Serial Escape

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  He stared at her for another few seconds, debating whether or not he ought to wake her. She’d probably be less than thrilled to sleep through anything important, and she might even be mad that she’d wasted what could’ve been productive moments. But the fact that she’d fallen asleep, contortionist style—then continued to sleep through his yells—told him she needed what small amount of rest she could get.

  “Take what you can get, sweetheart,” he murmured.

  He started to leave, but another blast of wind cut into the room, and he decided to take an extra moment to close the window. Careful to keep quiet, he moved across the room, reached over her sleeping form and slid the glass pane shut. Another glance at Raven prompted a need to make her more comfortable, too. Very gently, he lifted up her awkwardly skewed leg, then shifted her so that her whole body was properly on the bed. He tugged the throw blanket up, tucked it over her shoulders, then stepped back with the intention of exiting. As he turned, though, Raven let out a sleepy noise—part sigh, part murmur—then rolled over and spoke in an equally sleepy voice.

  “Lucien.”

  He brought his attention her way, an apology for waking her on his lips. He went still, though, when he realized she hadn’t woken and spotted him. Her eyes were closed, her lips just barely parted. She’d said his name her sleep. The realization made his heart expand to the point that he had to press his palm to his chest to ease the ache, and he felt a need to touch her.

  Does she have any idea what she does to me? he wondered.

  Her lids fluttered slightly, and as much as he tried to stop himself from doing it, he couldn’t help but give in. His hand dropped down to brush away a loose strand of hair. The barest contact made his throat scratchy with raw emotion.

  “Every day...” he murmured. “I’ve thought about you every day. Even when I wanted to think about anything else.”

  Her lids fluttered again, and he knew he had to leave the room. Because if he didn’t, his need for her would only compound. He’d wake her. Take her into his arms. Kiss her so hard that there’d be no doubt as to how he felt. He’d beg her to forgive him for being an idiot for the last three years.

  And then... A rush of want hit him so hard that he nearly groaned. Get a hold of yourself, Match.

  He did his best to shake off the rush of feeling and desire, then—without daring to hazard another look in Raven’s direction—he spun toward the door. He didn’t make it a single step, though, before she said his name again. And this time, he was sure she was awake.

  Chapter 15

  For several groggy seconds after she called out to him, Raven thought she was dreaming again. Lucien stood just a few feet from her bed, and that was an embarrassingly frequent theme in her dreams. She waited for him to turn. To move toward her and sweep her into his lap and kiss her breathless. He didn’t move, though. And it was the stillness of his body that made her sure she was awake. In her dreams, he was never still.

  But she was definitely in bed, the haze of unexpected sleep hanging over her. She stared at Lucien’s back, and started to say his name again. Before she could speak, though, he pivoted to face her, and his pained expression washed away the last bit of grogginess.

  “What’s wrong?” she said automatically, pushing up to a sitting position. “Is it the Ricksons? Did something happen?”

  He shook his head, his features clearing. “No. None of that.”

  “What is it?”

  He took a step toward her, eyed the bed, then stopped again. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “I figured.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other, and his eyes drifted to the bed again. The look was quick, but something about it made Raven warmer.

  She cleared her throat. “Did you hear from the sergeant?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And everything else is okay?”

  “Yeah. Everything’s good.”

  She studied him for a second, noting the way his fingers drifted to his ear, and the way he held his shoulders a little too stiffly. She could tell he was covering something up; she just had no clue what it was. Or why.

  “Lucien, if something’s wrong, you might as well just tell me now and get it over with.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  An unexpected surge of irritation pricked at her. “If you don’t want to tell me what it is, that’s fine. But I’m not an idiot. I could see that you were upset the second I woke up.”

  He flinched, almost like he’d been struck, and Raven realized it was probably the first time she’d ever lost her temper in front of him. She wasn’t quick to anger in general, and with his hard line to her heart, Lucien was the last person she’d ever have thought to direct any annoyance toward. Feeling bad, she tried to reel it in. But her conscience and her mouth had other ideas.

  “Do we lie to each other now?” she asked. “Because what I remember from three years ago is that you were the one person I had left to trust.”

  “Raven.” The single word wasn’t enough to slow down the torrent of her own.

