by Linda Turner
In the kitchen, Clara was puttering around, putting things away for her, and outside, Chloe was on her swing in the backyard, singing away like she hadn't a care in the world.
Margaret and Lucille were somewhere in the house, still moving slowly from their ordeal and not yet ready to go home. But she and Riley might have been the only two people for miles for all the notice she gave the rest of the world. Her heart was doing a crazy somersault in her breast, and she felt her senses start to hum. Given the opportunity, she could have sat there for hours, loving the feel of his hands on her.
But Clara's predictions for their future still hung in the air between them, refusing to be ignored. She started to pull away, but his fingers only tightened as he ran his thumb over her wrist, scattering her pulse.
"Riley..."
Distracted by the delicate bones of her hand, he heard the warning in her tone. But his attention was caught next, by the faint, bluish bruises that discolored her skin right where his fingers held her.
"How did you do this? It looks like someone grabbed you."
"You were out of it"
"I did this?" he asked, stunned.
"When?" Remembering the hurt and anger that had seethed in him when the fever had held him in its grip, Becca cursed herself for not finding another excuse for the bruises.
"It's not important"
"When?"
His jaw set, he wasn't going to let the matter drop. Sighing, Becca told him.
"You were hallucinating. You didn't know what you were doing."
"Did I hurt you?"
Shocked, she said, "No, of course not! You thought I was someone named Sybil" — That was as far as she got.
Cursing, he dropped her hand as if he'd been burned.
"Then my brain must have really been fried. I haven't mentioned that woman's name in nearly ten years."
"She's the reason you got out of the DEA." She'd obviously already learned enough from his fevered ramblings to figure out the truth for herself, so there was no point in denying it.
"She was a greedy bitch who would have sold her own mother if the price was high enough." He told her all of it then, every miserable detail of the worst week of his life, the bitterness spilling out unchecked.
Her heart breaking for him, Becca listened without saying a word, noting that most of his hurt was directed at his partner and not his ex-wife.
"Not all women in law enforcement are like Sybil," she pointed out quietly when he'd finished.
"The fact that she sold you out had nothing to do with her sex"
"Tell that to someone who died, and his best friend get shot in the back."
"I don't want to hear it."
Hurt, Becca recoiled asi f he'd hit her.
"Fine. I'll get out of your hair."
Her voice as frosty as the season's first cold front, she rose too, "I have washing to catch up and you need to rest. I called your office first thing this morning and talked to Dartel. Gabriel. He said to tell you not toworry about anything. He was sleeping at the jail until things get back to normal. So don't even think about. Holler when you're finished eating to get out of that bed tray."
"I'll come for the tray later."
She was gone in two seconds and practically running out the door, out not meeting her eyes.
Staring after her, his rotten mooed forgotten Riley swore, wanting to throw some throw something, he’d known it the minute the words left his mouth that was the last thing he wanted to say. What was the matter with him?
Revolted with himself, he sat there. Before he hurt her again strength to make love to her, consequences.
Because that wouldn't be not when he still couldn't bring her!
Leaving, however, wasn't going to be easy, he thought with eyes in the back of her head.
She might be furious with him right now she was going to let him just walk weak as a sick pup. So he'd had to plan.
Eating his soup.
The lady had been taking such good care of him, but to get out of the house he was going to be able to slip out after she went to bed.
He would not be good of the either of them,
There was no way he could repay her for still taking care of him.
It couldn’t be helped.
She'd be hurt and angry and would, no doubt, want to skin him alive, but she'd get over it. And he'd get over her somehow.
The decision made, he waited the rest of the day and evening for his chance.
Becca didn't come near him herself, and for that, he sent up a silent prayer of thanks. But she didn't completely abandon him, either. She sent Chloe or one of the old ladies to check on him, and every time he pretended he was too tired to even sit up to talk to them, he felt like a heel. Not the least discouraged, they fussed over him, babied him and brought him mouth watering dishes to tempt his appetite and rebuild his strength. Disgusted with himself for the deception, he finally couldn't take it anymore and pretended he was asleep the next time someone tapped on his open door.
He never expected to sleep at all, but the next thing he knew, a rooster was busily crowing somewhere in the distance and the sky was just beginning to lighten. Swearing, Riley threw off the covers and started to quietly search for his clothes.
After tending her patients for three days and nights, Becca had learned to sleep with one ear open just in case she was needed. Comfortably ensconced on the couch and dead to the world, she heard Riley the second he moved.
Afraid he'd had a relapse, she pushed aside her covers and grabbed her robe from the opposite end of the couch. She was still belting it as she hurried into his room. But the second she switched on the light, it was obvious he wasn't sick. Standing next to the bed, already dressed in his uniform, he was hopping on one booted foot as he tugged on the other boot. At her entrance, his eyes flew to hers, and she'd never seen such a look of guilt on a man's face in her life. She didn't have to ask what he was doing—it was obvious. He was leaving. Like a rat slipping away at first light.
