by Diana Duncan
“You’re wiped out, too.” Her fingertips brushed the bandage on his forehead. “Not to mention injured.”
He opened his mouth to speak. She pressed her fingers to his lips, and his muscles tightened with the urge to kiss her fingertips, the soft skin on the back of her hand, her warm palm. He fought down his need. He could not touch her unless she told him she was his. Exhausted and vulnerable, they could easily start out seeking comfort and end up doing something she would regret.
“If you’re about to say, ‘it’s just a scratch,’ be warned. I’ll clobber you with the frying pan.” She didn’t look like she was kidding. Con bit back the words. He made toast and put on the teakettle so she could have peppermint tea.
When the eggs were done, they dished up two plates. She steeped tea, he poured orange juice for himself. They moved in perfect tandem in the small kitchen, as smoothly as if they’d lived and worked side-by-side for years.
Bailey exhaled softly. “I don’t have enough energy to sit at the table.”
They walked into the bedroom. She set her plate and mug on the nightstand and slid into bed. Con put his food on the opposite nightstand, and started to remove his jacket from the chair. Bailey patted the sheets. “No way. You’re as tired as I am.”
He climbed into bed, careful to keep his distance. She wanted reassurance, nothing more. Even so, his pulse kicked up. And he’d thought working so close to her in the cozy kitchen was torture.
They consumed their meals in silence, too hungry and exhausted for conversation. Bailey started to get up with the empty dishes, but he blocked her with his forearm. “Let me.”
She fell back against the pillows. “All right. But when you get back, we talk. We need this settled. Once and for all.”
His stomach flip-flopped. “Right.” He’d wanted her to rest first, but she seemed determined to have her say. He gritted his teeth against a backlash of pain. Once and for all. He prayed all the way to the kitchen her words weren’t prophetic.
Nerves jittering, he cat-footed back to the bedroom. Outside the door, he braced himself. No matter what she’d decided, he had to accept it. He didn’t have any arguments left. She’d seen and experienced the violence, the pain of his world firsthand. If she didn’t want to share it, he couldn’t blame her.
Braced for the worst, he walked through the door. “I’m ready—” He jolted to a stop. She was curled on her side…sound asleep.
So this was what death-row inmates felt like when the warden called at the last minute. Relief warred with disappointment. Had impending doom been merely forestalled? Or had he just missed out on receiving his heart’s desire?
He stripped off his clothes and changed into a pair of black cotton drawstring pants. Yes or no? Heartbreak or joy? Hearing the verdict had to wait.
He briefly considered sacking out on the couch, and dismissed it. If bad dreams assaulted her, he wanted to be nearby. The chair? Every exhausted, aching cell in his body protested. And she had invited him into her bed. To rest.
Con slipped under the covers beside the woman who owned him, body and soul. He could not keep from curving himself protectively around her. He draped a careful arm across her waist. Holding her close, pain slammed into him as he breathed in her rose-petal and peppermint scent.
Maybe for the very last time.
Chapter 16
10:00 a.m.
Con lay propped on one elbow, watching Bailey slumber. Bad dreams had disturbed her several times during the past few hours. He’d comforted her cries, and she’d finally succumbed to deep, dreamless sleep.
He’d awakened thirty minutes ago and slipped out of bed to stoke the fire. When he’d returned, Bailey had rolled onto her back, but continued sleeping. Her shiny curls glowed in the firelight. Long eyelashes curved in coppery crescents on her sleep-warmed cheeks. Slow breaths sighed from her softly parted pink lips. The bruises on her cheek had darkened, and the bandage on her neck looked harshly out of place on her creamy skin. Stark evidence of DiMarco’s cruelty to the most gentle, loving woman on the planet.
Con fought down a hot surge of anger. He needed to stay cool and levelheaded. Needed every cylinder firing at full capacity for the looming discussion. Needed all his strength to walk away from her if she demanded he leave forever. He drank in the sight of her sleeping beside him, barricading the memory deep in his heart. For now, for a stolen moment in time, she was his to love. To cherish.
