by Chris Taylor
Zara smiled back at him and shook her head and then remembered she was naked. It was one thing to sneak out while he was asleep. There was no way in the world she was going to stroll across his bedroom with no clothes on. So what if they’d spent the previous hour getting to know every inch of each other? It was different after… She stayed where she was.
Lane frowned down at her. “I thought you had to go to the bathroom?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“What’s the matter? It’s right through there.”
She ducked her head under the sheet. “I know,” she said, her voice muffled.
“Then, what’s the problem?” Lane sounded bemused. Zara grimaced beneath the bedclothes. Trust a man not to get it.
“Close your eyes,” she demanded, still hidden.
“Why on earth…? What are you talking about?”
“Just close your eyes. Have you forgotten I have no clothes on?” There, she’d said it. Her face flamed.
Her announcement was met with choked laughter. Lane peeled back the sheet that covered her head and gazed down at her, his eyes twinkling.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
She shook her head and refused to look at him.
“Sweetheart, we just spent the past hour—”
“I know,” she interrupted him, her cheeks ablaze. “But…” She stared at the bedspread and shrugged. “You know…”
Lane brushed the hair back off her face, his fingers gentle. “Zara, look at me.”
Through a sheer act of will, Zara raised her gaze and met his. Her mouth dropped open at the love and tenderness that filled his eyes.
“I love that you’re shy,” he whispered. “It reminds me how new you are to all of this and that’s so very special.”
Zara offered him a lopsided smile. “Thank you. I know it sounds silly after all that we’ve done, but I…it’s kind of different when we’re not…we’re not…” She couldn’t say the words aloud.
“Making love. I know what you mean, sweetheart and if I hadn’t grown up in a family of boys, I’d have probably learned to have a little more modesty, too.”
She swallowed a sigh of relief. He leaned over the side of the bed and produced the shirt he’d worn the day before. He tossed it in her direction. She caught it and hugged it to her, grateful for his understanding.
“I’ll grab you a clean towel and some more clothes.” His gaze traveled over her. “I can’t say they’ll be much of a fit, but they’re something. You’re probably not keen to pull on the prison garb again.”
“Thanks, Lane. I guess I should be grateful the police kept my dress as evidence. If I never see it again, that will be too soon.”
Anger flashed in his eyes, but disappeared just as quickly. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. “Anytime.”
* * *
A little while later, Zara emerged from the bathroom. Lane looked up from where he stood by the stove. Her wet hair hung down her back in a thick, dark swathe. She wore the clean T-shirt he’d given her, along with a pair of his shorts. He noted she’d made use of the belt from his pants to secure the shorts around her waist. A smile tugged at his lips.
He turned off the heat under the pan of scrambled eggs he’d thrown together for breakfast and closed the distance between them, hardly daring to believe she was here, in his kitchen. Pulling her into his arms, he buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply.
“Mm, you smell good. How come that shampoo never smells this good when I use it?”
She smiled. “Thank you, the shower was great. Just what I needed.” She pulled slightly away and looked toward the stove. “What’s cooking? It smells good, too.”
Lane grinned and stepped away. “Just a bit of scrambled eggs I whipped up while you were getting beautiful. More beautiful,” he added quickly. “The toast should be ready—” As if on cue, the toast popped up in the toaster. “Right about now.”
Zara chuckled and the sound of it lightened his heart. “I’m impressed,” she said.
He took her hands in his and tugged her close. “Oh, you will be,” he murmured against her hair, taking the opportunity to nibble on the sensitive skin behind her ear he’d discovered earlier. She shivered and her arms tightened around his neck and then tilted her head to give him greater access. Taking advantage of her unspoken offer, he kissed his way down her throat, across her undamaged cheek and finally claimed her lips.
Her mouth opened under his and he groaned at the sweet taste of her. His hands cupped her bottom and pressed her against his erection through the thin fabric of his cotton boxers, loving the feel of her softness against his hard cock.
“God, you feel good,” he muttered. He kissed her again, devouring her with his mouth. Her tongue met his and joined him in an erotic dance as old as time and he groaned with feeling again.
“I just can’t get enough. I need to be inside you again.”
Zara turned her face up to his. With her hands cradling his head, she stood on tiptoes and kissed him again. Hard. “I want you, too,” she whispered.
His heart swelled with love. Happiness filled him until he thought he might burst. Sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her down the hall and deposited her gently among the tangle of sheets on his bed. Making short work of her T-shirt and shorts, he discarded his boxers and lay down beside her.
Gathering her close, he pressed her against his chest, loving the feel of her body against the long, hard length of him. She fitted so well in his arms, as if she was meant to be there. He breathed in the scent of her and prayed the moment would last forever.
She stirred against him. Her hand slid up his chest, tangling in the smattering of hair. Her fingers grazed his nipple and he groaned.
“Oh, hell, yes. That feels so good.”
Her mouth replaced her fingers and his pulse spiked. She lathed the hard nubs with her tongue. Her hand reached down and encircled his rock-hard cock and then moved to slide up and down its length. His balls were tight and heavy. He didn’t know how much more he could take.
