by Chloe Cole
“You’ll want to be moving that,” he said, his gaze steady on hers.
“I like it there,” she murmured, spreading her fingers wide over the unyielding muscle beneath his tan-colored Sheriff’s Department shirt. “You like it there,” she added when that muscle ticked under her touch. When his heartbeat began to thud. For a bold second she considered stroking her hand down that impressive chest to the buckle of his gun belt and maybe lower. If he was a good boy…
His big hand captured hers at the wrist to pry her off him, the rough pads of his fingers sending a shock through her that actually made her jump. His eyes, ringed by thick, ebony lashes, widened and she knew that he’d felt it too. The awareness between them instantly turned the open air around them to a heated wall, solid with tension strong enough to slam into.
Or sink into.
“What I’d like,” he murmured, voice thicker—deeper—than before, “has nothing to do with it.”
“Then that makes you the man of my dreams,” she replied, an unexpected breathlessness surprising her when his mouth quirked to one side. Not a grin, but almost. Enough of one to feel comfortable stepping into his space. “Because I can think of a thousand different things I’d like to do with you.” Her imagination split into a dozen immediate directions. She could see herself fitting over him, under him, wrapped all around him. Maybe even tied down, all control gone, her pleasure completely at his disposal. Those strong arms wrapped around her, holding her in place while he took her as roughly or gently as he wanted. Or maybe he’d let her return the favor. The possibilities were endless. “I’d make you my favorite jungle gym if you’d let me.”
“The operative word there is let.”
“You wouldn’t?” It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d turn her down.
“Depends. You coming or going?”
“For you? Hopefully coming.” She breathed in his subtle scent. Aftershave, a clean redolence. Nothing like the beer, sweat and shit smell of the men she had to be around so often. “As many times as you can get me there, sugar.”
Now his eyes narrowed with clear frustration. “I meant, are you the type who keeps coming to jail or the type that’s leaving it behind?”
She’d opened her mouth to speak again, not at all sure what she was about to say to that, when Frank Carter’s crotchety snarl broke through their haze. “KK, knock your shit off.”
Five concise words that reminded Katrina exactly who and what she was supposed to be. An obedient underling only there to report his condition back to his right-hand man. An agent with a mission and, unfortunately, that mission did not include getting laid.
It took all her strength to break that honest gaze and turn to meet the blazing stare of her enemy, an asshole who thought she was his subordinate. Her lips curled on their own as she caught sight of Frank, three inches shorter than her, his greasy brown and gray hair in disarray around his leathery red-brown face, four scratch marks down his cheek. Shana had fought back this time. Good for her.
Frank pointedly raised an eyebrow at the other officer, the one holding him in place with a two-handed grip on the metal cuffs. They’d all learned a while back that plastic bindings weren’t going to help them with the knife-laden Frank Carter.
Her smile faltered only a millisecond, but she had no doubt Undersheriff Rick Trelane caught it. Not a lot got past Trelane. He wasn’t as tall or handsome as the man still holding her hand to his chest, but he was still physically imposing. They needed their law enforcement guys big up here in Marketta. What with the loggers, the bikers and the truckers using the old mountain highways for short cuts, the officers had their hands full when anything went wrong. In Trelane, they also met their quota in cold, unforgiving bastard. Carter had him on payroll, but he didn’t fully trust the undersheriff. Neither did Katrina, but it was her job to get something on him to make him solidify his loyalty to Carter. If only Frank knew…
“Hey there, Rick.” She made herself smile, wishing there were something she liked about him. From brown hair with the streaks of silver running through them to his strangely adept hands—he was the only one she’d ever met who could hold Frank in a firm grip —to his oversized shiny black shoes, he made her itch and not in a good way. “I haven’t seen you all week. What have you been up to?”
“Keeping my eye on you.” Those icy blue eyes of his bordered on reptilian. “I think the better question is what’re you up to?”
She only realized her fingers had curled into fists when a warm, rough thumb gently slid back and forth against her palm, where no one could see, somehow soothing her. Startling, really, that he even wanted to. At her intake of breath, he abruptly let her go, dropping her hand like a guilty teenager caught with his first girl.
Still, that momentary support gave her enough confidence to sass herself out of the situation. “You just keep on watching then. You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out sooner or later.” She turned her attention back to the disturbing officer she would later find out was a former Marine Staff Sergeant named Cade. “You can look too,” she said, meaning it this time. She always wondered after that day if he noticed that her voice had dropped to little more than a husky sigh. “In fact, I’m going to have to insist on it…”
“Trina, you’re wandering on me.” Cade’s gruff voice interrupted her memories, bringing her back to her current dilemma. Sliced up. Beat up. On the run. Hopelessly wanting a man that didn’t trust her and had no damn reason to. In other words, royally fucked.
Yup. That about covered it.
