by Linda Howard
He froze. “Oh, God, did I hurt you?”
“No, no! Don’t stop. Please.”
Watching him, feeling him, there were no recriminations. There wasn’t room for thoughts of anything but him as he began to move, slowly at first and then faster as his closely held control seemed to desert him. She remembered that from the last time, how he’d let go with her, in a way she suspected he didn’t often allow himself.
With his arms wrapped tight around her, he pounded into her, the smack of flesh meeting flesh the only thing she could hear over the roar of her own heartbeat.
Sam met each thrust with equal ardor, and when he sucked hard on her nipple, she cried out with another climax that took him tumbling over with her.
“Jesus,” he whispered when he’d recovered the ability. “Jesus Christ. I didn’t even offer you something to drink.”
She laughed and tightened the hold she had on him, letting one hand slide languidly through soft hair still damp from an earlier shower. “What kind of host does that make you?”
“A crappy one, I guess,” he said, turning them over in a smooth move.
Stretched out on top of him, still joined with him, Sam breathed in his warm, masculine scent and reveled in the comfort of strong arms wrapped tight around her. It was almost disturbing to accept that she had never experienced anything even remotely close to this, except during the one night she spent with him so many years ago. How foolish she had been then to assume that what she’d shared with him would show up again with someone else. She was wise enough now, old enough, jaded enough, to know better.
But even as the woman continued to vibrate with aftershocks and tingle with the desire for more, the cop resurfaced with disgust and dismay. “This was a very bad idea,” she muttered into his chest.
He curled a lock of her hair around his finger. “Depends on your perspective. From my point of view, it was the best idea I’ve had in six years.”
Sam studied him. “It must be the politician in you.”
Eyebrows knitting with confusion, he said, “What must?”
“The way you always seem to have the right words.”
He framed her face with his big hands. “I’m not feeding you lines, Sam.”
His sweet sincerity made her heart ache with something she refused to acknowledge. “I know.” The emotions were so overwhelming and new to her, she did the first thing that came to mind. She tried to escape.
His arms clamped around her like a vise. “Not yet.” He brushed his lips over hers in a gesture so tender it all but stopped her heart. Her eyes flooded with tears that she desperately tried to blink back.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Sam.”
Letting her eyes drift up to meet his, she said, “I like this. I know I shouldn’t because of everything…but I like it.”
“Sex on the sofa?”
“This.” She had to look away. It was just too much. “You. Me. Us.”
“So do I.” He kissed her softly. “So does this mean we’re together now?”
A stab of fear went through her. She just wasn’t ready for the magnitude of what this had the potential to be. “Why does it need a label? Why can’t it just be what it is?”
Once again, the flash of pain she saw on his face bothered her more than it should have. “And what is it exactly, Sam? I want far more from you than just a sex buddy.”
“That might be all I can give you right now.”
He sighed. “I suppose I’ll take whatever I can get.” When his lips coasted up her neck, he made her shiver. “We could move this somewhere more comfortable. There’s a big soft bed in the other room.”
Her stomach ached as reality stepped in to remind her of why she’d needed to see him. “There’re things we need to talk about. Stuff about the case.”
“We’ll get to it. Can I just have a few more minutes of this first?”
Because he seemed to need it so much, she said, “Okay.”
CHAPTER 20
The bed, as advertised, was big and soft. How he managed to coax her into it was something she planned to think about later when she reclaimed her sanity. It would be so easy, so very easy indeed, to curl into him and sleep the sleep of the dead. But the grinding sensation in her gut was an ever-present reminder of the conversation she needed to have with him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as his talented hand worked to ease the tension in her neck.
“Nothing, why?”
“I had you on the way to relaxed, and now you’re all tight again.”
“We need to talk.”
“So you’ve said. I’m listening.”
“I can’t do cop work naked.”
Laughing, he said, “Is that in the manual?”
“If it isn’t, it should be.”
Sitting up, he reached for the pile of their clothes he had deposited on the foot of the bed, found the T-shirt he’d been wearing when she arrived, and helped her into it. “Better?”
Engulfed in the shirt that carried his sexy, male scent, she was riveted by his muscular chest. “Um, except you’re still naked.”
“I’m not the cop.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips. “Talk to me, Sam.”
The dull ache sharpened in a matter of seconds.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, alarmed. “You just went totally pale.”
“It’s nothing.” She tried and failed to take a deep breath. “Just this deal with my stomach.”
“What deal?”
“It gives me some grief from time to time. It’s nothing.”
“Have you had it checked?”
“A couple of times,” she squeaked out.
“Babe, God, you’re in serious pain! What can I do?”
“Gotta breathe,” she said as the pain clawed its way through her, making her feel sick and clammy. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He fitted himself around her, held her close and whispered soft words of comfort that eased her mind.
