by Angi Morgan
Slate’s fingers outlined the top of her ear, then the edges, drawing circles across her skin. She stopped thinking, concentrating on the early evening light shining on the hardwood floor. Once or twice, his finger swept across her forehead, checking on her tension. He softly smoothed her hair, again and again.
The next moment her eyes opened to a cooler and darker room. She must have relaxed. Completely.
The sun was setting, and brilliant colors beckoned them to watch through the front window. She could feel Slate behind her, awake. But he remained silent as they watched the shadows grow deeper.
The bottles had been set on the coffee table. Hers half-full, his empty. She began to sit forward when Slate’s fingers lifted her long hair, draping it over her left shoulder. His fingers tapped across her shoulders before dancing down her spine, sending splendid shivers through her body.
His mouth grazed the side of her neck. Her head fell back, again resting on his chest, rolling to the left and giving him more access. As his light and teasing lips caressed her skin, he skimmed her shoulder with his knuckles before sliding his hands over the top of her arms.
Slate got up, laced the fingers of one hand with Vivian’s, helped her to her feet and somehow twirled her straight into his arms. Their eyes connected and she was lost.
The first brush of his lips touched the corner of her mouth. A little hesitant. Was he trying to decide whether to continue or if she would reject him? She didn’t dwell on the question, instead answered for herself. She turned her face slightly so their mouths lined up completely and pressed her lips to his.
The clean smell of his skin mixed with the smokiness of the fajitas. His breath was hot and created more wanton desire within her.
Each time their lips touched, the need inside her grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. It was anchored to something she didn’t understand because nothing had ever reached that part of her before.
It scared her enough to run, yet spurred her forward at the same time. She tried to retreat and Slate deepened their kiss. His mouth was a warm haven, a taste that belonged only to him.
They’d been close to moving forward with the case and now they were closer to falling onto his bed. But she wasn’t a fool. She could back away, douse this dynamite before it was ever ignited. They were still wearing all their clothes. All she had to do was take a step back.
He’d behave.
Just place her hand on his chest and step away from the only man who was helping her for all the right reasons. She’d be the only one to know what she passed up. No one would ever know how afraid she’d been to get involved.
She hadn’t been close to anyone since moving to Texas, longer still because she’d been focusing on a career or in the army. What did one night making love with a man she actually respected matter?
All she had to do was say no.
Warning bells went off. Sirens louder than the fire trucks the night before.
She didn’t want it to stop, but she forced the words that would keep their relationship at the same level.
“I should probably go to bed.”
“Too early,” Slate whispered, kissing her collarbone.
God, he was good at that.
“I’m not...I’m not really sure if we should be doing this.”
He tugged her shirt down her arm, baring her shoulder more, and scraped his teeth across. Those luscious shivers that started in her core and traveled to every nerve ending encompassed her again.
“Do you think this is too dangerous?”
“Pretty much, yes.” Her breathy words barely registered.
“It can’t be as dangerous as a man trying to kill you.”
Oh, I think I’m dying a little bit right now.
Vivian pressed her body closer. The cute borrowed top she wore was quickly tugged loose from her jeans. His was already free.
His calloused fingers smoothed the hot skin of her back. Hers explored the toned, muscular, sculpted man who had saved her. It would take very little maneuvering to shrug out of their clothes and into each other.
Imagining how she’d feel the morning after didn’t compare to actually having his lips against hers, having his tongue tease in an age-old dance. Nothing was rational. She wanted to feel. Not think of consequences, threats or reality.
“How am I supposed to resist you?” she asked. Threats of fire and men swinging boards got pushed to the back of her mind when she timidly guided his hand to her breast.
“You want to?” he asked, his lips whispering on top of her own.
She answered with another kiss. No longer afraid of possible consequences or conflicts. He was man. She was woman.
The intensity of their kisses grew. They tugged each other out of their shirts. They steadied each other as they shimmied out of their pants. Maybe it shouldn’t happen, but it was happening. They explored each other’s bodies with their hands and eyes.
Magnificent. A word she completely understood now.
Slate dropped to his knees, exploring further.
“I have an idea.” Vivian heard her hoarse voice squeak the words when his thumbs hooked inside the edge of her skimpy underwear.
“I have one, too,” he answered with an inviting smile. He turned her body until it relaxed on the couch.
Vivian’s idea evaporated in the heat generated from Slate’s caresses.
Chapter Eighteen
The adrenaline rush during the fight had kept him going through his shower. He’d begun to relax and slow down a little during the neck rub Vivian had given him. Then he’d touched her silky skin.
The rush was back and touching her wasn’t enough.
He wanted all of her. Mind, body... Yeah, everything.
Slate swallowed hard at the realization of how much he was attached to Vivian. He’d known her two days and she was a huge part of his thoughts. He backed away, pushing the coffee table toward the television.
The look on his face had to be confusing her. She was squinting, asking what was wrong without any words.
