MADIGAN'S WIFE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  He gave her a dazzling smile. “Who said anything about getting married? All I did was ask a friendly question about your family, show a little interest in my most valued employee—”

  “Your only employee,” Doris interjected.

  “And you go ballistic on me.”

  Dismissing the uncomfortable conversation, he turned his eyes to the messages in his hand. “Turner called three times?”

  “The poor man’s meeting with his lawyer tomorrow, and he wanted to know if you’d found anything new.”

  He’d found much more than Mr. Turner wanted to know, that’s for sure. “I’ll get what I have together and call him back.”

  If his own disastrous marriages hadn’t been enough of a lesson, his new profession provided a front row seat to the worst side of the institution. Every day he discovered another reason to avoid the trap of matrimonial bliss. He saw adultery, treachery, backstabbing, venomous attacks that never ceased to amaze him. His own divorces had been downright pleasant compared to a lot of what he saw.

  But when marriage was good … ah, there was nothing like it. Too bad it didn’t last. Not for him, anyway.

  “I don’t like the look on your face,” Doris said softly, her tone reproachful. “Are you absolutely sure you’re not thinking of taking on a fourth future ex-Mrs. Madigan?” she pressed. “Huntsville already has enough of that species.”

  “Of course not. Do I look like I’ve lost my mind?”

  She sighed and turned her back on him. “A little.”

  *

  Chapter 5

  «^»

  Grace couldn’t say she was sorry Ray insisted on coming into the house with her, making a quick check to make sure no one was there, hiding and waiting.

  She kicked off her shoes and let down her hair as soon as the door was closed behind her, and slipping off the jacket was a real pleasure. Once his check of the house was complete, Ray stuck his head in the refrigerator, looking for something to eat.

  He was already at home in her little house, as if he belonged here. For all her resolve she was getting too comfortable with Ray all over again. Leaning on him, depending on him, had been a bad idea. But how could she stop? When she listened to her heart it guided her to Ray, like it or not.

  “I won’t eat a thing tonight,” she said, heading down the hall to her bedroom. Comfortable old clothes, maybe a pair of shorts and a cool tank top, then an old movie on television, that’s what she needed to calm her nerves. “Not after what you fed me for lunch.”

  “You didn’t even finish,” Ray shouted as he closed the refrigerator door. “And you don’t have anything in your fridge but skim milk and yogurt.”

  She heard him clearly through the closed door, as she shucked off her work clothes and dug around in her chest of drawers for something to wear. She threw on a pair of dark green shorts and a matching tank top, but after she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she added a baggy, off-white camp shirt over it all. The more she wore around Ray, the better. An extra layer of clothing was a flimsy shield, but a flimsy shield was better than none at all.

  Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she brushed her hair and pulled it into a high, tight ponytail. While she worked her thick hair up and back she lectured herself silently.

  Maybe her heart did lead her to Ray, but her brain knew better than to fall in love with him again. He was a danger junkie who didn’t care about anyone, not even himself. He lived for the moment, never thinking about tomorrow, never wondering what his lust for danger did to those who loved him. He was a senseless, selfish, irritating man.

  So why did she sometimes feel certain this was a war her brain was going to lose?

  When she opened the door she saw him standing there in the hallway, leaning casually against the wall directly opposite her bedroom. Tall, impressive as always, temptingly appealing, the initial sight of him standing there as if he’d been patiently waiting for her to emerge made her heart skip a beat. More relaxed than was natural given the circumstances, Ray’s eyes met hers, then flicked past to the neatly made bed covered with blue and cream pillows. When he returned his full and unnerving attention to her he smiled. Her insides quaked.

  “You were taking a long time in there,” he explained.

  “Sorry,” she tried a soft smile that fell dismally short. “It takes me a while to unwind after work, some days.”

  “You do look a little wound up.” He raked his eyes over her from the top of her head to her bare toes.

  “So,” she said brightly, ignoring the way he looked at her. “What do you want for dinner?”

  His wandering gaze stopped when he found her eyes and held them. “Maybe I should just order us a pizza,” he drawled.

  Grace was no less certain of what she’d seen in the park, and still she knew with all her being that Ray was a more immediate danger to her than the man in the trench coat. Ray was much too tempting, and with enticing glances like this one he threatened to turn her neat life upside-down. She’d worked too hard to get where she was to allow that to happen.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she said calmly, walking past Ray and doing her best to remain calm. “I’m not scared today, not like I was yesterday.” As long as I don’t think about what I saw…

  Ray grabbed her arm and pulled her back, spinning her around and drawing her tightly against his chest so she had to tilt her head back to see his face. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He definitely wasn’t casual.

  “You always run from me,” he whispered darkly. “Why is that, Gracie?”

  “I wasn’t running…”

  “Don’t make it worse by lying.” His voice remained soft and low, but a trace of fire lurked in his normally placid blue eyes.

  She parted her lips to say, I’m not, and Ray kissed her, forcing her lips farther apart, tasting and teasing with his tongue. He rested one hand firmly at the back of her head, holding her in place while he kissed her so deep he took her breath away. Her knees wobbled, her heart caught in her throat, and before she knew what had happened she was kissing him back with everything she had.

