did so she could still wiggle it under anyone’s nose. He didn’t think that’d be true, considering she’d saved it all this time. Then he suppressed a shudder when he glanced down, saw blood on his dick.

  She gasped. He lifted his gaze to her, expecting her to also be staring at the blood. Instead, she stared at the fresh scar on his thigh. “What the hell happened to your leg?”

  It was time to be straight with her. He wanted this with her, this…

  Whatever it was. A relationship? A path to something permanent where he could sleep with her in his arms every night? He didn’t care what it was called, as long as he could have it. And he couldn’t start with lies or withholding any information. He needed her to trust him.

  Hell, he just plain needed her.

  “Let’s take a shower. Then I’ll make some new pancakes, and we can talk while we eat. I have a lot to tell you.”

  “If this is the same shower I used last night, I doubt we can both fit in there at the same time.” Her hand was on his chest, as if she was afraid to stop touching him.

  He liked that. With his fingertips, he tucked her hair behind her ear before he leaned down and picked up his underwear and jeans. “We’ll make it work.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  They did make it work.

  “This is a pretty tight fit,” she said.

  Mac snuggled up against her back, hugged her to him from behind, and ran his hands over her breasts, spreading soapy bubbles. “You’re a pretty tight fit, too.”

  She let out a sound that reminded him of the girl he knew in high school, the girl who had giggled in his arms when they danced.

  “Do you want to know the second-best thing about squeezing into the shower like this?”

  “What?”

  “Neither of us can hog all the water.”

  She laughed again. “What’s the first thing?”

  “This.” He rubbed against her and caressed her more.

  “Mmm, you’re right.”

  They showered until the hot water ran out, touching, exploring, sharing soapy caresses as well as kiss after kiss. A kiss on the lips, a kiss to a shoulder or the back of a hand. And Lizzy learned there was nothing more breathtaking than having him massage her scalp as he washed her hair.

  Mac wanted to make love to her again. Under the hot water, their bodies covered with slippery suds. It would be so easy, so perfect. He held back. He wasn’t even certain if she needed time to recover. He thought it best. Besides, he’d promised his dad he would help get ready for all the school kids coming today. At the rate he and Lizzy were moving, they might miss the show.

  They dried one another, still stealing kisses, still caught up in touching here and there.

  The moment felt magical, given the early sunlight coming in through the windows in warm rays. And he wished more than anything time could stop and they could just live this moment.

  Unfortunately, Stan lurked outside somewhere, his father still expected his help, and the ghost of Kelly Mattis lingered over the entire town like a fog.

  “So tell me about your leg.”

  It was a half hour after the shower, and they were finishing pancakes while he sipped coffee and she drank hers iced. He thought it wasn’t anything close to the rich coffee she served in her bakery, but she didn’t complain. He should have known no matter how much he caressed her in the shower, she wasn’t going to forget the question of what had happened to him.

  “I got shot.”

  He knew it was blunt. He was blunt. There was no getting around what had happened to him. There was no hiding what he was any longer. And he thought telling her he got shot was enough. He didn’t feel it necessary to tell her he got shot twice.

  She blinked at him as if she didn’t understand his words. “What?”

  He set his cup of coffee on the small table between them. The thud the action made seemed to echo across the loft room. Without a word he got up and opened the nearby nightstand drawer. He felt her gaze on hi
m, warm and steady as he set his gun and his badge on the table in front of her before he sat back down again.

  Her eyes were big green saucers. She stared at him for a long, silent moment before she hesitantly touched his badge with her index finger before she picked it up and studied it closer.

  “Federal Bureau of Investigation?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s where you’ve been for the past decade? Wearing a suit?”

  He offered her a slight shrug. “I finished college first. For a little more than half a decade, I’ve been undercover, infiltrating biker gangs and big businesses. So sometimes I have to wear a suit. Last month I was investigating a shrimp boat operation in the Gulf of Mexico. I thought it was drugs. Turned out it was sex trafficking. Women and children. I guess they didn’t like my putting a wrench into their works.”

  “Oh, my God…”

  He knew this was a lot to digest. He also knew this might be enough to scare her away or at least back to her bakery. He let out a breath of relief when she remained in her chair and didn’t make a bee line to the door. “Do you have to worry about them coming after you?”

  “No. Number one, I worked under a complete alias, looked a little different, too. Number two, as far as any of them know, they killed me. Number three, I worked it in such a way that it ended well for the victims. None of the shrimp need to be worried. At least not from that group.”

  “You got shot before it was over?”

  “It got…intense.”

  He didn’t want to scare her any more than necessary. And she obviously had been too caught up in the moment while he had his pants down, then too shocked by the scar on his leg, that she didn’t notice the second scar on his lower abdomen. Intense was putting it lightly. If he hadn’t had a few people on his side as well as the right people in the right places, he might have been floating at the bottom of the Gulf as fish food right now instead of sharing this moment with her.

  “And now?”

  “Now…I’m on leave, indefinitely, while I heal. I thought this would be the best place to do it. I knew about the picnic and the reunion.” He paused and met her gaze. “That wasn’t all.”