Watch Your Back

by Rose, Karen

  She lifted a shoulder. ‘It’s the intimacy. Shared moments. Things you don’t want to imagine two people sharing when you . . . I mean, she knows what you look like . . .’ She turned her head abruptly, removing her cheek from his seeking mouth. ‘I’m stopping this. Right now.’

  But she didn’t move. He would have instantly released her if she had. ‘We lived together for over a year, Stevie. We were intimate. I can’t go back and change that. I wouldn’t if I could. She’s part of my past.’

  ‘And your present.’

  He sensed his progress slipping away. ‘True. I see her from time to time – on both business and personal occasions. If that bothers you, I’m sorry.’

  She twisted abruptly, turning so that she faced him. Looking up, she met his eyes. ‘You shouldn’t have to be sorry. Whatever I feel is my problem, not yours. And I have no right.’

  ‘What do you feel, Stevie?’

  Looking away, she closed her eyes, color infusing her cheeks. ‘Dammit, Clay. I bring a past with me, too. A husband. A lover. Someone with whom I’ve shared those same intimacies. This is what I meant. This is how I’ll hurt you. I’ll want from you what I can’t give you myself.’

  ‘What do you feel?’ he repeated.

  ‘Let me go. Please.’

  Immediately he stepped back, dropping his arms to his sides, and watched her limp away, leaning on that ridiculous glittery cane. ‘Stevie, stop.’ It was the voice he rarely used, one he’d perfected way back in the Corps. ‘Please,’ he added stiffly. Stevie stopped, but she was still poised to bolt. ‘What do you feel?’

  She laughed quietly. Self-deprecatingly. ‘That I’m the worst mother on the planet. Before you came back, I wasn’t thinking about Cordelia going somewhere presumably safer than here. I was thinking about how much I hated Sheriff Moore. Because she was bitchy. Because she cut me down a few pegs. Because she was right.’ A long, long pause. Then the faintest of whispers, as if she wanted him to know, but hoped he wouldn’t hear. ‘But mostly because she’d had you.’

  She took a step toward the stairs, but he was on her before she’d put her foot down. ‘Stevie.’ He grabbed her uninjured arm, his voice cracking loud and harsh. ‘What do you feel?’

  Her gaze whipped up to his, full of fire. Defiance. Lust. What he’d only glimpsed before now hit him like a brick. ‘I want you, okay?’ She all but snarled it at him. ‘I wanted you the first time I saw you. Are you satisfied n—’

  He kissed her, hard. No gentleness. No finesse. Just raw, brutal need. Are you satisfied now? Hell no. But I’m sure as hell gonna be.

  He’d known it. Known she’d wanted him. Wanted this. But hearing the words torn from her lips unleashed the beast that had clawed at him so relentlessly for so long. He’d wanted her for so damn long.

  Slow down. The small voice buzzed in his head like a fly. He ignored it. Or tried to.

  Do not do this. Not like this. Not with her. Never with her. She’ll hate you. He started to pull away, hanging on to control by a single thread. A very thin, very frayed thread.

  But then her cane clattered to the floor as she grabbed the edge of his jacket to yank him down, kissing him back, her need every bit as savage as his own.

  The thread broke. Clamping his hands over her butt, he lifted her against him, blindly shoved her hard against the door at the base of the cabin stairs. He hooked her good leg over his hip and began to thrust against her, hard and fast. Relentless.

  She coiled her arm around his neck, holding on tight. Digging her heel into the back of his thigh for leverage, she met him thrust for thrust. This was no slow build, no rocking, no sexy undulation. Later. They’d do that later. This was immediate, animal gratification.

  But it wasn’t nearly enough. ‘God, Stevie. The things . . .’ – hoarse, harsh words, staccato fragments of sentences ground out between frantic kisses that skated the line between pleasure and pain – ‘. . . I want to do . . . to you. Inside you. I need to be inside you. Now.’ Winding her hair around his fingers, he pulled back enough to see her eyes. As far gone as he was, he knew he had to be sure she was with him. ‘Tell me yes,’ he demanded.

