Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  He stared at the beer. “He was shot. Died instantly.” He swallowed.

  “You were there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was the shooter caught?”

  He nodded.

  She got the distinct feeling he was holding back. But she understood that, too.

  He turned the bottle in his hands and focused on it instead of her. “It took two weeks to catch him.”

  His voice lowered, as if he was divulging a secret. Eager to know it, to know him, she leaned closer. “Is he behind bars?”

  He still didn’t look at her. “On death row.”

  “Good.”

  He took another sip of the beer.

  She waited, wanting to reach in and pull out more words, sensing the story wasn’t over. “And?”

  His green eyes cut toward her. “There were two shooters.” His voice became almost monotone.

  “One got away?”

  “No. I shot him. Watched him die.” He gave the bottle another twist. “He was seventeen. Had just started dealing. His sister had diabetes and the family couldn’t afford her insulin. And I know this because…they were members of my mother’s church. I still get her church newsletter.”

  He wiped a hand across his face again. “My mom knew the boy. Her church had helped sponsor the family. I even met him once when he was younger. I’d stopped by her house and Mom was watching him and his sister.” He swallowed and the tight gulp sounded painful. “After the shooting, I remember thinking I was glad Mom was gone. She’d have been so ashamed.”

  She put her hand on his arm. She wanted to say, you can’t blame yourself, but she knew it didn’t change anything. “That had to have been hard.”

  In his eyes, she saw pain. She felt that pain. Knew his pain. Knew what it felt like to blame yourself.

  He continued, “Most people say ‘It’s not your fault,’ and honestly, that’s what I want to say to you about your informant and your sister, but I’m sure, like me, you’ve heard it a thousand times. Even when the media crucified me for shooting that kid and my own department didn’t defend me, I knew it wasn’t my fault. But it didn’t change what I felt. Or what I still feel.”

  She nodded. “I’m hoping it just takes time.”

  “Yeah.” Leaning forward, he put the beer bottle on the table. “And on that uplifting note, I should go. Let you get some sleep.”

  Before he rose, she caught his hand. “It’s not your fault.” She exhaled. “Maybe we just need to hear it over and over again. And maybe it’s different when you hear it from someone who understands.”

  While her words came from the heart, they didn’t feel like enough. “And…any guy who would spend three hours hunting for a cat that had already clawed him up is a good soul, right up there with, say…a preacher.”

  He stared at their joined hands, glanced up, and offered a smile that seemed to say her words mattered. Before she changed her mind, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

  Bad idea? Probably. But he was hurting. She was hurting.

  He cupped the back of her neck and gently pulled her closer. The kiss went from soft to deep. Sweet to sweeter.

  He tasted like pizza. Like beer. Like something she’d been hungry for all her life. Unaware of how it happened, she was suddenly on his lap, straddling him.

  She needed more. More of him. More of his skin. More of his touch. More.

  She tugged his T-shirt up. He lifted his lips from hers and yanked his shirt off. Her gaze lowered and feasted on his ripples of muscle. A light dusting of golden-brown hair fanned across his chest trailing downward past his navel and disappearing into his pants.

  He sat there, letting her enjoy the view. Then the view wasn’t nearly enough.

  She pressed a hand on the center of his chest. The hair there felt soft. His skin warm. The thump of his heart pulsed against her palm.

  Slow seconds passed before he reached for the hem of her shirt.

  He held the fabric between his fingers and met her eyes. “This okay?”

  The question sobered her for a second. Was it okay? Was she really doing this? This could complicate things. But with his body humming below her, and her absorbing every small vibration, she didn’t want to stop. Whatever the consequences, she’d take them. “Yeah.”

  He eased the tank top up. The brush of fabric lifting over her bare stomach sent a thrill whispering through her. Then she got a whiff of cigarette smoke from the club. “I need a shower.”

  “Want company?”

  “It’s a small shower.”

  “Good.” His smile was all sin.

