by C. B. Clark
“What the hell are you doing?” Declan stood in the open doorway scowling, a plastic bag in his hand. He slammed the door and rushed over to the bed. “You’re in no shape to be moving around.” He plumped the pillows against the headboard and raised his dark eyebrows. “Well, are you going to lie back down?”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to lie down.” She shifted her legs, preparing for another attempt at standing. “I shouldn’t be here. I should leave. I need to call the sheriff.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her, a stern expression on his all-too-handsome face. “You’re not going anywhere. At least, not yet.”
She opened her mouth to protest but was too sore to argue with him. “Did you find any ice?”
“Ice, I’m afraid, is one of the many amenities this motel lacks. I drove to the store down the block and picked up an ice pack.” He took out the small pack, squeezed the plastic to activate the chemicals inside, and placed the cooling pack behind her neck.
The relief was instant, and she lay back as the icy cold soothed the tightness.
“Here, take these.”
She opened her eyes.
He held a glass of water in one hand and two small, white pills in the other. “What are those?” she asked.
“Painkillers. They should help.”
She tried to hide the shaking of her hand as she took the pills and drank from the glass, but she could tell by the tightening of his mouth, he was all too aware of her discomfort. She closed her eyes again and waited for the ice pack and pills to do their work.
“How are you feeling?”
She opened her eyes at the sound of his husky voice, blinking in the bright light. “How long was I asleep?” She rubbed her eyes, her voice a sleep-fogged croak.
“An hour or so. I didn’t want to let you sleep too long in case you have a concussion. Are you feeling any better?”
She raised her head. There was tenderness, but not the stabbing shards of pain she’d experienced earlier. The agonizing pounding in her head had eased to a dull throb. “I do feel better. Thanks.” She glanced at her watch, shocked at the time. “I have to go.”
“Why?”
Their gazes met and held, and just like that it happened. Acute awareness arced between them, the air in the room charged with sudden sexual tension.
“Because…” She coughed, trying to clear the thickness clogging her throat. “Because I shouldn’t be here.”
His pupils dilated, drawing her into their chocolate depths. “You shouldn’t be here in my motel room, or you shouldn’t be in my bed?” His voice was rough, his breathing labored.
She shivered and drew the blanket to her chin as if the thin wool would protect her from the heat between them.
His lips curled in a sensual smile. “Let’s get you out of those damp clothes.”
She gaped. “What?”
The dimples in his cheeks danced. “You’re cold and your clothes are still damp from the rain. A warm shower will make you feel better.” His grin widened. “What did you think I meant?”
She flushed, warmth rushing along her neck.
“I promise I won’t peek.” His eyes twinkled. “There’re clean towels in the bathroom. The one good thing about this dump is there’s plenty of hot water.” He removed a white, terrycloth robe from a hook beside the door and handed it to her. “When you’re undressed, toss me your clothes. I’ll hang them to dry by the heater.”
Lying in his bed fully clothed was bad enough, but naked and showering in his motel room was asking for trouble…Declan McAllister trouble.
She shivered again, but whether from the cold or the hunger smoldering in his brown eyes she couldn’t tell. As if in a daze, she took the offered robe and tottered on wooden legs into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
The room was tiny, but clean. A pile of neatly stacked, fluffy, white towels sat on a chrome and glass rack above the toilet. The shower was spacious and inviting. The thought of hot water cascading over her body was too much to resist. She turned on the water, stripped off her damp clothes, and stepped into the shower.
She froze at a loud knock on the bathroom door. “What is it?” She leaned out of the shower and snatched a towel from the rack and wrapped the thick cotton around her naked body.
“Pass me your clothes.”
“Wait a second.” Stepping out of the shower stall, she grabbed the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, and holding the towel tightly to her breasts, opened the door just enough to pass her clothes to him. She slammed the door shut, clicking the flimsy lock in place. An image floated in the rising steam—Declan sharing the warm humidity of the shower, his naked, muscular body pressed against hers, clouds of vapor rising around them—
Stop! Think of Bonnie. Think what will happen if she learns you’ve been lying about her father. She shuddered, dropped the towel, and once again stepped under the hot, cleansing spray.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about him waiting in the room on the other side of the thin, wooden door. The attraction between them burned as hot as ever. From the first night when he’d stopped and helped her on the road, she’d fought the temptation. But each time she saw him, desire flared anew, and she found herself kissing him, touching him, and wanting so much more.
She angled the spray until the warm water pelted her face and stung her sensitive skin. If she didn’t get a grip and stop letting her libido control her, she’d destroy everything she’d worked so hard to build these past twelve years. Being here, alone with Declan in his motel room, was a mistake. A big mistake. As soon as she retrieved her clothes, she’d get dressed and get the hell out of here before anything she’d regret happened.
She turned off the water, dried herself, then put on the terry cloth robe, cinching the sash at her waist. The robe was made for a man Declan’s size, and the arms hung well past her fingertips, the hem reaching almost to her ankles. She inhaled, savoring his distinctive scent still clinging to the soft fabric. A vision of his naked body wrapped in the robe rose before her. She gulped as another wave of heat infused her.