  She shook her head. “My parents and my brother are gone. My friends from before try not to pity me, but I can feel it anyway. And new people treat me differently when they find out who I am. There’s a taint around the edges of my life, and I don’t care how melodramatic that sounds. Three years ago, you made me feel normal and hopeful, and I won’t let you turn around and treat me the same way as everyone else.”

  He stepped forward, reached for her, but she stood quickly and moved out of touching distance.

  “I deserve more than that,” she said.

  “I can’t...” Lucien trailed off.

  She had no idea what he was thinking, no idea what he was trying to say. But the frustration was too high, her emotions too close to the surface.

  “I need a minute, Lucien. A few minutes. That’s why I came in here in the first place.”

  She stepped to the door, but his voice—surprisingly anguished—stopped her before she could make it all the way the out.

  “Stay. Please.”

  She spun back, and was startled to see that the broad-shouldered man had sunk down onto the bed. His face was aimed at his lap, one hand on the back his neck, the other tightened on the blue-flecked quilt. He looked more broken than Raven would’ve thought possible. Her anger dissipated. It took most of her willpower to keep from rushing back to him.

  “You do deserve more,” he said. “And that’s the problem.”

  She was genuinely surprised. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t a declaration that she was right.

  “I don’t understand,” she replied, inching closer in spite of her resolve to stand her ground.

  He replied without looking up. “Only two things have ever mattered to me like this. My job. And you.”

  His job.

  Why did it always have to come back to that?

  “I don’t want to stop you from doing your job,” she told him automatically.

  His eyes came up to meet hers. They were very close to red-rimmed, and their familiar coffee-colored hue was pained. But there was a hint of puzzlement there, too.

  “Why would you be stopping me from doing my job?” he wanted to know.

  Her face warmed. “By asking you to give me more.”

  His puzzled expression deepened, his forehead crinkling into a frown. “You think that being treated the way you deserve to be treated hinges on my work?”

  “I keep you from doing it.”

  “How?”

  “By turning you from a detective into a bodyguard.”

  “I’d rather protect you than solve murders, Raven.” He said it slowly, like he was trying to figure out why that idea might bother her.

  She let an exasperated noise out. “It’s b
asically a demotion.”

  “Bodyguards everywhere might disagree.”

  “Not my point, and you know it. You spent years working to get where you are. Five minutes with me, and I’m asking you to make that second best?”

  “Are you?”

  “What?”

  “Are you asking me to make my work second best?”

  She felt the flush in her cheeks spread down her throat. “I wouldn’t do that. Why do you think I—”

  “Why do I think you what?” he prodded.

  Raven swallowed. How had the conversation turned from her being mad at him, to him trying to make her admit that she wanted selfish things from him?

  She tried—a little desperately—to turn it around again by asking the one question she knew he didn’t want to answer. “Why did you leave, three years ago?”

  But this time, he didn’t balk or try to change the subject. “Because of everything you just said. Because I’m not good enough for you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not—”

  “No. I heard you. I just can’t believe that’s what you said.”

  “But it’s the truth. You deserve perfection. I can’t give you that.”

  “I don’t want perfection, Lucien. I want you.” As the admission burst out, her skin went from hot to scorching, and she wanted to bury her face in her hands.

  And Lucien’s mouth was quirking up. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  She dropped her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his amusement at her expense, and muttered, “Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

  He stood up and stepped in front of her so quickly that she almost stumbled back. But both of his hands landed on her forearms, holding her securely in place.

  “Raven.” His voice was thick. “Look at me. Please.”

  Reluctantly, she brought her gaze up. And even though she knew how close he was, staring up at him still took her breath away. His face was tipped down, his expression intense. She couldn’t help but drink in every detail of him.

  She could see the lighter flecks of caramel and the darker flecks of cocoa in his irises.

  She could see the beginning of his salt-and-pepper stubble, and the little ridges of his lips.

  She could smell his light, masculine scent.

  She could feel the heat of his chest.

  There was the ever-present crease just between his brows, and there were tiny laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, new since they’d met last.

  She loved it all. She wanted to touch it all. And for the first time in her life, she truly understood what it meant to yearn for something.

  “Raven,” he said again, his fingers coming up to her chin. “There could never be something bad about you wanting me, so I sure as hell can’t make it worse.”