  Her arms encircled his neck, and she came up on her toes to bring her mouth closer to his. Could she ever get close enough? The taste of him was intoxicating, irresistible, and the way he made her heart beat and her body quiver was impossible to deny.

  His mouth was hot and insistent, tender and sweet, and she couldn’t get enough of him, no matter how diligently she tried. She nibbled at his lower lip, parted her lips as she tasted deep.

  They’d been apart for six years, but at the moment it didn’t seem so long. She remembered too well the smell and taste of Ray, the way their bodies fit together, the way he held her when they kissed; close and tender and urgent, all at the same time. He held her that way now.

  She felt the beat of her heart all through her body, the warm and insistent rush of blood in her veins, the spreading, mindless need she’d denied for so long. Ray touched the side of her breast with one rocking thumb, and her nipples peaked in anticipation. A catch in the back of her throat escaped, a plea she couldn’t contain.

  Ray was coming apart, just as she was. He held her tighter, and she felt the deep tremble that shimmied through his body. He touched his knee against her thighs and instinctively her legs parted, just a little. She was falling, far and hard. And so was he.

  When he spun her around and steered her toward the bedroom she thought momentarily of protesting, but didn’t. She didn’t say a word until the backs of her knees touched the mattress and she almost fell onto the bed.

  “Ray,” she whispered, her reason returning slowly through the haze of desire that clouded her mind. “We can’t do this.”

  He smiled and kissed her again, quickly this time. “Sure we can. We screwed a lot of things up, Gracie, but this is not one of them. We were always good in the sack.” He flicked her unbuttoned shirt off, one sleeve and then another, so that it fell to the floor.

  Good in the sack? A wave of disappoin
tment washed over her. Here she was, shaking to her bones and terrified of falling in love with Ray again, and he’s grinning like always and making light of everything they’d once had.

  “Things have changed,” she said weakly. “I don’t think I can…”

  He reached into his back pocket and came up with a foil-wrapped condom between two long fingers. “I’m prepared, Gracie.”

  A little too prepared for her liking. Was this all planned? Every smile a seduction, every touch another well-planned step toward this moment.

  “I’m not ready to fall back into a relationship with you.” Easy as it would be. “I’m not going to fall into bed with you, either,” she added hastily, not giving him the opportunity to tell her that they didn’t have a relationship anymore and never would. “We’re not married. I don’t…” she choked on the finishing words love you anymore, but surely he knew what was in her mind.

  Ray didn’t miss a beat. He ran a caressing hand over her hip, urged her backward so she almost dropped onto the bed, raked his palm over a nipple as he whispered in her mouth. “We don’t have to be married. We don’t have to be anything but horny.”

  The haze cleared considerably. She placed a hand against his chest. Horny?

  “A roll in the hay isn’t a relationship, Gracie, it’s sex. Pure and simple, uninhibited and flat-out fun.” To prove his point he tweaked her nipple and sucked briefly on her neck. Reaching up, he released her hair from its ponytail and ran his fingers through the falling strands. “There doesn’t have to be anything more to it than that. Don’t complicate matters by thinking so damn much.”

  She finally collapsed, sitting down with a bounce. Ray placed his knee on the bed beside her hip, urged her backward, touched her cheek with tenderness and passion and longing. Suddenly it seemed that he was all around her, promising everything they both wanted. Comforting her, wanting and needing this coming together as much as she did. Ray encompassed her, surrounding her with his heart and soul.

  Her body said yes, throbbing insistently when he gently forced her onto her back, tingling as her thighs fell slightly apart. His knee parted them more, working gently up the length of her inner thigh.

  Her heart said yes. She needed him, wanted him, dreamed of him. When she was alone and in trouble he was the one she went to. Without question, without reserve. Had she ever fallen completely out of love with Ray?

  “No,” she whispered hoarsely, listening to her brain and ignoring all the rest. “I don’t have sex just for fun.”

  He backed off, raising his eyebrows slightly. “You don’t? Darlin’, you don’t know what you’re missing.” His eyes darkened, a muscle in his finely delineated jaw twitched. “What have you been doing for the past six years?” he whispered, trying and failing to come off nonchalant. There was too much intensity in his gaze, too much tension in the body he held over hers. “Falling in and out of love in time with your libido? Or do you just like to tease men until they can’t think straight and then push them away?” He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Is that how you get your jollies these days, Gracie?”

  She gave him a gentle shove and he obediently moved away, leaving her and the bed and turning his back to her. Suddenly it was cold in this warm room. Lonely, and Ray hadn’t even left yet. Heavens, she was so tempted to call him back!

  “I think you’d better go,” she whispered.

  “I think you’re right,” he said hoarsely as he walked out of the room without a backward glance. “Dead-bolt the door behind me.”

  She lay on the bed, trembling, shaken to the core, closing her eyes tight as she heard the front door slam. All of Ray’s questions echoed in her head. How could she tell him that there hadn’t been any men in her bed in the past six years? That every time she started to get close to a man she found a reason to push him away.

  She popped up when she heard the front door open.

  “I said throw the damn dead bolt!” Ray shouted, and then the door slammed again.