  “Okay.” Envisioning them naked and skin to skin, she felt her lower abdomen tighten with desire. Then, with her still straddling him, he stood from the sofa.

  She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist, pressed her forehead against his, and smiling she said, “I can walk.”

  “But this way I get to put my hands on your ass.”

  She laughed. He stared at her. “You need to do that more often.”

  He carried her into the bathroom and slowly let her down. As her pelvis moved over him, she felt the hardness behind his zipper.

  She started the shower. When she turned, he pulled her close and kissed her again. His hands slid over bare skin, and she barely felt him unhook her bra. Like a man who had all the time in the world, he eased the straps over her shoulders and down her arms until the lacy fabric cascaded to the floor.

  “Wow.” His gaze, wide with desire, lingered on her breasts. Reaching up, he brushed his thumbs over her tightening nipples.

  His touch sent a thousand sweet nerve endings dancing southbound, and she felt the moisture between her legs.

  His hands lowered. He unclasped her shorts, then knelt in front of her, lowered her zipper, and pushed her shorts down until they collected around her ankles. She looked down at him, as he gazed up at her. His eyes were so green, they were startling.

  Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss beside her belly button. The feel of his lips on tender skin brought on a gasp. He slid one hand between her knees and eased it up. She gasped again. When he came to the V of her legs, he slipped one finger under the elastic of her panties. The light friction across her sex had pleasure pulsing between her thighs. His touch moved a little deeper and found a pool of dampness.

  “Someone’s ready.” His voice came out heavy, hoarse, sexy. It washed over her like liquid. Then his finger found her opening and slipped inside her.

  Her mind spun. Her knees almost buckled. She caught herself by placing a palm on each of his shoulders.

  His finger moved up, down, then pulled out, leaving her feeling empty and desperate. Her panties were whisked down her legs. She stepped out. He rose up and studied her standing naked.

  She unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the clasp on his pants. He finished the job, pushing the slacks down, underwear included. His hard shaft, freed from the clothes, rose proudly.

  Her gaze caught on his sex, pointing upward, thick, long, and hard. She was far from experienced. With only four lovers to her name, she marveled at his size. Her lower body clenched at the thought of him filling her.

  The emptiness she felt, the ache between her thighs, doubled. Suddenly embarrassed at her open admiration, she looked up. He studied her face, and her cheeks turned hot.

  He smiled. “I think the shower’s ready.”

  She nodded and followed him into a cloud of steam. The stall was small. He pulled her close. His sex, warm and pulsing, pressed against her abdomen.

  She sputtered as the water hit her in the face. He adjusted the showerhead.

  “Better?” His voice was right at her temple.

  “Yes.” She put her hands on his waist.

  She watched as he found the soap and lathered his hands. His slick palms moved to her shoulders and eased down her body, caressing all the tender spots.

  When he was finished, he crouched down in front of her. His day-old stubble pressing against her abdomen as his mou
th lowered and his tongue slipped between the folds of her sex.

  She let out a sound, half squeal, half moan. Her knees buckled, knocking Connor off his haunches and onto his butt. His fall backward sent her down as well. She’d have landed on top of him if he hadn’t caught her and guided her to the small space beside him.

  “You okay?” He touched her face.

  “That is not meant to be done standing up.” She heard her own words and giggled.

  His laugh followed and they stayed like that for a long moment, sitting in the shower stall, water cascading on them. He finally stood and offered her a hand.

  She took it. After pulling her to her feet, he grabbed the soap and started rubbing his chest.

  She took the soap from him. “Let me.” She lathered up her palms.

  Taking her time, she ran her slick hands over his chest, across his back, down his sides, and ended with one slippery palm on his sex. She couldn’t close her fingers around him, but tightening she shifted her hand up and down.

  He caught her hand. “Can’t take much of that.”

  He stepped into the spray of water, rinsed off, then took her hand and led her out of the shower.