He reached down and stilled her hand, entwining her fingers with his. Finding her lips again, he kissed her and stroked her mouth with his tongue, loving her with a thoroughness that left her gasping.
Nudging her onto her back, he crouched above her. “My turn,” he murmured and bent low to take one of her taut nipples into his mouth. It tasted as sweet as it looked and he suckled it deep into his mouth. Zara clutched at his hair, her eyes closed.
He raised his head. “You like?”
“Oh, yes. I like. I most definitely like.”
He smiled at her and then shifted his attention to her other breast. She moved restlessly against him, silently urging him onward.
Lifting himself above her, he pressed her legs open and settled himself between them. The tip of his cock glistened with moisture. They groaned as one when he pressed it against her wetness.
Sheathing himself with a condom, he eased inside her and pressed forward until he was buried deep. She felt so right.
Moving slowly, he set up a rhythm, loving the feel of her around him. He stared down at her, at the wonder, at the passion, at the tension in her eyes.
Her arms tightened around his shoulders, pulling him hard against her. His chest melded with hers and he continued his erotic onslaught. Her breathy moans of desire became more frantic. Her legs tightened around his hips. She bucked against him once, twice, three times—and then cried out in release.
Her muscles clenched around his cock and shattered his self-control. He groaned loudly and toppled over the edge. It was long moments later before he had the energy to lift himself off her and a little longer still before his breathing was under control enough to speak.
“I’ll take that over scrambled eggs any day.”
She smiled and a blush stained her cheeks. He marveled, and not for the first time, how she could be so unrestrained in the throes of passion and then be embarrassed about it afterward. It was endear
ing and one of the many things he already loved about her.
He drew her close against his side and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I love you.”
She tensed and then pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty.
“Are you sure? I mean, we’ve known each other for such a short time. How do you know you don’t just love…” Her cheeks turned crimson and she dropped her gaze. “You know,” she mumbled, “this.”
“You mean the sex?”
She groaned and buried her head in his shoulder. He tilted her chin upward, wanting to put her mind at ease.
“I shouldn’t have used the word ‘sex’. For the first time in my life, whenever I’m with you, inside you, it feels like so much more than sex; it feels like we’re making love. That’s cringe worthy, I know, but it’s true. Kissing, holding, loving you—it all feels new and special and unique. I’ve never felt like this before. I know I won’t again.” He stared at her, willing her to believe him, needing her to believe him.
“When we parted the other night, I felt like I was being torn in two. I wanted you so badly, but for so many years, I’d promised never to put myself in the position my father was: devoted to a dangerous career, unwilling to walk away from it, even for the family he loved.
“I’d decided long ago if I didn’t have a family, there wouldn’t be a decision to make. I’d never wake up in the morning feeling torn, wondering if I’d return that night, then walking out the door, anyway. My father battled like that every day. Not to mention the effect his death had on my mother. Her world was turned on its head. Her life was never the same again. I was determined that wasn’t for me.”
“So, what happened to change your mind?” Zara whispered.
“You,” he said simply. “I want you more. Enough to give up my job, my career and find something safer, something less risky. Something that doesn’t involve wondering every day whether I’ll see you again, or how you might fare if I don’t make it home. I’m going to look for a desk job.”
He blew out his breath and relaxed back against the pillows, drawing her close. “I also spoke to my mother. For the first time since Dad died, I talked to her about him and about them. She helped me realize it was the time they had together that counted, that she treasured.”
He shrugged. “Being a police officer was what my father was and she loved that part of him as much as any other part. She never once blamed his profession for his early death. Instead, she was proud of the man he was and what he’d done for his family and his community and she cherished the memories of their time together.”
“She sounds like a remarkable woman.”
Lane smiled and pressed a kiss against Zara’s hair. “She is.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Thursday, February 1, 8:47 a.m.
It was a couple of hours later, with the eggs long cold on the stove, that Lane and Zara made it out of the bedroom.
Zara reached for the fresh cup of coffee he’d set on the kitchen table before her and took a grateful sip.
“Mm, thanks. That’s exactly what I needed.”
“I even ducked out for some milk and sugar. See how well I know you already?” he teased.
She smiled back at him, wondering not for the first time how she’d gotten so lucky. Memories of how they’d arrived at this point crashed in upon her and her smile faded.
“I wonder if Dad got my message? I guess he did. I thought he’d call me by now.”
“You don’t have your phone, remember? Perhaps he’s left a message on mine.” Lane pushed away from the table and searched through some things on the kitchen counter. “Here it is.”
“Oh, I forgot. I haven’t called into work yet.”
“After all you’ve been through, I think they’ll understand if you don’t show up today.”
“Yes, I’m sure they will, but I wanted to call my boss and let him know I’m okay. Goodness knows what he’s heard on the news.”
“I’ll just check my messages and then it’s all yours.” Lane winked at her and pressed a couple of buttons on his phone before holding it up to his ear.
Zara took another mouthful of egg and watched him out of the corner of her eye. A moment later, his smile faded and was replaced with a heavy frown. She felt a foreboding low in her belly. The eggs in her mouth suddenly tasted like grit. She pushed her plate aside.
