by Nora Roberts
“I bought the place about four years ago.”
“And you’re still alive. You’re a strong man, Michael.”
“I’ve been thinking about getting it cleaned.”
“Think bulldozers.”
“It’s hard to get insulted when I’m eating.” He watched her take a picture of Conroy, who had gone back to sleep with his paws crossed over the bag of chips. “He’ll never sign a release form.”
She smiled at him. “Feeling better?”
“Almost human.”
“I was out—decided it was time to start working again. I thought you might like to tag along for a few hours.” She felt shy suddenly. It was different now that he was fully awake, watching her over the remains of the breakfast she’d fixed him. “I know you’ve been busy the last few weeks.”
“Tackling crime single-handed. Conroy, you lazy mutt, go fetch.” The dog opened one eye and grumbled. “Go on.” He gave what sounded like a very human sigh as he dragged himself up and out. “You’ve been avoiding me, Emma.”
She started to deny it. “Yes. I’m sorry. You’ve been a good friend, and I—”
“If you start on that friendship-and-gratitude business again, you’re only going to piss me off.” He took the pack of cigarettes Conroy dropped in his lap, then rose to let the dog out.
“I won’t mention it again.”
“Good.” He turned back. Six months he’d waited, hoping she’d come knocking on his door. Now that she had, he couldn’t kick the anger. “Why did you come here?”
“I told you.”
“You wanted company while you took some pictures, and you thought about good old Michael.”
She set the bottle of ginger ale down and rose stiffly. “Obviously I should have thought again. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“Walk in and walk out,” he murmured. “That’s a bad habit of yours, Emma.”
“I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“That’s too damn bad. It’s long past time we had this out.”
He took a step toward her. She retreated. Nothing she could have done would have infuriated him more.
“I’m not Latimer, goddammit. I’m sick to death of you thinking of him every time I get close. If we’re going to fight, it’s going to be you and me and nobody else.”
“I don’t want to fight.” Before she’d realized she’d done it, she picked up the bottle and threw it. Glass and ginger ale exploded in the sink. She stood, stunned, as the fizzing died away.
“Want another?”
“I have to go.” She reached for her camera, but he moved and laid a hand over hers.
“Not this time.” His voice wasn’t calm. When she looked up at him, she braced, waiting. “You’re not going to walk out on me again, Emma. Not until I’ve said what I need to say.”
“Michael—”
“Just shut up. I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember. That day all those years ago, that day on the beach when I took you home, I had such a crush on you I could hardly see. I was barely seventeen and I couldn’t think of anyone but you for weeks after. I haunted that beach, waiting for you to come back.”
“I couldn’t.” She turned away, but made no attempt to leave.
“I got over it.” Michael shook a cigarette out of the pack, then slammed through the kitchen drawers looking for a match. “I thought I’d gotten over it, and then you came back. There I am minding my own business, cutting the lawn, and you’re standing in front of me. I could hardly breathe. Dammit, I wasn’t a boy anymore and it wasn’t a crush.”
She had to struggle to find her voice. It was a different kind of fear now. Dozens of nerves jumping to tangle over each other. “You hardly knew me.”
He shifted his gaze to meet hers. “You know better, Emma. There was something there, when we sat on the beach. The first time I kissed you. The only time. I’ve never forgotten it. I haven’t been able to. Then you walked away.”
“I had to.”
“Maybe you did.” He pitched his cigarette out the door and let the screen slam shut. “The time wasn’t right, that’s what I told myself. Christ, I’ve been telling myself that for years.” He crossed to her. He could feel her tremble when he took her arms, but he didn’t let go. Not this time. “When is the time going to be right, Emma?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“That’s bullshit. You know just what I want you to say.”
“I can’t.”
“Won’t,” he corrected. “Because of him. Dammit, you broke my heart when you married him, and I had to live with that. It seems like I’ve spent half my life trying to get over you. Maybe I could have done it, but you came back again.”
“I—” She moistened her dry lips. “I couldn’t help that, either.”
Something came into his eyes that had her holding her breath. “I told myself this time it would be different. I was going to make it different. And then…When I found out what he’d done to you I almost went crazy. I’ve been afraid to touch you, all these months. Give her time, that’s what I kept telling myself. Give her time to get over it. The hell with it.”
He pulled her close and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
IT WASN’T WHAT she expected. She was trapped. There was no denying that she was trapped against him, his body strong and hard and tense, his mouth like a fire on hers. She’d thought she would be revolted, or terrified to find herself held tight by a man again. But those weren’t her feelings. What emotions rushed into her came so quickly her head spun. Warmth and pleasure and an ice-edged spear of desire.
