“How ’bout we go to bed? It’s after five.”
It was his turn to lie. He hated doing it, but he hated spoiling the magic by explaining his hang-up with beds more. “I’m not ready to crash yet. I’ll put a movie in. You can doze in my lap.” For emphasis, he gave her a meaningful look and added, “I don’t want to let you go just yet.”
At least that was truth. He took her hand in his unsteady one and led her to the couch where he stretched out and drew her into his embrace. Picking up the remote, he clicked on the television. Then, he dragged the afghan on the back of the couch over their bare bodies. Natalya snuggled close, her chin tucked into his chest.
For several moments, they enjoyed the silence. But try as he might, Brandon couldn’t let go of the unprotected sex issue. Fully aware he was making a bigger deal out of it than perhaps he should—obviously if she were concerned she’d have said something by now—he pulled his fingers through her long, silken hair and let out a heavy sigh.
“So. I’m kinda concerned.”
“Oh?” She tipped her head back, looking up at him with the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen.
He frowned, feeling suddenly very childish. If he didn’t ask, however, he’d never sleep. “I just had the orgasm of my life without a rubber glove.”
“Of your life, huh?” Grinning, she trailed a nail down his chest.
To his consternation, his cheeks flushed hot. He tightened the arm about her shoulders, pulling her closer so she couldn’t see his blush. “Yeah.”
“Relax, Moretti.” Natalya pressed a kiss to the center of his chest. “I’ve had an IUD since college and my job requires quarterly testing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your job?”
“Well, my former job, I guess.”
A law secretary? He frowned. No law firm he knew of required employees to test for STDs every three months. Setting two fingertips beneath her chin, he tipped her head up to look into her eyes. Truth.
Weird.
To cover the searching of his gaze, he dipped his head and drew her into a languorous kiss.
As he eased it to a close, her palm settled against his cheek. “Tell me more about this of your life part.”
Chuckling, he dragged a knuckle over the bump on the bridge of her nose. “How about you tell me how you did this?”
“That?” Natalya laughed softly. “Someone hit me.”
“Hit you?” His voice escalated.
“Yeah. He broke it in three places. I had two black eyes for almost two months.”
“He?” Brandon lifted to his elbow, possessed by the sudden urge to slam the bastard’s teeth into the back of his head.
Natalya looped her arms around his neck and dragged him back into the couch. Eyes twinkling, she brushed the tip of her nose against his. “I broke his jaw.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Winding his arms around her tight, he hauled her atop his chest. “Listen, there’s something you should know. The graffiti on your car…” Trailing off, he pondered the wisdom of telling her he’d been involved with Jill. She might leap out of his arms and run. On the other hand, she deserved to know why she’d been made a target. At least in that respect. He steeled himself for the worst. “I’m pretty sure Jill’s responsible. I made the mistake of going home with her, and I haven’t been able to get rid of her since.”
“I figured it was Jill,” she answered a bit too quietly.
“It’s not what you think.”
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“And this isn’t the same sort of thing.”
“It’s not?”
He trailed his hands down the sloping length of her spine and cupped her bottom. “No. I like you.”
“I should hope so.” She chuckled again.
Though he’d had his fill of her moments before, the stirring of her warm flesh against his cock sent desire hurtling through his veins. He felt himself rise against her abdomen.
She noticed the intrusion and ground her hips against his swelling length. “I like you too.”
“Tell me what I have to do to keep you offstage.”
Natalya lifted to her hands and dragged her body down his hardening cock. The damp folds of her pussy enveloped him, taunting with a promise of paradise. Seeking to return her teasing, he fitted a hand between their bodies and pressed his thumb to the hard little nub between her legs.
She closed her eyes and gyrated her hips against his hand. “That’s not… possible.”
“It’s not, huh?” he murmured as he slipped his finger lower, sliding through her moist flesh to swirl around her slickened opening.
Natalya refused to yield so easily. She took him into her hand and closed her fingers around his swollen cock. As she slowly pumped him, the color of her eyes darkened to deep emerald, and she shook her head.
