Fever

by Joan Swan

  She set the pictures down and looked around the living room. Nothing more to do now but wait. She’d talk to Teague again in the morning. Try a different approach to get him to see her point of view. Right now, she needed the same thing Teague needed. A few hours of rest.

  She paused at her room, her gaze on the next door. She wanted to peek in, check on him. See him. Her body stirred at the thought. Another place, another time ... How many times did she need to be rejected to get the message?

  Instead of following her desire, she turned into her room and pulled a man’s T-shirt from the dresser. In the bathroom, she changed and brushed her teeth. When she looked at herself in the mirror, her reflection surprised her. Instead of the emaciated, exhausted shell she expected, Alyssa found color in her cheeks and light in her eyes. Thanks to Teague’s healing touches, the marks on her face and neck had completely vanished.

  Getting back to normal, she supposed. Only, what was normal? Surely not what had been her norm a few days ago. And while that didn’t make her feel particularly comfortable, it didn’t feel wrong either. For the first time in her life, not knowing what would come next felt right.

  She opened the medicine cabinet to replace the toothbrush. Her gaze landed on a clear Ziploc bag, the one Teague had pulled from his package of clothing in the GTO. Sample-size toiletries filled the plastic—toothpaste, soap, mouthwash. . . condoms? Her brows lifted. She picked up the bag and turned it, checked the packaging. Yep, condoms.

  For the longest time she just stared at them. Her mind veered toward Teague. Snapshots of his body filled her head. The sight of him undressing to get into the shower. That night in the motel when he’d dropped his towel and she’d seen him in all his naked glory. The feel of his hard bare body stretched out next to her, keeping her warm the night before. Then their kiss earlier that day invaded her thoughts. And, finally, his words: God, I wish I’d met you years ago.

  She pulled a handful of condoms from the bag and pushed them around in her palm. Turned them all so the packaging was face up and in the same direction the way bank tellers arranged dollar bills. Stacked them between her fingers. Counted.

  Eight. She snorted. She’d never used more than one in a night and couldn’t say that any of those interludes had been particularly memorable. But even the thought of using one with Teague tightened her body with anticipation.

  With the condoms sandwiched between her fingers, Alyssa wandered out of the bathroom. She walked past her own bedroom, paused at Teague’s door and watched him sleep. If he was asleep. She didn’t truly know if the man ever slept. In the light spilling out of the bathroom, she could see him lying on his back, a blanket covering his legs. His chest was bare, his arms clasped behind his head. Eyes closed.

  Indecision zinged around her chest like a firefly trapped in a jar. She pulled in a slow breath, then blew it out.

  “Wrong room, Lys.” His voice came out low and languid and lusty, giving her firefly a shot of adrenaline. But his eyes stayed closed, his body still.

  “I ... don’t think so.” She grabbed another ounce of confidence and walked toward the bed.

  SEVENTEEN

  Each step closer to Teague intensified Alyssa’s nerves and her excitement.

  “I don’t want to talk anymore, Alyssa.”

  He didn’t move even a millimeter, but his lids cracked, and he tracked her with his eyes. The heat there, the longing, gave her the final flash of confidence she needed to make her move.

  “Neither do I.” She dropped the condoms on his chest. Watched as they scattered over muscle. “I had something else in mind.”

  Teague’s gaze darted to the little packages and held. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet hers again. His hands slid out from behind his head. She anticipated him reaching for her, pulling her down on top of him. But instead, he wrapped his fingers around the vertical slats in the headboard.

  “I’m not the guy for you, Lys.”

  “I am sick of you telling me no.” She lifted a knee and rested it on the bed beside him. His gaze dropped and lingered on the bare legs extending beneath the hem of her oversized T-shirt. “A woman can only hold her patience for so long and you’ve been testing mine from the moment I set eyes on you.”

  His chest moved with quick breaths. His fingers wrung the wood of the headboard, making his arm muscles flex and roll. His eyes sparkled from beneath partially closed lids.

