A Stranger She Can Trust

by Regan Black

His blood chilled at the thought. He liked her grit, her persistence and the compassion she showed despite her dreadful circumstances. There was something between them. Maybe it was only the shared connection of terrible loss, but she was the first person he enjoyed talking with since losing Sarah. Damned if he was going to let some gang or murder keep him from knowing her better.

  As her grief subsided, he ran his hand up and down her spine. “Better?”

  “A little.” She tipped her head to peek at the house and the sliver of the third floor they could see through the trees from this angle. “I’m still mad. My neighbors could have been hurt or—”

  “Mad is perfect. Your neighbors are fine.” He shifted so they stood side by side, his arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to figure this out. Me, Grant, Werner, whoever it takes, whatever it takes, we won’t give up until we know you’re safe.”

  He pressed his lips to her hair and reached for her hand as they walked to the corner. They headed for the cluster of people milling around on the sidewalk across the street from her house.

  “Your things were in there, too,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing that can’t be replaced,” he promised.

  She stopped short and looked up into his eyes, then down at their joined hands. “I want to tell you to get far away from me, for your own good, but I’m too selfish.”

  Unable to resist, he tucked her hair behind her ear. “If you tried, you’d only learn what a lousy listener I am, and I’m trying to keep my biggest flaws a secret.” He recognized his friend Daniel near the truck. “Come on this way. I want you to meet that friend who works construction when he isn’t at the firehouse.”

  Carson introduced Lissa to Daniel, ignoring the quizzical look his friend gave to their joined hands and funeral attire. He sent Lissa a reassuring smile. “You live on the third floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great space,” he said. “I overheard the chief talking with the landlord, and your neighbors have been notified of the problem.” He gestured to the crowd of first responders. “No one was hurt, and it’s not as bad as it looks from out here.”

  Carson glanced up to the window as Lissa did. Flames had charred the window casing, and a black sooty scar rose up and over the roofline. They had caught this one fast. His heart gave a weird kick as he imagined how much worse it could have been if Lissa had been inside at the time or if Grant hadn’t kept someone on alert.

  Still holding her hand, Carson felt her tension ebb away. “Thanks,” he said to Daniel.

  “Chief has all the official details. See ya.” With a quick wave, Daniel loped toward his fire truck.

  They crossed the street and joined the chief, who was speaking with a small group of people closer to the house. Carson was braced for the worst and startled when an older woman with thick, steel-gray curls and ebony skin caught Lissa in a tight hug.

  “My landlord,” Lissa mouthed over the woman’s shoulder. “Mrs. Green, this is my friend Carson Lane,” she said when the landlord released her. “He took me to Noelle’s funeral today.”

  “I’m so glad she was with a friend,” Mrs. Green told Carson. She patted Lissa’s hand. “We’ll forget this month’s rent, sweetheart.” She grabbed Lissa in another hug and rocked back and forth for a moment. “They tell me you can’t stay here until after the repairs are done.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Not bad. You’ll see when they walk you through.” Mrs. Green fluttered a hand over her heart. “Oh, I’m so thankful. So thankful. It could have been so much worse.”

  “Thank you,” Carson said. He cut the conversation short when he spied Werner stalking up to the scene. “Looks like the police need to talk with Lissa.”

  Mrs. Green turned back to the fire chief while a uniformed officer and the detective escorted Carson and Lissa up to the porch, pointing out where the new locks had been forced open. They walked in, and as the acrid stench of smoke and melted paint clogged the stairwell, Carson paused. Did she really need to see this?

  “You might not want to look,” he warned her.

  “My imagination will be worse,” she said, motioning for him to keep going.

  When they reached the landing, Werner gave a low whistle and Lissa gasped, reaching back for Carson’s hand. The apartment had clearly been tossed. Someone, presumably the woman seen entering the apartment, had conducted a frantic search until Grant’s man had interrupted. The door to the attic was splintered, and the entire space smelled like a fire pit without the happy-campfire ambiance.

