by Dawn Brown
Gathering what little strength and sanity he had left, he pulled her head back, tearing her mouth from his cock.
“What?” she gasped, her eyes hungry.
“I want to come inside you.” He slid his hand down her damp skin, beneath her arms and pulled her up over his body. She straddled his hips, gripped his dick and slid down, taking him inside. He groaned, arching up, driving himself as deep as he could. She wrapped around him, slick and hot and so damned tight. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she began to move, rocking back and forth. Her breasts swayed. His mouth watered.
He slid his hands up her body, cupped both swollen mounds, running his thumbs over the tight nipples. She gasped, her hips jerked and she tightened around his shaft.
She was close.
So was he.
With one hand he gripped her hip, while the other slipped a finger into her folds and found her clit. He pressed and rubbed the tiny nub.
“Des!” Shayne’s body went still and rigid, her core tightened and convulsed around him.
“I love…” He gripped her hips with both hands and drove up, thrusting deeply and fast. “…the way you look when you come.”
Nerves tightened in his balls and at the base of his cock. He exploded inside her. Closing his eyes, blood roaring in his head, he emptied himself.
Drained and spent, he sagged into the mattress. Shayne collapsed against his chest. Her soft, ragged breath tickled across his damp skin. He lifted his heavy arms and wrapped them around her, absently stroking her hair with one hand. He liked her draped over him, her languid body melted against his. A perfect fit. Warm contentment expanded in his chest.
She tilted her head up, and shot him a smug smile. “You look pretty good yourself.”
He frowned, confused. “What?”
Her smile stretched wider. “When you come. You look pretty good yourself.”
He chuckled, leaned down and caught her mouth with his. What he’d intended as a quick kiss, deepened into something more. That warm contentment dissolved, leaving a dull ache.
He lifted his head and looked into her face. All traces of humor had vanished. Her dark eyes met his, deep and fathomless. The words escaped his lips before he could stop them.
“I love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Julia had no idea how her very existence threatened her mother’s killer, or how precarious her situation had become.”
—excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds
“I love you.”
Des’s words, barely more than a whisper, penetrated the contented fog wrapped around Shayne’s brain. Instantly, her heart warmed and swelled, until icy panic washed over her. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. And God knew, whatever he was feeling in the afterglow of damned good sex wouldn’t last.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.” She sat up and slid off him, gathering the covers to her chest as she glanced around for her clothes.
His mouth curled into his usual cocky grin and a flash of irritation streaked through her. Trust him to declare his love for her, then treat the whole thing like a joke.
“Why not?” he asked, still smirking. “It’s the truth, and I promised to never lie to you again. Why do you always do that?”
She frowned. “Do what?”
“Cover up whenever we’re about to argue.”
“Because when there’s something important to talk about it’s best to eliminate distractions. Maybe you should consider covering up.”
He didn’t, of course. Instead, he rolled onto his side, propped up his head with one hand and looked up at her, his grin stretching. “Do you find me distracting?”
She forced her gaze to his face, crushing the blankets to her chest. “You know, Des, you can’t say something like that, then laugh it off.”
“You mean that I love you?” His grin didn’t waver, but something glinted in his eyes.
She didn’t speak, merely pinned him with a pointed stare.
“Maybe I’m hiding how your response has…” he hesitated as if searching for the right word, “…wounded me.”
Shit. Had she hurt him? She certainly hadn’t meant to. But he needed to be realistic. They both did.
“Des,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “I care about you too, a lot. But we need to face the fact what’s between us has nowhere to go.”
“You don’t believe we could be together like a normal couple. I know the issue of Heddi’s interfering, and dealing with Julia’s ongoing drama, probably isn’t very appealing, but—”
“I don’t care about any of that.” Though, the idea of having a permanent connection to Heddra Grey was more than a little terrifying. Still, for Des she would have no issue putting up with the woman. What was she thinking? She and Des in a permanent capacity would never happen, so dealing with his grandmother was a nonissue. “You’re seven years younger than me. Where do you think what’s between us could go? Marriage? A family?” The last word nearly stuck in her throat. She covered her mouth and coughed a little.
Des blew out an impatient sigh and rolled onto his back. “Not this again. It’s only seven years. And would being married to me be so bad?”
“Of course not.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, and tried to push the cozy images of life with Des out of her head. After all, no matter how good things might start, she knew how they’d end. Been there. Done that. “I have no intention of marrying anyone again, ever. And you know I could never give you a family.”
He sat up, his brow drawn tight. “I don’t care about having children.”
“You say that now, but by the time you’re my age you could change your mind.” And the idea of Des looking at her with the same impatient resentment as Travis turned her stomach. Those insecurities and inadequacies rose inside her, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. Never again would she live that way. Not even for Des.
“Damn it, you’re condescending,” he snapped, eyes bright with anger, all traces of humor gone from his face. “Don’t compare me to your asshole ex. I don’t want you because I have an agenda, I just want you.”
