Under His Protection

by Amy J. Fetzer

  She felt electrified. Nash was trembling.

  “I want you so much,” he murmured against her mouth, his skin on fire from her touch. And man, was she touching. Her fingers wrapped his arousal, and Nash groaned, wanting to push into her now, end this torment just so they could start again.

  She stroked him, and they were a tangle of rushing fingers and thick kisses. Nash couldn’t take it, and he pried her free, sliding his hand up her body and pushing her arms around the bedpost.

  “I have this fantasy,” he said, and she arched a brow.

  “Fulfill it,” she said, and the trust between them strengthened.

  Nash kissed her mouth, the tips of her breasts, his tongue rasping over her skin and leaving her damp and hungry. His teeth scraped the underside of her breast on a path downward, his hands unmoving on her hips.

  Only his lips and tongue touched her, and it was so erotic she couldn’t help watching. He moved lower and anticipation skated sharply through her. Her blood heated as he licked her hip, then her thigh. On his knees, he slid his hands around her behind, then hooked one of her knees and lifted it onto his shoulder.

  Then he feasted.

  Lisa cried out his name, aching from the post, and struggling to remain standing when everything in her said fall. He plunged his tongue deeply, and she sank her fingers into his hair, watching him, wanting to do the same for him and feel him break like glass for her. Lisa’s stomach clenched, her hips curling.

  “Nash, please. I want you.”

  He kept playing.

  “Nash!”

  He stood, lifting her off her feet, and she wrapped her legs around him.

  “Now!” she gasped. “Oh, please. Now.”

  Smiling, Nash laid her onto the bed, her body cradling him and she reached between them, sliding the tip of him against her slick opening.

  He slammed his eyes shut, then, braced above her, he pushed, loving her squirming, her impatience. He filled her, his gaze locked with hers as he withdrew and plunged deeply again.

  Nash laced his fingers with hers as he thrust and withdrew, setting a cadence that clawed at her nerves, taunted her desire. Lisa took him in like a fine wine she’d been denied, with a thirst that quenched her soul. Muscles rippled as he trembled, his breath a shiver of pleasure against her lips. His hips moved like warm honey, long, slow undulations that drove her mad. And drove deeper.

  She pulsed, with life, with love. It was tangible between them. A song in her blood, the words on her lips.

  “I love you,” he said, and kept moving, a little faster, a little harder.

  She chanted his name in a demand, her hips rising to greet him. Nash fought his control and whispered that he loved her, loved that righteous look she got when she was defensive, that she was the only woman who made him feel vulnerable, and he cherished that. He murmured that he loved the taste of her, loved the way she clamped him so tightly he could feel her blood pulsing. He’d never forgotten—years of dreams had tormented him—wanting her, having her like this. Yet when she was gone, in another man’s arms, it had destroyed what was left in him. It seeded anger, and as he made love to her, filled her, that anger seeped away, like a tide bringing back new feelings, new sensations, fresh and greedy.

  Lisa searched his face, feeling tears spill and roll into her hair. Here in the dark, he was saying what she’d longed to hear. That he couldn’t live without her. Neither could she.

  “Finish me,” he said, and when he ground against her center, she gripped his hips, pulling him harder into her. His control snapped.

  He rushed into her, and Lisa arched off the bed, crazy with desire. “Oh, mercy,” she whispered, and touched his face, his throat, and Nash clutched her to him, the eruption shattering through him with a shudder that threatened his composure.

  They clung, a tangle of limbs on the ancient bed, hearts reborn as they fell over the edge of rapture and into their own slice of heaven.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hours later Lisa stirred, tucked in the comfort of Nash’s arms. She felt safe and loved. Oh, Lord, had she been well loved last night! All over the room and even out on the balcony under the stars. When she shifted, he closed his arms more tightly around her.

  “Stay.”

  “I need to go back to my room.”

  “Nah.” He nuzzled her neck, rising up a bit to find more skin to taste. His lips closed over her tender nipple, and sheer pleasure shimmered though her.