Christ, the woman knew how to manipulate him. He gritted his teeth against the pressure of her fingers, determined to resist. His body, however, refused to comply. Unbidden, his hips lifted into her hand, the pleasant friction nothing less than addicting.
Before she could coerce him into blissful oblivion again, he elbowed her hand aside and caught her by the waist. Lifting her where he wanted her, he brought her body down against his mouth and speared her weeping pussy with his tongue. She bucked forward, her gasp as sharp as breaking glass.
Several thorough minutes and two intense orgasms later, Brandon’s own raging need threatened to break him into bits. He rolled her over into the cushions and positioned himself between her thighs. Taking her without a condom had been exquisite—no way was he going back to barriers between them. As he thrust high and sank into her ready depths, her gaze locked with his, baring her vulnerable soul. Her soft cry echoed through him.
Brandon knew then, he had one choice, and one choice only. She’d never agree to leaving the stage. For some reason it was important to her. He, however, couldn’t accept that risk. Jill might have painted Natalya’s back window, but someone else left her smashed chocolates, and despite what she said, that gun symbolized her fear. Maybe she didn’t recognize it as fear, but she recognized the threat.
As he lifted up into her, stroking that spot of pleasure few women knew how to enjoy, he whispered, “You’re fired.”
Whether she heard him or not, he couldn’t say. Rapture washed across her face, and closing her eyes, she surrendered to the motion of their bodies. He gave up thinking, caught her hands in his, and let his eyelids fall. As pleasure swept him away, he dimly recognized the flash of headlights that brightened his front room. Attributing it to a passing car, Brandon lost himself to the incredible feeling of Natalya.
Thirty-two
N
atalya woke to the sound of a barking dog and Brandon’s comfortable weight trapping her between his body and the back of the couch. Puzzled by the bright light, she glanced at the clock. Ten after nine? Crap! Sergei would be at the agency’s condo by now. She pushed at Brandon’s shoulder. He mumbled something, tightened the arm he held at her waist, and pulled her deeper into his embrace. She sighed, torn between spending the energy to struggle free and laying here a while longer.
The low coo of a nearby dove convinced her to wait. Tracing one firm biceps with her fingertip, she admired the man who had loved her so thoroughly throughout the wee hours of morning. It seemed his appetite was insatiable. Then again, the same could be said for hers. No matter how many times he took her to the brink of ecstasy, or whether he did it with his mouth, his hands, his cock, she couldn’t get enough.
He’d fired her too, and in her bleary haze, she’d welcomed the opportunity to be nothing but woman. Fleeting pleasure she’d known would end come dawn. It must. Tomorrow night, Iskatel´ would move on Kate. While Brandon might have barred her from the stage, he couldn’t keep her from Fantasia. He couldn’t protect her either, not when she had to risk her life to save Kate’s.
But for a few hours, she’d known absolute freedom. He’d given her a part of him. Exposed himself in the way he made love
to her. And in so doing, he’d pulled unimaginable feeling from deep within her soul. She liked him. Respected him. Admired him.
If things were different, it would be so easy to fall in love with Brandon Moretti.
The dove cooed again, and Natalya dusted a light kiss over Brandon’s mouth. He’d made her laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so freely. Not even the playful banter she shared with Sergei satisfied the way she’d laughed hours ago.
Together they’d built bridges. Burned a few as well. Last night changed them, but no amount of lovemaking could change who she was, and who she was jeopardized Brandon’s life.
She could enjoy him for now. Maybe even through tomorrow. After that, the fantasy must end. She’d leave; he’d go on solving cases and spending his nights with beautiful women. Their paths might cross briefly, but they weren’t meant to intertwine.
The dove had to stop. That eerie sound of mourning made her nerves stand on end. She pushed at Brandon’s shoulder, intending to shoo the thing away from his front porch. “Hey, I gotta get up,” she insisted quietly.