  Alyssa pulled one arm through the sleeve of her shirt, grabbed the hem with the other hand and tugged the shirt over her head. Slowly. When she dropped it on the floor and looked at him again, his eyes were fully open and on fire.

  “Fuck. Alyssa ...”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” She grinned, hooked her thumbs in the edges of her panties and scooted them over her hips, letting them drop to the floor. “You’re finally getting with it? I’m all for slow, but maybe not at first, if you know what I mean.”

  She reached for the blanket and pulled it off his legs. He still wore boxer briefs, and his erection already strained against the cotton.

  “Mmm.” She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. “That’s what I want.”

  With a hand planted on either side of his chest, she climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. Teague’s gaze roamed over her like a hungry touch, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She wanted his hands on her. His mouth on her.

  “Alyssa.” He said her name in a pained growl. “Dammit. It’s been three years.”

  She flipped her hair to the side and leaned in to kiss his lips. He didn’t kiss her back. “Good. Then we’re even.”

  “Not even close.” His eyes lifted and burned into hers. “I can’t ... I won’t be able to stop once I start. I don’t know ... I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She slid her palms up his sides, over his chest and down his belly. He shivered, making her smile. “You’ve had these abilities a long time, Teague. Did you hurt Suzanna?”

  “No.”

  “Did you hurt Desiree?”

  “No, but ...”

  She leaned in and kissed his chest. “But what?”

  “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

  Her insides melted into warm, golden liquid. “As I said”—she lifted her mouth to his chin and nipped it—“we’re even.”

  “You don’t get it. It’s not just the heat. You make me so damned insane. This won’t be easy or sweet or ...”

  A surge of lust hit her low in the gut. “Then you’ll just have to make it up to me, won’t you?”

  She sat back on his thighs and pulled on the waistband of his briefs. Dragged the fabric past his hipbones, exposing the first inch of curly, dark golden hair and more of the smooth reddish mark low on the right side of his pelvis.

  “Birthmark?” she asked.

  Teague hesitated. “Scar.”

  She traced one finger around the edge. Not a normal scar. Too smooth. Too even. “Looks a little like a phoenix. Appropriate, don’t you think?”

  “I ...” His breath came fast, his pupils dilated. “Can only think about one thing right now. And that isn’t the damned scar.”

  She scooted back, stripped him of his boxers and smiled. “I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

  Her tongue wet her lips, teeth raked over her bottom lip as she assessed his abundant size and just how she was going to feast on every delectable inch.

  “Don’t even think about it.” By the time the rasp of his voice drew her eyes up, she was nearly drooling. “I’ll never last.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. No.”

  With a pout in place, she decided to make him pay in some other way. She slid her palm over the length of his shaft, her fingers closing around its thickness, her dissatisfaction forgotten. He was hard and smooth. Hot and silky. Huge and throbbing. Teague groaned, and arched into her touch. His eyes squeezed tight, fingers white on the headboard.

  A sense of power and strength flooded her with pleasure. Her throat squeezed
with the anticipation of taking him. Of sliding that thick length between her legs. Of filling herself with his hardness, his fire, his passion.

  She pushed the fabric down his legs, kicked it off his feet with her own. With her free hand, she picked up a condom and pushed the rest off his chest. She ripped the foil and tossed the wrapper to the floor. Positioned the smooth latex over the tip of his penis. The touch made him flinch, then tremble.

  Enjoying the moment of control, Alyssa rolled the condom down, slowly, stroking him luxuriantly as she did. The heat and intensity in his eyes eased another layer of Alyssa’s nerves and amped her blood pressure.

  She lowered her body to his and rubbed the ache between her legs against his swell. Her hands explored, hips to chest. He was warm and supple and hard—in all the right places.

  She tilted her chin, kissed his throat and whispered, “Touch me.”

