by Debra Cowan
Her hand slid into his hair, guiding his mouth to hers. "Make love to me, Mace."
His gut knotted and his hand flexed on her waist. He was sure it wasn't smart. He knew he'd probably regret it later, but her breath whispered against his lips and sweet memories tapped against his heart. His lips covered hers.
Opening wider for him, she touched her tongue to his tentatively, revealing the same hesitation he felt. Want pulled tight in his belly. After a long, drugging kiss, Mace raised his head, his fingers stroking her cheek.
Warmth webbed around them, cocooning them in a private world that made it easy to forget what he should do. Her breasts nudged his chest and his legs were hot and hair roughened against her smooth ones.
He shifted and his arousal grew harder against her thigh. She angled toward him, slipping her leg between his, inviting him back to her, to what they'd shared last night.
He found he couldn't turn away from her. Right now, they had this moment. Still his head and body warred.
Reading his hesitation, Devon reached beneath the sheet and caressed his throbbing length. Doubt along with desire sharpened his eyes. She knew Mace was afraid to open himself up to her again, that he was hoping against hope, as she was, that things had changed for them.
She wanted to believe things had changed, wanted to ask if they could try again, but self-doubt still pricked at her. Could she be what he needed? For the rest of their lives? She never wanted to hurt him again, and being uncertain of herself could tear them both apart.
She slid her hand down the velvet heat, gently measuring him. He hardened in her hand and she laughed softly, uncertainly. "Yes?"
In answer, his hands moved into her hair and he tilted her face to his. His tongue plunged inside her mouth, mimicking the act his body longed to make inside hers. He pulled back from her, staring down at her lips, moist from his. How long can I keep you this time, Dev? How long before you walk away?
She seemed to sense that he was on the verge of withdrawal. She pressed her fingers over his mouth, the light dimming in her eyes. "Just love me. Please?"
Damn logic, anyway. He moved so that his body half-covered hers, and she welcomed him, her thighs opening to cradle him, her arms wrapping tight around him.
She looked up at him, her eyes misted with a loneliness that pierced his heart. Was she telling him goodbye? Or hello?
An urgency, a desperation spiraled through him, as if he knew he should take her quickly before common sense caught up to his heart again.
He wanted to stroke every inch of her, make her moan for him, take his time the way he had last night, but a sudden frenzy took him. His lips skimmed over her face, her neck, her breasts. He inhaled the scent of woman and honeysuckle, storing it away.
His hands stroked and moved over her in a furious quest to memorize, to capture the essence of them together and tuck away the memory for the future of long, hellish nights.
He wanted to take her, lose himself completely in her and, with the act, change the realities that bore down upon them with the relentless force of an approaching tornado. He tried to deny that his heart was split wide open, lying at her feet and waiting for her to pick it up and make him whole again. Running from himself, wanting to exist only in the moment, he reached for her, sliding one finger between her legs.
She was wet and waiting for him, moving her hands over him with the same desperate abandon. Spurred on by a compulsion he barely understood, he pushed her legs apart and lifted her hips to him. He thrust inside her, his gut caving at the tight, slick feel of her. Then something inside him stilled.
He knew this, he knew her. Whatever else happened, whatever threatened, right now there was only the two of them. An instant of forever.
He retreated, then pushed slowly into her, holding her close, one hand gently moving hair out of her face. He hadn't been able to tell her last night how just looking at her made his chest hurt. How her touch filled the emptiness in his spirit and how the scars of his heart had begun to heal as they came together.
And now, when he could read the doubts in her eyes, those words ached in his throat, along with a bittersweet stab of pain in his heart. He had fallen in love with her again.
But his love hadn't erased her fear before. Perhaps she'd been right when she'd told him that maybe love wasn't enough.
How could he tell her that the color had disappeared from his world when she had? That everything to him was a dull gray until she'd walked back into his life?
He couldn't tell her because nothing between them had changed. But he let her feel with each stroke of his body that he'd missed her. She let him glimpse the raw pain that still branded her heart. In her eyes, he read the surrender, the wish that they could be this way forever.
He gave her his strength; she lent him her gentleness. He moved inside her, slowly, deliberately, fighting his own release until she shuddered in his arms and gave a soft cry.
Only then did he allow his own climax. He gathered her even closer, pushing into her, feeling his heart tear and heal at the same time.
Their gazes locked and a teardrop spilled down her cheek. He kissed her gently, his own eyes stinging. As his body stilled, he held her heartbeat next to his, aching for her doubts, for the uncertainty of their future and for the love they would never voice.
* * *
Apprehension flicked along his spine like the prick of a needle. Mace hoped to hell O'Kelly called soon. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last with Devon.
He didn't know if she regretted making love to him, but he'd decided they had made things more difficult on themselves. No words of love had been spoken; no promises made, no plans. He didn't want to have regrets, but they stalked him like a starving dog.
She had said nothing about Josh, and Mace wanted her to tell him that she was finished with the accountant. But she didn't. And he didn't ask.