  While Lissa fumed over the damages and confirmed nothing obvious had been taken, Carson took pictures on his cell phone and sent them on to Grant. Werner took a few pictures and excused himself quickly.

  The reply from Grant came back a moment later. Salvage what you can and bring her to ladies’ night.

  Carson choked back a laugh. The famous Escape Club cosmopolitans might be just what Lissa needed, the way this day was shaping up. A night out wasn’t the conventional post-funeral activity, but he thought Grant had the right idea. Too much quiet to think would only leave her more agitated and frustrated with the gaps in her memory.

  He couldn’t believe that he, king of solitude and introspection, was about to recommend a night out for drinks and dancing to a grieving woman. It sounded like the epitome of hypocritical, and yet he knew he’d make the suggestion.

  “Well, it’s official. I need to relocate while they clean it up and process the scene. I’m allowed to pack some clothing, assuming none of it reeks of smoke.” Her nose crinkled as she looked at the mess.

  “Pack whatever you want,” he said. “We can drop it off at a dry cleaner. Be sure to pack your dancing shoes,” he said, trailing her to the bedroom. Either the smoke wasn’t as bad back here or he was getting used to it.

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “Grant invited us to ladies’ night.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “That’s absurd,” she said, turning to survey her closet. “The last thing I need tonight is a noisy club.”

  He walked up behind her, not wanting anyone else to overhear and tattle on him for the hypocrisy he was about to deliver. “I know it sounds absurd, but believe me, the change of scenery will do you good. Me, too,” he added, hoping to appeal to her innate concern for others.

  She spun around, nearly catching him with an elbow, hands planted on her hips. “You expect me to believe you went dancing after your friend’s funeral?”

  “No,” he said through clenched teeth. “But maybe I should have.” He took a breath, struggling to find the words that would help her understand the wisdom behind Grant’s plan. Instead, his gaze drifted to her mouth, the sweet bow of her upper lip, the tempting fullness of the lower, and his only thoughts were how good those lips would feel against his. “I’ll just wait out there.”

  “Stop.” She grabbed his sleeve and held on. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.” Her lips parted as she moistened her lips. While he was mesmerized by that view, one of her fine-boned hands slid up the back of his neck.

  Then her lips met his in a tentative and inviting exploration. A wealth of needs exploded in his system and his mouth shaped hers, learned hers as they kissed. He wrapped her close, reveling in the press of her soft, sweet body all along his. She gasped again and his tongue swept into the heat of her mouth, teasing out layers of need and desire.

  To hell with the club, he thought. He’d be fine right here for the rest of the night. The rest of the week.

  “Miss Baxter?”

  They sprang apart like a couple of teenagers caught in the sudden flash of a porch light.

  The uniformed officer stepped into the doorway. “We’d like to clear the scene if you’re packed.”

  “Right. Of course.” Her cheeks were bright red. “Just
one more minute.”

  “Can I help?” Carson asked, reluctant to stray from her now that he knew the sensuality of her touch, her lips.

  She shot him a long look under her lashes. “Better if you focus on collecting whatever you brought over.”

  She had to know that small taste of her didn’t satisfy him in the least. No, it only fueled his desire for her. He walked out with the cop, stopping to grab his gear from the bathroom and toss it into his duffel bag. He was tempted to leave it all here as it reeked of smoke from the fire. Thank goodness they could put it all in the bed of the truck so they wouldn’t have to purge the smoke from the truck upholstery, too.

  She emerged from the bedroom with a wheeled suitcase, a backpack and an oversize tote. Depositing the suitcase and backpack with him, she carried the tote into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she reappeared and declared herself ready.

  The cop escorted them outside. With the emergency vehicles gone, the bystanders had wandered off. They loaded everything into the back of his truck, and she gave a little wave to her landlady before they drove away.

  “Grant wants to see us because of the break-in and fire?”