All too soon, she stirred, and her long eyelashes floated up. Apprehension jittered up his spine. Reprieve over, pal.
Her puzzled blue eyes stared at him. She blinked. “Am I dreaming?”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “No. I’m here.” For the moment.
She glanced at the gloom crowding the lace-curtained windows. “I went to sleep.”
“Yeah, that happens.” Especially when you’d been hunted down like an animal for fifteen hours by gun-wielding killers.
She stretched, and her silky calf slid over his foot. A mere innocent brush of skin on skin, but his body instantly went rock hard. He jerked his foot away like she’d burned him. So much for cool and levelheaded. She yawned. “How long have we been asleep?”
“A couple hours.” Outside, the wind howled and sleet pattered the windowpanes. “It’s still storming.”
“Mmm.” She turned on her side facing him and snuggled against him. “It’s nice. Like being in a safe, cozy nest.”
She wasn’t nearly as safe as she thought, with her soft, sweet smelling body snuggled so close. Battling the overwhelming urge to kiss her, touch her, to make her his, he eased away.
“Where are you going?” She again moved close.
“Sorry, darlin’, my self-control only extends so far.” And raging hunger was rapidly consuming what little he had left.
The slow, trusting curve of her lips was as tempting as a banquet to a starving beggar. She chuckled. “That’s a bad thing?”
He didn’t respond, and she studied his somber face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is settled between us.”
She frowned, her expression confused. “What?” Her eyes widened. “Oh! I fell asleep too fast.” She flung her arms around him. “I love you!”
“I love you, too, baby. We’ve already established that.” The consolation prize before the big bad news. She’d told him she loved him in the diner. Then broken up with him. He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. He inhaled sharply. Since when did breathing hurt? “It didn’t stop you from breaking up with me yesterday morning.”
“Oh, Con.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
Agony slashed through him. The moment of reckoning. The thought of never seeing her again shredded his insides worse then he’d ever imagined, as if he’d eaten ground glass. “Sorry because you have to tell me to leave?”
She gasped. “No! Stay!” Her arms tightened. “Don’t go.”
Stay? Temporarily, to help her deal with the trauma…or for the long haul? “Be honest with me, darlin’, I can take it. After last night, can you be with me?”
“After last night, I can’t be without you.” She tenderly cupped his face. “You belong to me, and I belong to you.”
Pressure burned behind his eyes. His throat felt tight, raw, and he swallowed hard, not yet able to believe. “Will it eventually drive a wedge between us? Will you resent me, because you had to hurt someone on my behalf?”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m sorry it happened, and I’ll never forget what I had to do. But if DiMarco had let you go and walked away, he wouldn’t have been hurt. He chose his own fate.” She stroked Con’s face. “If I hadn’t stopped him, he would have killed you. It’s impossible to bargain with evil or compromise with corruption. I can live with my decision.”
A tiny spiral of hope glittered to life. “You can live with it, but will it haunt you?”
“Remember when you said you still see the face of every man you’ve killed in the line
of duty?” He nodded, and she continued. “That’s the difference between us and them. It’s easy for criminals to kill; they don’t think twice about taking a life.” Her smile was gentle. “When it haunts you…that’s how you know you’re one of the good guys.”
The constriction in his chest loosened. She understood the choices he faced every day. She had no doubts they’d both done the right thing. What an amazingly generous, intelligent woman.
Breathe. One more hurdle to jump. “What about seeing me shot, thinking I was dead? Can you live with that, day after day?”
“It’s an awful feeling I never want to experience again.” Bailey bit her lip. “However, you were right all along. All my planning was my way of trying to maintain control.” She snorted. “Ha! There’s no such thing. From now on, I will live in the moment. Live every moment. Every second with you is precious.” She drew a shaky breath. “I won’t waste any more energy worrying. If you’re hurt…or worse…on the job, then I’ll deal with it.”
He held her gaze. “I promise, Bailey, I will do my damnedest to come home to you every night. I won’t try to be a hero.”
“You already are. And you know what?” She touched the bandage on his forehead. “The world needs heroes.”
Hope soared into joy. He feathered his fingers through her silky curls. “No scars, darlin’?” he whispered.