She didn’t want to give herself to them, or to him. How could she when it meant handing her control over to someone else again? But before she could fight, he was drawing away.
He didn’t speak, just looked at her. Wide-eyed, breath quickened, she stood absolutely still. Yes, she was trapped, Emma realized. But it didn’t seem to matter. Because she was feeling again, really feeling, in a way she’d long ago accepted she was incapable of.
The anger had drained out of him so that only his needs remained. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
It would be her choice. She could see that in his eyes. If she was trapped, it was her own longings, her own dreams, that held her prisoner. “I’m not.”
His hands had gentled on her shoulders. She didn’t protest when he slid them up to frame her face. Nor did she try to pull away when his lips touched hers again. Gently now, and soft. Her muscles went lax even as her pulse scrambled. Her choice, she thought again, and one she’d taken much too long to make. Then her mind filled up with him so completely there was room for nothing else.
He felt the change, the slow, hesitant response as her lips parted beneath his, as her body seemed to melt against him. He was trembling himself as he skimmed kisses over her face. Then her arms came around him and she found his lips with her own.
He lifted her up. It seemed the only way to love her this first time. He continued to kiss her, light and promising, deep and drugging, as he carried her into the bedroom.
The shades were drawn so that the sun beat against them in yellow waves. He wished it could have been candlelight.
Emma tried not to stiffen when he laid her on the bed. She knew it would go quickly now. She wanted him to go on kissing her, holding her. But she knew better. She thought she knew better.
He was beside her. He didn’t roll on top of her and tug at her clothes. His mouth sought hers again, to seduce as much as to reassure. Though her body was taut as wire, she seemed so fragile. Her skin, her mouth, the scent that he could wallow in when he buried his face in her hair. Her fingers brushed hesitantly over his bare chest, nearly driving him mad.
With a little moan of pleasure, he began to tease her tongue with his. Her taste ran through him like a warm river. He moved slowly, confusing her. Seducing her. She waited for him to take, but he continued to give.
His hands ran over her, m
aking her shudder. But there was no fear in it. Here, at last, was generosity. Here, at last, was compassion. A pleasure so deep and dark coursed through her that she moved against him, hands clutching. Greed poured into her. She hadn’t known she could feel it, not for a man. Her hands were in his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers so that she could sink into those hot, wet kisses.
When he drew back, she moaned in protest and reached for him.
“I want to look at you,” he told her. “I’ve waited a long time to look at you here.”
She could only stare, bewildered and aching as he brushed his hands through her hair, watching the way it fell from his fingers onto the pillow. He continued to watch her face as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse. He could see the confusion in her eyes, and the cloudy haze of desire. It made it easy to be tender.
When she lifted a hand to cover herself, he took it, pressed her fingers to his lips. With her hand still in his, he lowered his mouth to her breast. A groan escaped him. She was small and firm. Sweet. Unbearable.
Her skin fired with the slightest touch. He filled himself with her, the taste, the smooth silky texture. He could hear her breath, as fast and shallow as his own. Her body arched as he peeled the blouse from her.
His mouth was everywhere. She shivered from the heat as he ranged quick, openmouthed kisses over her face, her shoulders, then gently, torturously, down her rib cage. She jolted when he used his teeth, but there was no pain. Only delirium. He drew down her slacks, inch by maddening inch, following the path with his lips.
She wanted. She had never wanted before. Only dreamed. Her body was slick with sweat, writhing with need, but he continued to kiss and caress, making her claw at the sheets as he nibbled on the back of her knee.
The heat was unbearable, yet she wanted more. As his fingers skimmed up her thighs, her body convulsed. She couldn’t draw air. A roaring filled her head, bolted through her system, terrifying her. With a wild mixture of pleasure and fear, she reared up. The climax slammed into her, a velvet fist, which had her falling back, gasping.
“My God, you’re sweet.” He could barely breathe himself as he brought his mouth back to sear hers. Before her shudders had stopped, he was driving her up again. She wanted to scream out his name, but could only whisper it as her hands slid over his damp skin.
“Please.” Her breath was sobbing out now. Sensation after sensation poured into her body until it was a mass of fevered pleasure. Yet it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. “I want …” She cried out again, flinging out a hand and sending something crashing.
“Tell me.” He was crazed to hear it. The pressure had built to a pitch he’d never experienced. Yet he held back. “Look at me, and tell me.”
She opened her eyes. His face was all she could see, and in his eyes, she saw herself. “I want you.” Reaching up, she dragged his mouth to hers. She cried out again when he filled her.
