by Karen Rose
‘Yes, it is.’ He studied Ruby from a new perspective. ‘Tell me about Kayla.’
‘She’d only been working there a month when you came in that night. She lasted a year.’
He sighed. ‘So she’s dead.’
‘No, she quit. When he saw her photo in the personnel file, the owner remembered her. He got real sad. Told me she’d gotten sick. Got “the HIV”.’
‘Oh God.’ Sam clenched his eyes closed for a brief moment. ‘I remember thinking I should force her to leave with me. Call her parents and make her go home. Wherever that was.’
‘Home’s not always the answer. Sometimes home can be worse than this life.’ She gestured to the bar. ‘And that’s a hard truth to swallow.’
‘My dad used to beat me,’ Sam said softly, ‘and he beat my mother. But before he got into the drugs and then later, when he was finally, really gone, it got better. Home was a place I wanted to go. But I was grown by then.’
She grasped his hand tight. ‘Then you understand.’
‘A bit. I wish I could have done something for that girl, though. She broke my heart.’
‘You’re a good man, Sam Hudson.’ She tilted her head, watching him. ‘I checked you out, you know. While I sat outside Starbucks last night, waiting for you to read the autopsy report. You’ve volunteered with foster kids. Big Brother, Boys’ Club. Coaching baseball and soccer. That’s why I followed you and why I took you to Thorne. You could have become selfish and mean, but you didn’t. I respect what you’ve made of yourself. I knew Thorne would, too.’
Sam didn’t realize how tight his chest was until it began to loosen. ‘Thank you, Ruby.’
‘You’re welcome. I have a last known address on Kayla Richards, on North Patterson Park. Let’s see if she still lives there.’
‘Wait.’ Sam did a quick search on his phone. ‘There’s a Kayla Richards, who lived on Patterson Park five years ago, but now lives in Bladensburg.’
‘Outside DC,’ Ruby said. ‘You did a background that fast?’
He started the car. ‘No, that’s just the white pages of the online phone book.’
‘Then I’ll do a background check while you drive.’
‘That’d be good.’ He glanced over at her. ‘Ruby, do me a favor, would you?’ He reached into the back seat and grabbed his jacket. ‘Put this on, please. You have to be freezing.’
‘I’m quite comfortable, actually.’
He blew out a breath. ‘Fine. The truth is, I can’t concentrate on driving with you . . . bursting out of that dress. I’m going to wreck my car and we’ll never get to Bladensburg.’
She shrugged into his jacket, then turned to him with a sweet smile. ‘That’s the nicest compliment I’ve had in a very long time, Sam.’
Monday, March 17, 6.40 P.M.
Oh. My. God. Stevie lay face down on the bed, unable to move. Clay had been a far worse slave driver than her physical therapist had ever been. She’d taken a hot shower, but her leg still ached. If someone came into her hotel room right now with a gun, she’d have to let them shoot her because she couldn’t move.
But she didn’t have to worry about that. Clay was armed and had been the entire time he’d pushed her to do her exercises. And the entire time she’d been in the shower.
She’d have been lying if she’d denied wishing he’d barged in and kissed her senseless. But he hadn’t. But they had hours yet. Might as well do something productive.
‘Shit!’ Her torso jerked up off the bed when a bag of ice fell on the back of her thigh.
‘You gotta ice it down,’ he said quietly. He’d said little during the session, touched her even less. She’d hoped he would. Wondered how she would respond. But it was moot. He’d kept his hands to himself.
‘Hate ice,’ she muttered into the pillow. ‘Ice hurts.’
‘You want to run again? Then you have to pay the piper.’
‘I already did. Too many times.’
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’ He said it without reproach, instead as a simple truth.
Groaning, she forced herself to sit up. Keeping the ice on the back of her thigh, she massaged the front. ‘If I can’t feel sorry for myself, can I hate the little bitch who shot me?’
‘Sure. Although you got the final word.’
Because she’d shot the teenaged girl who’d sprayed bullets into the crowd on the courthouse steps. Shot her and killed her. ‘I’m not sorry. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.’