  She was breathing hard, eyes narrowed, considering. Then she nodded grimly. ‘Yes.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wight’s Landing, Maryland, Sunday, March 16, 11.50 A.M.

  Yes. Stevie had finally said yes. Clay reclaimed her mouth and, grabbing her butt again, supported her weight with one hand as he locked the door with the other. His blood burned and he could feel the start of an orgasm twitching at the base of his spine. Goddammit, not yet.

  Bed. He needed her in a bed. Luckily he had one, just a few steps away. Going down on one knee, her lowered her to the mattress, shoving her T-shirt up and wrestling with the front clasp on her bra as he wedged himself between her thighs. She pushed his hands away, released the clasp, and pulled the bra and T-shirt over her head, tossing them to the bed beside them. Then she surprised him by taking off his shirt as well, dropping it on top of hers.

  For long seconds he hung there, staring down. Looking his fill after only imagining for so long. She was delicately made. Perfectly made.

  He dropped his head, drawing one dusky nipple into his mouth and he sucked long and deep. She cried out, her hips coming off the mattress to press into his chest, making him groan in his throat. It’s been years for her. Too many years. Go slow. Slow the goddamn fuck down.

  But he was too hungry. He’d waited so long. Had all but given up hope. He sucked her other nipple and she shoved her fingers through his hair, pulling him even closer, whispering impatient pleas as her hips continued to roll and pitch beneath him.

  He leaned to one side slightly so that he could reach the buttons on her jeans while he sucked and licked her breast. ‘Pretty,’ he said with his mouth full of her. ‘So damn pretty. Lift up.’ She obeyed, lifting her hips as he pushed the jeans down her legs. He’d worked the denim to her knees when he stopped, drew a deep appreciative breath, and groaned again. Resisting her efforts to pull him back, he released her breast so that he could look at her face.

  Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, parted as she panted, her pulse a visible flutter at the hollow of her throat. ‘I can smell you,’ he whispered. She shuddered, licking her lips. But said nothing. ‘Are you wet?’ he murmured.

  She hesitated, then jerked a nod.

  He wasn’t letting her off so easily. ‘How wet are you, Stevie?’ He ran his tongue up the curve of her arched throat, chuckling darkly when her hips lifted again, seeking contact with his hand. He was about three seconds away from indulging her, but he wanted her with him. Needed to know she was with him. ‘Tell me, baby. How wet are you?’

  Her eyes opened to glare, making him grin. ‘Very,’ she said, tone laced first with warning, then desperate plea. ‘Don’t tease. Please.’

  He ran fingers that actually trembled across the lace edge of her otherwise utilitarian black panties. Panties with a telltale dark patch where her arousal had soaked through. God. ‘If I touch you, will you come for me?’

  Her swallow was audible. ‘Yes.’

  He slipped his fingers under the lace, his own swallow audible when he touched curls. He dipped his forefinger into her slit, swearing under his breath at her slickness. She was ready for him. Right now. I could slam into her with one stroke and not hurt her.

  Slow the fuck down. ‘I want to see you,’ he whispered. ‘Take them off.’

  Without another word she toed off her shoes, shimmied the panties down to her knees, then pulled her good leg free. Eyes narrowing in determination, she pulled the knee of her injured leg to her chest, stripped her other leg free, and tossed the clothes to the floor.

  And then she was naked. Finally. His heart was beating so hard he felt light-headed. I finally have her naked in my bed. She w
as beautiful. Hot. Sexier than his most potent fantasies. Holding his breath, he slid one finger into her. Deep. So wet.

  He nearly came right then and there.

  A whimper escaped her throat and she moved her hips impatiently. ‘Stop teasing me.’

  He watched her face as he worked his finger in and out. Harder, faster. Her eyes were closed, clenched tight. So were her fists, digging into the mattress. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she fell into his rhythm, meeting each thrust. Taking his breath away.

  ‘More. Please.’

  He added a second finger and she moaned, making him glad he hadn’t taken off his own jeans yet, even though his erection was throbbing painfully. The second he got naked, he’d be inside her. He didn’t know how long he’d manage to last after that. And he needed this to last.

  ‘Faster,’ she whispered. ‘Please. It’s been so long. Please.’

