by Janice Kay Johnson - Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte)
He gave passing thought to asking what had killed her father, who’d likely only been—what, in his forties when he died? But then Clay decided he didn’t want to know. His life was spent upholding the law, but if one of the son of a bitch’s daughters had figured out a way to off him without getting caught, he had a feeling he’d be applauding.
“You okay?” he said finally.
Even though she hadn’t let her back touch the sofa, her mane of hair brushed his hand behind her. “I’m fine. Really. I guess everything is just getting to me.”
He didn’t have to move his hand very much to stroke her hair, at first lightly, then letting his fingers search for the curve of her head. He crushed a handful of curls and watched them rebound the moment he loosened his fist. Jane had stiffened slightly, but didn’t move.
“You’re entitled.” He smiled, noticing how her few pale freckles stood out along with the blotches. “You have a redhead’s skin.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I sunburn easily.”
He tugged gently on her hair. “Come here.”
She gave him a look that was somehow desperate before relaxing with a sigh against him. “I shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, you should.” He nuzzled her cheek and nibbled on her earlobe.
“I swore I was never going to trust you again.”
“You can.”
She tilted her head so she could see his face. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.” Really a promise, the words had a weight. To have and to hold. Damn, he thought, without as much shock as there should have been.
“You’ve been...really nice.”
A week ago—a few days ago—he’d have been stupid enough to say something caustic like “You mean I’m as nice as your brother-in-law?” At least he’d learned something.
“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he said huskily.
She blinked hard a couple of times, as if she was about to cry again, but then she gave a wobbly smile. “Okay.”
He framed her face with his hands. “What’s that mean? Okay?”
She was trying hard to see down deep inside him, to those places he rarely even acknowledged to himself. His skin prickled, as if nerves were exposed, but he held still and let her look.
Finally she slipped her arms around his neck. “It means I want you to kiss me.”
“Aah.” God, he wanted her. “I can do that.”
He kept it gentle at first, as searching as her gaze had been, but with more give and take. He tempted her with his tongue and waited for hers to chase his down. When she sucked on his lower lip, he groaned, his patience abandoning him.
Lifting and turning her, he set her on his lap so she straddled him. Her splotches were fading, he saw. Her lips were damp and a little swollen now. Wrapping the back of her neck with one hand, he pulled her close for a kiss that got a whole lot more serious. It was deep and hungry. His hips lifted, and she adjusted so she rubbed the hard length of his erection. Her knees tightened on him.
He pulled the combs from her hair so it cascaded free, then fumbled for the buttons on her blouse. She tugged his T-shirt up and he paused in his task enough to let her pull the shirt over his head. It was hard to concentrate when she immediately splayed her hands on his chest, tracing the contours of muscle and bone, testing the response of his nipples. He hadn’t known they were so sensitive.
At last her blouse fell open, exposing a rather sturdy white bra. Her hands went still and she looked down. “If I’d known,” she said, sounding embarrassed, “I would have worn something prettier for you.”
He tried to laugh. “I think this is sexier. It’s a Jane bra.”
“I could take offense—” But she lost interest in doing so, because he’d unhooked the back and was drawing the bra down her arms.
Her breasts were the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, a bounty, the swell of female flesh so generous he doubted his hands would encompass them. The skin was close enough to translucent, he could see a faint tracery of blue veins. Her nipples, more pink than brown, were drawn into tight peaks. He bent her back over his arm and licked first one, then the other.
Jane whimpered.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and drew one nipple into his mouth and suckled.
Her hips rocked. The fingers of one hand formed a fist in his hair. Her back arched to thrust her breasts at him. He was so damn hard it was painful. He wasn’t sure he could make it upstairs. He transferred his attention to her other breast, and she made more sounds, ones that intensified his arousal.
With a raw sound of his own, he lifted her off him and groped for the button at her waistband. He was long past finesse, but he managed, and stripped her of slacks and panties until they caught on her shoes. By that time, she was trying to work down the zipper of his trousers at the same time. The light touch of her fingers was better than anything he’d ever felt.
Too good. Once he had her clothes dealt with, he took over yanking off his own, grabbing his wallet on the way, finding the thin packet.
Only then did he see the flash of what might be hurt. “Lucky you keep one handy, I guess.” Her tone was flip.
“I put it in here when you let me kiss you. When you kissed me. Jane.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
“I haven’t been carrying condoms. There hasn’t been anyone else since I met you,” he said.
Shock widened her eyes, and then he saw such vulnerability it damn near stopped his heart. “You’re serious,” she whispered.
“I’m serious.” He couldn’t help sounding guttural, but wasn’t sure he wanted her to know yet quite how serious he was. For her it would seem too fast. Him, he’d been waiting for her.
She quivered. “You keep making me cry. I never cry!”
“Don’t. Not now.” He sought her mouth desperately. “That’s the last thing I want.”