They showered, cleaned the cabin and the deck. Mace wondered if Devon felt as strange as he did. They shared a silent intimacy, but at the same time tension bound them, sharp and prickling.
"Mace, I—"
The phone trilled in the quietness and they stared at each other. What had she been about to say?
He studied the shadows in her eyes, wondering if she'd needed reassurance about the case. Or about them. Them? Hell, there was no them. "It's okay."
She nodded.
The phone rang again. Suddenly Mace hoped fiercely that the person on the phone wasn't O'Kelly. Which was crazy. They had to go back to the real world sometime. Both Devon and he had to move on with their lives, whatever direction that might be.
The phone rang a third time and Devon bit at her lower lip.
Mace gave a crooked grin and flipped up the receiver.
"Yeah."
She stood quietly nearby, twisting her fingers.
"Yeah," Mace said into the phone, his features growing hard. "Sit on 'em until I get there. I want Martressa myself." He hung up, meeting her gaze across the few inches that separated them. "It's time."
Mild surprise flared in her eyes then she nodded, squaring her shoulders. "Tell me."
He still couldn't get used to sharing the details of his job, even if they did involve her. But he knew now that she wanted to know, wanted to deal with it. "O'Kelly says the leak was in Special Projects."
"What's that?"
"A division of the police department that handles Vice and Narcotics. The secretaries there type all the reports, take care of the warrants. It makes perfect sense. They have access to everything."
"So, someone in Special Projects knew each time you guys planned to get Martressa and told him?"
"Right."
"Why? Why would someone who works for the police do that?"
"This woman, Karen Ross, has a drug habit. Evidently, she was very careful, because no one in Special Projects had a clue. She's worked there for years. I don't know how long she's been giving information to Martressa in exchange for drugs, but she has to have been the leak y
our dad discovered."
"That's why he was killed?"
"Probably."
"And you're going after this guy yourself?"
He nodded, gauging her reaction closely.
Devon studied him soberly, uncertainly, and he knew she was struggling to deal with the fact that he was going to face the man who'd killed her father.
He held her gaze. "It'll be okay. We'll get him."
"Will you be safe? You won't go alone, will you?"
He paused, surprised that her questions concerned him rather than what would happen next. "No, I won't be alone. I'll have plenty of backup."
"Good." She closed her eyes briefly, as though steeling herself. Then she reached for his hand. "I have no right to ask, but will you help me? Just through the trial?"
He should've hesitated, but he didn't. "All the way."
"Thank you."
He drew her into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and staring out over the calm, clear water. All hell was getting ready to break loose. He hoped her tentative new confidence would hold up until the end of the trial.
He didn't see how he was going to walk away from her again, but right now his only concern was being there for her. He owed Bill. He owed Devon. And somehow he felt he owed it to himself.
* * *
She didn't speak much on the trip home. And she didn't let go of his hand. He wanted to ask her where they stood, but instead he recalled the look in her eyes as they'd made love. She loved him, whether she'd said the words or not. He loved her, too.
Which didn't count a damn, since he couldn't shake this anxious feeling that any moment she might leave him again.
As they drove, Mace's patience with himself and Devon grew short. So when this was all over, they were just supposed to walk away from each other? He didn't want that, but he couldn't escape the fear deep in his gut that if he admitted his feelings to her, she would leave him again.
This was not the time to discuss it. Bracing herself to face Diamond Dale and Terry Carroll at the station was taking all her energy right now. Mace's forced helplessness dragged along his raw nerves like a sharp piece of glass.
"Mace, I want to tell you something."
"Sure." He kept his attention on the road, resolutely refusing to look at her sweet face.
She took a deep breath and turned in her seat so she faced him. "I don't want last night to be the end for us. Again."
His gaze swerved to hers and he nearly drove off the road. "Devon—"
"Please, just listen." She took another deep breath, her brow furrowing. "I'm not asking for another chance. I don't know if you can give me one, but I want you to know that I'm different now."
"I know that."
She looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap. "I love you, Mace. I never stopped, but I can't say with certainty that I'm cut out for this kind of life. I want to be. I want to try, but I wanted to try before."
"You've changed, Dev. Really changed." Mace glanced at her eyes, cloudy with turmoil. "Even I can admit that."
"Yes, but is it enough?"
He wanted to say yes. He wanted to convince her that they would do fine. "I don't know."
"This police stuff is pretty intimidating." She gave a small laugh, then sobered. "I can't even say I trust myself not to walk away again. I certainly don't expect you to trust me."
Trust. His heart and head still battled over that one.
"I desperately want to be what you need," she said wistfully. "I wanted so badly to believe it was possible last night."
"Is that why you … wanted to be with me?" His voice tightened and pain cinched his middle.
"No!" She gripped his hand tighter. "Absolutely not. But how can I promise that I'll be what you need when I'm so unsure of myself?"
Last year he would've said he was sure enough for both of them, but he'd learned that love didn't work that way.
Giving an embarrassed laugh, she looked away. "I'm spilling my guts here. I don't expect you to do the same. I just wanted you to know how I felt." She searched his eyes, her own full of torture and frustration. Her voice thinned with regret. "I couldn't bear to hurt you again."
