“I didn’t realize.”
He nodded. “I took her to dinner—solely to talk about the case, see if I could get her to tell me anything. Stopped back here to pick up my PDA. There are some notes on it I need for tomorrow. That’s all, Vicki.”
“Pick it up? Why? Where were you going?”
God, this wasn’t going to sound good, he thought. “I was going back to Blackberry. I’ve been staying at the inn over there. While you’ve been at your parents’. Alone, Vicki. Completely alone. I just thought I should be close in case River surfaces.”
“Are you that certain he’s there?”
He nodded. “I’m sure of it.”
Victoria lowered her head, and her breath rushed out of her. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she whispered. “I do. It was just—for a moment when I saw you come in with her, I thought—”
“I know. I promise you, Vicki, I will never hurt you like that again. Never. I swear.”
“I know. I believe you.” She wrapped her hand around his. “I was telling myself how foolish I was being—that I should come out and let you know I was here—but then I heard a gunshot. And everything went crazy after that. You were phoning the police and that woman was outside, running around in the snow. What happened, Ethan?”
He lowered his eyes. “There was an intruder in the house. God, and you were here alone.”
She frowned, searching his face. “I came home early because I wasn’t feeling well. Took a sleeping pill. He must have already been here when I came in—but I…I never heard a thing until you and that woman arrived.”
He slid onto the bed beside her, wrapped his arms around her and held her close to his chest. “I took a shot at him as he ran away. Jax—Lieutenant Jackson, that is—said I hit him.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought I aimed low, but it was so stupid to even point the gun in his direction. I don’t know how I could have hit him. God, Vicki, I’m pretty sure I shot River tonight.”
“You shot at an intruder. You were protecting your home—our home. Protecting me, Ethan.”
Her hands curled in his hair, and he lowered his head to her chest and fought against the tears that tried to escape.
“He was running away,” he whispered. “Jax said I could be charged.”
She tugged his head upward, stared down at his face. “Did you tell the police that?”
“No. I told them I was too shaken to remember details. They agreed to take a more thorough statement in the morning.” He closed his eyes. “They wouldn’t have done that for anyone else.”
“You’re a respected doctor.”
“I’m your father’s son-in-law,” he said, knowing full well it wasn’t his own reputation that was respected and admired enough to earn favorable treatment from the police.
“Either way,” she told him. “In the morning, you tell the police he was turning around. Lifting a gun, as if to fire back at you. That’s when you shot. I’ll say I saw the entire thing from the bedroom window.”
He closed his eyes. “Jax was there. She saw what I did.”
“It was dark, Ethan. She couldn’t have seen too clearly. And what would she have to gain by hurting you? Did they find poor River lying out there somewhere? I didn’t see an ambulance.”
“No. No, he got away.”
“Well, there you have it. How badly could he be hurt if he got away?”
He sighed, nodding slowly. “He could be all right. I guess.”
“He’s all right. There’s no point in you being arrested and investigated and all of that when he’s probably fine and you never intended to hurt him. Is there?”
“I…suppose not.”
“Then tell them just what I told you when they come back tomorrow. This Jax person—she won’t contradict you. I’m sure of it.”
* * *
River hadn’t expected Jax to turn the conversation the way she had, and he still wasn’t sure if she was serious or only teasing him when she came back down the stairs, her arms stacked high with blankets and pillows.
He’d limped to the fireplace in the meantime, tossed in a few more logs. She didn’t bring the blankets to the sofa. Instead, she dropped them in a pile on the floor in front of the fire. He would have started making them into a bed but he couldn’t stop looking at her. And he was damned if he knew why. She wasn’t wearing anything particularly sexy. A hockey jersey. Period. But there was something about how big it was around her, about her long legs and bare feet, about the way her hair was down and loose, that made him…Damn.
She ignored his hungry eyes, though he knew damn well she noticed him looking. Instead of making one of her trademark smart-ass comments, she just started unfolding thick blankets on the floor. “You gonna sleep in your clothes, River?”
“Nope.”
“Good.”
She arranged the pillows, spread more blankets. By the time she finished, she’d created a nest on the floor that looked more inviting than any bed River thought he’d ever seen. And the fire had taken off nicely, was throwing enough heat to make him lazy. Rex lay close to the fireplace, snoring. River sat on the edge of the couch and managed to work his way out of the scrubs her father had loaned him. His jeans had been beyond redemption. Then he tugged the sweater off over his head. He didn’t have a T-shirt on underneath, and he wondered if he should find one.
But she was already pulling back the covers. She’d stacked a couple of pillows up for him to use as a prop for his leg. “Here,” she said. “Dad said to keep it elevated, so this is your side.”
River wanted her. He wanted to fold her up in his arms in that soft nest, and make love to her all night long. He wondered if she had any idea how much he wanted that. But casual sex wasn’t easy for him. Never had been. He was a hopeless romantic, and he was halfway in love with her already. That first night—hell, it had sent him over the edge of ecstasy, given him a heartful of longing for things that could never be. Making love to her again would be—it would be a disaster. She wasn’t a hearts-and-flowers kind of woman, didn’t want any part of that sort of thing, especially with a loser like him—busted up brain, blackouts and declared legally insane by the state of Vermont. And possibly a killer to boot.
