He's the One

by Cat Johnson

  Not understanding how it was that they could ravish each other like they just had and still want more, he gave into it, into her, gathering her close with a confusing mix of heat and tenderness. He’d only been half kidding earlier when he’d said she was going to kill him—she was. Death by broken heart.

  “Love me,” she murmured, holding his head to her breast.

  He kissed her there, curling his tongue around her nipple until it beaded hard for him. “I am. I do.”

  She bucked, and together they toppled to the floor, mouths and fingers frantic as they rolled, jockeying for position. She crawled to her bag, dug through it, and came up with a condom.

  He grabbed it, and her, tucking her beneath him, kissing her, smiling when she rolled them again. They bumped into a lamp, nearly upending it over the top of them, then bashed into the coffee table. Beneath him, Ella laughed breathlessly and dug her fingers into his butt. “What’s taking you so long to get inside me?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Make it up to me.”

  “Done.” He tore open the condom and protected them both with fingers that actually trembled, then grabbed her bare thighs, opening her to him. They were bathed only in the meager moonlight from the window, but it was enough to have him moaning at the sight of her spread for him, vulnerable and fragile, pink and glistening. “Mine,” he said in primal instinct. “All mine.” He sank into her, a movement that had them both going still, flummoxed by pleasure.

  Slow down, he told himself but he was tense and quivering, his every muscle straining with the need to posses and take.

  Then Ella surged up and sank her teeth into his shoulder, and any good intentions flew out the window. “Take me, James.” She soothed the bite with a lick of her tongue. “Hard. Fast. Now.”

  He opened his mouth to quip “Yes, ma’am,” but he couldn’t speak. He slid his hands beneath her thighs and rocked his hips, going even deeper now.

  Tossing back her head, she gasped his name, and just like that he was a goner in the control department. He drove himself into her again and again. She was wet and mewling for him, hips pistoning to meet him thrust for thrust. Hot and wild. Hard and rough.

  Out of control.

  Outside, the ocean crashed into the shore with the same uncivilized force of them pounding into each other, damp flesh slapping against damp flesh, hearts thundering, wordless murmurs and cries, breath ragged as lungs fought for air . . .

  James forced his eyes open as he felt the inevitable tightening between his legs.

  Ella opened hers, too, and hit him with a one-two punch of those two baby blues, drenched and brilliant and glazed over. In them was everything he’d ever wanted, and his heart tightened with the rest of him as he barreled toward a freight train of an orgasm he couldn’t stop to save his life. “I’m too close—”

  “You’re perfect,” she panted, and wrapped her legs around his waist. “God. Right there—”

  “El, I can’t hold on—”

  “I know, me either—oh God, James . . .” Her body constricted, then was wracked with a shudder as she let go, milking him with each contraction, throwing him right off the edge with her.

  For those few moments being held by James, being touched and kissed, hearing his low, husky voice murmur things in her ear that made shivers rise on her spine, Ella felt like her old self.

  Not lonely.

  Not worried that her heart might never feel full again.

  Not struggling just to make it through her next breath.

  But happy. Full of hope.

  It’d scare her if she could muster the energy for it, but at the moment she lay facedown and sprawled across the bed, sated and exhausted in a way that completely excluded thinking. That was good because she didn’t want to think, didn’t want anything to pierce this lovely protective layer he’d given her, or she might have to remember that being with him was a sheer accident of fate.

  And temporary.

  A warm, callused hand smoothed up the back of her thigh and her exhaustion vanished. “Careful,” she murmured into the pillow. “My husband is home.”

  The hand came down on her butt in a light smack that made her laugh. She tried to roll over but James held her still, nipping lightly at the back of a thigh, then higher, and a rush of excitement surged through her. “Again?” she whispered, fisting her hands in the sheet at her sides.

  He yanked her hips up so that she was on her knees. “Yeah, again. I can’t get enough. Christ, I still can’t get enough of you.” One hand smoothed up her belly to cup her breast, his other slid between her legs, testing the way, which was already wet enough to make him groan. Leaning over her, he put his open mouth on her neck and drove into her, and just like that they moved from the eye of the storm back into the frenzy. With his fingers stroking on the outside, his erection filling her to bursting on the inside, he began to move within her, until with a sobbing cry, she came. From a long way away, she heard her name ripped from his throat and realized he’d had to pull out of her to come, and that he trembled around her.

  Her entire heart caved, just opened up and let him in. Stupid, she knew, but she couldn’t help it, or hold back, not with him.

  “James—”

  “Shh.” He gathered her close as he took them both back down to the mattress. Stroking the hair from her face, he pressed his lips to her temple and breathed her name. Breathed it again as she drifted off in his arms.

  James woke as Ella carefully slid out of the bed. With dawn nothing more than a purple tinge in the far eastern sky, he propped up his head with his hand, watching as she tried to pull the corner of the sheet from beneath him. She had the rest wrapped around her already. “Where are you going?”

  She went still, and he knew. Damn it, he knew because his heart gave one bruising kick to his ribs. “You’re running,” he said flatly.

  “Actually, no. I’m walking.” She tugged on the sheet.