Her eyes stung and her throat ached. How easy it would have been to give in, let go, and believe him. She didn’t doubt he meant it, at least for now. But he was young, and things changed. She couldn’t go through another divorce, especially from a man she cared more for than she ever had Travis.
Impatiently, she wiped at the hot dampness welling in her eyes, cleared the lump in her throat. “I won’t live like that, feeling like there’s something wrong with me. I can’t be that woman again.”
“No one’s asking you to.” He closed the distance between them, cupped the sides of her face with both hands. “You say you’re all right with knowing you won’t have children. Why is it so difficult to believe someone else could be as well?”
She didn’t have an answer for him. How could she explain the terror coursing through her at the idea of leaving herself open to someone, to him, and risking the chance she’d wind up back where she started? The last months of her marriage followed by the divorce had been like running through a never-ending emotional gauntlet. She’d made it through this time—battered, bruised and exhausted—but she didn’t know if she could survive it a second time.
“I should shower and get dressed,” she murmured, easing out from his grip, then scurrying away like the coward she was.
By the time Shayne emerged from Des’s small bathroom, she knew she’d made the right decision refusing to pursue something permanent between them. She’d meant what she’d said when she’d told him she had no intention of marrying again.
While lathering beneath the steaming spray, images of a life with Des had filled her head. Waking up wrapped in his arms, coming home to him after a long day, spending rainy Sunday afternoons curled up together on the couch watching movies. The scenarios flitting before her mind’s eyes warmed her more than the hot water pelting her skin. But they w
ere fantasies. Real life had a way of eroding the daydreams, chipping away at the best of intentions.
She walked into the kitchen, her gaze landing on Des leaning against the counter, a mug cupped in his hands, one corner of his mouth lifting in a faint half grin. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to give up.”
Tiny fissures cut through her resolve like cracks in thin ice. She squared her shoulders and opened her mouth to speak, but the electronic pulse of her cell phone cut her off.
Des’s grin widened. “Saved by the bell.”
Shayne managed to dig her phone from her purse before it stopped ringing. She glanced at the display as she lifted the phone to her ear. The number looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She hit Talk. “Hello?”
“What other questions did you have?” Sam Anderson asked, sounding less than thrilled to be speaking to her again.
Shayne blinked. She hadn’t expected him to return her call. “Just a few follow-up questions. Is there any way I could meet with you again.”
She’d much rather speak to him in person so she could see his expressions and body language, especially when she asked about Gwen and the murders.
“I’m at the shop, but I don’t have a lot of time—”
“That’s fine,” Shayne cut in quickly. She didn’t want to risk his changing his mind. “I won’t keep you. I should be there in about a half hour.”
She hung up before giving the man a chance to respond.
“Who was that?” Des asked, standing next to her.
“Your brother, and possibly the man Robert went to prison for.”
Des had always known he had another brother in the same vague way he knew he had a father in prison. He’d read about Robert’s first wife in some article years ago. He’d been around twelve, and both curious and horrified about the man who’d fathered him.
Still, he’d never been curious enough to seek out any of his Anderson relatives, including his brother. He had enough to handle with the family he did know, and wasn’t about to invite more hassles into his life. At least, until now.
On the drive over to the garage, Shayne had explained why she considered Sam a strong contender for being the killer of his mother and brother. Des wasn’t convinced a twelve-year-old boy could get away with a crime like that, but if Anderson confessed to a crime he didn’t commit, he’d be far more likely to do so for his son than for Heddi.
Sam stared at him from the far side of the dim garage, eyes the same shade as his own bouncing from Des to Shayne. “What’s he doing here?”
Interesting. Sam knew who he was, but had Des bumped into him on the street he would have had no idea he and this man shared a father. He waited for some sense of familial connection. Nothing. The man across from him was a stranger, nothing more.
“He’s helping me with some research,” Shayne replied as she maneuvered past a rusted Jeep parked in one of the bays.
Sam’s brow rose and he snorted. “Is that what you call it?”
Anger flared at the innuendo, and Des opened his mouth to tell Sam to shut the hell up, but Shayne cut him off.
“I appreciate your agreeing to see me again. Do you mind if I tape this?” She set her recorder on the workbench against the wall, then dug her notebook from her bag.
Sam shrugged and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for Shayne to begin.
“When we spoke last, you mentioned your father’s wanting you to go live with him and Gwen,” Shayne said, her head bent and her gaze focused on the notepad in front of her.
Sam leaned back against the cinder block wall. “That’s right.”
“Did you know he and Gwen were planning on leaving town?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “He might have said something about it. So what?”
“That was part of the reason he wanted you with him, wasn’t it? Your mother was wrapped up with a new relationship, leaving you alone too much, and your father was leaving town.” Shayne looked up and met his gaze. “Were you angry when he told you?”
“I didn’t give a shit. He’d been busy with his new family for the past three years. I was used to not having him around, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be a part of his Brady Bunch.”
Shayne nodded and scribbled in her notebook. “What were you doing the night of the murders?”