Hell, he was surprised she was even willing to let a man like him touch her.
He sighed and limped to the bedding, crawled inside. She crawled right in beside him, almost before he got settled down, and then she was leaning over, fluffing the pillows underneath his thigh, positioning his leg more comfortably.
He put a hand over hers on his leg. “It’s fine.”
“It could have killed you,” she said. “If he’d aimed higher—”
“Don’t.”
She lay down beside him, one hand on his chest, her head tucked near his shoulder. “I was kidding, before,” she told him. “You can relax, River, I’m not going to jump your bones tonight.”
He looked down at her. “Then maybe you could turn your head just a little?”
She frowned, lifted her head and sent him a questioning look.
“Your breath is wafting over my neck. And you smell too damn good to resist.” Her face changed, but before she could say another word, much less move away, he muttered, “Damn. Too late.” He cupped her nape, drew her close and kissed her. And he kept on kissing her, kept on holding her, and wondered why he’d thought even for a minute that he would be able to sleep with her and do otherwise.
She responded to his kiss, parted her lips and twisted her arms around his neck to hold on tight. He felt her body heat, and the way she arched against him. But he pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss and staring at her in the firelight. “Not so fast, hmm?”
“Why not?”
He didn’t say anything. Instead he sat up and reached down to the bottom of the hockey jersey she wore. Half expecting her to slap his hands away, he lifted it slowly and pulled it over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and he almost smiled, knowing sh
e’d been hoping for another round.
He looked at her for a long moment. Let his eyes roam the length of her, from her thighs to her waist to her breasts. And he saw the way she squirmed and started to get impatient. Before she got around to barking at him, he touched her. He put one hand on her foot. Caressed it slowly, lifted it in his hand and bent to press his lips to it. He kissed the top, and then the ankle, and the sole, and then each toe, one by one.
She shivered, but pretended not to. “Into feet, are you?” she whispered.
“Only yours.”
She jerked her foot away from him so fast it startled him. And then he looked into her eyes and knew why. She didn’t want him to care. She wanted it fast, sexual but not personal. She wanted it meaningless but good. He didn’t think he could give her that. He didn’t freaking want to.
He clasped her foot and lifted it to his mouth again, this time caressing her ankle and kissing his way along her calf, all the way to the hollow behind her knee, where he licked, tasting her salt, her skin.
She sat up a little, one hand on the back of his head. “Hell, River, what are you…”
“Just relax,” he whispered. “Relax. Lay back. Close your eyes.”
“But I don’t—”
He turned his head so that his mouth touched her hand, and then he kissed her fingers, her knuckles. He used his free hand to caress her other arm, and then her waist, and her rib cage. He turned her palm up and tickled its center with his tongue, before moving to her wrists, up her inner arms.
Her breath whispered out of her. A little of her tension eased, and by the time he reached her neck, she was tipping her head to one side to give him access. He used it, catching the skin of her throat in his lips, suckling and even nipping a little, while feathering his fingers on her nape.
And then he kissed her collarbones, and moved lower, making his way toward the rising mound of her breast, and all around it, kissing and tasting, darting his tongue over every part except where she wanted him to. He watched her nipple harden and lengthen as if reaching out for his touch, for his kiss. He worked slowly, lazily, loving the looks that crossed her face and the way her body was beginning to quiver as her breaths grew shorter, more shallow.
With his hand on her other breast, he flicked his fingertips over the nipple, keeping his eyes turned upward to watch her face. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He kept watching her as he lifted his head slightly, just enough to let him slide his tongue over her nipple, in a long, slow lap. And then again. And then he flicked it back and forth rapidly.
She whispered a cuss word and clasped a handful of his hair in her fist. His arms were wrapped around her waist, helping her arch toward him, thrusting her breasts upward for easy access. He finally sucked her nipple into his mouth, drew on it hard and deeply, then he bit just a little, and then a little more until she whimpered and told him to take her, hard and deep and now.
“In a minute,” he promised as he slid his arms from around her waist, found her hands with his and guided one of them to each of her breasts. He covered her fingers with his own, guiding them to her nipples, and squeezing them hard, so she pinched herself. Then he let go of her hands, pleased when she didn’t move them away, and he mouthed her belly, and her navel, and lower, lower. He pushed her thighs wide and ran his hands up and down the insides of them, and then he pressed his face to her mound, her center, kissing, teasing, waiting, feeling her responses and listening to the sounds coming from her lips. He kissed her hard, and her knees bent, rose and fell wide, her lips opened to him.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. And he kissed her again, open and exposed and vulnerable. He kissed her again, and then again, and then he licked her the way he had licked her breasts. Long, slow strokes, then short hard ones that flicked and punished. He used his hands to spread her wide, so he could delve deep into her, taste and take the depths of her. He wanted to drink her. He wanted to devour her, and he did. He drove his tongue into her, flushing her inside—ravaging her. He had to have her, all of her. He had to make her come.