  “Nash…honey…oh, that feels good, but MaryGrace will be awake soon, and I’d like to keep my reputation with her.”

  “Believe me, MaryGrace will know you were here. Nothing gets past that woman.” He shifted over Lisa, nudging her thighs apart.

  “All the more reason to go…” He slid smoothly into her, her body awake and primed in seconds. “Oh, Nash.”

  He arched a brow, smiling. “Reason enough to stay?” he murmured, thrusting into her in that slow gentle way that drove her crazy.

  Mouths met and melted, her body capturing his, and drawing him back into her. “I think so.”

  He pushed harder, a little faster. Slick, and steamy with heat.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said on a laugh. “I see the light.”

  “I want you to see stars.”

  He pumped into her, loving her awake, and before the sun rose, Nash showered her with stars.

  NASH STEPPED into the kitchen, expecting to find Lisa, but the room was empty. Frowning, he started searching the house. She’d slipped out before dawn. She didn’t want anyone seeing her leaving his room. He didn’t blame her. In a house like this, there were some rules you stuck to, even if you bent them a little during the night.

  A needle of panic pricked his spine when he didn’t find her. He was in the back of the house, walking toward the solarium, when he heard her voice. He passed through the double doors, stopping when he saw the change in the solarium. A week ago it had showed its neglect with dead flowers and drying trees, leaves scattering the tile floors. Now it was clean, the dead plants gone, the floor gleaming.

  He heard laughter and then through the open doors he saw her out on the back porch. Walking through the solarium and out into the sun, he stopped short.

  His gaze snapped from Lisa, then to his mother.

  The pair were bent over a rosebush, pruning it. Both women wore gloves, and while his mother wore a straw hat and dress, Lisa had on shorts and a T-shirt. And she was barefoot.

  “Hello, Nash,” Lisa said, turning toward him and meeting his gaze.

  She gave him a sexy smile, and for a moment last night played in his mind with enough clarity to make him hard. Lisa gripping the headboard as he pushed into her, making love to her again on his balcony under the stars, the raw power in her, and he understood the big difference between having sex and making love. She’d taught him most of the night till they fell into his bed, drained and satisfied. He was ready right now to drag her upstairs and do it all over again.

  She left his mother, walked nearer. His mom kept clipping roses.

  “You shouldn’t look at me like that in public,” she said.

  He smiled, then brushed her mouth with his. His mother looked at them blankly, then went back to cutting blooms.

  Nash pulled back and rubbed Lisa’s arm. “I’m sorry you had to see her like this.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I understand. I found her wandering around alone this morning.” She glanced back at the older woman. “We’re becoming good friends.”

  As the only witness to her husband’s murder, Olivia Couviyon was trapped in the fog that had claimed her mind the night Nash’s father died. The loving mother Nash and his brothers had grown up with had disappeared, replaced with a fragile woman who wandered listlessly around Indigo Run. None of them knew if she was aware that her husband was dead, because she never spoke of their father or that night. And the doctors wouldn’t let them question her. They were afraid if forced, Olivia Couviyon would never come back.

  “Why didn’t you tell
me?” Lisa asked Nash.

  “There’s nothing anyone can do. And I don’t think anything will change till we learn who killed my father and why.”

  Lisa nodded and sympathized. Olivia Couviyon had been a town matriarch. The rumors that she’d gone crazy after her husband’s death weren’t pretty. But Lisa had found a gentle woman locked in a different time. Smart, witty, but not crazy.

  “The solarium used to be her favorite place,” Nash said.

  “She wouldn’t come inside.”

  “She won’t come inside the house at all, Lisa. She lives in the cottage out back. She ignores Logan, looks right through him, and talks to me and my brothers like we’re still in college.”

  “To her, I think you are.”

  He frowned.

  “She’s trapped somewhere where there isn’t any pain, Nash. I met your father, seen pictures of him. Logan looks so much like Sebastian when he was younger its uncanny. So for your mom to acknowledge Logan would be accepting your father is dead.”

  “That’s what the doctors think.” Nash did, too.

  “Didn’t she witness his murder?”