“Mm.” Light kisses fluttered over her breast. “Stay right here.”
“Brandon,” she protested with a laugh. Humor drained away as he captured her nipple between his lips and her flesh pulled with the suckling of his mouth. She threaded her fingers through his short dark hair, pressing his head deeper to her breast. A satisfied murmur rumbled in the back of her throat. “You’re going to break me.”
He lifted his head to turn molten gold eyes on her. “Are you sore?” he whispered, his voice husky.
“A little.”
Brushing her hair away from her face, he gave her a tender smile. “How about some coffee then?”
The reality that their night together had come to an end crashed into Natalya like waves against a rocky shore. She shriveled under the bitter disappointment and summoned a wistful smile. “I really need to be getting home. I have plans with Sergei and Kate today.”
He dropped his head once more, this time capturing her mouth. Slowly, he kissed her, the velvety brush of his tongue a vibrant reminder of the thorough way he’d explored each inch of her body time and again. Warmth filtered into her veins, along with the craving to forget about Sergei, dismiss the tenderness in her body, and surrender to the arousal Brandon’s mouth stoked. But as his cock stiffened against her thigh, he brought the kiss to a leisurely close and gave her a playful grin.
“I’ll take you to Kate’s in a little bit. I have to take Derek back. Mind if I borrow your car today?”
The dove’s soulful call distracted her, and she frowned as a chill spread over her skin.
“Never mind, I can ask Aaron,” Brandon added quickly.
“No, no.” She shook her head, dismissing the stupid bird. “You can borrow my car. That’s fine. You have pigeons.”
“You sure?”
“You can’t hear them?”
“No, about the car.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Chuckling, Brandon rolled off the couch and extended his hand. She slid her palm into his, following him to her feet. A glance at her shirt had her wrinkling her nose at the prospect of putting it on. With it came a vivid memory of the last time Brandon had carried her to the heights of passion and how he’d used it to dry her body off as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness. His hands had been gentle, his touch laden with tenderness.
As if he sensed her hesitation, he bent over and picked up the tank top. “I’ll wash this. You wanna borrow one of mine?”
“Please.”
A short nod, punctuated with a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose, left her wanting to reach out and stop his retreat down the hall. Somewhere in the middle of the night, hardened cop became gallant. And sweet. No wonder Jill refused to let go. If he’d treated her with half of the affection Natalya had experienced in the last six hours, she could understand the graffiti.
This isn’t the same sort of thing.
His voice echoed in Natalya’s mind. If it wasn’t the same sort of thing, then just what was it? Had he been telling her he wanted more? Things she couldn’t give? Natalya chewed on her lower lip and gravitated to the picture of his family that sat on his shelves. He looked so young and carefree. Sergei too.
“Here you go.” Brandon appeared at her side, one hand on her shoulder, the other at her belly and holding a white T-shirt branded with Sadie’s.
She shrugged it on and followed him into the kitchen, dismayed he’d donned a pair of cotton boxers that thwarted her view of his tight butt. While drinking coffee in the nude might be unconventional, she hadn’t considered she’d lose the ability to admire one of his best features.
The dove cooed again, and Natalya grimaced. That sound made fingernails on chalkboards pleasant. “That bird has to go.” Leaving Brandon to the coffee, she picked up a magazine, rolled it into a tube, and followed the sound to his front door.
The chain lock rattled against the striker plate as she pulled the heavy wooden door open. Eyes trained to the porch rafters, she scanned the overhang for a nesting bird.
Ooo–wah-hoo.
Natalya glanced down, and a scream rose to the back of her throat. She backed up rapidly, tripping in the process. Landing on her butt, she squeezed her eyes against the sight. But the image had already scalded into her mind. Trapped in a white wicker cage, a white dove cooed from where it stood in a puddle of sticky blood. Its mate lay on the cage floor, bright crimson covering its pristine breast. Its heart had been cut out. The lifeless muscle dangled from the bloody cavity, still attached by one thick vein.