He lifted his eyes to her face, but couldn’t see it. Only her hands on her breasts, the tips of her nipples swelling from the pressure of her own fingers pinching and rolling and tugging on them.
He ate her deeply, and when his teeth scraped over her clit, which was bulging as if it would pop, he devoted his attention to that little nub. He flicked his tongue over it, and then he sucked it into his mouth and gnawed it with his teeth.
She screamed. He loved it. He reached up with his hands, closed his fingers over hers on her nipples and pressed, making her pinch herself harder while his mouth worked to ravage her center. And then he left her to keep his unspoken command, and he moved his hands between her legs again. He slid his fingers into her, invading her and licking and sucking her. He felt it when she started to come. He felt her muscles tighten around his fingers.
She screamed again as she came. Screamed and tried to push his head away from her, but he wasn’t finished, and by the time he was, she was quivering. Just lying there in spasms, shivering and shaking and crying. He crawled up her body. He stopped to lick and nibble her breasts as he settled himself in the cradle of her thighs, and slid inside her.
She groaned as he moved, drawing back and sinking into her again and again. He slid his hands underneath her buttocks so he could tip it up and hold her to him, and then he drove into her again. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist.
She was his. His. Maybe not forever, but right then, at that moment. She gave herself to him, and he wished he would never have to let her go.
Cassandra didn’t complain, didn’t seek escape. If anything, she pushed harder, took him deeper by arching her body to meet his. He sat up, pulling her legs around his waist, his hands at her backside. Her breasts were within reach of his mouth in this position and he took one of them. They moved together as if they were fused somehow, and he could almost believe he felt the sensations rushing through her as well as his own.
She moaned his name as her body exploded around him. She went tight, so tight he thought she might break, and she clung to him, quaking and shaking until he joined her in the heights of pleasure.
They clung that way until the aftershocks began to fade. He held her so close he could feel her heartbeat as their bodies slowly unclenched. Eventually, he lowered her to the nest on the floor, and lay down with her, pulling her into his arms, cradling her against him, holding her and rocking her and loving her….
Yes. Loving her.
Damn, he was in serious trouble here.
* * *
Jax lay there, wrapped up in River’s arms, for a solid hour before her brain cells returned to their proper alignment and she realized exactly what she was doing. She was snuggling with him.
Her eyes widened a little and she sat up fast, so startled by her behavior and his that she almost shot all the way to her feet. But instead, she managed to stay seated.
“What’s wrong?”
He sat up, too, but slowly, with an expression on his face that looked for all the world like utter satisfaction. Like a man who’d just finished packing away a feast and wanted nothing more than to lie around and digest it.
She, on the other hand, felt more like throwing up.
“I…I need a shower.”
She started to rise, but he caught her hand and held on. “Wait. Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I mean, I thought you wanted…Jax, tell me this wasn’t a mistake.”
She shook her head. “River, I don’t—”
“You don’t want love,” he said softly.
That wasn’t what she was going to say. She was going to say she didn’t have any regrets, or that she didn’t know what the hell she wanted anymore.
He stroked her hair before she could figure out how to reply, and he said, “Don’t worry, Cassandra. I don’t, either.”
He didn’t? Well, that should be a relief, shouldn’t it? Why did it feel so horrible then? She faked a s
mile and got to her feet. “Then I guess we understand each other.”
“Yeah.” He licked his lips and looked away from her. She got the distinct feeling he had a lot more to say, but didn’t.
“So…I guess I’ll go take my shower.”
“All right.”
He let go of her wrist, and Jax hurried away as fast as she could without breaking into a run. She felt pursued. She felt panicky. She closed the bathroom door, leaned back against it and tried to catch her breath, analyze the feelings and thoughts chasing through her mind. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t even catch hold of one, much less explore and examine it.
She felt just the way she had felt the handful of times when she had been under fire on the job. When bullets were flying at her, doing their best to hit her, to kill her, her entire body would become tense and hyperaware. She’d be half expecting the blow of one of those hot pieces of lead, and half focused on avoiding it while shooting back, the fight-or-flight response. Her adrenal glands were pumping and she wanted to do something. Scream at River and throw him out of the house. Sneak out the back door and run away, never looking back. Or run back down the stairs and wrap herself up in him as completely as she could.
“Jesus, what’s wrong with me?”
She went to the shower, turned on the faucets and adjusted the temperature a little hotter than she usually liked it. Then she stepped into the spray and let it pound her.
By the time she got out the sun was only a few hours away from rising. She went to the bedroom, rather than back downstairs, and collapsed on the bed, wrapping herself up in the covers, hiding beneath them, wondering why her belly was still queasy and her skin still tingled and her heart was still misfiring. God, she couldn’t be falling in love…could she?
Hours later, she woke slowly, sitting up and blinking away the sleep as she realized the sun was high, and there was a sound disrupting her rest. She glanced at the clock through bleary eyes: 9:15. Hell, she never slept this late. Not even on Sundays. It was totally unlike her. She woke at six every morning, with or without the aid of an alarm clock, and being up most of the night before seldom had any impact on that.
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