“Just remembering.” She sighed. Remembering was better. Thinking back on those fleeting times she’d run into him near the station. In town. At his house. On the lonely mountain road… Just the thought of that last one was enough to make her wet again. God, she was wet already, trying not to squirm under the feel of those coolly professional touches. He wasn’t even stroking her. Wasn’t running his hands over her breasts as he’d done that day, squeezing them as if he were claiming them for Spain or something. Or cupping her neck to lift her off the hood of his car to devour her mouth in a kiss that had set her on fire like nothing else ever had. He certainly wasn’t grasping her thigh, pulling it higher over his hip as he fit his cock to her entrance and drove into her until she thought he might as well just move in there for the rest of their lives.
But if he wanted to, she might just weep in relief.
Cade yanked off his gloves with a vicious snap of latex. “You keep remembering like that and I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”
Katrina lifted both brows in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re doing that purring thing in the back of your throat and you’re making me fucking nuts.”
Ah, yes, the purring. He’d liked that well enough when he had his cock halfway down her throat, hadn’t he? “Hey, the abstinence thing was your idea, Mr-I-Don’t-Date-Convicts. I had every intention of satisfying all your sexual fantasies and even a few things you haven’t thought up yet, remember?”
“My fantasies didn’t include taking you to jail every week because you didn’t want to quit working for Carter.”
She refused to let his bitterness win that argument. “Oh, now you’re just lying through your teeth. We both know you can’t wait to get me in your cuffs.”
He closed his eyes—Cade-speak for needing five desperate seconds to get his control back. If she were at her usual strength, she’d take advantage to steal one of his mind-blowing kisses. The kind he only gave when she pushed him completely out of his reserves, which she tried to do as often as humanly possible.
The strange thing was…only she made the effort.
No one else got past his frosty armor and everyone seemed to like it that way, which made absolutely no sense to her. Cade Evigan was the best thing to happen to a town like Marketta and the dumb bastards here couldn’t see it. It hadn’t taken five minutes to realize the other officers in the department were somewhat afraid
of the silent and lethal giant in their midst. Not just them, either. The locals gave him a wide berth as well. No one teased him, no one but Rick seemed to be his friend—hearsay as far as she was concerned, since the cold bastard kept his distance like everyone else—and no one thanked him for the dozens of things he did every day to make them safe. He only spoke when he had to and usually that was softly. That menacing growl when he did raise his voice made sure people didn’t want to make him do it again.
It was as if no one realized there was a man under all those walls.
Or that nobody made those kinds of boundaries on accident.
The same way no woman was going to get over those boundaries without a hell of an effort.
Lucky for her, Marketta was small. It wasn’t hard to run into him as he patrolled. To steal glimpses of him; touches he never seemed fast enough to avoid. Touches he finally stopped trying to escape. What she found was a complicated puzzle. The proud Marine Staff Sergeant who’d left behind nearly fifteen years of service. The teasing seducer who could make her laugh while making her simultaneously want to rip off her own clothes for him. The powerful lover who made her feel delicate and sensual instead of crass and ball-busting. He had secrets too, once she’d gotten him talking during those hard-won conversations. Somehow, he’d sneaked most of her secrets out too. All but the last few she’d kept from him.
Who she really was.
What she was really doing.
She shouldn’t have done it. Because every time she broke past one barrier, the lies she’d had to tell cut deeper into her soul. But that’s what happened when you lied to the man you loved.
When you betrayed him.
“Did I hurt you too much?”
“What?” She looked at him, having completely forgotten about the fact that he was treating her wound. A quick glance to her ribs, where a neat row of white braces pulled her skin firmly closed, and she realized he was already done. His dark hand rested on her waist, as natural as if he always had it there. She almost slid her own hand over it, wanting to hold him place, but she knew if she did, he’d pull away. Even now that she was telling him the truth. He’d retreat to his supposed safety and wait for her to leave. No thanks. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” His thumb did that soothing rub thing again, making her belly quiver with the needs that always floated just below the surface when he was near. Every bone in her body could be broken and she’d still ache to wrap herself around him. How could she want him—need him—so much even knowing he could walk away from her without a backward glance? She’d never been so weak in her life and if she were smart, she’d slap herself out of it. But somehow, she’d rather be a moron with a chance to be with him than a genius without him.
The thing that got her was that he didn’t seem to know it.
Heavy silence sat between them for endless seconds before he finally broke it with a sigh. “Then I guess it’s time to get you out of those clothes.”
Chapter Three
“God, you say the sexiest things. Quick, say something else fun. How about, Grab your ankles, babe, I’m coming in for a landing.” Trina’s slow, dirty grin did terrible things to Cade’s self-control. She was always like this. Taking every little thing and making it into something sexual, something that tempted him to laugh. Though he had to admit, he’d walked right into that one.
“We’re not having sex. Your clothes have blood on them and they’re cut up. Besides, I need to check you for any other injuries.”
“Aww, come on, Cade. You’re missing the point of the game. Hot to trot damsel-in-distress—”
“With bruised ribs.”
“—alone in a mountain cabin with inexplicably-single sex god—”
“Hardly.” There were plenty of explanations.
“Since I’m the only one of us who’s had sex with you, I don’t think you get a vote.”
He was not going to give her the smile she was hunting down. He couldn’t allow it. Trina collected his moments of weakness like a kid after baseball cards. But once they were hers, she cashed them in for pieces of his soul. He simply didn’t have enough left to let her play her games.