‘You have a good eye and a steady hand. And you kept your cool.’ He sat in a chair, as far from her as he could get and still be in the room. ‘You saved Daphne’s life, Joseph’s, and who knows how many others that day because you took the shot.’ Clay looked down at his feet. ‘I was proud of you that day. Terrified as hell, but proud.’
Her hands stilled on her thigh. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I figured you had to know how I felt.’
‘I guess I did. But it’s nice to hear.’ She resumed massaging her sore thigh muscles. ‘I wish Paige was here. She dropped by my house once when I’d just come home from PT and did this thing with pressure points. It was the only time I didn’t hurt after a session.’
Clay hadn’t moved. She wasn’t sure he even breathed, he sat so still. Then his shoulders sagged minutely. ‘Lie back and close your eyes.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Why?’
‘Paige showed me a few of the acupressure points. I can at least make it so you don’t hurt.’
She complied, closing her eyes and holding her breath as she waited.
‘Breathe,’ he commanded softly as he knelt on the edge of the bed. ‘You have to breathe.’
But then his hands were on her left thigh and she forgot to. Keeping her knee straight, he slid his thumbs upward a few inches. She tensed when he applied pressure, breathing only when he’d reminded her to do so once again. He released the pressure, then massaged her quads with strong, confident strokes. She let out a low moan of relief.
‘Feels good,’ she whispered, her eyes still closed. ‘Much better. Thank you.’
Then she tensed in a far different way when his hand swept up her thigh, his touch gentle but firm. His fingertips brushed over the puckered scar left by the teenager’s bullet.
‘It’s not pretty, I know,’ she said, wishing her skin was flawless, her muscles whole.
‘It’s part of you,’ he said roughly. ‘It means you survived.’ His other hand swept up her right leg, up her thigh, then both hands were stroking. His touch changed, no longer firm and clinical, but soft and almost reverential. Almost . . . foreplay.
He lifted her left leg over his shoulder and that fast, he was between her legs. He pushed his shoulder into the back of her thigh, his hand gripping her calf, stretching the muscle with little rocking movements.
‘You need to keep the leg straight when you do this,’ he said softly and a shiver raced across her heated skin as he pushed harder, his face coming closer to her core each time his shoulder pressed against her thigh. She lifted on her elbows, the sight of his dark head between her thighs intensely intimate. Erotic.
She wanted him. Wanted him closer. Wanted his mouth on her. Her hips shifted, lifting off the bed of their own volition and he froze, his mouth still six inches from where she needed it. It might has well have been six feet.
She heard him draw a deep breath as she held hers. As close as he was, he had to smell her arousal. After a long, long moment, he shuddered and dipped his head closer, until she could feel the moistness of his breath on her skin.
God, please let this be foreplay.
She could hear his ragged breathing as his hands moved up, then down her thigh, his thumbs teasing closer and closer with every stroke. Finally she could stand it no longer and her hips arched, bringing her body into contact with those clever thumbs of his – and her nerves exploded. Her head dropped back on a low moan and she shivered again, violently this time.
It was good, but not nearly enough.
A water pistol against a forest fire. She burned. Wanted more. Needed more. Needed all of him. Inside her. Now.
She lifted her head to look down at him again. His head was still between her legs, his mouth hovering a breath away from where she burned. He looked up, his gaze locking on her face, hot and needy.
Say yes, he’d demanded before. She’d obeyed. Now she opened her mouth to say it again.
But he jerked away, leaping to his feet as if she’d electrocuted him. His phone was in his hand a moment later. A second after that, her own phone buzzed, skittering across the nightstand.
Cursing silently, she sat up, reached for her phone. It was a text from Joseph, sent to them both. We’re back. I’m next door. Agents Novak and Coppola are in the other suites.
She lifted her narrowed eyes from the message to find Clay hightailing it to the bathroom.