He should take his time, savor her richly feminine body, but he couldn’t. He’d waited too long.
Clay bore her back onto the sofa, kneading a breast, then sliding his hand down over her belly to the tangle of curls the same shade of chestnut as those on her head. Finding her slick heat, stroking until she was moaning and trying to pull him over her.
He managed then to get the condom on, although he wasn’t sure how. He tried to come down on her carefully. For all her lush curves, she was still a small woman, even dainty, and he was a big man. She pressed one knee against the back of the sofa, and he hooked an arm beneath her other leg, lifting it and spreading her. He pushed inside, gritting his teeth at the mind-blowing pleasure of the tight fit, trying to give her time to adjust even though all he wanted was to plunge hard and deep. He lifted his head to look at her, finding her head tipped back, her eyes closed, her lips parted.
“Jane.”
Dazed and yet filled with tumult, her eyes opened.
“All right?” he managed to ask.
Her “yes” was barely a sigh, but it was enough. He seated himself deep, felt her fingernails bite into his back, and began to move. Usually he closed his eyes. He had better control that way, but this time he wanted to see her.
For a moment they watched each other as their bodies danced and did battle. Only when he saw astonishment on her face and heard her whisper, “Clay,” as her spasms started did he bury his face into that mass of hair and let himself go. Every muscle in his body tightened and locked as he came in a powerful rush that went on and on.
In the aftermath, he tried to roll enough to take some of his weight on his shoulder, but movement above that seemed to be beyond him. It was a while before he even realized he had a mouthful of Jane’s hair. Somehow that struck him as so funny he began to laugh as he tried to spit it out.
She jerked, then shoved at him. “What...?”
Clay manage
d to lift his head enough to grin down at her. It was probably a stupid, loopy, besotted smile, but he didn’t care. “Your hair was trying to smother me.”
She giggled and tried to corral it with one hand. “I’m sorry. It’s impossible.”
“It’s glorious.” He let his head flop back down.
“I’m glad you think so.” She sounded shy.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m sold on all of you.” He squeezed her hip then slid his hand upward until he could capture a breast.
“Except...” It was hardly more than an exhalation, so soft he wasn’t sure he’d heard.
He shoved himself up on his elbow so he could see her. “Except what?”
Suddenly she was flaring defiance at him. “Except for the fact I sometimes put on a tactical vest and distract the real cops by insisting on going where you don’t think any woman should go.”
“Damn it, Jane—!”
“It’s true!”
“It was true.” He didn’t know any other way to say it. He’d wounded her then more than he’d realized.
She had been pushing at him, but now her hands went still. “It’s only been a few weeks.”
The muscles in his shoulders tightened. “I want you. The woman you are.”
“That’s...hard for me to believe.” There was the sadness again.
Was this her way of retreating? Clay had to wonder. Did she need to pull back? Or when she’d said she would never trust him again, had she meant it?
“Give me a chance,” he said.
Her eyes were anxious again. “What do you call this?” She waved at their bodies, still tangled together.
“If you don’t trust me, it’s sex,” he said flatly.
She swallowed. “This isn’t easy for me.”
It wasn’t easy for him, either. Clay knew he still had internal battles to wage. He wouldn’t like seeing her put herself in danger in the future any better than he had three weeks ago. Maybe because she was a woman; maybe because of how he felt about her. Part of him wished she was a teacher, an attorney, an administrative assistant, a biologist. Damn near anything but a cop. He wasn’t sure he could keep his mouth shut if the situation arose.
The pride he also felt was the new and unsettling part.
“Give me a chance,” he repeated.
“I am,” she said softly. After a discernible pause, “I think I am.”
“All right.” He tried to smooth the roughness from his voice, too. “We’ll take it as we go, Jane.”
He managed to heave himself off her, although then his butt stuck to the leather of the sofa and he watched her wince as she unglued herself enough to sit up, too.
“Next time, let’s make it to bed,” he suggested.
Her gaze flashed to him, but to his surprise she chuckled. “Or you can take the bottom.”
He leaned over and kissed her, hard and fast. “I know you can’t stay, but I wish you could.”
“I wish, too,” she said, so wistfully he knew she was remembering everything she’d been able, too fleetingly, to forget.
Clay went to the bathroom to discard the condom and returned to find her already half dressed and struggling into her bra. He watched with regret as her gorgeous breasts were covered, then resigned himself to getting dressed, too.
He refused her offer to help him clean the kitchen, wishing she wasn’t the one who had a dark drive ahead of her. He didn’t share that thought with her, though. He could imagine her incredulity. Chances were, like any cop, she’d spent years patrolling at night, getting out of her squad car to step into the middle of domestic violence scenes or gang turf wars. And no, he didn’t like picturing any of that.
For the first time, he was glad she was a lieutenant, and largely confined behind a desk.
Something else he wasn’t going to say.
She found the two hair combs, one on the coffee table, the other almost under the sofa, then retired to his bathroom to put herself back together.