  *

  There was only one woman in the world who had the power to drive him absolutely crazy. He should be running like hell from Grace, not knocking on her door at eight o’clock in the morning.

  “Come on, Gracie,” he shouted, ringing the doorbell again. “Open the damn door.”

  He heard the dead bolt move, then the chain, then the lock on the knob. The door opened slowly to reveal mussed dark hair, sleepy eyes, rumpled clothes. The same clothes he’d left her in last night.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked, grinning.

  “Yes,” she mumbled, her voice still hoarse with sleep. “Ray, what are you doing here so early?”

  “You run just about every day, right? You missed yesterday, so I figured…”

  “It’s Saturday,” she said, glancing up at him with accusing eyes.

  “So it is.”

  She moved back and allowed him to enter, stepping into her living room. A blanket hung half off the couch, and the pillow there, a soft pillow she’d brought here from her bedroom, still held the indention of a head. He wondered if he’d feel the heat of Grace’s body if he sat there. He wondered if she’d slept on the couch all night, unable to crawl into the bed where they’d almost had sex.

  If she had, good for her. He had barely slept three hours. Ray had made good use of his time after leaving Grace yesterday. He’d bought a pair of running shoes, and when he’d gotten home he’d started making phone calls. He hadn’t been a cop for years without making a few friends. Alan Chambers, an FBI agent Ray had met during a joint investigation years ago, was going to round up missing persons reports from across the southeast, not just from Huntsville where Luther had promised to check. Chambers had also taken the vague description of the killer and said he’d see what he could find.

  One way or another, he had to get this fiasco over and done with. He had to make certain the murderer was caught and Gracie was safe. Hanging around her and pretending he didn’t care was killing him.

  She made her way to the kitchen, pushing her hair away from her face and yawning, stretching this way and that. God, he loved the way her body moved, sleek and graceful, strong and soft. The world was full of women, pretty and plain, stunning and ordinary, but none of them moved like Grace.

  “Coffee,” she muttered, reaching into the cabinet above the coffeemaker for the can, silently performing the task she likely performed every morning. When the coffee was dripping into the glass decanter, she turned to him, leaning against the counter.

  “I was thinking of getting a treadmill,” she said, pinning large, dark eyes on his face.

  His grin faded. “You’re going to let that guy scare you into hiding here? What are you going to do, become a hermit?”

  “No,” she said, looking down at her bare feet. “Well, maybe. Just for a while.”

  Dammit, how could Luther think she was making all this up? “No,” he said.

  She lifted her face to look at him.

  “You can’t hide, Gracie.”

  “I’m not hiding, I’m just being cautious. That’s all.”

  He lifted one foot to show her his new shoes. “You mean I bought these for nothing? The guy in the sporting goods store told me these were the best, that even I could run in them.”

  That got a small smile out of her. “You’re not exactly dressed for running.” She took in his jeans and T-shirt, the baggy denim shirt he wore loose to conceal the pistol at his spine.

  “It’ll do,” he said softly.

  They had coffee and toast, and he sat on the couch while Grace curled up in her favorite chair. Yep, the couch was still warm, and he could actually … he closed his eyes briefly … he could smell her, that scent of soap and shampoo and skin that was uniquely Grace. He wondered if she’d tossed and turned here all night, the way he’d tossed in his own bed.

  Grace didn’t hurry, even had a second cup of coffee. But eventually she excused herself and disappeared down the hallway. Tempted as he was to follow her, he remained on the couch
.

  Just a few minutes later she stepped into the living room dressed for her morning run in white shorts and a baggy gray T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail, her socks white against tanned legs. Damn, she had great legs.

  He came to his feet. “Take it easy on me,” he said. “I haven’t done this before.”

  She passed him and opened the front door.

  “I guess you could say,” he said softly to her back, “I’m a virgin.”

  She didn’t look back.

  “Don’t hurt me,” he added as she began to stretch on the front porch. “I’m fragile.”

  She cut her eyes to him as she stretched to the side. “If you don’t stretch you will hurt yourself.”

  He stretched a little, copying her, watching the way her sleek muscles moved.

  Yep, the world was full of women. Why did he want this one so bad? Because he’d had her once and lost her, maybe. Because she had great legs. Because he still remembered how it had been with them. Had they really been so good together, or was his memory faulty?

  She bent over double, legs spread, and touched the flat of her hands to the ground.

  Nope, there was nothing wrong with his memory.

  She took off running and he followed her, keeping a short distance between them. He kept his eyes on her shapely back, on her fine backside, on her great legs and the curve of her neck and the way her ponytail bounced as she ran. And he tried to tell himself that’s all she was. A great body. His mind whispered differently.

  Whenever he thought about confessing everything to Grace, telling her how he really felt, out-and-out asking her why she’d walked out on him six years ago, he remembered the way she’d left. How she’d leave again when things didn’t go her way.

  She’d wanted him last night. He’d felt her heated response in every move she made, had seen it in her eyes, tasted it in her lips. They would end up in bed together, sooner or later, and it would be on his terms. No false promises, no pretty words. Just sex.

  Grace glanced over her shoulder and smiled, and something in his chest constricted.