  He just looked at her.

  She tugged again. “Let go.”

  He could have let go of the sheet, if he wanted. But he found he couldn’t let go of her. He’d been wrong to think he ever could.

  “Damn it, James.”

  He fisted his hand on the sheet and gave a yank, and the thing came off her entirely. “There,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her. “You’re free.”

  Nude, she let out a sound of pure exasperation and shot him a look that said, Grow up. Her sweet little ass sashayed across the room, where she bent for her clothing. He could see the bite mark he’d left in the crease where her thigh met her buttocks, and smiled grimly. He could leave all the marks on her he wanted, she still wouldn’t be bound to him. Not by hook or heart.

  His own heart suddenly aching like a son of a bitch, he plopped to his back and stared at the ceiling. “Hell if I’ll watch you walk away.”

  “I watched you walk away.”

  At that, he swore again, more creatively. Then he got off the bed and moved to her.

  She stood before him in a pair of panties, holding a camisole tank top in front of her breasts. He took it out of her hands and tossed it over his head. “I didn’t want to walk away.”

  “I was driving you crazy, I know.” She went back for the top, then stepped into it and yanked it up, fussing with her straps. “I tend to do that to a person.”

  He lifted her chin with a finger. “It wasn’t you, Super Girl, it was your job.”

  “Really?” Her huge eyes searched his. “I think it was more than that.”

  His heart caught at the look of pain on her face. “What do you mean?”

  “I loved you. You, James. I loved every single part; your loud rock music, your silly big oaf of a dog, the way you sneak sips out of the milk container when you think I’m not looking, how you snore when you’re tired—”

  “I do not.”

  “I loved every part,” she said again in that terrifyingly soft and final voice. “But what kills me is that you can’t say the same about me
.”

  And on that shocking statement, she walked out of the bedroom.

  He followed her to the living room, where she was digging through her duffel bag. She pulled out a khaki cargo skirt and shimmied into it. She was putting on her sandals when he found his voice.

  “It’s your job,” he said quietly. “It scared me. You scared me. Still do, damn it. I want you as my wife, Ella. I want that more than I want my next breath, but I want you alive and well and safe.”

  She gave him a long, considering look as she zipped up her bag and prepared to walk out of his life the way he’d once walked out of hers. “That’s funny coming from you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’re a cop. Your job terrifies me but I don’t tell you to change.”

  “I’m not the one who’s been shot at, kidnapped, stuffed in a trunk and a freezer, and nearly killed at every turn!”

  Slowly she shook her head. “I’m not going to do this, James, not again. I . . . can’t.”

  His heart began to thud hard and fast. “You said you were thinking about making a change. Was that just what you thought I wanted to hear?”

  “No, I meant it. But I’m not a quitter. I’m going to finish this case first. They made it personal now, and that pisses me off.”

  “See, that’s exactly what makes this so dangerous,” he said, feeling desperate. “You’ve got to get it through your head, El. With these guys, it’s not personal. It’s drugs. It’s drug money. It’s you getting in their way—”

  “They handcuffed me in my own home.”

  “Because you wouldn’t stay out of their way! Christ, El, just stay out of their way.”

  “And let the police handle it?”

  “Yes!”

  “And I just bet I know which cop wants to handle this for me.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  They stared at each other, and right then, he knew. He’d blown it. She was going to go, and he couldn’t stop her.

  Sure enough, she grabbed her keys and stalked to the door.

  He snagged her wrist, pulled until she looked at him. “Don’t go,” he said quietly. Begging.

  But she tore free. “I have to. I have to do this for me.” She shut the door quietly, with a finality that frightened him more than anything else had.

  Chapter Seven

  Ella knew what she had to do, but just in case, she made a list on the long, bumpy flight back to Los Angeles. She committed it to memory on the two-hour drive from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara:

  1. Get onto the Valeska and find something to nail my suspects.

  2. Switch departments to a safer investigative job that doesn’t involve being stuffed into any Dumpsters or getting handcuffed to towel racks, and as a result, live happily ever after.

  3. Without James.

  That last made her throat tight as she navigated the windy Highway 1, the summer-browned California hills on her right, the sparkling, whitecapped, azure Pacific Ocean on her left. She’d had months to get used to the idea of being without him, and in that time she’d learned to spend whole minutes without dwelling on it, but her heart just couldn’t wrap itself around the idea of this being permanent.

  Angrily, she swiped at a tear and told herself it’d been caused by the sun in her eyes. No more of this. She was her own woman, and didn’t need nor want a man who didn’t love her for all her little pieces and neuroses. It was all or nothing, damn it.

  And in any case, she didn’t have any tissues with her, so she sucked it up, parked in the marina, and slipped her binoculars out of her purse. She checked out the long rows of boats harbored. There were many, certainly more than a hundred, and they ran the gamut from small dinghies that hardly seemed seaworthy to party-sized catamarans and sailboats, to the multimillion-dollar yachts such as the ones she’d been investigating.