When she was ready, Clay walked her out to her SUV, putting a hand out to stop her before he got in so he could kiss her again. She made a throaty sound and kissed him back, but both of them made a conscious effort to keep it light.
She got in and reached for the door handle, but didn’t close it right away.
“Do you know where you’re planning to start tomorrow?” she asked, with that renewed anxiety.
“Yeah.” He’d thought about it earlier, before Jane arrived. “Stillwell Trucking. We’ll see what kind of welcome I get.”
“Instead of Lissa’s friends?”
Inspiration hit him. “I was thinking I might leave that to you.”
With only the porch light and a half-moon, he couldn’t see her face well, but her surprise still showed. “You mean that?”
“I have a feeling you’re as good a detective as I am.” He wished he’d thought of this sooner. “What’s more, I’m guessing your sister’s women friends might talk to you more openly than they would to me.”
She nodded, said, “I’ll start first thing in the morning. Thank you, Clay,” and finally drove away. He stood out in the dark watching until the last flicker of red taillight disappeared, reluctant to go back into his too-empty house.
* * *
BY NOON THE next day, Jane had talked to half a dozen of her sister’s friends, although it developed that friends wasn’t quite the right word for most, who were closer to acquaintances—current or former coworkers, or mothers of one of Bree’s or Alexis’s friends. Jane had left messages for others who were likely at work.
Drew called once to say, “She’s making sounds, Jane. Not quite words, but...”
“She’s going to wake up.” Jane had begun to believe it. She only wished it wasn’t taking so long. This was Friday. Six days since Bree had vanished so completely, no one at all had seen her since.
“Yeah, I think so, too,” he said abruptly, and ended the call.
Her relief was huge when Clay called. She’d felt stupidly girlie that morning when she awakened, thinking about their lovemaking, wondering how much of what he’d said he had really meant, hoping he’d call. Her stomach had been in a knot ever since, even though she had discovered she didn’t doubt him as much as she should, given his history.
She kept seeing the way he’d looked at her when he’d said, I want you. The woman you are. And then he’d asked her to join the investigation even though her doing so was against the rules.
He asked because I’m a woman, and he thought Lissa’s friends would talk to me.
Maybe. But he must have women deputies he could have had make the same calls.
“Hi,” she said shyly.
“I wish we’d woken up together.”
She wished they had, too. Instead she’d tossed and turned, and had to get up twice with Alexis. Then she’d sat across the breakfast table from Drew instead of Clay.
“You know I couldn’t stay.”
He grunted acknowledgement. “Getting anywhere?”
“Without learning anything useful.”
“Don’t suppose you can meet for a quick lunch.”
“Sure.” She went for casually pleased. “When and where?”
Ten minutes later, she walked into Subway and found him waiting. The sight of him, as always, stirred something in her. He was so solid. Not exactly handsome, but a man every woman noticed. Maybe more so today because of the weapon and badge he wore at his belt.
Probably because he was official, he only kissed her cheek, though his smile was intimate. Then they ordered, and took their sandwiches to a table in the back where they weren’t likely to be overheard.
Unwrapping his sandwich, he said, “How far did you get?”
She told him about the conversations. “I’ll try to reach
the others this evening. They’re probably at work. But I actually talked to two of the women I thought of as Lissa’s close friends. They do spa days, shop together, that kind of thing.”
He nodded, his blue eyes intent on her face even as he took a bite.
“One of them admitted that Lissa grumbled about Drew sometimes. Then she hurried to say, ‘But you know how it is. Just because we’re friends and she could. Not like anything was really wrong.’” Jane shook her head. “Money worries? ‘Gee, Lissa didn’t say anything.’ Only ten days ago they went for a mani-pedi at the spa at Arrow Lake, which is not cheap.”
“A what?” Clay stopped in the act of lifting the sandwich to his mouth again.
“A manicure and pedicure? You know. Fingernails and toenails? And usually you get a foot and hand massage, too?”
“Do you do that?”
“Um...” She looked down at her unpainted nails, cut short. “Do I look like I do?”
Clay’s gaze followed hers. “No, thank God.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “It probably feels great. A lot of women have jobs where they feel like they need to be decorative. And plenty of men like long red fingernails.”
“Not this one.” He resumed eating.
Jane felt a surge of pleasure. What was it he’d said? He was sold on all of her? Not exactly poetic, but...she didn’t really want poetry. She wouldn’t trust it, especially from a man like him. Apparently he was sold even on her fingernails, kept utilitarian short.
“Good to know.”
A smile crinkled the skin beside his eyes.
“It’s funny,” she said, returning to her original thought. “Lissa was always the social one, part of the in crowd. The phone rang all the time for her. But now I’m thinking how shallow most of her relationships were.” She frowned. “Are.”
He didn’t have to say that avoiding emotional intimacy was also classic behavior for a woman with her history.