‘I didn’t get to take a shower this morning,’ he called over his shoulder, his voice like a rusty hinge. ‘I’ll take one now that Joseph is back to keep watch.’
Stevie glared at the adjoining door. She knew Joseph was oblivious to what he’d interrupted, but she was glad he was on the other side of the door. Otherwise she would have smacked him with her cane. Thx, she texted back. All quiet here.
U up for a game of cards?
Stevie scowled at the bathroom door. Clay had turned the shower on. He was probably naked by now. No, she typed back to Joseph. Will try to sleep.
Like hell I will, she thought. Grabbing her cane, she pushed herself to her feet. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, so with one finger she pushed it open. Peeking in, her eyes went wide.
Clay stood in the shower, his body visible through the etched glass. He was hunched over, hands flat against the tile, his head up to let the spray hit his body full force.
She crept closer, saw that his eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched. He was fully and gorgeously aroused. She wanted him. Now.
She flatted her hand on the shower door, then pulled back abruptly. The glass was ice cold. Belatedly she realized there was no steam in the bathroom.
Oh, for God’s sake. He’s taking a cold shower? Really? Annoyed with the both of them, she pushed the glass door aside and turned off the water. He remained in the same position, turning only his head to look at her, eyes black and piercing.
She drew a deep breath, her body going deliciously liquid. Her eyes slid down his torso, greedily taking in all of him. And there was a lot to take in.
With an effort, she forced her gaze upward to meet his. He looked like he wanted to . . . devour. Her heart was racing, her blood pumping.
‘I know what you want,’ she said, her voice raspy and guttural. Like a stranger’s. ‘You want forever. You want a family. I can’t promise you forever. I can’t promise you tomorrow, because I could be dead.’ His eyes flared dangerously and she almost took a step back. But she didn’t because she wasn’t finished yet. ‘I’m sorry that I hurt your feelings yesterday, but you misunderstood. I didn’t mean that I was “topping off my tank”. To top off a tank, it has to have something in it to start with. My tank is dry, Clay. Bone dry. I’m as close to being able to top it off as I am to the damn South Pole.’
‘What did you mean, then?’ he asked, his voice as guttural as her own.
‘I meant that I would need a long time before I was full again. Before I felt remotely “normal”, whatever the hell that is. I’m like a dried-out sponge. You told me I was scared. Hell, yeah, I was scared. I still am. I’m more scared than I would be if you pointed a gun in my face.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the gun I know how to handle. This, I don’t. What if I can’t do this again?’
He eased back from the wall, turning to face her fully, water dripping down every honed muscle of his amazing body. ‘Do what, exactly?’
She bit her lower lip, fighting the urge to touch. Clenching her hands at her sides to keep from reaching out to squeeze the erection that strained toward her. ‘This. Us. Sex. A relationship after the sex. I don’t know what I’d do if . . .’
‘If?’
She swallowed hard. ‘If you decided you didn’t want me after all. You’ve put me on this pedestal for two years and it terrifies me. What if I can’t live up to that?’
His eyes flickered wildly, as if shocked at the very notion. ‘God, Stevie. I—’
She held up a hand, stopping him. ‘Let me get this out while I have the courage. I never intended to have a one-night stand, to use you and discard you. That you even thought I could do such a thing . . . Well, you don’t know me as well as you believe you do.’
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right. I don’t know myself very well lately, either. That’s why I was so angry, in the boat. I think I always knew that once I admitted I wanted you, that would be it. I was making a commitment and that scared the shit out of me. When I get scared, my go-to emotion is anger. I know I hurt you. And I’m sorry for that.’
‘A commitment,’ he repeated, his murmur barely audible. ‘But for how long?’
Her shoulders sagged. ‘I don’t know. I told you, I can’t promise you forever. Life happens. Death happens, too. But I would promise to give you everything that I am, for as long as we were together. If that’s enough for you, great. If not, I’m just wasting your time.’
He stood there studying her, still as a statue, his face expressionless. And then she knew for sure. She’d waited too long. Hurt him too deeply. Even though his body was still clearly on board, his mind and heart were not. And that was something Stevie understood far too well.