“What is it? What’s happened?” she murmured when he put down his phone.
He took a seat beside her and in silence, reached for her hands. Her anxiety went into overdrive. Fear tightened her throat.
“Lane? What is it? Talk to me. Please.”
He lowered his gaze to the table and then drew in a deep breath. Slowly, he raised his head, until his eyes met hers. She winced at the anguish she saw in them and her imagination took flight. Something had happened. Something terrible. Who was it? His mother? One of his brothers?
“Zara,” he rasped. “Michael called. It’s…it’s about your father. He’s been hurt.”
A moan of pain tore from her and she shook her head in denial. “No, you’re wrong. It can’t be. What happened? Tell me. Is he alive?”
“Yes, he’s alive, but only just. He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s been taken to the hospital.”
Her mind reeled with confusion and shock. “What happened?”
Lane drew in another deep breath and squeezed her hands tightly. “He was stabbed in the back. The knife went deep, but luckily missed his heart. They’ve operated on him to repair the damage. As far as Michael knows, he’ll pull through.”
“Oh, my God! He was stabbed? Who would stab my father? How did it happen?”
Lane closed his eyes, as if gathering the strength for what he had to say. Zara’s heart stopped, the fear almost paralyzing her.
“He was stabbed by his wife.”
“Allison? You can’t be serious?”
“She’s been arrested, sweetheart and charged with attempted murder. She’s claiming it was self defense.”
The shocks kept on coming, hammering away at her head. She could barely process what she was hearing. It sounded like an awful joke. But Lane stared at her, his eyes so serious she couldn’t help but believe what he said was true.
How could it have happened? Her father loved his wife to distraction. It was part of the reason she’d been allowed to do as she wanted. He couldn’t bear to see her unhappy and she’d always been quick to let him know when she was displeased.
“Self defense?” she croaked. “My father thinks she hung the moon and stars. He wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head.”
“Nobody’s talked to your father, yet. He was taken straight to the hospital for surgery and hasn’t regained consciousness.” Lane looked away and swallowed, his expression turning uncomfortable.
“What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
“There were…marks and bruises around Allison’s neck. It looked like someone had tried to…strangle her. She says it was your father.”
Zara dragged in oxygen and did her best to feed her laboring lungs. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be true and yet…
No, she refused to believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. Not until her father had confirmed it himself. For all she knew, Allison could have caused the bruising herself to make it look like she’d been attacked. She could have—
“Stop it, Zara. I know what you’re doing and it will only drive you insane.” He tugged at her arms and pulled her out of the chair. “Come on, let’s go to the hospital. We’ll wait there until your father wakes up. He’s the only one who can tell us the truth.”
* * *
In the end, it was like Lane had said. Zara’s father told them the truth. As hard as it was for her to hear it, she was relieved in a way to bring an end to the interminable questions that had plagued her since she’d been given the news. Her head pounded and her chest was tight when they finally left the hospital. The only thing worth celebrating was that the doctors expected
her father to make a full recovery.
When they arrived back at Lane’s unit, it was all she could do to drag herself down the hall and into the living room. It was midafternoon and she hadn’t eaten since the few mouthfuls of eggs she’d managed before Lane had picked up his phone. She should have been hungry, but she wasn’t. All she felt was grief.
She made it to the couch and sank down on it and rested her head on the cushion. Her face was still sore and her bruises were now purple, but she could finally open both eyes. Now, she closed them in weariness and bit back tears—tears she’d managed to hold at bay in the hospital. She felt Lane’s weight beside her and was grateful when he took her in his arms. She gulped on a surge of emotion and when he kissed the top of her head and urged her to let it out, the sobs burst from her like they’d never stop.
It was a long while later when the tears subsided and she shakily pulled out of his arms.
“I’m sorry for blubbering all over you like that,” she whispered.
His eyes were full of love and concern. He leaned over and brushed the hair from her eyes. “Do you feel any better?”
“Yes. I do. Thank you. I-I’m so glad you were here to…to help me. I don’t know how I would cope without you.”
He smiled tenderly. “You underestimate yourself, sweetheart. You’re stronger than you think. None of this is your fault, Zara. You don’t get to choose your family.”
She offered a weak smile, grateful for his support. “You’re right, of course, but I still can’t help feeling responsible. It’s stupid, but there it is. Some part of me thinks if I hadn’t been so involved in my life, in my career, I would have seen it. I would have picked up the signs before things got so out of control. I would have seen Allison’s mood swings as more than just her way of making me feel miserable. I would have realized there was more to it than that. Maybe everything would have turned out differently?”
Lane’s hand tightened around hers and she took comfort from the warm strength in his grip.
“Don’t think like that, sweetheart. It will get you nowhere. Take it from me, I’ve been there. A seven-year-old boy still has a fairly well developed sense of responsibility, especially a son who’s the oldest of four. For years, I turned myself inside out with “what ifs” and it nearly broke me. I eventually realized I couldn’t continue to think like that and I learned to let the guilt go, but it wasn’t easy. I want to spare you that pain.”