SHE SLEPT FOR an hour, exhausted, across his bed. He’d sat beside her for a long time, stroking her hair and wondering how to keep her in his life. Even being in love with her all that time hadn’t prepared him for what it would be like to be her lover. He’d imagined it. Countless times. But whenever he had, he’d had only women as comparisons.
There was no one like Emma.
If he had to beg, he’d beg. If he had to fight, he’d fight. But he wasn’t going to lose her again.
When she woke, he was gone. She lay, stomach down, across the bed, trying to adjust her mind to what had happened to her body. It seemed impossible that she had felt all those things, done all those things, without a moment of regret or hesitation. Even hours before, she had been certain she would never want to be touched again. And yet, perhaps today was the first time she truly had been touched. Smiling, she rolled over and thought idly about getting dressed and finding him.
Then she saw his gun. It was still holstered, the strap slung across the back of a chair a few feet from the bed. She had used a gun, Emma remembered. Though much of that last horror with Drew came only in vague patches, she could clearly see those final moments. She could remember how it had felt to wrap her hands around the gun, to pull the trigger. To kill.
To know she was capable of that made her stomach coil into knots. She had loved and married and killed in a little less than two years. Now, she had the rest of her life to wonder how she could have done any one of the three.
When the bedroom door swung open, she groped automatically for the sheet.
“Good. You’re up.” Michael strolled in carrying a bucket of chicken and a six-pack of Cokes. “I thought you might get hungry”
He’d pulled an LAPD T-shirt on with his jeans. But he was still barefoot. To Emma he looked more like a beachcomber than a man who would fire a gun. Before she could answer, he leaned down and kissed her in a way that had her mind clouding again.
“Figured we could have a picnic.”
“A picnic,” she echoed. “Where?”
“Right here.” He dropped the bucket of chicken on the bed. “That way the neighbors won’t be shocked because you’re naked.”
She laughed. “I could get dressed.”
He sat on the bed across from her and took a long look. “I really wish you wouldn’t.” Grinning, he twisted the top off a Coke. “Want some music?” He leaned over and punched a button on his clock radio. Linda Ronstadt soared over “Blue Bayou.” Getting down to business, he peeled the top off the bucket and dug in. “Aren’t you hungry?”
The scent of the chicken was glorious. Emma watched him take a bite and dragged a hand through her tousled hair. “I can’t eat naked.”
“Sure you can.” He held out the drumstick. She shifted, took a bite, then laughed again.
“Really, I can’t.”
Michael dropped the chicken back in the bucket, then dragged his shirt off. He pulled it over her head. “Better?”
Emma worked her arms through. “Lots.” The shirt smelled of him. It amazed her that it made her every bit as hungry as the chicken did. “I’ve never had a picnic in bed before.”
“Same principle as a blanket on the beach. We eat, listen to music, and then I make love with you. This way we avoid the sand.”
She took the bottle he offered and drank to ease a dry throat. “I don’t know how all this happened.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be glad to run through it all again for you.”
“Was it—” She broke off, annoyed with herself.
“You weren’t going to ask if it was good for me, were you?”
“No.” He was grinning at her. “Sort of.” She took another bite of chicken. “Never mind.”
Delighted with her, with himself, with everything, he ran a fingertip down her bare arm. “You want like a scale of one to ten?”
“Shut up, Michael.”
“Just as well, because you went right off the scale.”
He only flustered her. “It’s never been like that for me before,” she murmured. “I’ve never … I didn’t think I could—” She broke off again, then taking a deep breath got the rest out of her system. “I thought I was frigid.”
He nearly laughed, but he could see by her face that it wasn’t a joke. Latimer again, Michael thought and had to take several seconds to control his voice. “You thought wrong.”
His careless response was exactly the right one. Looking up again, she smiled. “If I had followed my instincts that day on the beach when I kissed you, I’d have known differently a long time ago.”
“Why don’t you follow them now?”
She hesitated. Rising up to her knees, she linked her arms around his neck and kissed him. Michael tossed the half-eaten drumstick over his shoulder. She was laughing when they rolled over the bed.
STAY TONIGHT.”
The sun was going down as she started to dress. “Not tonight. I need to think.”
“I was afraid you’d start thinking again.” He reached for her, holding her against him. “I love you, Emma. Why don’t you think about th
at?”
Her only response was to close her eyes.
“I need you to believe me.”
“I want to believe you,” she told him. “I don’t trust my own judgment right now. Not so long ago I thought Drew loved me, and that I loved him. I was wrong on both counts.”
“Goddammit, Emma.” Biting off the words, he moved away to pull