He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

by LENA DIAZ,

  His eyes dipped lower and it was all he could do not to rush forward and carry her off like a conquering barbarian when he saw the slightest hint of a shadow at the juncture of her thighs.

  “I hope you don’t mind me wearing one of your shirts. I need to do laundry and ran out of night gowns.”

  Logan reluctantly dragged his gaze up to meet her eyes. He had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. “You can wear anything of mine you want.” Wear me.

  She frowned and looked away, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I didn’t get to see you much today. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  He silently cursed himself for staring at her. He’d obviously made her nervous, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Having her panic or be afraid of him wasn’t something he could stomach. He wanted her, desperately, but he wanted her to want him just as much, and he didn’t want to scare her.

  He smiled and slowly walked toward her, hoping to keep her from looking down. If she did, she wouldn’t have any doubts about what he was really thinking. “Why don’t you go sit in the living room and I’ll grab us a couple of beers?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” She returned his smile and turned away.

  Logan ran a shaking hand through his hair and slowly counted to ten.

  So much for her pathetic attempt at seduction.

  Amanda felt like an idiot.

  She had plenty of clean nightgowns, but she’d purposely chosen one of Logan’s silky shirts because she thought it might look sexy on her. It worked in the movies. Why hadn’t it worked for her? When he’d stared at her so long without making a move toward her, she’d started to feel self-conscious. Maybe he thought she looked ridiculous in his oversized shirt. She didn’t have a clue what he was thinking and she’d crossed her arms self-consciously, turning the conversation to hide her embarrassment.

  He walked into the room, carrying two beers. After handing her one, he sat down beside her on the couch. They faced each other, each with a leg drawn up and an arm resting on the back of the couch.

  They both took a few sips of their beers, then set them down on the coffee table. She put her hands in her lap and waited for him to say something. He stared at her so long she started to feel nervous again.

  “Karen told me there was an accident last night, but she didn’t give me many details,” she finally said.

  He blinked as if to bring her into focus, as if he’d been deep in thought. “The accident. Yeah, it had to do with Branson, actually. A car T-boned the police cruiser that was taking him to lockup.”

  She fisted a hand against her chest. “That’s terrible. Was anyone hurt?”

  “Two of my officers, but it looks like they’re going to be fine. We don’t know about the driver of the other car though. It was a hit and run.”

  “What about Mr. Branson?”

  He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “Frank Branson is missing.”

  “Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe he escaped. That’s so weird that something like that happened. What are the odds, huh?”

  He gave her a funny look as if he was surprised at what she’d said. “Yeah, what are the odds?”

  She drummed her nails against her thigh and looked toward the dark, empty TV screen. She thought about turning it on but she really didn’t want to watch anything. She wanted to do something, but apparently she was the only one.

  His warm hand gently closed around hers, stopping her nervous tapping. “Is something wrong?”

  She looked up, hoping to see some hint of the passion he’d displayed last night, after their kiss in the moonlight. But instead he was looking at her with concern. She clenched her fists in her lap. Had she really thought he would still want her after having time to calm down and think? She wasn’t beautiful, and she was damaged, inside and out. She was foolish to think he would ever really want to make love to her. “Nothing’s wrong. I guess I’ll head up to bed now.”

  “Me, too.” He stood at the same time she did. He moved back to let her pass ahead of him, and she walked toward the stairs with as much dignity as she could, knowing the thin shirt revealed more than it hid, and knowing that he didn’t want her now.

  She held her head up, refusing to worry about the peep show she was probably giving him as he followed her up. After living for years by herself with no prospects for a love life she didn’t exactly have any sexy underwear. Her purchases were ruled by comfort and her pocket book. Tonight, rather than wear sensible white cotton panties, she’d worn nothing.

  Let him look. She didn’t care.

  Midway up the stairs she thought she heard him groan. She stopped and turned around. His gaze jerked up to meet hers and he gave her a tight smile.

  She turned back around before he saw her answering grin. He certainly wasn’t looking at the stairs when she’d turned around, and his jaw was clenched so tight when he smiled it looked more like a grimace.

  Maybe wearing his shirt wasn’t a bad idea after all.

  She hurried up the last few steps, knowing the shirt would bounce higher that way.

  Logan cursed behind her and it sounded like he’d stumbled on the stairs.

  At the top she turned. “Are you okay? Did you lose your footing or something?”

  “Or something,” he mumbled. He climbed the last few steps and swept his hand out for her to precede him down the hallway.

  She was still ensconced in his master bedroom, which meant he would be going into the guest room he was staying in.

  Unless she did something about it.

  Now that she knew he was affected by her display, she was going to press her advantage. At the entrance to the guest room, she stopped and turned. She raised a hand high on the doorframe and leaned a hip against the wall.

  His eyes widened and his gaze dipped down where the shirt rode high on her thigh. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he jerked his gaze back up to meet hers. “Goodnight, Amanda.” His voice was raspy and hoarse.

  “Aren’t you going to give me a goodnight kiss?”

