by Maggie Price
“No,” she said, but the denial wasn’t as strong as she would have wished. “I don’t—”
“I think you do,” he murmured. With one hand, he cupped the back of her neck, his fingers warm and strong. For an instant the urge to retreat continued to hammer at her. And then need surged inside her. Overwhelmed, she slid her hand up the muscled planes of his chest to his shoulder, gripped there.
His mouth lowered, roamed over hers in warm, lazy seduction. She tasted the wine on his lips, dark and potent as she eased closer until her breasts fit snug against his chest.
She felt those hard, seeking fingers run up and down the back of her neck, filling her mind with images of them making a long, mesmerizing journey over her entire body. While she was distracted by them, his mouth became more greedy, pulling response from her before she was aware of the demand.
Blood thundered in her head; she couldn’t breathe, or think. All of the wariness and fear she carried in her vanished. In their place, rioting sensations sprinted. The tensed ripple of muscle under her fingers, the hot and demanding taste of his mouth, the thunder of her heartbeat that raced with dizzying speed. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers digging in, her body straining, her mouth as urgent and impatient as his.
The sheer power of her desire ripped through her. She moaned, a low, throaty sound that was as much demand as surrender.
She felt the change in him: the violent tremor in the hard body, the tightening of his arm, locking her against him. His free hand slid up the inside of her thigh, his fingers nudging beneath the fabric of her shorts.
“Let me,” he murmured against her mouth. “Let me have you, Regan.”
Overwhelming heat rolled over her. There was nowhere to run from the onslaught. Nowhere to hide. To escape to.
Her eyes slowly opened on the realization. Then reason broke through the smothering desire, bringing a sharp clarity about what was happening. What she was doing. Risking.
It didn’t matter that the lounge chair was on the outer edge of the dim lights. Or that they were behind Etta’s house on a secluded cove of the lake. What mattered was that Creath was hunting her. And if he tracked her here, chances were he’d also find out she’d taken a lover. Another man who Creath would perceive blocked his way to her.
Since the moment I met you, you’ve disappointed me, cher. I shared that disappointment with your fiancé. And your partner.
Creath’s face loomed up before her, vicious, taunting. How many more times are you going to disappointment me?
Fear burst inside her heart like a bomb. She clamped her fingers on Josh’s wrist, stilling his hand against her inner thigh. “No. Stop.”
He went still. Absolutely still. Against her breasts, she felt his heart pound. “Regan—”
“I can’t do this.”
He shifted his head back and she saw desire, the dangerous burn of it in his dark eyes. When she felt the same desire stab inside her, she shoved from his touch, pushing up off the lounge chair.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hollow. Ragged. “I just… I can’t.”
Still seated, he grabbed the wineglass, downed its contents, then set it aside. “Why can’t you?” he asked, his voice a cold snap on the heated air.
“It’s just…” She curled her fingers into her palms. “It’s not the…right thing for me to do.”
“Try telling that to someone who didn’t just feel you tremble against him,” he said, his dark eyes locked on her face. “It felt as right to you as it did to me.”
“Yes. Yes, it did.” She closed her eyes, opened them. “I’m sorry, Josh.”
He stood, walked to her, towering over her. “Exactly what are you sorry about?”
Everything. “For letting things get out of hand. I just…” She shoved a hand through her hair. “I should go.”
When she started to turn, he clamped a hand on her arm. “Want to know what I’m sorry about?” He loomed over her, a muscle clenching in the side of his jaw.
“What?”
“That you won’t trust me enough to tell me who you’re afraid of. I want you to tell me who you’re running from.”
A sick trembling settled in her stomach. “I’m not—”
“You are.” He locked his hands on her shoulders. “I’m a cop, I’ve seen plenty of women who’ve been abused. Isolated from friends and family. Most of them just stay and get used as punching bags over and over until the beatings kill them. Others—the smart ones—get the hell away, even if it means going on the run. Like you.”
“Let go.” Fear crimped her voice; sweat slid down her back as she struggled against his grip. “Let me go, Josh.”
“Tell me,” he insisted. “Tell me so I can help you.”
“Dammit, give me some air,” she said. “Some space.”
“All right.” His eyes narrowed. “But I warn you, if you try walking into Etta’s house without giving me some answers, I’m coming in after you.”
She raised her chin. “I’ll give you the answers I can give,” she said evenly. “You’ll have to settle for that.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then gave her a curt nod.
When he released her, she backed out of range. Abused, she thought weakly. He thought she’d been beaten, that she was on the run from an abuser.
Her legs unsteady, she turned her back on him, clamped one hand on the lounge chair for support. And, oh God, he was right, she realized. Creath hadn’t physically assaulted her, but he’d battered her mentally. Killed two men she’d loved and set her up to take the fall for one of those murders. He’d stolen her life, robbed her of the simplest of joys. Yes, she’d been abused.
Turning slowly, she faced Josh. It might be crazy, she thought, but she felt a sudden easing of the pressure in her chest just knowing that what she was about to tell him wouldn’t be all lies.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I’m running. Hiding from a man who abused me. Because of him, I’ve given up my friends, my job, my home, the life I had.” She dragged in a ragged breath. “People I loved.”