  His arms came around her almost before she finished speaking. One hand slid up her back and around her neck to guide her face to his. And then he kissed her. Openmouthed, hot and hungry. His lips were searching and relentless. The whiskers on his jaw, cheeks and chin scraped her skin, abrading her lips. She thrived on the desperation. On the pent-up need. Even the fact that he’d want anyone to this degree didn’t dim the thrill. Because, for the moment, he was hers. All hers.

  His other arm locked tight around her back as he rolled with her. Up onto their sides, over onto her back. All while still kissing her.

  Alyssa lost herself in the passion. He made her feel fragile, feminine and so intensely desired. Restraint sent fine tremors through his shoulders, down his arms. His thigh slid between hers, then his hips. One hand caressed her shoulder to hip, then slipped between her legs.

  A jolt of heat shot through Alyssa, teasing her with a preview of what was to come. She broke the kiss on a gasp. Teague’s mouth skimmed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. His palm stroked her, his fingers teased. Then they were inside her, moving, filling her with a deep, languid heat. She’d never felt anything so erotic. Her nails dug into his shoulder. Her hips rose to his hand.

  “God, you’re wet,” Teague murmured against her shoulder. “And so hot.”

  Hell, yeah, she was, and it mystified her. Sex had always been a lukewarm experience, ending with an is-that-it?

  Now, as his cock pressed against her opening, she lifted to meet him, more than eager. And, without hesitation, he accepted the invitation. He positioned himself and pressed into her. Steadily. Insistently. Deeply.

  Alyssa’s throat constricted with the new pressure and the rush of excitement it brought. Her hands ran down his back to his hips. His ass flexed beneath her hands as he rocked into her. Stretched her. Filled her. Completely. He supported the bulk of his weight on his forearms, continued to kiss her everywhere his mouth could reach. Endlessly.

  As the sensation of his body, his hands, his mouth, layered upon each other, Alyssa’s thoughts dissipated. Her mind filled with a hazy, iridescent cloud. Her body with luscious currents and undercurrents.

  Teague’s climax built fast and strong. She knew the moment his restraint broke and his body took over. His thrusts were hard and deep. His fingers dug into her skin, her muscle. His teeth closed at the base of her neck. To her surprise, her body responded in kind. Thriving on the intensity. The edginess. The ruthless need.

  She was almost there, could nearly taste the powerful release, when Teague let go. Hands on her ass, he held her tight and drove deep. His hips undulated with the spasms, rubbing just the right spot, just when Alyssa needed it, and within seconds, her intense, scorching climax followed.

  Pleasure flooded her body on a hot wave. Second thoughts evaporated in ecstasy. And that long-empty space floating beneath her ribs filled with joy.

  The distant ring of a phone intruded on Teague’s blissful sleep. The first real sleep he’d had in three years.

  He came awake slowly, reluctantly. The phone clicked over to a long, high-pitched, steady buzz. Just as his eyes opened, the buzz ceased, leaving him disoriented and wondering if he’d been dreaming. It had to be close to midnight.

  The front of his body was aligned with the back of a woman’s. A warm, slim, soft woman. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her close. Their legs entwined. The fingers of one hand threaded through thick, silky hair, the fingers of the other, clasped with hers.

  Alyssa.

  Teague smiled and closed his eyes on a sigh. She was definitely a dream.

  With his face snuggled into the sweet-smelling strands, he rocked his hips forward, rubbed against the softness of her sexy ass, seeking relief for yet another hard-on. Alyssa didn’t stir. No surprise, considering she’d kept him busy for hours. He brushed the hair away from her face and pulled her earlobe between his teeth. If he could rouse her, they could stay busy for a few more.

  Ring.

  Teague froze.

  Ring.

  He propped himself up on his elbow.

  Ring.

  What the hell was that? Not the cell phone. Not the house phone.

  Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzz.

  Teague sat up and swung his legs off the opposite side of the bed. “What the fuck?”

  Click. Silence.

  “Don’t swear,” Alyssa murmured.

  His fingers released the clenched blanket. Probably a wrong number. The longer he stayed at the cabin, the more tense he felt about being here.