  “We think so. My father was dead, and we found her wandering outside the house.”

  “There’s not a chance she might have…”

  “Killed him?”

  If Lisa expected anger, she didn’t get it.

  “I’ve thought of that. I’m the only one willing to consider that possibility. But they loved each other and she didn’t have an angry bone in her body. She never once raised her voice at us when we were kids.”

  “Lisa, dear.”

  Lisa turned toward Olivia. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You come with me and let Nash get on with his studies.”

  Nash sent Lisa a look that said, See what I mean?

  Lisa took a step toward Olivia, but Nash pulled her back into his arms. He kissed her and Lisa responded, falling under his spell.

  “I missed you this morning,” he said softly, rubbing her spine.

  She smiled. “I plan on sneaking into your room tonight, so don’t go locking your door.”

  “I’m smarter than that.”

  “Yeah, now.”

  He stroked her hair off her face, his expression troubled.

  “What’s the matter?” Lisa asked.

  She read him too well. “Not a damn thing catching a killer won’t solve.” And a few other things, he thought. “Promise me you’ll stay here today?”

  “I promise. I have plenty to keep me occupied.” She gestured at the solarium.

  “That’s great, but no going back to your place. Not even for plants.”

  She nodded, touching her throat. The red marks were still visible, and Nash tipped her chin, staring at them like a cop. Small hands, he thought.

  “Lisa, dear, don’t dally,” his mother called. She’d moved farther away.

  “I have to go. She needs me.”

  His heart broke open and flooded with love for her. How did he get so damn lucky? “I’ll see you at lunch.”

  Lisa nodded, pushing out of his arms when she wanted to stay right there. “Will you go by Kate’s place and tell her the store is closed? I couldn’t get her on the phone.”

  “Sure.” He kissed her. “I love you,” he said, and he thought her eyes teared up a bit. Yet she mouthed the same words back, then headed toward his mother.

  Nash watched her for a moment, the two women hovering over a rosebush. His heart, where his mother was concerned, just got a little lighter.

  NASH WAS GRABBING a cup of coffee at the Daily Grind before work when Hope Randall came up beside him. She nudged him with her elbow.

  “Well, as I live and breathe, it’s Detective Couviyon.”

  “Hello, Hope.” His gaze slid over her, noticing the deep tan, and her hair streaked from the sun. “Your vacation agrees with you. Sad to be back?”

  “Oh, gee, let’s see… Sun, surf, room service, muscled cabana boys at my beck and call, or peeping into people’s private lives and sifting through their garbage. Tough choice.”

  He laughed. “I hear you.” Right now Nash could use a week off, too, as long as it was with Lisa.

  “I saw Lisa,” Hope said.

  “So did I, this morning.”

  She arched a brow and turned serious. “I love her like a sister, and you’d best be making wedding plans. I’d hate to have to hurt you.”

  Nash chuckled. Hope was a petite brunette with more energy than five women. She was a martial-arts expert, not to mention an excellent shot with a gun. Add the mouth that roared and that she’d been a cop for a short time, and Hope Randall was a powerhouse to be reckoned with. “And I don’t doubt you could, Randall.”

  They paid for their coffees and moved away from the counter. He told Hope about the attack and that Lisa was at Indigo Run.

  “About time.”

  “God, are you going to harass me, too, for my stupidity?”

  “That you are man enough to admit it is a step in the right direction. But considering I didn’t say a word when you were being a jerk, I figure I’ve got some good digs coming to me. I want to savor them.” She licked the whipped cream off her latte.

  “I love her,” Nash blurted.

  Hope grinned.

  “I want to marry her.”

  Her face brightened further. “Okay, you just got into my ‘guys with white hats’ club.”

  Nash laughed.

  “What club is that?” a voice said, and they turned as Temple strolled up. Nash could feel the sudden animosity radiating from Hope like a wire about to snap.

  “None that you could ever aspire to, Temple,” she said coolly, then looked at Nash. “Tell Lisa I’ll call her tonight.”