  His brows climbed into his hairline. “A kiss?”

  “Just one. Well, unless you want more than one. I suppose that would be okay.”

  “Unless I want . . .” His brows drew down in a frown. “Are you teasing me?”

  “Maybe.”

  His gaze bored into hers as if he could divine her thoughts if he looked closely enough. But he still didn’t make a move toward her.

  She stared back and realized this was the moment she’d been both yearning for and dreading since she’d first met him, since she’d first felt his strong, gentle hands grasp her shoulders and pull her back from a world of darkness, since she’d first heard his deep, sexy voice telling her what she’d longed to hear. You’re safe.

  She wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted anyone or even thought she ever could want anyone. But it wasn’t enough. He had to want her just as much, and that meant he had to be able to look past her scars. He’d already seen her at her worst, seen how confused and scared and irrational she could sometimes get when her fears overwhelmed her.

  He hadn’t run. He was still here.

  There was another hurdle to overcome if there was even a chance that there might be something deeper between them. Until this moment, she wasn’t sure she could face it, but now that the time was at hand, she knew she was ready.

  She just didn’t know if he was ready.

  “Logan,” she whispered as her hands moved to the top button of her shirt.

  He swallowed, hard, and his gaze followed her fingers as she opened the top button and glided her fingers down to the next.

  “Yes?” he rasped.

  “The scars, they’re—”

  His eyes looked up at hers. “You’re beautiful, Mandy. All of you.”

  “But you haven’t seen—”

  “I’ve seen everything that matters. You matter.”

  She blinked back the tears in her eyes. Then she grinned and dropped her hands. “Well,
in that case, if you’ve seen everything that matters—”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see more.” He reached down and whisked her shirt up over her head, throwing it to the floor before she realized what he was doing.

  She froze before him even though her instincts told her to grab the shirt and hide the ugly, puckered scars that crisscrossed beneath her breasts all the way to her navel.

  He looked her over with the intensity of a hawk, not missing a thing. “You’re amazing, Mandy. Perfect.” When his eyes finally met hers, the raw hunger and anticipation in his gaze reassured her in a way that words never could.

  How he could see her battered and scarred body and still look at her with such appreciation was a miracle she wasn’t going to question. Instead, she simply gave thanks and sank into his kiss when his lips touched hers.

  Suddenly his hands were everywhere, sliding across her skin, cupping her breasts, spanning out across her lower back to cup her buttocks, pressing her tightly against his erection.

  He broke the kiss, panting for breath. “If you want me to stop, tell me now, while I still can.”

  She watched his chest heave, listened to his ragged breathing, and felt an answering tightening in her lower belly. He looked pained, like he was struggling for control. She smiled and reached out her hand and splayed her fingers across the hard muscles of his chest.

  “Don’t stop.” She leaned forward and lightly sucked the curve of his neck where it met his shoulder. She ran the tip of her tongue across his skin, reveling in the salty flavor.

  His sharp intake of breath was her only warning. Suddenly she was in his arms and he was striding down the hall toward the master bedroom.

  When he reached the bed, he stripped off the covers with one hand and gently laid her down on the cool, soft sheets.

  He stood back, shucked off his shoes, and yanked off his socks. Next came his jacket and tie. Cuff links flew, pinging across the wooden floor somewhere behind him when he ripped his shirt off over his head.

  In a matter of seconds he was completely naked. Amanda gasped at her first glimpse of him in all his glory. He was extremely . . . impressive.

  He crawled into the bed and lay on his back. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her so that she straddled his stomach.

  She reached down and ran her thumb across his lower lip, shivering when he lightly bit down on her finger. “You’re so . . . well-proportioned. I’m not sure you’ll fit,” she teased.

  He laughed. “You do know how to flatter a man.” He reached up and slid his hands into her hair, pulling her forward until she lay with her breasts pressed against the soft wiry hair of his chest. His lips moved across hers in a slow, sensual slide, and his tongue swept inside, branding her with its heat.

  Without breaking their kiss, he rolled with her, pinning her back against the mattress. His forearms supported his weight and his knees anchored her on both sides of her thighs. When he pulled back, she opened her eyes and looked into his. She wondered at the serious look that drew his brows down into a frown.

  “Is something wrong?” She wasn’t innocent but she might as well be. Her experiences were limited and happened so many years ago she could barely remember them.

  “I want this to be perfect for you, Mandy. Promise me if I do anything that makes you afraid or uncomfortable, you’ll tell me. I’ll stop.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a sardonic grin. “Even if it kills me, I’ll stop.”

  She flushed self-consciously. He must be worried she would freak out again. It worried her, too, but she wanted him so much. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life wondering what it might have been like to be with him if she backed out now. “I will. I promise.”

  His brow smoothed out, and he leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. Then he slid further down her body so he was face-to-face with the scars that crisscrossed her abdomen.

  She reached for the sheet and started to pull it over her, but he stopped her with a gentle, firm hand around her wrist. “Don’t. Let me look.”