She let out a breath, endeavoring to be as stoic as he. She had no right to temper. No right to tears, although she could feel them rising in her chest. ‘I can see you’ve already come to that conclusion,’ she said quietly. She took a towel from the warming rod, placed it in his hands. ‘Dry off or you’ll catch a cold.’
She turned away, needing space. She wanted to be alone but didn’t dare leave the suite. She’d ruin everything they’d planned and maybe even get herself killed. But her throat was burning, her control quickly slipping away. Just . . . move. Get your ass out of here before you break down and cry. Because then he’d feel sorry for her and she couldn’t bear his pity.
She’d reached the bathroom door when his hand shot over her shoulder, slamming it closed. Trapping her between the door and a very wet, very naked, very aroused man.
Caged in from behind, she closed her eyes on a shiver when his lips skimmed the line of her neck, hovering over her ear. ‘It’s enough,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘If you mean it, it’s enough.’
The shiver became a shudder of relief. ‘I do. I mean—’
He spun her around, his mouth taking hers, the kiss instantly wild, darkly possessive. Her cane hit the tile with a clatter as she hooked her good arm around his neck and pulled herself higher, trying to situate that erection where it could do some good.
Without breaking the kiss he shoved her shorts down her legs, cupped her butt in the palms of his hands and lifted her off the ground. Supporting her weight with one hand, he plunged two fingers deep inside her.
She bit back a shocked cry as the pleasure ripped through her. ‘God.’
‘You’re wet.’ He growled the words. ‘I want to eat you alive. But not yet. I need to be inside you. Say—’
‘Yes,’ she interrupted, her hips desperately seeking. He withdrew his fingers, wrapped her legs around his hips. ‘For God’s sake, Clay, ye—’
He slammed up into her, entering her with one savage thrust. Then he froze and they stared at each other, lips parted, breath sawing in and out of their lungs.
‘Mine.’ He ground the word out. ‘Tell me you’re mine.’
She nodded breathlessly. She felt stretched, filled. Utterly possessed. ‘Yours.’
It was like an explosion. She wasn’t aware of the fragile hold he’d had on his control until it snapped. His fingers bit into her thighs as he set a hard, fast, wild rhythm,
plunging deeper with every stroke. God, so deep. So good. He felt so good.
This was right.
Her hands found his shoulders and hung on as she met him thrust for thrust, her eyes focused on his. Until her vision began to blur, her body beginning to tremble.
Now. Do it now. ‘Clay. Please. Faster.’
With a groan he let go, jackhammering into her, impossibly harder. Impossibly faster. Winding her tighter until she felt like a coiled spring ready to break free.
She heard a low, strangled cry. Knew it was her own. Then heard his feral growl as the first wave hit her, the orgasm riding the line between pleasure and pain. Still he plunged, dragging it out. Dragging her under.
‘Again,’ he rasped against her ear. ‘Come for me again, Stevie. Right now. Let me feel you come again. Now.’
She had no choice but to obey, and when the second one hit, her scream was totally silent. She fell back against the door, sated, drained, her hands still clutching his shoulders when his powerful body arched. She forced her eyes to open and could only stare, enthralled.
He was beautiful. His teeth clenched, every muscle strained. And then he began to shake, his body jerking as he found his own release. He stumbled and she felt the full brunt of his weight as he fell against her, smashing her into the door, a deep, primal, desperate groan rattling up from within him. His head rested on her shoulder, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. She held him close, stroking his back, his hair, anything she could reach.
Gradually his breathing evened out and he straightened his legs, supporting his own weight again. Allowing her to draw a full breath. Her heart still pounded and her limbs felt like jelly.
But that barely registered, because within her was this amazing peace.
He lifted his head, met her eyes, and her pounding heart skipped a beat.
He felt it, too. She could see it. But in his dark eyes she also saw awe. Adoration, even. Respect. Everything she’d hoped to see. Everything she’d feared she wouldn’t.