Her smile widened. “Not a one.” She pointed at a thick volume on the nightstand. “There’s a quote in there by Noela Evans. ‘Challenge is a dragon with a gift in its mouth. Tame the dragon, and the gift is yours.’” She paused. “I didn’t understand it before, but I do now. I faced down my worst fears…and conquered them. The privilege of sharing one day with you is worth risking the pain of a lifetime without you.” Firelight flickered in her eyes. Within the warm blue depths he saw wisdom. Resolve. Complete peace. “Con…you’re my gift.”
His heart melted. He’d waited, longed for the moment when she would completely accept him for who and what he was. Once upon a time, he’d thought her as delicate as his mother’s porcelain dolls. But this woman possessed strength and fortitude beyond imagining. He would never doubt, never underestimate her again.
She studied him, her gaze somber. “So, are we okay?”
He grinned, relief and happiness making him feel like he was floating. “Better than okay, baby.”
“Good.” Her copper brows arched. “Because I think it’s about time you made love to me.”
Air exploded from his lungs. “Whoa! Where did that come from?”
She trailed a fingertip along his jaw, down his throat. He shivered under the sensual torture. “From the depths of my heart.”
His body thought it was a damn fine idea. His brain wondered if she was well enough. She’d been through the wringer tonight. “Don’t you want to wait until you’re feeling better? Until—”
She stopped him with gentle fingers on his mouth. “I’m tired of waiting. We’ve waited long enough.” She grinned impishly. “Who knows? There could be a giant, fiery meteor headed our way this very minute.” She replaced her fingers with her lips and kissed him, as hungry for his taste as he was for hers.
Brilliant stars burst inside his head. “Well, when you put it that way…” He kicked off the comforter. Between the fire crackling in the fireplace and the sparks crackling in his blood, it was plenty hot. And he wanted lots of room to maneuver.
“Oh!” She gasped, and he followed her horrified gaze downward, to the three black-and-purple bruises mottling his chest. “What happened?”
“It’s where the Kevlar vest absorbed the rounds. No biggie.”
“Thank God for Kevlar.” She bent and tenderly kissed each bruise. “My poor baby.”
Wherever her soft, moist mouth touched, his skin jumped and quivered in reaction. “On second thought, it kinda hurts here, too.” He pointed to his forehead, and she brushed her lips along his dark brow. “And here.” He touched his bottom lip.
She giggled. “There’s nothing wrong with your lips.” But she bestowed a kiss there, anyway.
“Mmm. I like your lips, too.” He slid his fingers into her hair and deepened the kiss, drinking in warm, willing woman and peppermint.
She caressed his shoulders, chest, then moved lower to his abs and stomach. He rolled to his back and let her explore. In spite of her lack of experience, she’d never been timid about touching him. Knowing her, she’d conducted meticulous research. His girl was thorough with every detail.
Hoo boy! He hissed in delight. Whatever books she’d been reading, he highly recommended them. His pulse kicked up and he fisted his hands. He wanted to pounce and devour her. Instead, he slowly released his breath. Forced himself to lie still. Don’t go all caveman and scare her. Go slow. Be careful.
The snap and sizzle of the flames faded as his world narrowed to only her. Her lovely face swam in his vision. Her uneven breathing sighed in his ears. Her intoxicating scent dizzied his senses. Heaven.
“I love your body.” She sighed, planting tiny kisses all over his chest. Her hair trailed over his torso, cool silk teasing his fevered skin. “So different from mine. All fascinating planes and angles. So strong, so hard.”
Con laughed. “Yeah, and getting harder by the minute.”
“I also love knowing I turn you on.” She grinned. “It makes me drunk with power.”
“You should be staggering, then.” He returned her grin. “By all means, have another round on me, darlin’.”
Bailey slid her palms up Con’s broad chest, reveling in his response. His body was a thrilling playground of contrasting sensation. Smooth, hot skin. Sinewy muscles. Crisp hair that tickled her fingertips. She kissed a meandering path from his ridged abs to his neck. His skin rippled under her touch, and his muscles bunched everywhere her lips touched. She nuzzled into his throat and inhaled his scent…fresh soap and warm, aroused man. Yum. She nibbled his earlobe, then blew softly into his ear.