“Were you married to him?”
“No. God, no.” As she spoke, she watched the moonlight dance on the lake’s surface. “We were never lovers, although that’s what he wanted. I didn’t even know him all that well. But that didn’t matter—having me was an obsession for him. Is an obsession. An endless one.”
“Tell me his name.”
She closed her eyes a moment, then made herself open them and meet his. “The important thing for you to know is that if he finds me, it won’t be just me he’ll come after. It will be any man he perceives is blocking his way to having me.”
Despite the dim light, she saw the glint of battle settle in Josh’s eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
Steven and Bobby had felt the same way. And they’d both died because of Creath’s obsession. Without warning, grief washed over her. The pressure in her chest was so strong she had to consciously school every breath.
She gazed at Josh, so strong, so sure of himself. And in danger of dying simply by being with her.
“I know you’re trained.” Despair worked its way to the surface and made her tone sharp. “But the man who wants me is…dangerous.” She would go as far as she could with the truth, yet still keep her secrets. “I can’t be with you. It’s too big a risk.”
“Taking risks is a part of my job. My life. If the bastard who’s abused you shows up, I know how to deal with him.” His eyes locked intently on hers, probed. “You’re afraid. That’s understandable. I won’t let him lay a hand on you.”
“No.” She took a step back. “I’ll say again how sorry I am that I let things get out of hand between us.”
“I don’t want a damn apology. You’re under my skin, Regan, in a way no woman has ever been. I want to find out why.” He angled his chin. “Don’t you?”
She dropped her gaze. More than anything she wanted to explore the hot, greedy need for him that churned inside her. But
what she wanted could get Josh killed.
He took a step toward her. “We can’t figure things out if you turn your back.”
“I have to.”
“That’s it? You’re going to let some abusive bastard continue to play games with your life?”
“I win as long as he doesn’t find me.”
“Running scared doesn’t sound like winning to me.”
It was enough to keep her out of prison for a murder she didn’t commit. And alone for the rest of her life.
The thought of that, just the thought, had her fighting another swell of tears. “There can’t be a repeat of what happened between us tonight. I’m asking you to accept that. And I’d like your word that you’ll keep your distance.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. “You want my word I’ll stay away from you?”
She wanted it, because she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to resist him if he kept coming around. “Yes. You strike me as a man who, once he gives his word, keeps it.”
His eyes narrowed on her face. Now, he studied her with a cop’s scrutiny that had her nerves screaming. “You figure if I give you my word, I won’t view this as the equivalent of some rule I can figure out how to get around?”
“Basically.”
“I’m not in the habit of forcing women, so you don’t need to worry about me keeping my damn distance,” he ground out. He slicked his gaze toward the house at her back. “This morning you had your suitcase packed. You came here, intending to quit your job and say goodbye to Etta. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Were you leaving Sundown because you think whoever this guy is knows you’re here?”
“No. It’s just that…” You’re a cop and I’m wanted for murder. Her stomach knotted with fear, with longing. How was it possible to be swept away so quickly, to want so desperately what you knew you shouldn’t have? “It’s harder to find someone who moves around,” she said. “I’ve been in Sundown for six months. That’s too long. It’s time I leave.”
“Which you’ll do as soon as Etta gets well.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“And go where?”
“I won’t know until I get there.”
“Dammit, Regan—”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Wrong. You could choose to stay.” The heat in his eyes was so intense it could have thawed ice. “I can help you. All you have to do is let me.”
“You can’t. No one can.”
Turning her back on him, she walked away on legs that felt like glass, ready to shatter.
Chapter 7
“Did this Regan Ford name the guy she’s supposedly running from?” Nate McCall’s voice came over the phone mixed with a backwash of noise from the Oklahoma City PD’s homicide squad room.
“There’s no ‘supposedly’ to it.” Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, Josh tilted his chair back and propped his battered running shoes on the front porch rail. It was barely past eight; already heat hung in the still-as-death air. The sweet scent of the yellow roses tumbling from the clay pots lining the porch cloyed in his lungs.
“And, no, she didn’t give me his name,” Josh added. “She’s scared down to the bone. The only info she gave up is that he’s dangerous. And might not view my interest in her in a positive light.”
“Exactly what is your interest, bro?”
Josh shifted his gaze to Etta’s pale blue house. Before he’d left on his morning run, he’d lingered on his porch, hoping Regan would appear so they could jog together. Now, he’d finished jogging and here he was, back on the damn porch. He’d never before watched and waited for a woman. The fact that he did now made him scowl.
“I’ll tell you what it is when I figure it out,” he said.
“Has it occurred to you that the story she gave you might be a load of bull? That she’s hiding because she’s got more to conceal about herself than she let on?”
Have you broken any laws?
Not a one.
Something about her was niggling, bugging him, something Josh couldn’t pin down. But his sixth sense still sent the same message: she’d told the truth.
“If Regan Ford’s a criminal, I’ll eat my badge,” he said.