  Good. God. Certain his cock had the permanent imprint of a zipper, he complied, adding his thumb to the motion, pressing hard against her, gritting his teeth when her body arched off the bed. On a low, strangled moan she came, his two fingers feeling each and every contraction. He closed his eyes, imagining those contractions squeezing his cock. Soon. Another minute.

  She collapsed to her back, her chest pumping as she fought to catch her breath. Slowly her body relaxed, hands lying limply at her sides. ‘Oh my God,’ she rasped on an exhale. ‘Thank you. I’d forgotten how damn good it feels.’ And then she was touching him, finally, one hand sliding up his chest to splay across his shoulder, the other darting down to cup his erection through his jeans, making him hiss through his teeth. Which made her lips curve wickedly. ‘Why are you still wearing clothes?’

  Hands shaking, he yanked at the button on his jeans, carefully pulling down the zipper before shoving the jeans off and kicking them away. Then he was on her again, his hands in her hair, his mouth eating at hers, his cock nudging at her entrance.

  Mine. Stefania. Her given name she never used, the one he’d called her only once before. To her face anyway. In his fantasies he murmured it over and over as he moved inside her. As he told her that he loved her. Because in his fantasies, she’d said the words, too.

  Now . . . this was no fantasy. She was real. She was here. She was his. Mine. He shifted, positioning himself to come home. Home. Mine.

  She tore her mouth away, her eyes wide, blinking. ‘Clay, wait.’

  He jerked back as if he’d been electrocuted. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you have protection?’ she asked fiercely. Desperately.

  ‘Shit. I’ve been tested,’ he said, hearing his own desperation.

  ‘And I’ve been celibate for eight years,’ she shot back. ‘But I’m not on the Pill.’

  Part of him thrilled at the idea of Stevie pregnant. With my child. But he was getting too far ahead of himself.

  Just need to get inside her. Now. He cursed again, hoping like hell he’d left a few condoms in the drawer from the last time he’d had a woman in this bed too many years ago, his shoulders sagging in relief when his fingers encountered several slippery foil packets. A glance at the fine print set his heart back to beating. ‘Not expired. We’re good.’

  ‘Thank God. I thought we were going to have to stop before I was all caught up.’

  Clay dealt with the condom, then returned his attention to her mouth, licking the imprints her teeth had left in her lower lip, making her shiver. ‘Not a chance.’ He reached between them, making sure she was ready. ‘I’ve waited too long for you. I’m not stopping anytime soon.’

  ‘Good to know.’ She hummed low in her throat when he touched her, found her wet as before. ‘It’s been such a long time. It might take a while to refill the tank. Oh my God.’ Her nails dug into his shoulders when he ground his cock against her, giving her a moment to get used to the feel of him before he plunged deep inside. ‘But I’m sure you’re up to the task.’

  It took a second for her words to filter through his sex-fogged brain, but when they did, he froze. ‘What? What did you say?’

  She blinked. ‘Why did you stop?’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Stevie opened her mouth, closed it. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember. That it had been a long time? You knew that. You knew I hadn’t been with anyone since Paul.’

  Confusion had filled her eyes and Clay felt like a heel. But he had to know. ‘Not that. You said something about a tank.’ But it was Lou’s voice in his mind, as loud and inescapable as a church bell. You deserve a lifetime. Not someone out to top off her tank.

  Confusion gave way to apprehension. ‘I think I said that it would take a while to refill my tank. That wasn’t supposed to make you so mad. What’s wrong with you?’

  He pushed up on his arms, flexing his shoulders to dislodge her nails. Hurt flickered through her eyes, but he had to know. ‘Why are you here, Stevie? With me, right now?’

  Her apprehension became annoyance mixed with a healthy dose of sarcasm. ‘Well, hell, Clay, let’s just analyze this situation. We’re in bed. I’m naked. You’re naked and on top of me, wearing a condom. By Jove, Sherlock, I think this means I’m here to have sex with you. What the fuck is wrong with you?’

  You deserve a lifetime. As obnoxious as Lou had been, she’d been right. ‘And after that?’

  ‘After the sex? I don’t know. We go back to your father’s house and pretend we weren’t in his boat fucking like teenaged weasels? What do you want me to say?’