Enough! The warning coursed through her like a dousing of icy water. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and stepped out of the steamy bathroom. “Thanks for the shower, but I have to go, I―” She stopped, the rest of her words forgotten.
In the time she’d been in the shower, the small motel room had undergone a transformation. The bright, fluorescent, overhead light was off, and the two bedside lamps lit, lending the room a warm, intimate glow. The television was tuned to a soft rock music channel. Her stomach rumbled at the heady aroma of hot, spicy food.
“I hope you like Mexican.” Declan gestured toward several grease-stained, cardboard cartons on the desktop. “I ordered some enchiladas and refried beans from Hector’s while you were in the shower. I thought you might be hungry.”
“It smells delicious.” She sniffed, inhaling a heady mix of refried beans, salsa, and fresh cilantro.
“Good.” He beamed. “Come on. There’s lots.” He dished up a heaping plate of food and held it out to her.
She’d made a vow in the bathroom to leave, but the meal smelled too wonderful to refuse. Besides he’d gone to a lot of trouble. It would be rude to leave so soon. “Thanks.” She took the plate and settled on the only chair in the room. She wouldn’t go near the bed. Not again.
He withdrew two bottles of beer from the mini fridge and handed one to her.
Again she wanted to refuse, but she accepted and smiled her thanks. The icy liquid slipped down her throat like silk, spreading fingers of warmth throughout her body. She took a bite of food. It was delicious, pungent, but not too spicy.
They ate in silence; the only sounds the music playing in the background and the gentle clicking of their plastic knives and forks.
When she finished, she tossed her paper plate in the garbage, picked up her bottle of beer, and sat back, watching him inhale a second plate of food. He’d always had a healthy a
ppetite, but the copious amounts of food he ate never affected him. As a teenager, his body had been lean and lanky. He was a man now. The broad width of his shoulders strained the thin fabric of his shirt, which did nothing to hide the hard planes of his chest where it tapered to a flat stomach. The well-developed muscles in his arms flexed as he ate. She licked her lips and nodded. He was a man, all right.
Warning bells clamored. She should leave, but her body refused to budge. What harm could a few more minutes do? She took another long sip of beer and watched him, enjoying the view. His hair was a tangle of glossy, dark curls; his face all angles and sharp bones, his firm chin hinting at his stubborn pride. Fine lines radiated from the outer corners of his eyes, adding to his rugged, good looks. Her gaze shifted to his mouth. His lips were soft and full. Those lips—
“What are you thinking?” He was staring at her.
She gulped. “I…I…” she stuttered, her face burning. “Nothing,” she finished lamely.
His lips, the ones she’d been studying so closely, curved in a knowing smile.
Her face heated even more.
“It’s time we talked,” he said. And just like that, the mood in the room shifted. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened as he frowned.
“Talk?”
“After you get dressed, I’ll take you to the sheriff. You can tell him about the vehicle that crashed into you, and we’ll give him the piece of scarf I found in your car.”
She sucked in a quick breath. The scarf! She’d forgotten all about it. “Is it still in your coat pocket?”
He nodded.
“What if…” She swallowed, and breathed in a lungful of air. “What if we didn’t show it to the sheriff? What if we hid it? Pretend we never found it.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
She tightened her grip on the bottle of beer. “If the sheriff finds out we have another piece of Skye’s scarf, he’ll arrest you.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “You know I’m right. He’ll charge you with murder.” Her insides knotted. What was she doing? Was she actually suggesting they suppress evidence in a murder?
He shook his head. “I can’t let you do that.”
“But—”
“That’s obstruction of justice. You’d be committing a crime.”
Again, she started to speak, and again, he stopped her.
“I appreciate the offer, but there might be evidence pointing at the killer on the cloth.” He jutted his chin. “I couldn’t live with myself if the killer got away because I was afraid.”
A protest died on the tip of her tongue. She knew that look. He’d made up his mind. Nothing she said would make a difference. “Okay, but I’m telling the sheriff the truth. Someone else put that piece of scarf in my car. I’m not letting you take the blame.”
He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and smiled. His eyes crinkled. “You are something else.”
Once again the vibe between them altered, and she blinked, her chest tight.
“Back in high school, when we broke up, I was upset.” He shrugged. “More than upset. I was furious, and I wanted to hurt you like you’d hurt me. It was why I asked Skye to the prom.”
“I was hurting too.” Hurting? She’d been devastated; especially, once she’d found out she was pregnant with his child. He’d deserted her when she’d needed him the most.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked her, but I knew if I took Skye to the prom you’d hear about it. I wanted you to feel as bad about our breakup as I did. I guess I thought you’d come crawling, begging me to take you back.” He smiled sheepishly. “What can I say? I was a teenage boy with a broken heart.” He ran his fingers through his hair, rumpling the gleaming locks. “I should have tried harder to make our relationship work.”
“We were kids,” she said, her throat thick. “We didn’t think through our actions.”
“Being young isn’t an excuse. We wouldn’t be where we are today if I hadn’t been so damn stubborn.”
Tears stung her eyes. So many secrets, so many lies lay between them, creating an insurmountable barrier.
He shook his head. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t broken up?”