She closed her eyes, focused on the sound of his voice and drifted. The pain retreated, but the episode—worse than most—left her drained and embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”
“I told you not to apologize. You have to do something about that. You might have an ulcer or something. I can get you in with my friend. He’s awesome.”
“It seems to crop up whenever I’m nervous about something, which I’m finding is fairly often.”
“You’re nervous about what you have to say to me?”
She tilted her head and found his pretty hazel eyes studying her intently. “I guess I am.”
He sat up, propped the pillows behind him and snuggled her into his chest. “Then let’s get it over with.”
“Cops don’t snuggle.”
“Make an exception.”
“I think I’ve already made quite a few,” she said dryly.
“Make another one.”
Before the pain could come back to remind her she was powerless against it, she took the plunge. “I have to ask you something. It’s probably going to upset you, and I hate that, but I have to ask.”
“Okay.”
“Is there any chance John was gay? Or maybe bi?” She felt the tension creep into his body, and then just as quickly it was gone.
He laughed. He actually laughed. “No. Not only no, but no fucking way.”
“How can you know that for sure? Some men hide it from their friends, their families…”
“I would’ve known, Sam. Believe me. I would’ve known.”
“You didn’t know he had a son.”
And just that quickly he was tense again. “You don’t know that, either.”
“I’m all but certain of it. The picture?”
“What about it?”
“His parents lied. His cousin Thomas, the son of Robert O’Connor? He’s thirty-six, dark hair, dark eyes.” She sat up straighter and shifted so she could see his face. “Surely you must have heard him talk about
a cousin who was the same age as him?”
Nick mulled that over. “I can’t say I ever did. Maybe they weren’t close. I don’t think Graham and his brother are.”
“Either way, the kid in the picture isn’t his cousin. His mother lied to me today, and his father didn’t refute it. The monthly payments—stretching twenty years—the weekly phone calls, catching his parents in a big, fat lie, the startling resemblance to the senator…It doesn’t take a detective to add it all up, Nick.”
“But why…wait.” He went perfectly still. “One weekend a month.”
Baffled, she said, “Excuse me?”
“He required one weekend a month with no commitments. Usually the third weekend. Never would say what he did with the time. In fact, he was always kind of weird about it, now that I think about it.”
“And you just thought to mention this now? What the hell, Nick?”
“I’m sorry. It was just so much a part of our routine that I didn’t think anything of it until right now.”
“I bet if I do some digging, I’ll find him booked on a regular flight to Chicago.”
All the air seemed to leave Nick in one long exhale. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why would he keep something like this hidden from me? From everyone?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going out there tomorrow to find out.”
“You are?”
“I’m on an eleven o’clock flight.”
“Does she know you’re coming?”
Sam shook her head. “Element of surprise. I don’t want to give her time to put away the pictures or send the kid out of town.”
“And you think this has something to do with his murder?”
“I can’t say for sure until I’ve spoken to the mother, but for some reason they’ve kept him hidden away for twenty years. I want to know why.”
“Politics, no doubt.”
“How do you mean?”
“A teenaged son with a baby would’ve been a political liability to the senator. I should know. As the offspring of teenaged parents, I can attest to the embarrassment factor in a family with zero public presence.”
Sam ached from the pain she heard in his voice.
“Graham O’Connor would’ve wanted this put away in a closet,” he concluded.
“His own grandchild?”
“I don’t think it would’ve mattered. The O’Connor name wasn’t always the powerhouse it is now. He had a few contentious campaigns around the mid-point of his career. If the timing coincided, this could’ve ruined him. He would’ve acted accordingly.”
“At the expense of his own family?”
“Power does strange things to people, Sam. It can be addicting. Once you get a taste of it, it’s hard to give it up. I’ve always found Graham to be a kind and loving—albeit exacting—father, but he’s as human as the next guy. He would’ve been susceptible to the seduction of power.” Nick paused, as if he was pondering something else.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering how, considering you’re certain he had a son, you also think he might’ve been gay.”
“Just a vibe we’ve picked up on the investigation. Nothing concrete. I’ve told you my gut says it was a woman he’d wronged, but then Freddie goes and ruins that by pointing out that it could’ve just as easily been a love affair gone wrong with a guy.”
Nick shook his head. “I can’t imagine it. There was never anything, anything in almost twenty years of close friendship that would make me doubt his orientation. Nothing, Sam. He was a skirt-chasing hound.”
“So I’ve discovered. But he wouldn’t be the first guy to use that as a front to hide his real life.”
“I suppose.”
“You’re upset. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s just…you think you know someone, really know them, only to find out they had all these secrets. He had a son. A child. And in twenty years, he never mentions that to his closest friend? It’s disappointing at the very least.”
It was also a betrayal, she imagined. That the family he’d considered his own—his only—had kept something of this magnitude from him.
As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “Did they think I’d tell anyone?”