  Temple watched her go, his gaze raking over her like a man starved for a look, Nash thought, then whistled softly.

  “I’d stay away from that fire if I were you, Temp. Hell, I thought you two could at least be friends.” Temple and Hope had dated for two years and no one knew what split them apart. Neither would tell.

  “For Hope, there’s no gray area.”

  Nash just shook his head. “I gotta go.”

  Temple looked at him. “Anything I can help with?”

  “Yeah. Stop by Kate’s and tell her Lisa’s shop is closed.”

  Nash handed him the address. Temple glanced at it. “Why? There’s already a sign on the door.”

  Nash frowned. Suddenly he took the slip of paper, pitched his coffee and headed to his car.

  NASH STARED down at the reports, then started writing each item down on an index card. Soon he had a hundred cards covering his desk.

  “What the hell are you doing, Couviyon?” Jack Walker said, strolling up to his desk.

  “Detective work, maybe you remember it?”

  Jack Walker smirked.

  “I was hoping this could help.” Nash shrugged. “Winfield and Chartres die of poison, but Chartres got a little arsenic. From peach pits, no less.”

  “A nature-loving killer?”

  “No, I don’t think so. The bath tea that killed Winfield wasn’t sealed correctly. Our killer didn’t know how. Chartres and Delan were together against Winfield, but Winfield roped in Delan with riches. She liked sleeping with a married man—she was a hooker once. Needed excitement and danger, I guess.” He shrugged again, taking away cards as he spoke. “But I bet when Winfield learned what she was up to, he dumped her. He was a stickler for appearances and Delan wasn’t in his class. Then he tried to get Lisa back. And he’d planned on using property to do it.” Nash took away another card.

  Hope strolled in, saying hi to the officers, then stopped at Nash’s desk. “Our city is in for some setbacks if this is how you solve crimes, Detective.”

  “Looking mighty fine there, Randall,” Jack said, giving her the once-over.

  She brought her gaze to his, smiling, and Nash could have sworn she actually blushed. “Thank you, Sheriff. Lose any parolees?”

  “Not this week. They’
re afraid of you coming after them, so they stay put.”

  Nash glanced between the two, thinking of Temple, then gave it up. His brother was too much of a player for Hope.

  “Quinn asked me to give this to you,” Hope said, handing him a thin file just as an officer hurried over to Nash and laid another down before walking away.

  “It’s about time,” Nash said, then opened the background reports first.

  “Can I help?” Hope asked. “I want this killer caught, too. Lisa’s having just too many bad-hair days because of it.”

  Nash chuckled. “Have a look.” He eased back in the chair, reading the file on Peter Winfield.

  While Hope leaned over the cards, Nash flipped through credit reports and found large sums deposited from a New Orleans bank a couple of years ago, which confirmed the blackmail. Credit cards used at clubs and restaurants and a few newspaper clippings were also in the file. One clipping showed Winfield at a fund-raiser with a woman. Nash took out a magnifying glass, but the photo was grainy and the woman’s face was turned away as if she was talking to someone behind her. Right height for Delan, he thought. The information fed through his brain like ticker tape. He reached for the forensic report.

  “Chartres is eliminated for obvious reasons. He was dying of poison when Lisa was attacked,” Nash said. “But the unanswered question is, why was Winfield killed?”

  “Not for money—Lisa gets it,” Jack said. “It stays in probate with the will. No one can touch it.”

  “It’s passion, revenge,” Nash said. “The destroyed apartment was the killer venting. The killer got calm in the bedroom and carefully laid out the gown. Then stabbed it.”

  “And the killer’s angry that Lisa hasn’t been charged, too,” Jack added. “Which is likely the reason behind the attack in her house.”

  The phone shrilled and Nash snatched it up. NYPD Detective Rhinehart was on the other end. “I’m faxing you the forensic reports on the hair found in the apartment,” Rhinehart said.

  “Hallelujah.” Nash glanced over as the fax machine hummed and spit out the paper. He grabbed it, then flipped open Quinn’s analysis and slid out the one for the hairs found at the inn.