When it was over, he lay, half on the floor, half on her, with his head on her belly. One of her arms curled around his shoulders and they both breathed raggedly, desperately.
Remy closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips.
He loved her.
A few months ago, this was the last thing he’d seen coming.
And now, it was the only thing that seemed right. Seemed real.
She hadn’t said it back … but she would, he suspected. She would.
Hope came awake to the feel of his hands on her. His lips gliding down her shoulder. She wondered at the beauty of it, the pleasure. As he eased her onto her back, she sighed and opened her eyes, smiling up at him. His mouth took hers and she opened for him, twining her legs around his hips and shivering as the head of his cock nudged her. He pushed inside and she arched her back, tightened around him as he pushed deep, deeper. She clenched down around him and smiled as he shuddered.
A lean hand, strong, but so gentle, cupped her bottom, lifted her up. She rocked against him, staring up at him, lost in his dark blue eyes, lost in him. Lost in the way he made her feel. How could he make her feel this way? How could anybody make her feel this way?
His mouth brushed over hers, skimmed along her jawline to tease her earlobe, her neck. Shivers broke out along her skin and his name escaped her lips on a broken sigh.
It was so slow … so lazy and sweet, and the heat, the hunger built inside on a slow, gradual wave, breaking over her, breaking over both of them and leaving them shaking and wrapped in each other’s arms.
As her breathing calmed, she realized she had both a goofy smile and tears drying on her face.
The things he made her feel …
Then he whispered against her neck, “I love you, Hope.”
He loved her. This insanely perfect guy loved her. How was this possible? Turning her face into his neck, she held him tight. If ever there was a perfect moment in her life, she was pretty sure this was it. Clutching him close, she breathed in the scent of him and prayed this could just last, forever.
But it didn’t. Perfect moments never did.
And just like perfect moments never could last long enough, it ended way too soon. Remy’s phone rang, the musical tune blasting through the silence. He groaned against her neck, then swore.
“Shit.” Rolling over onto his back, he reached down and groped around on the floor for his jeans, fishing the phone out of his pocket. “Jennings,” he said. She tuned out the conversation, her mind still buzzed from sleep and sex. Then he laid a hand on her belly and her sleepy mind focused, heat burning through the fog in no time. Shivering, she rolled to her side and stared at him.
He gave her a smile, but there was a look in his eyes as he continued to listen to whoever was on the other end of the phone. That flat, focused look—his lawyer look, she realized. She recognized that look. It was hard not to, since there had been a few times when it had been directed at her.
Two minutes passed before he disconnected.
“I’ve got to go,” he said quietly.
“I kind of figured.” Stroking a hand down his arm, she gave him a faint smile. “You got time to eat anything?”
“No. Need to shower. I’ve got extra clothes in my car so I’m good there—it’s the weekend, so I’m not expected to be all suit and tie, but I don’t have any time.”
“Is everything okay?”
He curled his lip. “Yeah. Just a minor problem I need to deal with.” He sat up and bent over her, bussing her lips with his. “Will you be around here all day?”
“Probably. Other than curtains.” Aware of the blush creeping up over her cheeks, she shot the window a narrow look. “I can’t run around this place without curtains up—just can’t do it.”
“If you can wait awhile, I might be able to go with you.” He stroked his hand in absent circles over her belly and the heat of his hand, memories of the night they’d spent, had her aching to reach out and touch him. She curled her fingers into fists to keep from doing just that.
Focus, Hope. Just focus. Shifting her attention to the naked windows, she concentrated on them for about ten seconds and then looked back at Remy. “I can handle picking out curtains and rods on my own, I think,” she said lightly. “I’m not helpless.”
His fingers flexed. “It’s not about you being helpless.” His lids drooped low over his eyes, shielding them from her. “It’s about him. I don’t like him being around and us not knowing what he’s up to, angel. I just don’t like it.”
Neither did she. But she’d be damned if she let Joe make her a prisoner again. “I can’t just sit around waiting until I know what’s going on with him,” she said quietly. “I’m just going into Lexington—I’ll find a Home Depot, something like that. I’ve already got the measurements and all.”
A grim look tightened his face. “And if it was Joe following you on the road?”
Hope swallowed. Sitting up, she grabbed the sheet and wound it around her before she stood up. “If it was … it was.” On her way to the bathroom, she stopped and looked back at him. “He used to lock me in my room, you know. After I got out of the institution. He’d figured out how much I hated being locked up. So that became his favorite form of torture. If I stay here, just because I think he might be out there … I’m just giving him the keys to lock me away again. And I’m not doing that.”
Brooding, Remy scrubbed his hair and body with more force than necessary and hoped it would lessen some of the anger, the fear. Part of him wanted to tell her she was being foolish—reckless.
But how could he argue with her logic?
She didn’t even know for sure it was Joe. Or so she claimed. He suspected she felt the same way he did.
It was Joe. He was here, looking to take his wife home, probably thinking he could intimidate her into doing whatever in the hell he wanted.
But what were they to do?
