He turned her to the door. She bent to scoop up her purse and stood in front of him while he reached around her to put his key in the lock. She was breathing hard and shivering.
She turned around the minute the door shut behind them, dropped her purse to the floor, and pulled his head to hers.
“What changed?” She whispered against his lips.
He eased his mouth over hers, lightly kissing from corner to corner before answering. “Nothing changed. I don’t want to fight you anymore.”
She tipped her head to study him, her eyes sweeping every feature as if looking for a flaw or some indication that he was going to pull away. Instead, he slipped his hands behind her and eased her against him, lowered his nose to her neck, and inhaled the tangy smell of her. He ran his mouth over the cords of her neck, absorbing the softness of her skin, the throb of her pulse, the saltiness against his tongue.
She quivered and wrapped her arms around him, holding on as if she intended to anchor herself to him for quite some time to come. He didn’t mind. In fact, a feeling of possessiveness went through him that he’d never experienced before, never allowed himself to feel before. She was his and his alone. It mattered not who had come before or who would come after. At this moment, here in his home, she was his.
Meg tugged on his shirt and prayed she was reading the situation correctly. A fission of discomfort echoed in the promise she made to him, but if these were his terms, she’d take them just to have him. The room was darkening by the minute, but she refused to stop and find a light. Some devil inside wanted to hurry, to make their union a fact, not a fantasy.
He reached for her hands and stopped her. The flame inside her flickered, threatening to die.
“Let me take off my gun.”
She looked down. Bret’s leather duty belt was still on his hip. His shirt was stuck on the butt of his pistol. She stepped back to give him room. He walked into the living room and turned on a lamp. He pulled the gun from the belt and released the magazine, setting both on the table near the lamp. He unfastened the belt and dropped it into the armchair.
He moved back to her and trapped her hands before she could continue divesting him of his shirt. He eased her against him and kissed her forehead.
“I know I’ve made you wait,” he whispered. “But this is our first time and we’re going to go slow.” Surprise filled her, stalling her intent. He released her and went to the stereo, selected a CD, and inserted it into the player. The soft strains of Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want to Miss A Thing floated over her senses, wooing. Who knew he could be so romantic?
He turned and looked at her, his eyes caressing until she was desperate for him to kiss her again. He dropped his uniform shirt in the armchair on top of his belt and took her into his arms. His white T-shirt was warm against her cheek and smelled of him.
“I wanted to have the Sweetheart Dance with you on Valentine’s Day.” He cradled her close to his chest and swayed.
Stunned, she could only look at him with her mouth open. His wish was so close to what she had dreamed. He took the opportunity to spread light kisses across her brows, eyes, and nose, finally reaching her mouth. Sighs built up inside her chest fueled with intense need. His warmth washed over her, his solidness against hers let loose the love she felt for him, intensifying it tenfold. The questions that had been crowding her mind dissipated. His mouth finally sealed to her lips, his tongue swept in to lay claim.
Not wanting to be a passive participant, she slipped her arms around him, fingers stroking the skin at the back of his neck. Her tongue eased along his—their kiss and movements unconsciously echoing the beat of the music. Her hips brushed his and she thrilled at the evidence of his arousal. His fingers traced her lower back and slid over her bottom. Meg shivered.
The music changed to Leanne Rimes sultry voice singing How Can I Live.
“I made this CD the other night. Like it?” He pulled her blouse from her skirt, sliding his hands underneath to stroke the bare skin at her waist.
A purr rumbled from her mouth. She tried to stifle it, but couldn’t. She ended up tacking on a groan, too. “Love it,” she whispered.
She pulled at his T-shirt and he accommodated her by pulling it over his head in slow motion. Her eyes devoured each section of skin exposed until he finally tossed the garment to the floor. She traced the lines of rock hard abs, the soft whorls of brown chest hair, and the puckered line of the scar from the bullet wound on his shoulder.
He shuddered.
She smiled, infused with feminine power, until his fingers undid the buttons on her blouse and pushed it off her shoulders.
She moaned. His mouth turned up in a half smile. Her white lace underwear wasn’t very exotic, but he seemed not to care. She hadn’t come here expecting this, had only come because she’d been frustrated by not being able to get in contact with him.
She wished for a fleeting second that she’d taken the time to put on one of several items she’d bought with this scenario in mind. His mouth skimmed her collarbone and the thought flew out of her head along with all her breath. A tingling started behind her nipples and radiated deep into her core.
The music changed again, a song she didn’t recognize this time. His mouth moved over the slopes of her breasts and she lost even the will to listen. He lifted her into his arms. She hated feeling diminutive and had never included “being swept off her feet” in any of her fantasies. But surprisingly, she felt sexy and alive.
She kissed his neck, breathing in the scent of him, reveling in the feel of his arms holding her. She wanted to let go and drown in the moment, but her promise nagged.
He stopped in the doorway to his bedroom. With the light off, she couldn’t see his expression. She could only feel the hum of his body speaking to hers.
He walked over the threshold and set her down near his bed. He turned on a small lamp and its glow illuminated the small room. She ran her fingers over the spread enjoying the cool, crisp fabric.