  “I’m sure there are several factors,” he replied. Should he mention the kiss? Better to let her bring it up, he decided. “We’ll drop off your clothes for cleaning and get settled at my place. I assumed my place was where you wanted to stay.”

  “Yes, that’s fine.” She laced her fingers in her lap, her knuckles standing out, white against her black skirt.

  Maybe she expected an apology, but he didn’t see how the kiss was his fault. She’d started it, and he was only human. He shifted a little in the seat, but it was impossible to get truly comfortable.

  “I’m not sorry,” she said abruptly when they’d dropped off the clothes and gotten back in the truck.

  “Pardon me?”

  “You’re really playing it that way?” The question sounded more like a snarl. “All right.” She smoothed her hands over her lap, her gaze straight ahead. “I am not sorry I kissed you.”

  Damn. He had sisters, and he’d known every facet of Sarah’s personality, and still the only thing he knew to do with a woman in a mood as sharp and dangerous as Lissa’s was to remain calm and confident. Perceived detachment could be as disastrous as focused interest. “I enjoyed it,” he replied as casually as he could manage. “I hope it won’t be the last time you kiss me,” he added, testing her reaction.

  To his surprise, she didn’t give him much of a reaction or say another word until they reached his place. She laid a hand on his arm as the garage door rolled up and open. “What about a hotel?”

  “A hotel?” He knew his mind was in the gutter, but what was she thinking?

  “I’ll cover the expense,” she said quickly. “You wouldn’t have to stay. That would be your choice.”

  He pulled into the garage, cut the engine and stared at her in the dim light filtering in from the windows. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m a danger to you,” she said. “I know you’ve got this whole rescue-protector routine going on, and it’s fantastic. You’re great at it. But wouldn’t I—we—be safer at a hotel?”

  “No.”

  “Carson.” She released her seat belt and swiveled in her seat, stopping him with a touch to his shoulder before he could get out of the truck.

  He craved her so desperately that he let her featherlight hand hold him.

  “Carson, someone searched my house. I don’t want to bring that here, to your home.”

  “You don’t even know what they were after,” he pointed out.

  “That only makes it more of a risk for you. You didn’t ask for this.”

  “No one asks for this kind of crap.” He took her hand in his, mesmerized by the differences. Her slender frame made her seem delicate, but there was fire inside her and a steel will he admired.

  “There’s more,” she said. “Full-disclosure time.”

  “God help me.”

  Her lips tilted in a shy smile. “I wanted to be mad after I kissed you.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Yeah, sorry. For the mad, not the kiss.” She laughed at herself. “I’m wrecking this. The kiss was nice. More than nice,” she continued. “I wanted to be mad at myself for the lousy timing. Isn’t it called Nightingale syndrome or something when a patient’s attracted to the caregiver?”

  He jerked his mind away from her use of attracted and addressed the question. “No. Nightingale effect is the opposite situation, when a caregiver falls for a patient.” Was she trying to imply that’s what was happening? If so, she needed to get clear in a hurry. His brain was mush because all his blood had run south.

  “You’re not making this easy.” Her gaze flitted everywhere but wouldn’t light on him.

  “I’m not trying to,” he said. “If you want to stay at a hotel, we’ll stay at a hotel. I think staying here is more convenient and comfortable. Either way, the last few days are proof enough that trouble is likely to catch up wherever we go.”

  “And the kiss?”

  She was killing him. “House or hotel, I’ll kiss you whenever you ask me to.” He gave in and reached for her, sweeping the heavy fall of her hair back from her eyes. “You’ve had a tough day on top of a series of tough days. Let’s take this inside.”

  “Kiss me.” She scooted across the bench seat, crowding his side of the cab. “Please.”

  She couldn’t mean it. It was his imagination that added the pleading note of need to her voice. “Lissa.”

  “You just said you would.”