“That’d be tasty,” Nate remarked. “Since you have no idea what your interest is in her, why don’t you just back off?”
“Can’t. I’m compelled to keep my eye on her.”
“Sounds like you’ve had more than just your eye on Etta’s secretive bartender.”
You’ve got that right. He pictured Regan as she’d looked last night, sitting in the moonlight, her eyes closed, a glass of ruby-red wine in one hand. Raw lust had slammed into him the instant he’d seen her. Followed closely by the urge to get her naked and bury himself inside her.
Josh shoved his fingers through his hair, still damp from his run. “You know me, Nate. I’m a hands-on type of guy.”
“I also know there’s nothing wrong with getting up close and personal when both parties are free and consenting. But you’ve answered enough domestic calls to know they’re like dry kindling—takes one spark to set things off. You could wind up in the center of the inferno if this dangerous dude Regan Ford claims she’s hiding from tracks her to Sundown.”
“I’m not going to get myself into a bind.”
“This coming from the guy who just came off suspension.”
Josh’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t plant that evidence. Internal Affairs cleared me, remember?”
“They cleared you after they put you through a month of hell. And I never thought you planted the evidence. But a lot of cops were willing to believe it was you. Don’t forget how close you came to losing your badge, Stretch.”
Josh set his jaw at Nate’s use of the nickname Josh had earned while coming up through the department’s ranks. He was known for stretching rules, but never the law. Internal Affairs had ignored that distinction while investigating him.
“Look, Nate, I’m not stretching anything here. I’m doing what any cop does when he encounters a ‘person of interest.’ I need you to run a simple 28/29 check on Regan’s Mustang. Are you going to do that, or not?”
“Chill, bro, I’ll run the car. Any idea what you’ll do if it’s registered to someone else? Or comes back as stolen?”
Josh scrubbed a palm over his face. He’d spent the entire night thinking about Regan. Cursing her. Wanting her. Around dawn, it had taken every ounce of self-control not to stride across the lawn, walk into Etta’s house and demand Regan give him more answers. About her past. And her present feelings for him.
It wasn’t as if what was between them was all one-sided, he thought dourly. He knew when a woman was interested. And when Regan had been in his arms last night, trembling and kissing him back like there was no tomorrow, she’d been damn interested. He knew that, so why for the first time in his life did it matter that a woman confirm she was on the same wavelength as him?
“You still there?”
“Yeah,” Josh muttered. “Whatever info comes back on the Mustang, I’ll deal with it.” And because his mood was still raw from the way Regan had melted in his arms one minute, then as good as told him to get lost the next, he changed the subject. “How’s Paige?”
“Ms. Carmichael is as sexy and gorgeous as ever.”
Josh heard the unmistakable warmth in his brother’s voice. Oh, yeah, he was hooked like a marlin. “Sounds like your moving in together was the right thing to do.”
“An understatement. As a matter of fact, I was going to call you later today. When you get back to Oklahoma City, you need to get measured for a tux.”
Josh grinned. “So, you and Paige are making things legal?”
“You got it.”
“Congratulations. Although I can’t figure out why a smart woman like Paige would tie herself down to the likes of you.”
“It’s the McCall charm. Too bad you didn’t inherit any.”
Josh
voiced a short, explicit curse while honing in on the sound of an engine. He glanced at the road just as a car came into view. Squinting against the sunlight glinting off its windshield, he made out the gold badge on the patrol car’s door.
“Decker just drove up,” Josh said when the cruiser pulled into the driveway behind his ’Vette.
“Have you been skiing naked again?” Nate asked.
Josh chuckled. “Hell, no. Doing time in my birthday suit cured me of breaking the law in Decker’s town.” He glanced at Regan’s Mustang. “Nate, get back to me on that run.”
“Will do. Just remember, the last thing you need is to get in the middle of a domestic battle that’s out of your jurisdiction. If things get dicey, let Decker handle them.”
In other words, Josh thought as the call disconnected, don’t stretch the rules as you did before when it nearly cost you your badge. He settled his chair onto all four legs with a thump, rose, propped a shoulder against a porch column and watched Decker approach.
As usual, the chief’s navy-blue uniform had creases as sharp as razor blades. Sunlight reflected off his mirrored sunglasses. In one hand he carried a bulging manila envelope.
“Morning, Chief.”
“Josh.”
Decker paused at the porch steps. “You getting ready to jog?” he asked, taking in Josh’s shorts and gray T-shirt.
“Already been. What’s up?”
Decker placed one foot on the bottom step and leaned against the banister. “That damn Peeping Tom.”
“Did you get prints off the lightbulb from Regan’s balcony?”
“Partials covered with dust, so they’re probably from whoever put the bulb in the fixture before she moved in. There were some fresh smudges from gloves. I figure the peeper is smart enough to cover his tracks.”
“Too bad,” Josh said.
“Yeah.” Decker scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “This guy is escalating. If I don’t catch him, there might be some rapes down the line. I know you’re on vacation, but you work sex crimes and I’d be in your debt if you’d look at the reports. View things with a fresh eye. See if there’s anything I’ve missed.”