  She sought out the Valeska. She sat in her car and watched the boat carefully for ten minutes, and saw nothing. No maintenance, no guests, no movement at all. Hoping her luck had finally turned, Ella twisted into the backseat and grabbed her disguise: a white cap with a bobbling plastic pizza on it, and the pizza delivery box, which didn’t hold pizza but her Mace, tape recorder, and ID, just in case. Once, she’d been arrested snooping around in a shipping yard because she hadn’t stowed her ID and couldn’t prove who she was. James hadn’t enjoyed bailing her out, or the crap he’d taken for it from his station, but he’d enjoyed teasing her about it later.

  Not this time.

  Taking a deep breath, she shoved him out of her mind, exited the car, and made her way down the wooden planks of the docks with purpose. As a pizza delivery girl, she’d want a tip. As Ella, she just wanted a damn break. She was due for one. This sort of thing used to excite the hell out of her but she felt no rush of adrenaline now, nothing but a confusing mix of duty and dread. She had no idea what was the matter with her. Catching bad guys had always been so thrilling.

  But actually, in truth, she did know what was wrong. It wasn’t the job that amped her life up and gave her a buzz.

  It’d been having love. Having James.

  Hell of a time to realize that, since she’d left him a thousand miles away, with a finality she didn’t want to think about right now.

  Couldn’t think about.

  She came upon the Valeska. Sleek, shiny, posh, and so expensive she couldn’t imagine planning to destroy it, insurance money or not. She shielded her eyes from the sun and called out from the deck. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  No response.

  It wasn’t too difficult to get on board; she simply hopped the waiting plank and walked on. She figured if she could just get belowdecks, she could check out the place, look around, and . . .

  And she had no idea. She just hoped to God some sort of evidence leapt out at her. She ducked beneath the bowline and walked along the bulkhead, heading astern, marveling at all the glass and flashy gold trim, at the lushness and sophistication.

  At the back, on a vast white deck, she came across two wet suits and a pile of diving gear.

  Still wet.

  Roped to the back just below the deck was a small motorboat that hadn’t been there last week. She stared at the diving equipment at her feet and understood. The drugs had been held on the second yacht, the one that had been purposely sunk, and they’d just gone back to retrieve the drugs, thinking they were safe because she, with her questions and interest, was locked up in Mexico.

  Now that they had their insurance money from the first boat, and the drugs from the second boat, they thought they had it all.

  She was about to change that perception.

  The brass door heading belowdecks wasn’t locked. A strange oversight with a boat as expensive as this one.

  Or, and much more likely, the divers were still on board. As she stepped over the threshold, she heard the telltale muted voices. Heart kicking into high gear, she flattened herself against the inside bulkhead, between two large gold-framed paintings that she recognized as museum quality, but because she’d skipped more art history classes than she’d actually attended at UCLA, she had no idea what they were other than pretentious renderings of some fancy gardens.

  The voices came from below. Ella kept moving and found herself in the galley, surrounded by a luxurious crystal and china lunch spread that had been ravished. Leftover lobster, shrimp, and fancy pasta salads lay around with three empty bottles of champagne.

  Seemed someone—several someones—had been celebrating.

  Ella reached into the pizza delivery box and flipped on the small tape recorder. No one in their right mind was going to believe she really was delivering a pizza to this ship, but it was too late to change her disguise now. And she wanted to hear what was going on.

  What would they do to her if they found her snooping?

  Didn’t bear thinking about, she decided. Tiptoeing through the galley, she came out into a stateroom with plush seating, state-of-the-art entertainment center, and—

  Her husba
nd coming in the opposite door, dressed in black jeans, black running shoes, and a black T-shirt draped over the bulge of his gun, looking fiercely intense as he met her gaze.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed across the thirty-foot room.

  He took in the pizza delivery hat and shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “This is my case. Get out.”

  “Can’t do that, sweetheart. You need backup. Jesus, tell me you’re at least armed with something more than pepperoni.”

  “I’m fine solo.”

  “Sure you are, but wouldn’t it be nice to know someone had your back?”

  She let out a soft breath and felt her stomach twist. “More than anything in the world,” she admitted. “But it’s more than that, James. You want to change me. Dominate me. Run my life.”

  “What?” He looked around them and then hissed back, “I don’t want to change you, damn it. I don’t want to dominate you, or tell you how to run your life.”

  “So you’re saying you love all my parts?”

  “Every goddamn one,” he said fervently. “And trust me, I need all those parts, El. So let’s get out of here—”

  “Even this one?” she asked, gesturing around her. “The part where this is my job? You love that?”

  “Look, all I want is for you to live long enough to love me back—” His head came up at some sound that she didn’t hear, or maybe it was just his sharp instincts.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “We’re going to have to discuss this somewhere else, say far away from the three guys downstairs divvying up their drugs, armed to the teeth.”

  “There’s drugs?” Her proof! “Where—” But she broke off because someone was coming into the galley behind them.

  She froze.

  James drew his gun and jerked his head toward the door from which he came. He wanted her to get out, and she knew he’d stand there in the open, covering her, until she did.

  But no way was he going to risk himself for her. She shook her head and dropped down behind one of the couches.