“What are you doing?” the woman asked, fear and distrust in her eyes.
Alex returned and offered her the ice pack. “This will help keep down the swelling.” Without touching the woman, he led her to the sofa and gestured for her to have a seat.
Taylor trailed behind them. Her stomach rolled with nausea. Wherever she looked in the tiny room, her eyes met with the results of violence. The broken picture frames, the tipped-over chair and several broken dishes portrayed all too clearly that once again a man had lost his temper and taken out his rage on a woman.
Taylor reminded herself that she was no longer helpless. She had a permit to carry a deadly weapon and possessed the skill to use it. She’d also spent years in the gym, learning how to defend herself with her bare hands against stronger opponents. She was no longer the child that her brother had beaten. No longer the woman that her husband had cheated on. So why couldn’t she rid herself of the bitter taste of fear, of dread, of wanting to hide?
“What’s your name?” Alex asked the woman with a tenderness and courtesy that tugged at Taylor. She knew Alex well enough to recognize his outrage, yet he was doing what he could to allow this woman her dignity.
“Donna. Donna Willard.”
“We’re from the embassy,” Alex explained, “and here to check up on your husband’s absence from work today.”
“He was fired,” Donna sobbed.
Mark Willard had not only beat his wife, he’d lied to her. Willard would not have been on the absentee list if he’d been fired. Had his supposed firing been his excuse to hit his wife? Taylor shook her head. Most abusers didn’t need an excuse to lash out. In their sick minds, the woman always deserved the beating.
“Do you know where he went?” Alex asked without anger. But Taylor knew the effort it cost, saw him flex his fingers into a fist and then release them.
“You can’t send the police after Mark,” Donna insisted, her tone rising in panic.
Alex frowned but kept his tone calm. “Why not?”
“Because.”
Alex shot a puzzled look at Taylor. Clearly he didn’t understand, but he didn’t want to say more and make the situation worse.
Taylor understood all too well and sighed. “Your husband threatened you, didn’t he?”
“He said if I called the cops, he’d make bail and come back and kill me.” Donna raised her tear-stained cheeks to them and spoke around the ice pack. “And don’t tell me to get a restraining order. I already have one.”
“You might try going to a shelter. They can protect you better.” Taylor reached into her purse, pulled out a card and tucked it into the woman’s hand. She wanted to do more, but this was a step that Donna must take for herself. And Taylor knew all too well how hard it was to admit to yourself that you’d done everything you could—and failed. Somehow the batterers always made the victims feel guilty. If they could just behave correctly and do the right thing, the man wouldn’t get angry, wouldn’t hit them.
Taylor understood the psychology; refused to allow herself to be trapped in those feelings of helplessness again. She reminded herself she was here to do her job, not to rescue a woman from abuse—especially a woman who didn’t want to be rescued.
“Was your husband home last night?” Taylor asked, curious as to whether Willard had an alibi for the time of the embassy arson.
“That’s why he hit me. He came home reeking of smoke, and I asked where he’d been.” She sniffed. “He assumed I was questioning his fidelity. Like I care. I’m happy when he isn’t here. I was just trying to make conversation, but I should know better than to ask questions after he’s had a hard day. And then when I told him someone else came by asking about him, he was furious that I gave out personal information.” She blew her nose on a tissue. “I probably shouldn’t be talking to you, either. If Mark finds out… Maybe you should…”
Alex picked up the questioning where Taylor had left off. “Who came by asking questions?”
Donna shook her head. “I don’t know. He said he was from the embassy, too, and that he needed to talk with Mark about a special project.”
“Did he speak with an accent?” Taylor asked.
“Yes.”
Taylor tried to keep the eagerness from her voice. “What did he look like?”
“I just glimpsed him through the peephole. He had dark hair and was overweight.”
Taylor wished they had photographs of the general, the secretary of state and the security chief so that Donna could pick out the man she’d spoken to. However, even if the woman could identify the caller, the man’s reason for coming here could have been legitimate. Mark Willard could have been working on a project with any of their suspects. And the security chief could have been checking on him out of curiosity, just as they were. “Did your visitor wear a uniform?”
Donna shook her head. “Please, you need to leave now. Okay?”
“Okay.” Taylor stood, feeling obligated to ask one more question although she didn’t expect a reply. “Do you have any idea where we might find your husband?”
“After we fight, he goes to his slut’s house.” Donna surprised her with the direct answer. When she leaned over and wrote down the address with a shaking hand, Taylor wanted to hug her but she knew by Donna’s squared shoulders that she didn’t want pity or sympathy. “I wish he’d divorce me and marry her. Then he might leave me alone.”
Taylor touched Donna’s hand, reminding her of the card with the shelter address that she held like a life-line. “There are good people ready to help you. But you have to let them know you want help.”
“Please, just go. And if you find Mark—”
“We won’t tell him we’ve spoken to you,” Alex assured her, astutely guessing at her concern.
Behind them Donna shut and locked the door. Taylor squinted at the address in the failing light. “His mistress lives less than a mile from here. Convenient for him. We can walk there.”