Mace couldn't bear it, either. He wouldn't let her hurt him. On the other hand, he wanted to believe that this time she wouldn't.
Slowly he had come to see the strength that threaded through her in soft velvet strands to form a steel core. Over the last several days, he had seen a new calm enter her eyes as she accepted a situation and fought to handle it.
He couldn't bring himself to reject her, but neither could he completely surrender his heart. "There's a lot going on, Dev. Why don't we just quit talking about it?" His voice was harsh with frustration and he tried to gentle his next words. "Let's concentrate on Martressa, for now."
She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "All right."
It was all he could do to steer the car north toward Oklahoma City. Every protective instinct in his body urged him to drive anywhere but home, so she wouldn't have to deal with the rest of this mess.
Uncertainty hammered through him, and Mace wished he could dismiss his own misgivings, wished he could focus instead on the rightness of what they'd shared last night—the honeyed velvet of her skin under his tongue, the passionate abandoned woman she'd become beneath his hands. But her self-doubt reflected his and unsettled him.
Yes, he had fallen in love with her again, but his head told him to walk away. Despite that, Mace would not let her face the coming trial alone. Whatever he had to do to protect her, he would. Regardless of whether it jeopardized the case or his job or his heart.
As they entered the city and neared her house, uneasiness sifted through him. After all this time of telling her not to be afraid, of reassuring her, of believing that together they could face anything, he found fear sidling in.
Besides that, he worried about how Devon would handle herself if there were more threats between now and the trial, if things became violent.
After what had happened at the motel last night, he had to consider it. Devon was still testing herself. She'd been right not to make promises last night. Or today.
Dusk sifted across the sky like black powder as they pulled into the drive of her house. She had wanted to change clothes before they went to the police station, and Mace indulged her. A few minutes wouldn't make any difference.
"What's going to happen when we get to the station?" He started at her question. Slanting his gaze to her, he noted the tense white lines around her mouth, the way she laced her fingers together.
"You'll go into a room divided by a two-way mirror. On the other side will be a lineup of men. They can't see or hear you, so take your time."
She nodded, her eyes huge and luminous in the fading daylight.
"You tell us if you recognize any of them as being in your house the night your dad was killed."
"You mean, tell you which of them shot him?"
His eyes widened. He still hadn't become accustomed to her new blunt way of stating things in order to deal with the reality. "Yes."
"That's all?"
"Yes."
She took a deep breath and met his gaze, her eyes lighting up. "I can do that."
"Yes. You can."
"One step at a time."
Resisting the urge to pull her close and swear that he'd let nothing happen to her, he grinned.
She grinned back, and sensation kicked in his gut. He wanted to haul her to him and kiss her until they both forgot which way was up, but that would only muddy things more. He opened her front door while she picked up several newspaper flyers that had been deposited in her absence. He switched on the front-porch light, but no light came on.
"Oh, that bulb must've burned out again," Devon murmured.
That was probably exactly what had happened, but caution edged along Mace's nerves. He pushed open the door and motioned her to stay put. "Let me go in first."
"Okay." Even in the dim light, he could see the apprehensio
n in her eyes.
"It'll be all right."
She nodded.
He stepped into the house.
"Mace, I'm going to tell Josh I don't want to see him anymore."
He halted, surprise and pleasure surging through him. He couldn't stop the grin as he glanced over his shoulder. "Got any more plans I should know about?"
"Maybe," she said softly, her eyes flashing with promise.
That damn hope flared again. "Works for me."
He stepped into the living room and flipped a switch. The lamp in the far corner flared to life.
Devon stepped in behind him, waiting in the doorway as he scanned the room. "I'll be glad when this is over."
"Me, too."
Mace spied the colorful rag rug that lay between the living room and the kitchen, noting that one corner was flipped up. He felt it then—a shift in the air, a new static that he hadn't noticed when they'd first entered.
The spot between his shoulder blades prickled.
"Get out!" He wheeled back toward Devon.
"What?"
A gun fired from the direction of the hallway, and Mace flung himself in front of her. A bullet burned past his ear. Devon cried out. The lamplight died.
Mace slammed into Devon, knocking her to the floor and covering her body with his. Pain exploded in his head as he reached for his gun. "Stay down, baby."
Footsteps rushed through the kitchen, toward the back door. Mace's movements became slow and groggy. No, his mind screamed. No!
"Mace?"
Devon's voice was faint beneath him. Jagged pain tore through him. He squeezed off a shot.
He heard a grunt, felt himself slipping. Heard the rush of retreating footsteps, the grate of the back door. Devon was beneath him, her breath and body warm against him.
Alive.
He slumped atop her. "Dev…"
* * *
Chapter 13
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Fear iced her veins.
"Mace?" Devon clutched at his arm, biting back the scream that threatened. "Mace?"
He didn't answer, didn't respond, but she could feel his chest moving shallowly against hers and she sobbed out a breath of relief. What was wrong with him?