She couldn’t count the times she’d lain awake at night and thought of how different her life would have been if they’d stayed together, if he hadn’t taken Skye to Prom, if Skye hadn’t been murdered. But all those life-changing events had happened. Declan had created a life for himself in Dallas, and she had Bonnie.
But she couldn’t tell him any of that, so she faced him and prepared to tell the second biggest lie of her life. “No, I’ve never thought what our lives would have been like if we’d stayed together. What would be the point? Life is what it is. I’ve moved on and so have you.”
His gaze captured hers and held, as he slowly advanced until he towered over her.
The air sizzled between them.
“I don’t believe you, Carrie Ann. You can’t tell me you’re not feeling what I’m feeling.” Taking her hand, he drew her to her feet and pulled her close.
The bottle of beer in her hand slipped and crashed to the floor, spilling frothy liquid across the worn carpet. They ignored it. Her breasts brushed against his chest, her thighs against his. Her heart hammered in her chest, threatening to burst free.
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything.” His voice rumbled through her, igniting deep vibrations in every cell. “I see the desire in your eyes. You want me. You want this.”
Acting on overpowering need, she leaned into him, brushing her lips against his, a mere breath at first, but then deeper and deeper still.
His arms tightened, and he drew her closer. The rapid staccato of his heart beat in sync with hers.
The kiss deepened. A moan filled the air. Had she moaned? Had he? Did it matter?
She stood on tiptoe and rubbed her breasts against the firm wall of his chest, reveling in the sensation of soft flesh against hard muscle.
Her nipples hardened into aching points. She stroked his back, his shoulders, tangling through the silky hair at the back of his neck, as she reacquainted herself with his lean hardness. All so familiar, yet so different.
A whisper of unease trembled through her. Stop. Now. Before it’s too late. She edged away from his heat until a breath of cool air separated them.
He loosened the tie at her waist and slid his hands inside her robe and rubbed the small of her back, his callused fingers sliding across her skin, raising goose bumps. His lips found the sensitive spot below her earlobe, and she mewed in delight, silencing the warning sirens.
She wanted this. Needed this. To hell with tomorrow. To hell with consequences.
His fingers fumbled as he opened the robe, exposing her nakedness to his fervid gaze. “You’re so damned beautiful,” he husked, his eyes liquid chocolate. “So beautiful.” He cupped her breast in his hand. His thumb flicked across the sensitive nub.
She moaned and arched her back.
He lowered his head and took her other nipple in his mouth.
The moist warmth enveloped her, and she caught her breath. Electricity, wild and fierce, arced between them. When he flicked his tongue across the sensitive tip, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on, lost in a haze of desperate need. Her one thought, more, give me more.
Chapter 21
She opened her eyes, blinked at the strange surroundings, and then remembered. Everything. Heat burned up her neck and seared her cheeks. She was in Declan’s motel room. In his bed. After a quick glance at the empty space beside her she blew out a breath. Her relief was short-lived as she peeked under the covers and saw her naked body. She groaned.
Sitting up, she held the thin sheet against her breasts. Muted daylight filtered through the edges of the floral curtains covering the window. The sounds of the shower running drifted from under the closed bathroom door. She sank back on the bed.
He’d be out soon. What wou
ld he say? What should she say? She shifted, tugging the sheet tighter and bit back a groan. Her body ached in places she hadn’t thought of in years. The reality of last night sank in, and a knot tightened in her stomach. Maybe she could sneak out before he finished showering.
She climbed out of bed, tugged the top sheet free and tiptoed across the room to the heater where her clothes were hanging.
The door to the bathroom opened, and a cloud of steam billowed out.
She yelped and grabbed at the sheet, holding the rough cotton like a shield in front of her nakedness.
Declan stood framed in the doorway, a white towel slung low on his narrow hips.
She swallowed, her mouth dry. She’d been wrong. He didn’t have a six-pack. Oh, no. The hard, defined muscles in his abs were definitely a solid eight-pack.
His mouth curved in a sensual smile. “Good morning.”
She gulped. “Hey.”
Not hiding the fact he was mentally stripping the sheet from her naked body, he caressed her with a heated gaze. His grin deepened. “Do you want to order breakfast, or—” He arched his dark eyebrows, making his unspoken suggestion clear.
She tightened her hold on the sheet. “Er…no, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure?”
“I should go.”
His heavy-lidded gaze was full of sensual promise.
“I really have to go.”
After another long minute, he nodded. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll take you home.” He walked back into the bathroom, leaving the door open. The sound of fabric rustling on bare skin drifted into the bedroom.
She patted her cheeks, struggling to cool her burning skin. Grabbing her clothes, she yanked them on. Her fingers fumbled with the snap on her pants, the catch on her brassiere, and the buttons on her blouse. She ran a hand over her hair and was waiting by the door when he exited the bathroom a few minutes later, fully dressed. She swallowed, her mouth dry. How did he look so damn good in faded jeans and a rumpled T-shirt with the dark shadow of beard on his rugged cheeks?
“Ready to go?” He tilted his head.
She nodded.
He stepped closer, his boots brushing the tips of her shoes.