“Nothing.”
The corners of Vivian’s mouth rose in a smile. First one side, then the other, along with a nicely shaped eyebrow.
“What color are your eyes?” he asked.
They looked smoky, sort of a grayish blue.
“What?” She seemed surprised and pushed the left strap of her bra onto her upper arm. “Probably gray. They change color.”
“I thought they were different yesterday.” He took a finger and lifted the right strap off her delicate shoulder to let it drape on her arm.
He stood, stretching his hands toward her. She took them and he helped her stand. He led her around the couch, walking backward. His imagination was in overdrive but he moved slowly.
Vivian’s expression changed more rapidly than his sex-seeking mind could keep up. Anticipation to quizzical to embarrassment—all in the time it took to move a step away from her. She dropped her hands, crossing her arms over her breasts.
“Someone’s out there.”
He spun around. It had to be Heath. No one else would be coming to the house. His parents would have called, not walked over.
“One of the horses—”
“A horse doesn’t have a short beard.”
Slate spun to face the front of the house. “Like the guy from—”
The door burst in, bouncing off the cabinet of DVDs. Vivian screamed in surprise.
“Get to the bathroom,” Slate yelled.
She’d be safe there. But she didn’t run. She only backed up.
His weapon was in the lockbox. His phone on the dining table. His shoes weren’t on his feet. Hell, he wasn’t even wearing pants.
“What do you want?” Slate asked him.
The man from the hospital was wide-eyed and crazy looking. He moved from side to side, a
lmost indecisive about what to do next. The baseball bat in his hand slammed against the open door. Then slammed again, leaving a good-sized hole.
“Look, man. If I did something to offend you, let’s talk. I’m sure we can work this out.”
“Slate? Can he hear you?” Vivian asked, her hands on top of his shoulders.
“Not sure.” He shrugged her hands away, preparing to defend himself. He lowered his voice to a whisper, “I need you to get to the bedroom or bath, Vivian. I’ll do better if all I have to defend is myself.”
“Can you get him into the living room corner? I could get to your phone and call 911.”
“No. It’ll take too long for them to get here.”
“All right. I’ll get out of your way then.”
Slate took her at her word. With no idea why the guy was waiting to attack, he stepped onto the couch, ready to jump behind it and lure him away from Vivian. He waved his hand behind his back, indicating to her to join him, run and get to safety.
She raised a foot onto a couch cushion and the man grunted. Grunted like a cave man.
“What’s with this guy?” Slate wondered aloud.
Vivian ignored him and moved in the opposite direction—she’d be trapped in the corner. The man turned the same way. She moved closer to the TV, dipping to the coffee table and grabbing Slate’s shirt.
“Do you know him?” Slate asked.
“No,” Vivian whispered. “Why doesn’t he do something?”
“Can you keep his attention on you?” Slate waited for her to take another step away from him, then jumped lightly over the top of the couch to the floor.
The man blinked slowly but kept his gaze glued to Vivian. He grunted again. She took a step back. He advanced, swinging the bat.
Slate had one chance. He shoved off the end of the hall wall and tackled the man before he got too far into the room. Or too close to Vivian. The bat stayed locked in his hand.
Slate managed to stay on the man’s back. The attacker flung his arm—and the bat—from side to side as he rolled, trying to get free. Things crashed, breaking around his head. Slate tried to get a choke hold on the man, but he had to let go to block the bat from connecting with his head.
Slate saw Vivian cross the room. If she got his phone before running out the door, she wouldn’t be able to unlock it.
The attacker growled, jerking the bat. Slate tugged it free from both their hands. It rolled under the couch. The man used that moment to shove Slate off his back. He scrambled to his knees and followed Vivian.
A split second later, Slate pursued both across the driveway, toward the main house. “Vivian,” he yelled after her. “Back door!”
She ran.
The attacker followed, yelling like a madman.
Slate ran, the stones from the driveway better than the burrs and stickers he knew to be at its edge. They all kept running.
Damn, I wish I had my weapon.
He gained on the attacker, who was gaining on Vivian. She made it to the enclosed back porch, slamming through the screen door and dropping to the other side where he couldn’t see her.
Slate was a body-length away from the attacker and dove. He caught the man around the ankles, tripping him to the ground. He just had to latch on until his father plowed through the back door. The man twisted, sitting and beating on Slate’s back with both hands.
“Stop!” Vivian yelled from the steps, coming closer.
“Stay back!” Slate warned.
The man was pretty strong and still acting like he was possessed. He turned. Slate dug his fingers into the man’s jeans, pulling himself closer as the man tried to crawl toward Vivian.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
“Dad, help me stop this guy!” Slate yelled.
His father pumped a shell into his shotgun. The sound alone should have scared a normal man. But this guy was far from normal. He kept clawing at the ground to move inches, dragging Slate.
His dad raised the gun and used the butt to hit the man on the back of the head. All movement stopped.