  “Come back to bed.” Alyssa rolled toward him and held out her hand, eyes still closed.

  “That’d be a great offer if you were actually awake.”

  “I’m ’wake,” she slurred, and dropped her hand when he didn’t take it.

  “I’ll make you a deal.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “If you’re still awake when I get back, you can have your way with me.”

  Her mouth curved in a lazy smile. “Deal.”

  She fell instantly back to sleep. Teague grinned and reached out to brush her hair back.

  Ring.

  His heart jumped. His fingers froze. No way in hell was this a wrong number. He pushed to his feet, pulled on shorts and went to the bedroom door.

  Ring.

  He checked the hall before stepping out. Paused at the entrance to the living room, where the smoldering fire lit the room with a low glow.

  Ring.

  He crossed to the kitchen counter and snapped up his gun. Then he stopped and stared at the phone.

  Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzz.

  Teague spun toward the sound. The office. The fax machine in the office. Not the kitchen phone.

  He turned into the room, half expecting to find cops waiting for him. Of course, it was empty. The computer had gone into hibernation and the space was dark. He flipped on the overhead light and headed for the fax machine, where papers lay in the tray facedown as if they’d been sent.

  The hair on his neck prickled. He lifted the stack on the tray and turned them over. Creek is right-handed, was the first thing he saw. A handwritten note. It could only be Alyssa’s hand. And the note was on the autopsy report title page. With Vasser’s business card.

  A dark sensation dripped into his gut. He set the gun down and turned the pages. Autopsy report, crime scene reports, trial transcripts.

  His hand was already shaking when the phone rang again. Ring.

  And now he knew why it was ringing. By faxing this information, she’d also given out the phone number. Which meant their location was now traceable.

  Ring.

  He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, picked up the receiver. And waited.

  “Alyssa?”

  The hope in the man’s voice made Teague cringe. “No.”

  “Creek.” The voice transitioned from hope to barely restrained fury.

  Teague didn’t respond.

  “How do I know you?” the man asked. “And what do you want?”

  Teague’s mind skidded to a halt, reversed directions. Stalled.

  “I recognize your name,” the man said. �
�You tried to get me to take your case at some point, didn’t you?”

  Mitch. It had to be Alyssa’s brother. Teague dropped his head back, both furious she’d involved him after Teague had clearly told her not to and touched she believed in him so deeply she would enlist her family in his fight. Clearly, Mitch didn’t find it touching at all.

  Teague pulled in a breath to steady his temper. “No.”

  “You did,” Mitch said. “I’m sure of it. You’re a desperate man to go to such lengths to get my attention.”

  “And you’re fucking full of yourself. I don’t want or need your help. I never have.”

  “Then why target my sister?”

  “You’ve got it wrong.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. I don’t care how the hell your twisted mind conjured up this idiotic scheme. I only care about Alyssa.”

  That made two of them, but he doubted Mitch would find his concern valid.

  “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve gone over the papers Alyssa sent me,” Mitch continued, his tone now flat and businesslike. “And I’ve been looking into some of my own resources. It does appear as if your attorney fucked you over. In fact, you might enjoy knowing, Hal Brueger died shortly after you were convicted. Cause of death is listed as undetermined. When I talked to the M.E. who performed the autopsy, he said he couldn’t conclusively determine whether it had been suicide or murder.”

  “Why would I enjoy knowing that?”

  “Because it supports the conspiracy theory you tossed around early on in your defense.”

  Okay, this guy had to be as good as Alyssa claimed if he’d dug up that sliver of information. “Yeah, and, look how well that worked out for me.”

  “In fact, it will help you now. New evidence is grounds for a new trial.”

  An acrid chemical scent brought Teague’s attention to the plastic receiver melting beneath the heat of his fingers. He switched hands and worked to tamp his temper. “I don’t want a new trial.”

  “How about an appeal, then? Brueger was also being investigated for disbarment when he was found dead. Misrepresentation or lack of quality representation is all you need.”