  That you love me. But she wouldn’t. Too late he considered the way she’d agreed to all this to begin with. She’d been grim. Like he was making her walk the plank or something. Clay closed his eyes. ‘This is a mistake.’

  He pushed himself off the bed. Off her. She didn’t move, just lay there staring up at him, legs still spread, her mouth slightly open in shock. When he started to walk away, she snapped into action, rearing up to grab his arm, her fury suddenly blazing.

  ‘Oh, no. You don’t get to walk away from this, pal. You pushed me. Bullied me. Made me fucking cry.’ Contempt dripped from the word and he understood she was angry that he’d made her lose control, not that he’d hurt her feelings.

  God forbid that she’d feel anything, he thought bitterly.

  ‘“What do you feel, Stevie? What do you feel?”’ she was mimicking in a low voice. ‘Until you finally manipulated me into admitting that I want you. Then you drag me off to bed like you’re on fire, give me a very nice orgasm, thank you very much, and then you . . . what? Go bat-shit crazy on me? Are you some kind of lunatic?’

  ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Just a very foolish man who wanted something so much that he convinced himself he’d heard what he wanted to hear. You were right from the beginning. This can never work.’

  She sucked in her cheeks. Dropped her gaze deliberately. ‘Then I think you need to have a firm conversation with Mr Happy. Because he still thinks he wants me.’

  Clay’s face heated. He didn’t have to look down to know his cock still stood at attention. ‘A cold shower should remedy that. If you’ll wait for me, I’ll help you back to the house.’

  Without waiting for a reply, he carefully pried her fingers from his arm and went into the small head, locking the door behind him.

  Sunday, March 16, 12.20 P.M.

  Lunatic. The man is a freaking lunatic. Certifiably insane.

  Stevie launched herself from the boat’s deck to the dock backward, ending up on her butt. It wasn’t graceful, but safer than trusting her legs. Either of them. They were both trembling.

  She was trembling all over. For a few minutes there . . . God. She’d felt so . . . normal. Alive. She hadn’t even known what she was saying, but he’d obviously been in enough control to listen. And confabulate whatever delusion he’d come up with. The man was a lunatic.

  And you’re a fool
, Stevie. A goddamn fool.

  Gripping her cane, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and struggled to her feet. Checked her phone. She’d been out here for over two hours total. And now she couldn’t even remember what she’d been about to do.

  You were about to have sex.

  Before that, she thought sourly. Before she’d been stupid enough to touch his face in the first place. She started to walk, her eyes on the end of the dock. Every step toward the house was a step farther away from the crazy man. Who’d made her feel so damn good.

  Think, Mazzetti. Tony Rossi, scumbag, shot by JD after he’d killed a cop and kept shooting, thinking he was killing Cordelia. Okay. That was the bucket of cold water she’d needed.

  Protect your child. Then hate Clay Maynard.

  Phone call with Danny Kersey. Framing of Richard Steel for the murder of that girl . . . Tracy Gardner. Best suspect, her boyfriend. She frowned. Eddie Ginsberg. Now it was coming back.

  Scott Culp. Her eyes narrowed. Rossi’s partner in crime. Now a member of IA. He leaked the location of her safe house to Rossi. She was sure of it. Now she just needed to prove it.

  She paused at the end of the dock. The plywood path Tanner had laid that morning was now covered with a thin layer of slippery sand. Concentrating, she took careful steps as she crossed the beach. Falling now would deal her pride a killing blow.

  She let herself through the gate and found herself staring at the swing on the back porch. Clay had held her there last night. Let her cry.

  I’m done crying. She forced herself to sit in the swing. It’s time to be a cop again, Stevie.

  She dialed JD, relieved when he picked up on the first ring.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  Hell, no. I’m nowhere close to all right. ‘I’m okay. I’ve got something for you.’

  She told him about the phone call to Kersey. When she got to Culp, JD whistled.

  ‘Culp’s IA,’ he said. ‘He reports straight to the top guy.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Kersey said Culp and Rossi had something going on years ago. Something that allowed Rossi to carry a wad of cash around.’