Hope couldn’t stand being tucked away inside her apartment—he could see that clearly enough. And although she hadn’t voiced it, he suspected she had finally realized she had a core of strength inside her, the strength that had gotten her through that hell.
Remy couldn’t do anything that would take that away from her. She was trying so fucking hard to find herself again.
“And what if he does try to come after her?” he muttered. “What then?”
Shit. This was a mess.
What he wanted to do was keep her with him where he knew she’d be safe, where he could watch over her and make sure nobody hurt her. But the entire damn reason she’d left Reilly’s place was because she needed to prove to herself she could be on her own.
Fuck.
Remy already knew how he’d feel if somebody tried to tell him he needed to stay tucked away for his own safety. And despite the fact that Hope was a woman—his woman and he wanted to protect her more than he wanted his next breath—he also knew that if he did or said anything that would take away from the life she was finally building for herself, it would damage what they were building. Worse, it would damage her.
He couldn’t do that to her.
No. This was best. She had to just keep living, keep building this life she was building … and he’d just keep watching her.
She didn’t have to know that he was going to have somebody watching her, checking in on her from time to time. That wasn’t really a bad thing to do, considering the circumstances … right?
After he climbed out of the shower, he left the water running while he made the call. It couldn’t hurt. If Hope was wrong, then at least they’d know. But if she was right … then they would know … and she’d be safer for it.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
NIELSON STARED DOWN THE STREET, EYEING THE blue sedan. He’d seen it before. Just once, from his window, the day Nia Hollister had come to his office, right before she’d left town that last day.
So far she hadn’t been back, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. She was to
o hotheaded and that worried him. Of course, Nia Hollister didn’t worry him anywhere near as much as what Remy Jennings had just told him.
Joe Carson. Hope Carson’s ex-husband. There was a possibility he had almost run her off the road, that he had been following her on the interstate.
After the attack on Hope, Nielson had done some investigating about Joe Carson and he had to say, he wasn’t too impressed with what he’d heard. Actually, he was downright pissed off. Nothing bothered him as much as a dirty cop.
Carson might not be on the take or anything like that, but a bastard who beat his wife, a bastard who had her locked away as he’d done … dirty didn’t even describe him. The problem was Carson had quite a few people snowed. People who thought the guy shit daisies and could do no wrong.
Nielson’s gut, though, said otherwise.
As did a few people who had been willing to talk, however abstractly. The words they said, and the words they didn’t say, were enough to leave Nielson with a bad, bad taste in his mouth.
Carson didn’t need to be in his town. That was all there was to it.
Nielson had enough shit going on around here—he didn’t need this. Hope’s safety could be in question. Plus … it was just a little too strange.
All these strange events started happening and there were too many connections to either Hope or Law or both. As much as Nielson didn’t want to think it was at all tied to either of them, he’d been a fool to overlook a possible connection.
Joe Carson was a connection. To both of them.
Slumping down in the seat of his off-duty car, he kept the sedan in his line of sight, watching. Jennings had asked him to watch Hope, and that was exactly what he’d do.
Somebody was fucking with his town and he was tired of it. Was damned tired of wading through blood. The Hollister girl. Prather. What had happened to Hope and Reilly.
Enough was enough.
It was almost lunchtime when he finally saw Hope appear. Her dark hair gleamed under the fall sunshine, and Nielson waited until she’d pulled away, watched as the blue sedan did the same thing.
He, himself, waited an extra few minutes. Then he pulled away from the curb. This shit, it was going to stop, damn it.
She was alone. Finally. When Joe had seen Jennings leaving, he’d been all but ready to make his move then, but he knew better. Knew way too better. He couldn’t make his move in town. Couldn’t risk it, couldn’t do it.
“Fucking cunt,” he muttered, rage beating inside his head, an angry, roaring monster.
He’d watched them. The two of them, crawling all over each other.
His wife had fucked another man.
It made him sick, with fury, with disgust.
And something he couldn’t even name, because not once had she lain there all still and passive like she had with Joe.
“Fucking slut,” he snarled.
His hand itched, ached to pull his weapon, put a bullet in her head … badly, so badly he wanted to do that. But that wasn’t how they’d end it. No. She was coming home, damn it. Home.
He wasn’t giving up on his wife.
But he needed her out of town. Hell, even at Reilly’s would be fine, now, because Joe would be just as satisfied if he plugged a bullet between Reilly’s eyes. He’d enjoy doing that. Reilly was part of the problem, had always been part of the problem.
Hope wasn’t heading to Reilly’s, though. She was heading toward the interstate. No … that wasn’t what he wanted. Not what he wanted at all. Run her off the road—that was what he needed to do. Run her off the road, get her into his car. Yeah.
But as he revved his engine to pull up next to her, he heard a louder, throaty purr.
Just then, a line of motorcycles appeared in his rearview mirror. And damn, what a line … it stretched on endlessly. Fuck.
That sedan was back there. Hope tried not to shake. Was tempted to turn around. Tempted more to stomp on the gas. But more than anything, she wanted to know if it was him. She had to.
The not knowing was worse than anything.
The not knowing was even worse than the fear.
An unknown fear was worse than a known fear and she was tired of it.