“You all right, son?”
Slate stood, Vivian at his elbow. His father aimed the shotgun at the intruder, who was out cold.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He turned to Vivian, who had managed to pull his shirt over her underclothes. “How ’bout you?”
“Nothing worth mentioning. Thanks for your help,” she said to his dad.
“You calling the police?”
“Yeah. First we’re going to tie this son of a bitch up. Mind getting some rope, Dad?” Slate held out his hand for the shotgun, which his dad passed to him.
“I’ll call the cops on my way.” His dad pulled out his phone and dialed as he headed to the shed next to the barn.
“You really okay?” Slate asked Vivian.
“My feet are sore. He never got a hold of me. Did you realize your knees are bleeding?”
“Slate? Everything under control now?” his mom asked from the porch.
“Yes, ma’am. We’re good. Could you walk with Vivian back to my house?”
“She doesn’t need to do that,” Vivian whispered.
“Just let me get my shoes,” his mom replied.
“Why did you ask her to do that? She’s going to know what was going on. This is so embarrassing.” Vivian covered her face.
“Sweetheart, I think they took one look at us and figured that out. Could you send back my jeans, boots and phone?”
The screen door swung shut and his mom dropped a blanket around Vivian’s shoulders. “Come on, sugar. No need for everybody to catch their death out here. That storm last night brought in a cold front.”
The women walked up the driveway. His dad returned with rope before the attacker moaned. Slate passed off the shotgun while he looped the rope and tied the guy up.
“Maybe you should hog-tie him to make him stay put,” his father joked. “The local PD said they were ten minutes away. I sure am glad a Texas Ranger lives around here.”
“Yeah, Heath’s on an assignment.”
“Where am I? What’s...what’s going on?” The man’s voice shook, sounding confused and frightened.
Slate helped him sit up and lean against the porch, taking his wallet out of his back pocket. “So, Allan Pinkston. Why are you at my house and why did you attack me? Don’t pretend to not know what’s going on.”
“I attacked you? I...I don’t even know you. How did I get here?”
“I assume you followed us in the car you drove off in after you hit me with a two-by-four at the hospital this afternoon.”
“No way, man. I don’t even know who you are. Last thing I remember is being at the VA. Did you dose me or something?”
“What about Vivian Watts? You know her?”
“I’ve got no idea who that is. Why does my head hurt so bad?”
Slate could usually tell when a suspect was lying. Either this man was really, really good at it, or he was genuinely confused.
“You were attacked twice today, son?” his father asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“By this guy?”
“Or his twin.”
The stranger shook his head. “I don’t have any brother and I didn’t attack you. What are you going to do with me?”
“Let the cops sort it out,” Slate answered. “If I were you, I’d insist on a drug test to see if someone did slip you something.”
His mom returned with his pants just in time to pull on his boots before the Rockwall police arrived to take Pinkston into custody. They found a car registered to their attacker on the main road.
Sometimes being a ranger was a good thing. It limited the explanations needed to convince Rockwall PD to take a trip by the hospital to verify what Pinkston was high on before booking him.
Slate failed to mention
Vivian’s involvement. Pinkston didn’t seem to remember anything. The charges were trespassing and assaulting a law enforcement officer. Slate needed to go by the station the next day to file a complaint.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, son.” His dad had his shotgun resting on his shoulder as they walked to Slate’s house.
“I have to admit that this case is all over the place. Murder. A fire. An attack by a guy who seems to have amnesia. Weird.”
“Yeah, weird. Mom and I will still leave tomorrow. That is, unless you need me to stay. I can watch Vivian if you need to chase a lead down or something.”
Slate stopped to look at his old man. “Thanks, Dad. But I got it covered. Leaving probably is a good idea.” They clapped each other on the shoulder, then finished their walk to the house.
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Slate,” his father repeated. “I know I’m not a cop, but you might consider keeping your boots closer.”
In other words, he might do a better job by keeping his pants on. Slate agreed.
Before stepping into the house with his father, Slate called the man who got him into this situation.
“Wade, I think you, me and Jack need to have a conversation. I can be there in half an hour.”
Chapter Nineteen
Wade threw another ball of trash into the far corner wastebasket and yes, pretended like it was a basketball. No one watched. No one was around. The nine-to-fivers had left for the day. He still had a couple more files to get through to meet his daily goal.
The door opened, the wind whipping it all the way back as Jack arrived.
“This better be good.” He looked around at the empty office. “And hopefully on the books this time.”
“I should be back out there, fighting criminals or helping on one of the weirdest cases of a lifetime,” he said aloud, instead of just thinking it for once.
Sick of sitting behind a desk, Wade was living vicariously through his fellow rangers. Waiting on a call or information. Wanting to be right about his hunch. Setting up meetings between Slate and Jack.
“What you need to do is keep your nose clean until the major says otherwise,” Jack told him. “We can handle things. Even the weird stuff.”