“I’ll understand if you want to change your mind,” he said.
She looked up. Bret’s eyes burned with need, his body tensed waiting for her words.
She reached and ran a finger over his skin from jean’s edge to Adam’s apple. “You’re everything I’ve dreamed of. Let’s quit talking.”
His grin was boyish and playful. “Fine by me.” He untied and slipped off his boots, then unzipped his pants. She reached to help him shove them over his legs, before letting him unzip her skirt. It fell to the floor. She kicked off her heels. He reached in the bedside drawer and dropped a few condoms by the lamp. He pulled back the comforter to reveal white sheets and two big, fluffy pillows.
She watched his movements, unsure of herself. It was in such contrast to what she had been wanting for four long years, she began to tremble. Before she could dither any further, he took her hand and kissed her again. Nerves, questions, insecurities all flew out of her head. His fingers fumbled with the clasp on her bra telling her that he wasn’t as cool as he seemed either.
She stifled a giggle.
He paused, his eyes questioning.
She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’m so nervous.”
“I’m giving you too much time to think.” He grinned and fell with her onto the bed. In a mutual move, they helped each other toss the remaining clothing to the floor.
She whimpered when he pulled her on top of him. Skin-to-skin, she wanted every second imprinted on her memory. He kissed her again, slow and thoroughly, and then again and again. Lord, the man could kiss. The leisurely romance abruptly gave way to edgy need. Closing her eyes, she let her hands freely stroke his skin. His moan only fueled her hunger, her desire to make him forget every other woman. His muscles tightened and relaxed with each stroke of her hands—across his collarbone, down his arms, and over his hip. He returned the pleasure by caressing her back and bottom until her every bone and muscle felt like melted chocolate on hot pavement.
She reached between them, desper
ate to feel him, but he stopped her. “Not this time, Meg. I can’t take it.” He rolled her to her back, the weight of him making delicious shivers rush over her skin. He rose up momentarily and grabbed a condom. She took the packet from him and tore it open. He bit his lip as she rolled the latex over his hardness.
“That was a pretty tricky way to get the feel you wanted.” He hissed from between his teeth. “Now it’s my turn.”
He leaned over her, propping himself on his elbow and kissed first one nipple, then the other. Before she could catch her breath, he drew her nipple into his mouth. She shivered. His long fingers shaped and molded increasing the fluttery sensation in her belly. She sighed when he switched to the other breast, not able to contain her pleasure.
“I surrender,” she whispered. The delight from his hands and mouth on her was indescribable. “Please, Bret. I don’t want to go alone.”
He rose up and looked at her, supreme pleasure in his expression.
“Never fear, darlin’. I wouldn’t let that happen.” Before she could do more than pant a “thank God”, he was between her legs, his hardness rubbing against the slickness there. In the next moment, he slid into her completely.
She arched her back, keening with pleasure.
Finally.
It felt right. Damn right.
He gazed at her, all smiles gone from his face, only serious intent. He let her have a moment to adjust, before beginning to move.
She planted her hands on his hips and countered to his thrusts until the pleasure nearly blew her head off. She wanted more time, but she wasn’t going to get it. She was hurling toward completion with no regard for personal fantasy.
It was too good, too special, too hot—everything she dreamed of and nothing the way she’d planned. She fought the need to tip over into release, but Bret had other ideas.
He kissed her. Another slow, drugging caress with mouth and tongue and she was lost.
With a sob, she came, repeating his name over and over. His shudder followed and she wrapped her arms around him and held on.
He was hers now, for better or worse.
In the early morning light of dawn, she pulled into her driveway and turned off the ignition, stifling a yawn. They’d slept not at all. She was going to pay for that by fourth period, but damned if she could find it in her to care.
Four times. He’d loved her four times, each time more intense than the last. He’d kissed her goodbye this morning and asked her to call him later. It certainly felt like relationship time to her, but what did she know? Maybe he did sex like this, repeatedly, then would dump the girl of the moment when he was sated. He hadn’t really said. She hadn’t asked because she didn’t want to know and she’d promised. She didn’t want anything destroying the glow she had this morning. He was her every fantasy come true, just like she dreamed.
She got out of her car and started up the walk, humming I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing. At the porch, she stopped. Her mother sat on the top step, dressed in running clothes.
“Good morning, dear. Have a nice night?” Helen’s bland expression and raised eyebrows said it all.
She felt too good to get embarrassed. “Yes, Mom. What are you doing here?”
“Out for a run.” Helen stood and stretched, ready to continue her jog. “Just so you know. You father came home really late from the law firm last night. I mean really late.”
Puzzled, Meg shrugged. “So?”
“Yeah, well, he saw your car parked at Bret’s.”
Meg grimaced, closing her eyes.
“And ranted at me for an hour after he got home. It’s one thing for a man to think his only daughter is sexually active and another thing to be confronted with it. You need to talk to him before he talks to Bret.”
Meg stood. “Why would Daddy talk to Bret? I’m twenty-six years old, Mother.”
“Please,” Helen clucked at her. “To ask his intentions, of course. Your father is an old-fashioned man.”