  She didn’t understand why he wanted to look at her scars, but she trusted him. She released her grip on the sheet, and he flipped it out of the way. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss against one of the scars on the underside of her breast. The action was so tender, so sweet, that tears filled her eyes. He moved to the next scar and gave it the same, careful attention. Then he moved to the next, and the next, kissing and caressing each hurt, as if he could take away all the pain she’d ever suffered, telling her with his actions—far more than words ever could—that the scars didn’t matter. Not to him.

  By the time he’d finished, the tears were flowing hotly down her cheeks. He looked up at her and his face filled with dismay. He slid up her body, settling over her as he gently wiped her tears. “Don’t cry, Mandy. Please don’t cry,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers.

  “You make me feel beautiful.” She reached her arms up behind his neck.

  He pressed a whisper-soft kiss against her lips. “You are beautiful. Nothing and no one can change that.” He kissed her again, then gently turned her over so he could press a kiss to one of the scars on her back. He worshipped every nick, every cut, and she started to believe, really believe, that he might actually mean what he’d said. He thought she was beautiful. He wasn’t just lying to try to make her feel better.

  A peace unlike anything she’d ever felt settled over her—and joy, such tremendous joy—that she nearly burst with the feeling of it. She twisted in his arms, ignoring the surprised look on his face when she plastered her body against him and kissed him with abandon, worshiping his mouth the way he’d worshiped her body. Telling him with her actions what she couldn’t yet put into words, feelings she wasn’t even ready to admit to herself. She wanted him, so much it hurt, and he wanted her. For now . . . that was enough.

  Gone was the gentle lover. Suddenly Logan was wild, his skin burning hers with his heat as he kissed a fiery path down the side of her neck. His hands were everywhere, sliding across her skin, massaging, squeezing as he slid back down her body. There wasn’t a place he didn’t touch, a curve he didn’t worship. She writhed beneath him, her head twisting on the pillow when he reached the very heart of her and gave her the same, maddeningly slow attention he’d given her scars.

  She screamed as her climax rippled through her and she writhed against him, drawing her knees up and throwing her head back against the pillow as waves of ecstasy surged through her. Before the last wave of pleasure began to fade, he was kissing her again, slowly building that incredible pressure.

  “Now, I can’t wait any longer,” she breathed, opening for him, reaching down to position him at her entrance. When her hands covered him, he sucked in his breath and jerked beneath her.

  “You’re killing me,” he gritted out. He pulled her hand away, kissed the tips of her fingers. Positioning himself above her, he gyrated his hips, pushing into her ever so slightly.

  She groaned and pushed her hips up against him. “Do it, Logan,” she gasped. “I need you inside me. Now.”

  He shuddered against her. With one, quick, thrust he was inside her, filling her so fully that the sensual haze surrounding her began to dim. Attuned to her so completely now, he stilled, giving her body time to adjust to his size. Capturing her lips with his, he fanned the sensual flames again, expertly playing her body like a fine instrument, stroking her skin, building the tension until she had to move against him. The pleasure her movement caused was so exquisite, she moved again.

  Suddenly they were moving together, straining against each other, building the delicious pressure. His hips pumped against her as his thickness filled her, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her that he could, driving into her with abandon.

  He hardened even more, and she knew he was close to his climax. He reached his hand down between them and quickly brought her to that same frenzied edge, hovering on the precipice with him.

  He drove forward again in one, long, po
werful thrust, grinding his hips against her and sending both of them over the edge into ecstasy.

  When her heartbeat finally slowed and she could draw a normal breath, she opened her eyes. He was leaning on his forearms, looking down at her with an expression she could only describe as arrogant. “You look awfully smug, Logan Richards.”

  “You screamed my name four times. And you called me God twice.”

  She punched him in the arm. “I did not.”

  He grinned and pressed a quick kiss on her lips. He lay down beside her and pulled her up against him with his groin resting against the curve of her buttocks. “Go to sleep, woman. I need at least half an hour to recover before we make love again.”

  “Half an hour? Are you kidding?”

  “Well, maybe not that long. We’ll see.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Amanda awoke sore, exhausted, and hopeful for the first time in years. She’d faced her fears and had overcome them. The killer hadn’t won after all. And although no words of love had been exchanged between her and Logan, she had no doubts about her own feelings.

  She was hopelessly, irrevocably, pitifully in love with the man.

  She couldn’t quit smiling.

  Or humming.

  Which had Karen giving her funny looks over the breakfast table.

  But the glow didn’t last long. There was a dark pall over her happiness, evil waiting in the shadows to snatch away her dreams. Until the killer was caught, until she knew the man who’d brutalized her and had killed Dana could never hurt her or anyone else ever again, she’d never truly find peace.

  When Karen headed outside for one of her patrols around the perimeter of the yard, Amanda headed into Logan’s study. He’d set her computer up on a side table and she’d used it when she’d cataloged the evidence and created her program to help the detectives, but his laptop was sitting in the middle of his desk. For once, he hadn’t locked it away before going to work.