He arched and groaned. The room spun, and without warning, she found herself on her back beneath him. His passion-dilated brown eyes danced. He grinned, white and wicked, and her stomach flip-flopped. “My turn to play.”
Embracing her with his gaze, he lowered his head, and their breaths met, mingled. Whisper-soft, his lips touched hers. He nibbled on her lower lip, kissed the corners of her mouth, the bow of her upper lip. Fleeting kisses, sweet with promise.
He moved closer, increasing the delicious contact. His tongue flirted with hers, withdrew. She sighed in disappointment. Twice more he enticed her with brief, unsatisfying forays until she emitted a frustrated moan. Immediately, he answered her need, cradling her head in his palm as his tongue glided inside her mouth. His taste rocketed through her, cinnamon and spice, dangerously arousing. Her body was alive with the taste of him, the scent of him.
His muscles taut with ruthless control, Con’s tongue stroked the inside of her mouth and dallied in intimate play. Slow and patient, his talented tongue teased and coaxed.
Desire built, need grew, and she gripped his shoulders. His body heat radiated through the thin fabric of her gown and his heartbeat slammed against hers. She drank in his potent, intoxicating kisses, craving more. So much more. Her breasts tingled, tight with need, and she rubbed against the hard planes of his chest. He groaned into her mouth.
Panting, he broke the kiss and eased back. “You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“So are you.”
“Nerves?” he asked, his expression gentle.
“Passion,” she breathed. “You?”
“Same here. Passion.” He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated inside her. “The word is hardly adequate to describe what I’m feeling. Whew!” He exhaled and rubbed his hand over his hair. “Before I lose all ability to think, I need my coat.” He leaned over and tugged his leather jacket off the chair.
“What?” Confused, she shook her head. “I never figured you for the shy type. A bit late for an attack of modesty, don’t you think?”
&n
bsp; He laughed. “Baby, I’ve got condoms in the pocket.”
She arched her brows. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I’d hoped.” He dumped a handful of bright gold wrappers on the bed. “So I came prepared.”
“Holy cow.” She goggled at the stack. “I guess so!”
His mischievous grin flashed. “Hope we don’t run out before the storm is over.”
“I dunno. I’ve got quite a list of activities for later.”
“And ‘later’ just arrived.” He kissed her, long and lingeringly. “Now that’s a ‘honey-do’ list I can get into.”
“Your honey appreciates your enthusiasm.” She tugged on the drawstring at his waist. “Can I help you out of those pants, Officer Sexy?”
Con’s grin widened. “You can debrief me any time.”
Her giggles dissolved as he knelt and his pants slid low on his hips. With quick, efficient movements, he stripped them off. He was perfect. Male beauty and grace, strong and powerful. She blinked in awe. “Wow.”
His fingers flirted with her ankle, stroked her calf and then glided along her thigh, sliding up her nightgown. “Now, let’s get this off.”
Con supported her with a hand behind her back, and she sat up. He eased the gown over her head and tossed it on the chair. Her cream-lace panties quickly followed. Naked, she lay back, smiling as his smoky gaze roamed over her. She’d expected to feel shy and awkward. Instead, rightness and peace filled her—as if she’d been born for this moment, this man. Indeed, she had. Her body knew she belonged wholly to him, as did her heart.
Con inhaled raggedly. “You are so beautiful.” He reached over and plucked a pink rose from the pitcher on the nightstand. Holding the stem, he brushed her lips with the soft, cool petals. She breathed in the sweet fragrance.
Holding her gaze, he slowly, gently trailed the silky blossom along her throat, and she shivered under the erotic sensation.
As light as a butterfly’s wing, he stroked the velvety rose in a straight line down the center of her body, just skimming the surface of her curls. From her thighs to the tips of her toes, he treated each leg to the sensual caress. Then each arm, from fingertips to shoulders. The rose wandered in a leisurely, languid journey over every inch of her, melting her bones.