On the other hand, if she wanted to call him a sex god, who was he to argue?
“I’ll get you something to sleep in. While I do that, how about you get back to telling me what happened?” He got up off his knees, distancing himself from all that beautiful skin across her belly by heading to his chest of drawers on the other side of his bed, as many feet from her as the one room cabin would allow. Bruised or not, he’d never seen anything as tempting as her in his life.
“It’s pretty simple really. Carter has a delivery service up and down California. His crews pick up shipments of heroin in Tijuana, drive it up the Grapevine and drop it in Fresno for wider distribution. I was part of an infiltration team that fed into three different biker crews in California. Of the six of us, two have retired and three are dead. I’m the last one and none of us have managed to get enough evidence to knock out the main buyer pulling their strings. Or even find out who it is. My old partner cut off a major supplier last year, but he got made in the process and there were others just waiting to take the supplier’s place. All I know about the current ones is that they’re Colombian and about ten times more willing to kill than the last guy’s men. I was this close to getting what we needed and now there’s no way it can happen. If Frank or anyone else from Wheels of Pain finds me before I can reach my DEA handler, I’m dead.”
“You’re skipping something.” The sixth sense that had kept him alive in Afghanistan had a bead on Trina and her half-truths. It always had. Which was why he’d never been able to fully trust her. Want her, yes. Need her, even, but from the beginning he’d noticed the signs. The way she’d deflect by hitting on him. How she’d subtly look away before she talked. She had no trouble staring Carter in the eye as she lied to him—he’d seen her do it—but she couldn’t do it with him. It meant something that she almost never looked him in the eye anymore. Until now.
“Just that your department is corrupt.”
He snorted, reaching in for one of his T-shirts. “Tell me something I don’t know.” That was why Rick had asked him to join him in Marketta. Because he needed someone to watch his back. Only for Rick had Cade considered it, even if the Rick he’d found on arrival wasn’t quite the fun-loving kid he used to know.
He touched the plain cotton in the drawer, frowning at the texture. No, this wouldn’t work. He closed it slowly, listening to Trina shifting uncomfortably on the couch. Like him, she was too long-legged for it. There was no way to lay on it without bending a leg or letting something hang off it. Plus those cushions could support the Washington Monument without denting. No, she wouldn’t be able to sleep there and neither could he. She’d have to share the bed with him.
A pulse of dangerous elation danced through his veins.
Squelching it wasn’t even possible. A dead man would get excited about sharing a bed with a woman like her and for all that he’d tried to bury his emotions, he wasn’t dead. Unfortunately for him, no one drove that point home more than Katrina Killian.
From the start, she’d made him wish he could be different. Made him wish he was still the guy with all those hopes about changing the world and saving lives. The one who laughed easily and trusted. That guy had died with so many others, thousands of miles from here, under a killing sun that never seemed to set, in sands that never seemed able to satisfy its thirst for blood. He’d let him die, purposely burying his soul so he could survive. So he could wake up day after day and not hate himself for being able to walk away.
With her, though, he not only could feel, he felt too much. He had no choice about it. At first he’d fought it. Resented her slipping past his guards with a smile or a tease, mocking the control he thought he had. But then he began to look forward to it. To her insane little pick up lines. Her unexpected humor. The vitality she infected him with that made the rest of his day easier to get through. T
hat made waking up something to look forward to instead of dread.
He wouldn’t be fooling anyone if he told himself he wasn’t mentally doing back flips to finally lay her in his bed, in his arms, and hold her all night long. But if he was going to live that fantasy, shouldn’t he go all the way with it?
He turned to the closet, pulling open the doors where he’d put stuff he didn’t want taking up space in the little house he rented in Marketta. Where under thin plastic, uniforms he’d never wear again and crisp dress shirts from years gone by waited like specters. He pulled a shirt out, the snowy white fabric sliding across his fingers like cool water. It would fit over her lush curves with room to spare, probably covering her at least to mid thigh. His best imaginings starred her in his uniform shirts, a button or two giving little more than lip service between the high globes of her breasts. Those tiny silk panties of hers playing peek-a-boo with every step she took.
If he gave her this to wear, his cock would turn to fucking stone with no relief in sight. Just hours and hours of unrelenting sexual torment until he could safely get her out of there.
He stole a quick glance at her, all that ebony hair flowing like ink over the arm of his couch, her lean body encased in dirty white leather, the toes of her matching boots pointing up as she stretched her legs with a wince.
I’m a masochist.
It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know about himself. He gripped the shirt in a stranglehold and headed back her way. “You need help sitting up?”
She grimaced as he knelt beside her again, but shook her head, already lowering her legs to the ground. Biting off a curse, Cade fit his hand to her back, supporting her regardless of her grudging acceptance. She never liked help. He never gave a shit. He considered it one of the better quirks to their relationship.
Trina took a deep breath, carefully, while he held his in anticipation that she could do it. The air came in and went out with any serious hitches. “See? It was just running up this mountain of yours that made it so bad.”