  He caught her chin and brushed his thumb over those luscious, smiling lips. Slowly, savoring the anticipation, he touched his mouth to hers again. The plan was to keep it easy and simple. Anything else and he’d want to dive in, to give pleasure and take more, but they were in the garage and it was hardly the place for seduction.

  His wants spiraled out of control, eclipsed by her soft moan as she tugged him closer. Her long fingers were in his hair, then tracing the shell of his ear, and she angled her mouth to give him better access.

  Carson didn’t need an engraved invitation. With lips tasting and teasing, both of them tossing away any notion of distance, he maneuvered them on the seat until she was sitting across his lap. His hands were full of her hips. Her skirt parted, granting him access to the smooth, hot skin of her supple thighs bracketing his legs.

  He told himself he could stop, that he would stop in just a minute. He kept right on going, his mouth mating with hers while his pulse raced at odd intervals. He ran his hands up her spine, into her hair and back down, over and over.

  The dark citrus-scented silk cascaded around them and she arched into his touch. It brought the long column of her throat close enough to nibble and tease. She laughed, her breasts firm against his chest, making him harder still. When she reached down between them and stroked his arousal through his slacks, his hips bucked.

  “Lissa, hang on.”

  “That’s the plan.” Her sultry laugh lit fires inside his blood, her tongue and teeth exploring his ear, raising goose bumps all over his body.

  “Wait a second.”

  She braced her hands on the back of the seat, bracketing his head. “We’re both single, healthy, needy,” she drew out the last word.

  “We’re also in a truck.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “If you make me walk across the yard in broad daylight, drooling after you...” She rocked her hips over his erection. “Can you even walk in this condition?”

  He’d manage. “Think it through.”

  She leaned in and caught his lip in her teeth, gave it a little tug. “You’ve been telling me not to think.”

  “What? Oh, yeah, the amnesia.” He groaned, rapidly losing this battle.

  “I
need this. You. Carson.” His name was a soft flutter of sound and seduction over his sensitive skin at the base of his throat. “I left the apartment prepared.” She pulled a condom out of her pocket as she ground her hips gently over him.

  He gave in, brought her face close and kissed her. It was sex. Nothing more or less. It was no hardship to deal with hot, life-affirming sex between two consenting adults to counter the overwhelming stress and grief and loss. He was convenient for her. That was all. In fact, he was pretty damn happy to be of service. Better him than anyone else who wouldn’t understand the limits.

  He tore her panties out of the way, reveling in her laughter as she freed him from his slacks and rolled the condom over him with those delicate fingers. He hadn’t felt anything so erotic in ages, until she sank over him, enveloping him in mind-blowing heat while her mouth feasted on his.

  He gripped her hips and held on as she set the pace. She was every sensual fantasy in his hands. Her body gripping his, moving and taking what she needed. Working open the tiny buttons on her shirt, he spread the panels and groaned at the sexy black lace of her bra. He brought her close, kissing her breasts and suckling the stiff peaks through the lace cups.

  He was being used, but he couldn’t see the downside, not with her rushing toward a climax that dragged him right over that edge of bliss with her.

  * * *

  Lissa had only herself to blame as her breath sawed in and out of her lungs. Carson had one hand wrapped around her backside, the other stroking her hair, while she mustered enough strength to lift her head from his shoulder. She didn’t want to consider the ramifications, not while her body was still humming from that orgasm and Carson’s masculine scent surrounded her.

  At least with her memories mostly intact, she knew she didn’t typically throw herself at the nearest available man. “Wow,” she said. It was the best she could manage.

  “That covers it,” he agreed.

  She could hear the smile in his voice, and why wouldn’t he be smiling? It made her brave enough to peek at him. “I’d say thank you, but somehow that ruins the moment.”

  He laughed, the sound starting as a deep rumble in his chest, shivering through her and out to float around them. The most perfect response she could have asked for. Until he turned his face and kissed her with such slow, sweet tenderness that she wanted to cry.