Chapter 10
A more-sophisticated woman would have hidden her hurt, but Becca had never been any good at hiding her emotions, so she didn't even try.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she said flatly, "You're obviously in a hurry to leave if you've got to get up at the crack of dawn to do it.
What's the matter? Were you worried I'd try to stop you?"
If he'd bothered to deny it, she probably would have thrown something at him, but he only finished tugging on his boot, then straightened, his expression stony as he faced her.
"I thought it'd be better this way."
"Better for who? You couldn't even lift your head off the pillow until yesterday afternoon! You've got no business being out of that bed."
His jaw set, he looked around for his Stetson and found it hanging from the corner of the dresser mirror.
"I'm fine. I appreciate all your help, but I've got to get back to work and check on my men."
He stepped toward her, but Becca stood her ground in the doorway, her chin lifted stubbornly. He looked better than he had in days, but he was still too pale and gaunt. He hadn't eaten anything more substantial than chicken soup and Jell-O yesterday, and now he thought he was ready to go back to work and chase bad guys? She didn't think so.
"I'm sure your men are fine—Daniel can handle things for a couple of days. You're the one I'm worried about. Stay one more day."
"No."
"Why not?"
He could have given her a half dozen excuses, all of them true, some more pressing than others. But there was only one reason why he had to get out of there, and she was it.
Couldn't she see what she was doing to him? Did he have to spell it out?
Suddenly at the end of his patience, he tossed his hat across the room and moved toward her with eyes blazing.
Before she could so much as blink, he had her in his arms.
"Dammit, lady, isn't it obvious?" he growled.
"I want you so bad now I can hard
ly stand it. Staying's only going to make it worse."
Then, so there would be no misunderstanding, so she would know exactly how frustrated he was, he kissed her hard, like a man who was at the end of his rope and just couldn't take any more. There was nothing nice about it, nothing gentle. It was raw and basic and rough, with a passion that was barely held in check.
She should have slugged him—it was no more than he deserved. At the very least, she should have grabbed him by the hair and pulled till she got his attention and he calmed down.
But she kissed him, just kissed him, and he was lost.
Unable to stop himself, he dragged her closer and felt her fit herself to him like the lost piece of a puzzle that, once it was in place, tied everything together. Groaning, he felt reason start to slip away.
"Sweetheart, you don't know what you're doing" —
"Yes, I do," she argued, and pressed her lips to his. Later, when common sense came crashing' down on him, he knew he was going to hate himself for letting lust get the better of his principles.
But later was a long way away and the woman in his arms wasn't. She was warm and willing and all too real, and it seemed like they'd been racing toward this moment from the second they'd met.
"I'm going to make love to you," he rasped against her mouth, stating his intentions at the outset.
"So if you've got a problem with that, you'd better speak up right now, honey. I want you too much to play games."
Breathless, with desire curling through her like a ribbon of light, Becca stared up at his rough-hewn face and knew what he was doing. There would be no delusions, no mistakes made in the heat of passion and regretted later.
If he didn't leave now, he wouldn't stop with a few kisses.
He would take her to bed without promises or any mention of the future. They would have this time together.
Nothing else.
"A lifetime ago, she wouldn't have even considered such an offer.
But a lifetime ago, she had believed in love and marriage and happily ever afters.
Never again: "No," she said huskily, reaching for the tie belt to her robe.
"I don't have a problem with that." And with a simple shrug of her shoulders, she sent the garment sliding slowly to the floor.
The cotton gown she wore was old and faded. It was the kind of thing a woman put on when she wanted to be comfortable and there was no man around to impress.
V-necked and knee length, it was soft as satin from countless washings, but Beeca knew it was in no way, shape or form seductive.
But that's exactly how Riley made her feel in it. He took one look at the way it draped her figure and his eyes began to heat.
"God, you're beautiful."
She wasn't—if she lived to be ninety, she'd never be anything but cute—but if he wanted to think differently, she wasn't, for once in her life, going to argue with him. A slow smile curling the corners of her mouth, she pushed the bedroom door shut until it clicked. With the press of her thumb, she shot the lock home, the sound loud in the sudden silence.
"Take me to bed," she whispered huskily.
She didn't have to ask him twice. Heat spilled into his groin, the pounding of his heart kicked into overdrive and his hands actually began to tremble. Reaching past her shoulder, he flipped off the overhead ceiling light, casting the bedroom into the rosy shadows of dawn.
"Come here." And taking her hand, he led her across the room to the bed.
Giving in to the temptation of her hair, he buried his hands in the wild curls and nuzzled her neck, loving the still-sleepy scent of her skin. He would have given anything to be able to spend the day with her, in here, in her grandmother's bed, locked away from the world, where he could wallow in the taste and feel and fire of her. But time was precious and in short supply. Her daughter and neighbors were asleep upstairs and the sun was already peeking over the horizon. At best, they had an hour. He meant to make the most of it.