“Why? You better not be thinking of trying to make it look like I had something to do with what happened.” Scowling, Sam pushed away from the wall and took a step toward Shayne. Des shifted between them.
Sam snorted, his nostrils flaring. “Back off, Junior. You don’t actually think you can beat me in my own place.”
Des didn’t budge. After spending the last six weeks dealing with Tic and his thugs, his brother might get the surprise of a lifetime. “Take another step and we’ll find out.”
“The testosterone is getting a little thick in here,” Shayne said, gently shouldering her way in front of Des. She turned her attention to Sam. “I’m trying to establish what family members were doing on the night of the murder. I’m asking everyone.”
Sam hesitated, studying Shayne’s face with narrowed eyes, probably trying to decide if he believed her or not. “No. Get out. I’m done answering your questions.”
“You told me your father read to you when you were a child? Did he have any favorites?”
Des frowned and looked down at Shayne. Where the hell had that question come from?
“Get her out of here,” Sam said, turning his attention to Des.
Des gently gripped her elbow. “Let’s go.”
“Was it Watership Down?” Shayne asked.
Sam blinked as if surprised. But the man couldn’t possibly be as surprised as Des. Why would she even ask that? The book had been Julia’s favorite, not Anderson’s.
“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding slowly. “He used to read it to me all the time.”
“You should have told me what you suspected about the book,” Des said. His insides still ached like he’d been kicked in the gut.
Shayne glanced away from the road, her eyes dark with compassion. “I would have, but the idea only occurred to me while I was reading through his notes. I’m sorry I sprung it on you like that.”
Des raked his fingers through his hair, barely noting the passing trees and old houses as Shayne steered toward his apartment. “It doesn’t make sense. How could Julia find comfort in a book the man who killed her mother and brother used to read to her?”
“I wish I had an answer for you,” she said, this time she kept her gaze fixed on the road.
Shayne probably did have an answer for him. He just didn’t want to hear it. “You think this proves he didn’t do it.”
She shook her head. “No, the book doesn’t prove anything, unfortunately. But I agree with you. I can’t imagine your sister would still love that book if she’d seen Anderson kill your mother and Christian.”
Des blew out a long sigh. “Christ, the more we dig, the more convoluted…” The words died on his lips and unease crept up his spine as Shayne turned into the gravel driveway and behind a silver Volvo. “What fresh hell is this?”
“Whose car is that?” she asked.
“Ian’s.” His uncle never stopped by his apartment. Something had to be wrong for the man to sit in his car waiting for him.
Shayne had barely brought the vehicle to a halt, when Des opened the door and stepped out. Ian’s car door opened and he slid from behind the wheel. The sight of his uncle’s pale face did little to reassure him.
“What’s wrong?” Des asked, closing the distance between them.
Ian hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s about Julia.”
Des’s heart rate kicked up. “Did you hear from her?”
“The police contacted Heddi this morning. They identified one of the skeletons Ms. Reynolds found.” Ian looked away, cleared his throat. When he met Des’s gaze, his eyes were watery. Des’s stomach slid to his feet, cold and oily. “It was Julia’s body.
”
“No, it’s a mistake,” Des said, shaking his head. Vaguely, Shayne’s gentle touch against his back pierced his muddled thoughts. Without thinking, he reached back, took her hand in his and held on tightly. “She’s somewhere in the Caribbean. She called to tell me she was leaving.”
Ian stepped forward, clasped Des’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but there’s no mistake. The police had her DNA on file from the last time she’d disappeared. The other skeleton is likely Kevin. They never even made it out of Dark Water.”
Ian’s words barely penetrated the dull hum inside Des’s head. Julia couldn’t be dead. Yet on some level it actually made sense. So many months passing without hearing from her. And hadn’t a part of him always believed he’d come home to this very news? His stomach churned sickly. He let go of Shayne’s hand. “I’ve got to see Heddi. I need to know what’s happening, what’s being done.”
“Don’t go to Heddi,” Ian said quickly. “Come with me. I’m on my way to speak to the police now. They can probably answer your questions better than her, anyway.”
“Yeah, okay.” Des nodded slowly and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. He turned to Shayne, her expression stricken. “I have to go. Wait here, okay? The police still haven’t found Tic.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice raspy. Shayne watched Des leave with his uncle, and a dull ache squeezed her throat. A gulf had formed between them, a chasm growing wider by the moment. Six hours ago, he’d claimed to love her, and the words had filled her with panic. Perversely, she’d give anything to hear him say it again.
For Julia’s body to already be reduced to skeletal remains, she must have been down there a while. Probably since back in March, when everyone assumed she’d left for the islands. Shortly after agreeing to speak to Shayne. The significance of the timing hadn’t been lost on Shayne. Surely, it hadn’t been lost on Des either.
Did he blame her? Was he right to? Had she unknowingly been the catalyst for that poor girl’s death? She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. When she’d first toyed with writing about the Grey-Anderson murders all those months ago, the case had seemed so cut and dry, but nothing was what it seemed.