Alex looped his arm through hers. “A walk will do me good.”
She heard the tightness in his tone, the outrage he was trying hard to control. Taylor knew he probably felt like punching the batterer. She’d like to give the man some of his own back herself. And the thought freed her—freed her from the fear that she would ever put up with abuse again.
She held on to Alex’s arm, content to be walking at his side, feeling freer than she ever remembered feeling. Always, she’d avoided situations that had reminded her of her own past. She’d been hiding and there had been no need. She would never again be the helpless little girl that she’d once been. She’d known that intellectually, but now she knew it down to the marrow of her bones. She felt ready to face whatever the future held.
Her feet moved lightly over the sidewalk, her thoughts free to return to the case. “Just because Mark beats his wife and cheats on her, doesn’t mean he set fire to the embassy. But she did say that he’d smelled like smoke.”
“I know, but this is the first time that I’ve actually hoped someone that works for me is guilty.”
Somewhere in the last thirty minutes, Alex had lost his laid-back attitude. Donna’s battered face had disturbed him, yet he’d been gentle with the woman. And unlike most men, he hadn’t insisted on telling Donna what to do. Alex had exhibited remarkable restraint in the face of his fury.
“I’m proud of you,” she told him as they left the complex.
“I did nothing to help her.” His tone was filled with bitterness.
“You didn’t make light of her fears. You didn’t assume you knew how to handle her problems better than she does. You were gentle and kind and you gave her respect. That means a lot.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Sometimes that’s all anyone can do.” She stopped walking and took Alex into her arms. She sensed that he needed the contact. She wanted to give him comfort, and she felt that she could use some herself. Her embrace may have surprised him, but he recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her
close. Last week, a tight embrace would have felt smothering—but not anymore.
Tonight his warmth and solidity felt good, and she reminded herself that some men were decent. Alex was more than decent. He had a kind heart, one that was hurting for someone he barely knew.
Without thinking, she tilted her head up, and the comfort of their embrace altered. At first she’d sought to give solace. Now she wanted to assuage her curiosity and share the heat flooding through her.
He kissed her with a tenderness that made her feel as fragile as blown glass. Wanting more than tenderness, wanting his passion, she pulled him closer, deliberately deepening their kiss, letting her mouth explore, reveling as his breath turned ragged.
Her heart pounded against his—but not in fear. Her heart beat with newly awakened desire, with a feminine wanting and heat that made her give as good and as much as she got. She kissed him back fiercely, hungrily, like a starving woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
She wanted Alex.
ALEX PULLED BACK from their kiss, jammed his sunglasses onto his forehead, desperate to look into Taylor’s eyes, needing to know she was just as overwhelmed as he. Their kiss had been electric, the arcing passion sizzling between them like an open current.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.
“We must.”
With her face tipped up to his, he watched her eyelids flutter open. Her pupils were dilated; her expression needy. He’d never thought she could want him—not with such unfettered abandon. And he’d never seen anyone so beautiful that the vision scorched him. Her cute little nose, her lips swollen from his kiss, and the wistful look of regret when he’d pulled back, had fired him into a blazing state of urgency that he’d never experienced.
She licked her bottom lip, and he almost lost his sense of reason. He almost forgot that they were standing on a public sidewalk. Her kiss, a kiss that held back nothing of herself, had him hot enough to think about dragging her into the bushes and tearing off their clothes.
Of course, he’d wanted her to come to him—but he hadn’t expected this kind of passion. And he intended to be very careful with the precious gift of her trust. “Sweetheart, I want you.” He considered rubbing his hips against her, wanting to show her exactly how ready he was to make love to her, but he didn’t want to offend her tender sensibilities. “But this is not the place.”
“Kiss me, again.”
He groaned. “If I do, I may not be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
“Can you hold that thought?”
“How long?” she asked, her voice melting over him like warm honey.
“Long enough to call a taxi and to find a hotel room.”
She kissed his chin, his jaw, his throat. “We have to go find Mark Willard, don’t we?”
“He can wait.”
“No. When I make love to you,” she told him boldly, “I want my full attention just on you.”
He groaned again. Walking wasn’t real comfortable right at the moment.
She tugged him down the sidewalk. “You know I never felt passion in my marriage. I felt trapped, pinned. Wanting to make love is a new experience for me. And I want us to make love. Soon.”
She sounded so happy. She had no idea that each step forward had become quite painful. And that every sentence she spoke made him grow harder with need. “Can’t we talk about this later?”
She ignored his request. “If that kiss was any indication, it’s going to be good between us, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t think. His thoughts spun, and no matter how hard his heart pumped, he remained light-headed as every drop of blood seemed determined to go south. Alex figured he must be so out of control due to his recent spell of abstinence. Taylor’s kiss couldn’t be that special. One kiss had never before shot his testosterone to hell. But then he’d never kissed Taylor before.
Damn the woman could kiss. And kiss…
Gritting his teeth, unwilling to complain, he told himself he need merely think about—
“When we make love, can I be on top?” She giggled, mischievously and a little nervously.