Murmuring to her as if this was her first time and she needed to be gentled, he pressed slow, sipping kisses on her jaw, the shell of her ear, the base of her throat, smiling as her pulse jumped under his tongue. And all the while, with a patience that had her shuddering, he trailed his fingers over her, up her arms to her shoulders and the straps of her gown. With nothing more than a tug, the lightweight garment silently swooshed down her body. Drugged by his kisses, she could do nothing but moan and bury her face against his throat.
Her breath warm and moist against his hot skin, Riley clenched his teeth against the sharp stab of desire that almost buckled his knees.
"Easy, love," he whispered, but it was his own patience that was quickly unraveling. He ripped off his shirt, then cursed the boots he'd just pulled on. He never remembered shedding them or his pants, but then he was naked.
His body was hard and magnificent in the soft light of morning. Becca couldn't stop staring, her smile gone. Her breath lodged in her throat and she sank down onto the mattress and held out her hand to him without a word.
The old bed gave with a sigh as he came down beside her, but she didn't notice anything but Riley. She'd expected heat and passion and fireworks, and he gave her that and so much more. With the intensity of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, he stroked and caressed and lingered over her, pleasuring her slowly, surely. The curve of her shoulders, the delicate bones of her throat and wrists, the fullness of her breasts, the breadth of her hips with his hands alone, he warmed her inside and out until she melted like caramel in the sun.
And when she was shuddering, nearly mindless with the need that built in her like a storm on the verge of breaking, he stunned her with his mouth. Her eyes misted, her breath backed up in her lungs as he pressed a tantalizing kiss to the top of her breasts. Anticipation crawled just under her skin, drawing her nerves tight, demanding to be satisfied. She whimpered, the sound as soft and revealing as the morning light. Then, just when she thought she couldn't stand it any longer, he closed his lips over her pouting nipple.
Crying out in surprised delight, she arched against his mouth, clutching him to her breast.
"Oh!"
His own breathing none too steady, he looked up, unable to stop touching her, stroking her.
"What, sweet?" he rasped.
"What is it?"
She licked her lips, struggling for words and had no idea how close she came to destroying him.
"I wasn't expecting. Her confusion caught his attention then, penetrating the fog of passion that threatened to cloud his thoughts.
"What, honey? What weren't you expecting?"
"You... this." Helplessly, she gestured with one hand to the bed and the intimacy they shared.
"I've never felt anything like it ...."
It was an admission that should never have been made by a woman who had once been happily married. From what she'd told him of Tom Prescott, there was no question that the man was a possessive bastard, but at one time, Becca had loved him, and Riley had assumed her husband had at least made her happy in bed. Obviously, he was wrong.
Questions pulled at him, questions he wouldn't allow himself to ask. Like what kind of husband would fail to give his wife this kind of pleasure? Had he just been inept? Or a selfish jerk who hadn't thought of anyone but himself?
Not liking the direction of his thoughts or the idea of anyone, least of all her husband, being in bed with them, he leaned down to distract them both with a hot, seducing kiss.
"Then it's time you did, honey let me show you what you've been missing."
He didn't wait for her permission. He simply showed her all the ways a man can please a woman when he set his mind to it. He wooed and cajoled and caressed her, trailing fire with every touch and kiss, and in the process, gave more of himself than he'd ever thought he could give anyone. And when need burned like a fireball low in his belly, he somehow found the strength to give her more. He tried to remind himself that it had been awhile for her. She'd made no secret of the fact that she hadn't let a
nother man near her since her husband died.
Only him.
The thought squeezed his heart and pulled emotions from him he'd thought were long dead.
Control—what he had left of it—was balanced on a razor's edge. . .
Somewhere in the back of his head, the thought registered that he needed to protect her. But he couldn't let go of her long enough to reach for his wallet, which still lay on the bedside table.
"Becca, honey..." She moved under him, her hands climbing all over him with increasing urgency, drawing a groan from him.
"I'm losing it, sweetheart," he muttered, nipping at the sensuous curve of her bottom lip.
"Can you reach my wallet? Help me, honey."
Lying under him, her hips already lifting to his, she gazed up at him, her eyes dark and unfocused before it suddenly hit her what he was asking of her. A slow smile danced over the curve of her kiss-swollen mouth, and that was when Riley knew he was in trouble.
In the next few seconds, with nothing more than her feather-light touch, she made him ache, sweat, swear. His sanity gone, he rolled her under him as soon as the protection was in place. Then she was opening to him, her arms and legs wrapping around him, drawing him down to her, into her.
And when the madness claimed him, he took her in a way he hadn't taken a woman for longer than he could remember. Completely. With everything he had, heart and soul. .
An eternity later, he cradled her in his arms and rolled to his side, gathering her close. Any minute now, his heart was going to quit galloping in his chest, his breathing would level out and he'd be able to let her go.
And pigs could fly.
The truth hit him hard, rocking him, but he was having none of it. His jaw locked on an oath and he latched on to denial like a man running scared. He wanted her— he didn't lie to himself about that. The attraction between them was strong and wouldn't burn itself out anytime soon. But wanting and needing were two different things. And God forbid he should even think of the L word.