Her hands ached from clutching the steering wheel and she wanted to grab her cell phone, call Remy. Call Reilly. Call Ezra—somebody, anybody, so she wouldn’t be alone on this stretch of road with her abusive ex-husband shadowing along behind her.
“Maybe shadowing you,” she muttered.
She didn’t even know and that was driving her nuts. She needed to know—had to know …
The sedan edged closer. Closer.
Sweat turned her hands slippery and she bit her lip.
Shit. Shit. Shit—what should she do?
It was even closer now and she had the sudden, sickening realization that he was going to do something, something bad. Run her off the road. What in the hell was he thinking?
Something roared in her ears, loud. So loud.
Engines. A lot of them.
Shooting another look at her rearview mirror, she saw the sunlight glinting off the chrome of a motorcycle. Then another. And another.
A fricking procession of them, one that stretched back farther than she could see. For some reason, it made her smile, soothed the ragged nerves in her gut.
The sedan backed off, allowing more and more distance to grow between them. A few minutes later, her heart rate slowed to something resembling normal and she kept shooting a glance at the bikers behind.
Whoever would have thought she’d be that happy to see a bunch of motorcycles?
Still, that uncertainty loomed in her mind.
Was it him? She had to know. Had to. Although, in her gut, she already did.
When she saw the sign up ahead for the little mom-and-pop gas station on the outskirts of town, Hope hit her turning signal like she was going to slow down, moving into the exit lane. But just as she was pulling off and the blue sedan was edging to go around her, she sped up and looked over.
The driver looked over at the same time and she found herself staring into Joe Carson’s flat, emotionless eyes. It was him. Her gut knotted. Fear threatened to turn her bowels to water, darkening her mind. But she pushed it back. He smirked at her.
The sight of that smirk—that challenging I-can-do-anything-and-you-know-it smirk—flooded her with rage and fear. To her surprise, the rage edged in over the fear and she lifted a hand, flipped him off.
Without giving him another look, she pulled into the parking lot of the gas station, half-wondering if he’d follow her.
He didn’t, though. Her knees wouldn’t stop shaking. Still sitting there a good ten minutes later, she gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, tried to convince herself she either needed to get out of the car, or pull out of the parking lot.
The bikers had pulled in behind her and through the crack in her window, she could hear them calling to each other, teasing and shouting. Just their presence grounded her, made her feel steadier.
Still, when somebody tapped on her window, her heart leaped into her throat and it scared her so bad, she screamed.
Pressing her hand to her mouth, she found herself staring at Sheriff Dwight Nielson.
He lifted a brow at her. Relief hit her, so hard and fast, it was almost dizzying.
“Oh, shit,” she mumbled. Clumsily, she fumbled with the keys and pushed the button, rolling the window down. “Hi, Sheriff.”
“Hope.” He bent over, resting his arms on the car door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. No, she wasn’t. She was scared to death, she thought she might get sick and her gut was a clenched, nasty mess.
“You sure about that? You been sitting here for a few minutes, staring at the parking lot like it might bite you.”
She shivered as she realized he’d been watching her. Who else …? Who else had been watching her? Had he turned around? How long had he been here?
“I’m fine,” she said again auto
matically. Then she stopped, shook her head. She couldn’t lie about this—shouldn’t lie. “Shit. No. I’m not fine. My ex-husband was just following me on the highway, Sheriff. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
For a long, long moment, he was quiet. Then he nodded. “Okay. You’re sure it was him?”
“Yeah.” She closed her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.” All too sure this time.
“Okay, then. Well.” He blew out a breath. “You want to see about filing a report? Some sort of restraining order?”
She laughed humorlessly. “It wouldn’t do any good against him,” she said quietly. “Nobody believes him capable of doing anything bad. They won’t see the reason for one.”
“You’re wrong there,” Nielson said quietly. “I believe he’s capable, and I see a reason. But I can’t make you do it and I can’t do it for you. It has to be your call. Completely your call.”
Something fierce, hot flooded her mind. Somebody believed her … and not just Remy, although that was amazing, not just Law. Somebody believed her … her.
Somebody believed her over Joe. Somebody believed in her. Trusted her.
If she hadn’t been so damn scared, she might have danced. But as it was, she managed a wan, tired smile and looked at him. “It’s a piece of paper, Sheriff. You and I know how little those sometimes do. Unless he wants to pay attention to it, it won’t keep him away from me.”
From the depths of her memory, she heard Joe’s voice, an ugly mockery of a promise, “ ’Til death do us part, Hope … you’re mine.”
No, I’m not.
“Yes. It’s a piece of paper,” Nielson said, his voice soft and quiet. “We know sometimes they don’t mean much. But this isn’t his town, Hope.” He leaned in closer, his voice hard and flat, his eyes serious. “It’s mine. And I don’t let abusive bastards run roughshod through my town. File the report. Let me do my job. Let me help.”
He sounded so sincere. So serious. Licking her lips, she looked at him.
Then she stared back at the road, over the motorcycles that separated them. Those damn bikes. She had the weirdest feeling those bikes had spared her from something awful. Something horrible.
If You See Her Page 29