—a cold shower. An icy cold shower.
“I’ve never…”
Her words must have elicited an unintentional growl or moan from him because she stopped walking and talking. From the streetlight shining on her face, he could see that her expression seemed uncertain. However, he couldn’t reassure her. He couldn’t yet speak.
“Are you in pain?” she asked innocently.
He grunted, desperately seeking to regain control of the primitive part of his anatomy that defied rational thought. She must have taken his grunt for a yes.
She lifted her hand to his forehead. “You’re warm. You aren’t getting a fever, are you?”
She had no idea what she’d done to him.
“It’s a hot night,” he murmured.
“Would you like an aspirin?”
He chuckled, but it came out a soft groan. She began to dig into her purse. He placed his hand on hers. “Aspirin isn’t going to cure me.”
“It’ll bring down your fever.”
For God’s sake, she’d been married. How could she not know what she’d done to him? If she just glanced at his crotch, she’d see the evidence of his desire, but no, she just kept looking into his eyes with concern and puzzlement. And if she was teasing, she hid it well.
She wrapped an arm around his waist as if fearing he would topple over. “Let’s just sit down on the curb, and you can rest, okay?”
He forced himself to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. But all he could smell was the light scent of her shampoo, the clean mint of her breath and a feminine aroma that was all her own.
“Sitting isn’t an option.”
“Okay.” She glanced at him again, then took out a tissue from her bag. Leaning forward, she mopped the sweat beading on his brow. At the same time her breasts brushed against his chest.
He moaned.
“You’re ill.”
“No.”
She leaned into him and placed her hand back on his forehead. “You’ve got a temperature.”
“That’s because I’m hot.”
She sighed. “You aren’t making sense.”
“I’m…hot…for you.”
She took out her cell phone and called a taxi. “Mark will have to wait. Just hold on. We’ll be inside an air-conditioned cab in a few minutes. Maybe you’re dehydrated and the heat is getting to you.”
“You’re getting to me.”
“You simply aren’t used to—”
Taylor. Or the potent effect she had on him.
Interrupting their discussion, the cab arrived as if it had been waiting around the corner. Before she told the driver to take him to the hospital, he took her hand and placed it on his very hard erection.
She gasped, then chuckled in understanding and embarrassment.
“Where to, sir?”
Taylor didn’t give him a chance to answer. Instead she boldly kept her hand in his lap. Apparently she wasn’t that embarrassed. “Take us to the nearest hotel.”
Chapter Ten
Alex had purchased condoms in the Hilton’s gift shop while Taylor had checked them in. As she slid the plastic key card into the lock of their room, impatience swept over him. When the green glow by the knob signaled that the card had done its job, he opened the door, wedged his foot inside, then swept a laughing Taylor into his arms and carried her over the threshold. She flung her arms around his neck, her eyes full of promise, and then she tugged his head down for another kiss.
Reluctance seemed a mood of the past but he warned himself not to move too quickly. He vowed to watch her vigilantly for the first sign of hesitation or distress. The task he’d set himself wouldn’t be an easy one. While he didn’t want to cause her to withdraw or to change her mind, he ached to rip off her clothes and thrust into her.
He told himself he wouldn’t lose control. He never lost
control. Giving and receiving sexual pleasure had long ago become a well-practiced art. But he’d never been this eager, not even his first time, when the chauffeur’s daughter had taught him about sex in the back seat of the royal car. He’d never felt this kind of desperation. Never had so much trouble kicking off his shoes.
Breathless, he somehow carried her to the bed. As she reached for the buttons of his shirt, he moved away and slipped the overalls straps from his shoulders. About to let them slide past his hips, he reconsidered. He didn’t want to shock her with his lack of underwear, but then he realized that wouldn’t be a problem, since they hadn’t stopped long enough to turn on the lights. With the curtains closed, the only real light flickered from under the hallway door and the room remained dim, intimate and snug.
“Come kiss me some more,” Taylor requested as she lay back on the bed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Alex kept the condoms, lost the overalls, yanked back the covers and scooted toward her where she lay on top of the spread. For now, he’d keep the covers between them. Needed the covers between them to hold back. Her hands on him during the taxi ride had him ready to go, but he needed to make sure she was right there with him.
He kissed her, reminding himself that she probably hadn’t made love in a very long time. Which meant that he shouldn’t rush. He needed this to be good for her. But how could he think with her mouth urging him on, her hands eagerly exploring?
He broke their kiss, needing a moment to calm down. He tried to remember he had to go slowly.
Obviously impatient, she yanked her shirt over her head. Reached to unhook her bra.
He placed one hand over hers. “Let me.”
“You’re going too slowly,” she complained.
“I’m not going near slowly enough,” he chided her. “You’ve got a long way to go to catch up to me.”
He found a tender spot on her neck, explored her pulse and the delicate ridge of her collarbone, barely easing down her bra straps in a sensuously slow, spiraling tease. She arched her back, silently demanding that he take more.
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