“You shouldn’t take this personally, Nick. It won’t do you any good.”
“How else should I take it?”
Looping an arm around him, she bent to press her lips to his chest and felt the strong, steady beat of his heart. “I’m sorry this is hurting you. I hate that.”
He enfolded her in his arms. “It goes down easier coming from you.” Tilting her chin, he fused his mouth to hers.
“I should go,” she said when they resurfaced.
“Stay with me. Sleep with me. I need you, Samantha.” He dropped soft, wet kisses on her face and neck. “I need you.”
“You’re playing dirty.”
“I’m not playing.”
Something other than pain settled in her gut, something warm and sweet. This was a whole new kind of powerlessness, and it felt good. Really good. She let her hand slide over the defined chest, the ripped abdomen and below. Finding him hard and ready, her lips followed the path her hand had taken. His gasps of pleasure, his total surrender, told her she had succeeded in taking his mind off the pain and grief, which made everything that was wrong about this feel right.
*
They began the next day the same way they finished the one before.
As her body hummed with rippling aftershocks, she pressed her lips to his shoulder. “This is getting out of hand.”
“We’ve got six years of lost time to make up for.”
His lips moving against her neck made her tremble. “I need to go soon,” she said. “I have to shower and change and get to the airport.”
“I’m taking the staff to Richmond today to see John,” he said with a deep sigh. “I’d rather be going with you.”
“I wish you could.” She reached up to caress his face and found the stubble on his jaw to be crazy sexy. Replacing her hand with her lips, she said, “I forgot to tell you my news.”
“What news?”
“I made lieutenant.”
His face lit up with pleasure. “That’s awesome, Sam! Congratulations.”
“It won’t be official for a week or so.” For a moment, she thought about telling him how it happened but decided against it. “And my dad is marrying one of his nurses.”
“Wow. Do you like her?”
“Yeah. A lot.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“She lives in Florida with some guy she hooked up with when I was in high school. They ran off together the day after I graduated. Nearly killed my dad. He had no idea.”
“Ouch. That sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I guess I should be grateful that she stuck around long enough to get me through school, but it wasn’t like she was there for me or anything.”
“I saw my mother three times when I was in high school.”
Sam cursed herself for being insensitive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to complain.”
He shrugged. “It was what it was.”
“At least you had your grandmother.”
“And she was a real treat,” he said with a bitter chuckle.
Intrigued, she shifted so she could see him. “She wasn’t good to you?”
“She did what she could, but she always made it clear that I was a burden to her, that I was keeping her from traveling and enjoying her retirement.” He paused, focused on her fingers. “When I was about ten, I heard her talking to my dad—her son. She said she’d done enough, and it was time for him to step up and take over, that he was an adult now and there was no reason he couldn’t take care of his own child. He said he would, and I got all excited, thinking I was going to get to go with him.”
Her stomach twisted with anxiety for the ten-year-old boy. “What happened?”
“I didn’t see him again for a year.”
“Nick…I�
��m sorry.”
“He sent money—enough for me to play hockey, which I loved. I poured all my energy into that and school. Ended up with an academic scholarship to Harvard and played hockey there, too. That was my escape.”
Listening to him, she wanted to give him everything he’d been denied as a child and wished she had it to give.
“Anyway,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “someday hopefully I’ll have my own family and it won’t matter anymore.”
And that, she thought, is my cue to go. She sat up and reached for her clothes at the foot of the bed.
“It’s only seven. You’ve got time yet.” His hand slid from her shoulder to land on her hip. “I could make you some breakfast.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to go home, take a shower, get changed, check in at HQ,” she said as she jammed her arms into her shirt and dragged it over her head. Air and space, she thought, and we’re not talking about the museum. That’s what I need. Some air, some space, some perspective. Distance.
Twirling her bra on his index finger, his full, sexy mouth twisted into a grin. “Forget something?”
She snatched it away from him and jammed it into her pants pocket.
Laughing, he reclined on the big pile of pillows.
She felt the heat of his eyes on her as she ducked into the bathroom. Re-emerging a few minutes later, she found him out of bed and wearing just the sweats he’d had on the night before. The pants rode low on narrow hips, and that chest of his…It should’ve been gracing the covers of erotic romance novels rather than spending its days hidden behind starched dress shirts and silk ties. Tragic. Truly a waste of good—no, great—man chest.
“You’re staring.”
“And you’re hot. Seriously. Hot.”
“Well, um, thanks. I guess.”
His befuddlement amused and delighted her until she remembered that she’d been plotting her escape. Suddenly, morning-after awkwardness set in, leaving her tongue-tied and uncertain as she tugged on her sweater. “Good luck with your staff. Today. In Richmond.”
“Thank you.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips. “Will you tell me what happens in Chicago?”
“If I can, I will. That’s the best I can do.”