  She grabbed two thick cotton towels. He took one, but instead of drying himself, he dried her. Even as turned on as she was, and as comfortable as she was with her body, she felt self-conscious and got a case of first-time jitters. When he finished, she took the towel and wrapped it around herself as he quickly dried himself.

  “Bedroom?” His voice sounded deep with want.

  “Yes.” Then she realized…“No.”

  “No?” he asked.

  “We need protection.”

  “I got that.” He reached for his pants, found his wallet, and pulled out a foiled package.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Something about the way her hand fit in his sent an alarm whispering through Connor. This could be a mistake.

  But that warning wasn’t nearly as loud as his wanting. Not nearly as loud as his heart thundering in his chest.

  Getting to her bedroom door, he opened it. Brie’s cat, sitting curled up in the center of the bed, hissed. He backed up and let Brie take the lead. When he followed her, the feline bounced up with his back arched, as if prepared to pounce. Connor, having already been used as the feline’s scratching post, stepped away from the doorway and cupped his hand over his crotch.

  Brie chuckled. The sound rang out like notes of really good music. Connor glanced at her. Wrapped in a towel with humor brightening her eyes, she took his breath away.

  “They like to attack anything dangling,” he said.

  She laughed harder, and that sweet sound was like a favorite song he didn’t know he had.

  He was so caught up in her, he barely noticed when the cat darted out the door.

  Damn, she was beautiful. No, more than beautiful. She was precious. A sudden ache filled his chest.

  He glanced at the door. “Alright if I close it?”

  “Fine.” She pulled the comforter down, tugged the sheet up, and crawled under it. He mourned the sight of her body. Then she reached under the sheet, slipped the towel out, held it up, and dropped it on the floor. While the action hinted at shyness, the slowness with which she pulled the towel out, and the way she held it out there for three seconds before dropping it, was pure seduction.

  Consider him seduced.

  He set the foil-wrapped condom on the bedside table and slid in beside her.

  “You cold?” He rested his hand on her bare hip and moved closer until they were skin to skin.

  “A little.” The soft, slightly bashful voice brushed across his chest. Was she having second thoughts? “You still okay with this?”

  “Yes.”

  Relief filled him. “Let me see if I can’t warm you up.” He eased closer and his hard-on pushed against her. The need for release made him even harder. Yet with that yearning came a stronger desire to touch. To taste. To take his sweet time.

  He pressed his lips to hers with soft open kisses, while he caressed her breasts. He eased downward and took a tight nipple into his mouth. Wanting to know what she liked, he listened and learned. Focused on her every movement. Every breath. Every little sound spilling from her lips.

  While bathing her breasts with his lips and tongue, he slid his hand down between her legs. He eased a finger between her tender folds of skin. Moaning, her hips lifted off the mattress. The slight movement and the moisture between her thighs told him she was ready. He could bury himself in that moist heat.

  Instead, he pressed his thumb over the tiny nub while his middle finger dipped in and out of the tight opening. Her sighs grew louder. Then he kissed his way down her abdomen, leaving a trail of moisture.

  Under the sheet, he eased her legs apart. Her scent brought more blood pumping to his sex, and his heart boomed in his chest. He kissed her inner thighs. Then he ran his tongue over the cleft of her sex before dipping inside the soft pink skin. Her taste filled his mouth and his hard-on tightened to the point of pain. Her hips came up, then down, then up, meeting his mouth in the age-old movement that drove men wild.

  She pressed herself against his mouth, while he suckled, licked, and tasted. He’d barely started when she cried out. Slipping two fingers inside her, he felt her muscles clench in orgasm. Smiling, he moved up, trailing more kisses as he did. When he came out from under the covers, her eyes were closed, her breathing fast.

  He pressed his cheek to hers. “You liked that?”

  She moaned, then opened her eyes. Her pupils were large, her irises brighter, bluer.