She cringed. He couldn’t talk to Bret because she had no idea what his intentions were. Her father might not take to kindly to Bret’s ‘no relationship, just sex’ philosophy and after her promise last night, she knew things couldn’t be changed. She’d caught him at a weak point and she knew it. An irritated father conversation was a sure fire way to make Bret run the other direction.
She took a deep breath, and another. “All right. I’ll talk to him.”
“Today.” Helen waved her fingers at her and started jogging.
“Hey!” She stood. “You never said what you thought, Mom.”
Her mother turned and ran in place. “You’ve been ga-ga over the man now for years. What’s to say? Congratulations, honey.” She waved again and took off.
She went inside to shower and get to school. Nagging worry about her father talking to Bret stole some of her glow.
Bret parked his police car and walked down the sidewalk to the front door of the Devlin House on Walnut Drive. Good Friday. Another robbery had been reported. Chief Hudson was on scene, as well two patrol officers. Something new this time, though. The fire department’s engine and tanker sat at the curb. Hoses snaked across the lawn into the house. Bret stepped up on to the front porch and entered the house. Once inside, he glanced around at the neat, tidy home. He wrinkled his nose against the pungent smoke that permeated the air.
The Devlin family—mother, father, son, and daughter—sat on the sofa in the living room, their shell-shocked faces telling the entire story. Carmen sat with them, talking in low tones. The teenage boy perched near his mother. The hollow look, the grief in his expression, churned Bret’s emotions. Carmen tipped her head at him to indicate he should go down the hall. He ground his teeth to shove his anger back down inside.
Chief Hudson stood on the threshold of the bedroom, motionless. Bret looked past him to the destruction and felt his guts twist. The kid had been a computer geek. Bret surveyed the remains of three computers that had been in the room.
Now they were a crunching mass of broken parts and melted plastic. Posters had been ripped from the walls, clothes shredded on the floor, and something else.
“This is new.” Bret pointed at the charred bed, curtains, desk, and bookshelf. “How did the fire start?”
“Set,” the chief said, word forced out from between gritted teeth.
“Gas?” Bret sniffed, but didn’t detect anything.
Fire Chief Sally Caldwell came up behind the two men. “Alcohol. Vodka. Ignited like a Molotov cocktail. They used the kid’s collection of comic books in the middle of his bed. The family got lucky. Neighbor was gardening at the side of her house and saw the flames through the window. Could’ve taken the whole house.”
“I don’t suppose she saw who did it?”
“Nope. By the time she went inside and called the fire department, then thought to check the street, there was nothing,” Chief Hudson said.
“Where was the family while this was happening?”
“At the hospital. Mrs. Devlin’s mother took a turn for the worse this morning. They spent several hours with her. Until she died.”
Bret wanted to hit something, preferably their robbers. “Man. Horrible timing.”
Hudson took off his cap, curled the bill, and then settled it back on his head. “Indeed. They didn’t need this.”
Bret glanced at Sally Caldwell. “I’m not liking the direction this is taking. This escalates the violence.”
“Agreed,” his boss replied. “Any leads on that kid yet?”
“Yeah, Meg’s tip panned out. Seems Esteban is living with his uncle in the trailer park out at the reservoir. I’m on my way out there to see if I can catch up with him and have a chat.”
Hudson nodded. “Take Tom and be careful.”
“What’s the boy’s name? I need to tell Meg,” Bret said.
“Chance. Chance Devlin,” Chief Hudson answered.
Bret walked back down the hall and stopped for a moment by the living room. He wanted to talk to the boy,
reassure him that all this would pass, that it would be okay. But it wasn’t going to be okay. The feeling of violation would be forever imprinted on the boy’s memory, intensifying the death of his grandmother. There wasn’t a damn thing Bret could say that would make that better.
He left and went looking for Tom. He caught him coming in the back door of the police department.
“Where have you been?” Bret asked.
Tom grimaced. “Court. Waiting. There are easier ways to have coffee with my father.”
Bret wasted no time chatting. “We had another robbery. They torched the kid’s room this time.” He stopped for a minute to catch a breath, to push aside his fury. “Meg’s lead checked out. Chief wants me to take you and see what we can find out.”
Tom swiveled and walked back out the door. “Your car or mine?”
“Mine is fine.” Bret fished in his pocket for his keys.
Once they were underway, he gave Tom the details of the current robbery and his work with Meg. “The lead is a student that one of our victims has a bad history with. The name is Esteban Santiago.”
Tom frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“I had the same reaction, but couldn’t find anything although supposedly he’s a real troublemaker.” Bret accelerated when he hit Canyon Road, anxious to get to the reservoir and find some answers.
“I checked his current address and found he didn’t live there. No cooperation from his relatives either. Meg asked some questions around school and discovered he is living with an uncle in the trailer park at the reservoir.”
“So we’re going to see if we can find this kid and talk to him, see what he knows?”
“Yes. I’m actually hoping this will lead to some other sources of information.”
“Do you know what he looks like?” Tom shifted in the seat to accommodate his gun belt.
“Yes. Meg showed me his picture in the school year book.” He reached in the console next to him and pulled out a photocopy of the picture he’d made from the borrowed book, and handed it to Tom.
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