T
he heavy thump from the front hall made Brandon cock his head. “Natalya? You okay?” When she didn’t answer, he set down the coffeepot and darted around the corner. His door stood open. Natalya sat on the floor, facing the porch, one arm thrown over her eyes to block out something he couldn’t see. “Sweetheart?” he asked cautiously.
“Get it out of there!”
Her hysterical cry set off blaring sirens in his head. He took a step closer, moving so he could see around her. The shock made him recoil. He’d seen death. Was no stranger to blood. But witnessing the dead bird on his doorstop pitched his stomach violently. That the other bird had been left to grieve its lifemate, twisted something deep inside his gut.
He shut the door on the massacre. When he had Natalya settled down he’d dispose of the dead bird and set the other free. Bending, he fitted his hands beneath her arms and helped her to her feet.
The dove cooed, low and mournful.
“Get it out of there,” Natalya screamed again. “Get it out! Oh, God, get it out.” Turning her face into his chest, her shoulders shuddered, and she let out a sob. She brought one hand up to his chest and beat a futile fist against his ribs. “Get it out,” she choked through her tears.
“Okay. Shh.” He smoothed her hair. “I’ll get the bird out. Come sit down.”
He guided her back to the couch where minutes ago they’d known perfect peace. She huddled into the corner, her unfocused stare riveted on the dark television. Tears streamed down her cheeks, clawing at Brandon’s heart.
When he found out who’d done this, he’d rip the bastard into pieces. If it came from his father’s family, even more so. This was too much. Too cruel. The implication too chilling.
Grinding his teeth together, he stalked down the hall for a towel, then stormed to the front door once more. As he opened it, the poor dove cooed again. It bent its head and nudged its dead companion. Brandon let out a hiss.
He jerked open the cage door and shoved his hand inside, fitting his fingers around the mourning bird’s wings. It offered no struggle as he pulled it out of the cage and carefully wrapped it up in the towel. He kicked the cage behind the bushes. Until he could clean up the mess, he didn’t want the neighbors seeing it.
Now what to do with a bird? Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he recalled his mother telling him hand-reared birds didn’t posses
s the ability to fend for themselves in the wild. This one sure didn’t seem afraid of him. Not like he’d expect a wild bird to be. Hell, it hadn’t moved except to cock its head and fix a dark soulful eye on his face.
He went back inside and approached Natalya, who also hadn’t moved. “Natalya?”
Like the sound of his voice was a physical line thrown to draw her back, she slowly focused on his face and retreated from her thoughts. Returning to the present. “Yes?” she asked, eerily calm.
Brandon sank into the cushion next to her. Setting the bird in his lap, he slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. His lips moved through her hair as he fought off his own grief. Sorrow that he’d brought this to her. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Sorry that he’d coaxed her into admitting her desire. That he’d let her stay the night. That he’d exposed her to this nightmare.
She curled into his embrace, collapsing against him. All the strength he knew she possessed, the courage he’d witnessed and admired on countless occasions, vanished in the desperate clutch of her hands. The tremble of her shoulders.
He tightened his embrace and tucked her head beneath his chin. The bastard would die. He’d sacrifice his badge, his career, his life if it meant Natalya would never again know this kind of fear.
N
atalya didn’t know how long she soaked up the warmth from Brandon’s body. But gradually the ice in her veins thawed and the vise around her throat let go enough she could swallow without gagging. Other truths sank in the longer he held her. She’d finally cracked one-hundred percent. She’d stood toe-to-toe with men and pulled the trigger. Even the unforgettable way a person’s eyes slowly turned cold as death stole over them had never brought her to collapse. She’d mopped up blood, and no crimson pool had ever made her want to vomit the way that poor bird’s had.
She’d lost her grip, and all she could think about was that dove grieving its butchered companion. It had been calling for help, mourning, and she’d been annoyed.
A bird shouldn’t possess the ability to turn her inside out. Shouldn’t be able to bring her to her knees. And it damn sure shouldn’t make her afraid.
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