  “Yeah.” Scooting up, she pushed him back on the mattress, then straddled him.

  She eased down his legs, stopping when she got to his knees. Her gaze focused on his throbbing sex saluting the ceiling. Her head lowered and she gazed up. That look, the way her tongue slid across her lips, almost brought him to orgasm.

  “No.” He caught her and pulled her up.

  “But…” She frowned.

  He pressed a finger to her mouth. “I’ll take a rain check. If your lips touch me, it’ll be over, and I want to be inside you.”

  She swallowed. “Condom. Now.” She reached for it on the bedside table.

  He laughed. “Why the rush?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “You sure?” he asked, teasing her, loving her eagerness.

  She ripped the package open with her teeth.

  As she pushed it down, her fist tightened around him. His sex pumped against her soft palm, pulsing with pleasure.

  He yanked her hand away, flipped her on her back, and found his place on top of her. Balancing his weight on his forearms, he slid inside her. Slowly. An inch at a time.

  Her tight walls surrounded him and had him thinking about baseball, about fishing, about anything to stop him from coming too soon. She wrapped her legs around him. He pushed deeper, the pleasure almost unbearable. Her hips rose up to meet him, her calves tightened around his waist, and the real dance began. In. Out. In. Out. Deep. Then deeper.

  Her breathing shortened and a sweet sound left her lips. Only when he felt her orgasm sucking him deeper, milking him, did he let himself go. The intense pleasure brought a growl to his lips. And when he expected it to stop, it didn’t. Wave after wave of pleasure spiraled up into his chest, only stopping right before he was certain his heart might explode.

  He caught himself before collapsing on top of her. Scooping her in his arms, he rolled to his side, pulling her with him. He kept their bodies joined, wanting every ounce of pleasure this moment offered.

  She eased closer, her soft body melting against him. And he melted with her. He stayed completely still, feeling the air move between his lips, feeling her breathe. She shifted ever so slightly, and pressed her lips to his chest. That soft butterfly kiss passed through skin, through bone, and went straight to his heart.

  He pulled her closer. She didn’t speak. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was feel. And he felt it all. Every
nuance of warmth, of tenderness, every inch of her fitting against him. It was several minutes before the pleasure subsided. And when it left, she pressed her lips to his chest again and just like that…nothing felt right. Everything felt wrong.

  Fuck. Shit. Dammit.

  This wasn’t supposed to feel this good. He couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t the orgasm now.

  This wasn’t the love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of sex he’d been having since his wife walked away. This was the hold-me, stay-with-me, emotional-attachment kind of sex that he avoided at all cost. He recalled telling her things, things he never talked about. Why?

  The answer shot back. Because I wanted her to tell me her secrets. Because I’m an idiot.

  Fuck. Shit. Dammit.

  “You okay?” he managed to ask, but he knew it lacked tenderness.

  “Yeah,” she whispered. He felt her lift her face to look up at him, but he refused to meet her gaze.

  “That was amazing.” Her words of praise only made it worse. His insides started to shake. The wall he’d built around himself the last three and a half years started to crack.

  “I should go. Let you sleep.” He pulled away.

  “Why don’t you stay. It’s—”

  “No.” He bounced off the bed, rushed to the bathroom, tossed the condom in the trash can, then dressed in mere seconds.

  Feeling like shit, he started out. When he got to the door and saw the lock, he remembered the panty pervert. “Shit!”

  He walked back into the bedroom. She sat up, sheet clutched to her chest, looking precious. Looking perfect. Then he saw the emotion in her eyes.

  He’d hurt her. And she’d already been hurting. Hurting because of her partner. Because of her informant. Because of her sister and her piss-poor parents.

  He was a real dick.

  She tilted her chin up. He got a better look at her face and realized it wasn’t just hurt in her blue eyes. The old saying “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” came to mind.

  “You need to lock the door behind me in case that asshole comes back.”

  “Looks to me like he’s already here,” she tossed out.