  It took her a second to figure out that he was replying to her embarrassed grumble from a few moments earlier. With him standing so kissably close, it was hard to think straight.

  She tried to force out a steadying breath, but all that came was a breathy little gasp, so she gave up and shook her head.

  “If it’s not bad,” she said, “then why do you keep looking at me like it is?”

  “It scares me,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower.

  His mouth skimmed from her eyes to her mouth and then back again in way that made Raven shiver. Her pulse beat against her veins unsteadily, and she inched forward.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  The hand on her chin slipped to the back of her neck and his fingers tangled into her hair. “What if I let you down?”

  “You won’t.”

  “You don’t know that, Raven. But you do know my family history. What my dad did to my stepmom...what she did to us...”

  “You’re not them.”

  Their bodies were flush against each other now, and Raven could feel that in spite of his protests and self-doubt, he wanted her as much as she wanted him. His free hand had made its way to her waist, and he was holding on like he was never going to let go. And yet he still argued.

  “If I hurt you, I’d never forgive myself,” he said.

  She lifted her arms and put them on his shoulders. “I’m willing to take the risk.”

  His expression was torn, a battle clearly raging inside. Raven wriggled even closer. A little groan escaped his lips.

  “This job, Raven.”

  “I don’t want to talk about the job, Lucien.”

  “But if I—”

  “Lucien.”

  “Yes?”

  “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  He gave her a final look—a hungry, all-consuming one, temperature-spiking one—then dipped his mouth down and devoured her.

  * * *

  Lucien refused to regret a single second of it.

  Not the little rip he made in her shirt as he tore it off.

  Not the bruise he was going to have from stumbling into the bed frame as she propelled him toward the bed.

  Not the moment of awkwardness where she confessed to taking birth control for medical reasons, nor the moment of embarrassment—and relief—where both of them confessed to not even have been on a date over the years of separation.

  And definitely not the way she looked and felt when he met her eyes, slid between her thighs and eased into her.

  Not even the time it took away from working on the case.

  It was all perfection; obligation and worry be damned. How could he regret it? Raven was still wrapped around him, her petite frame tucked against his large one like it was meant to be there. Like it’d been there a thousand times before. Just how he’d imagined it would be.

  At some point, she’d managed to slip into his T-shirt, and he was already anticipating taking it back, bathed in her light, soapy scent. Maybe he’d hold off on washing it. Hang on to it like a lovesick teenager. He smiled at the analogy, but then immediately thought about how it didn’t even come close to describing the way he felt. Yes, he loved the current moment. All of the passion-filled moments that had led to it, too. But he didn’t want to freeze time. He just wanted more of it. For Raven to do this a hundred times. For her to put on a hundred different shirts, a hundred, postsex times so that he’d never need to not wash one.

  He traced a lazy hand over her back, relishing the way she snuggled a little closer. Her breaths—and his own—had finally evened out, the exertion fading.

  But not the excitement, said a voice in his head.

  He acknowledged it with a mental nod. Her nearness was already stirring his desire all over again. He smiled again, and flattened his palm against the dip just above her hip.

  Three years, you’ve been waiting, Match. Not a pleasant wait. You tolerated it, though. But now that you’ve been together once, you’re going to become insatiable?

  According to his body, the answer was a clear yes.

  He slid his hand lower. Slowly. Down to the edge of the T-shirt, which ended high on her thigh. He paused there so he could stroke her velvety skin.

  Raven squirmed, let out a little sigh, and her fingers flexed against his chest. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be held accountable for my resulting behavior.”

  He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “If you’re trying to deter me, you’re doing it all wrong.”

  She leaned away, but if it was an attempt to put a little space between them, it backfired. The movement drove his palm down even more—straight into her rear end—and she groaned.

  “Lucien!”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Yeah, right,” she grumbled.

  He laughed again. “But I am still waiting on the resulting behavior.”

  “Very funny.” She started to say something else, b
ut he bent and cut her off with a kiss, just because he could.

  “Are you going to say that was an accident, too?” she asked breathlessly when he finally pulled away.

  “Hmm. Does it mean I’ll get away with it?”

  “No.”

  “Damn.” He leaned back and dragged his fingers up to a more respectable spot on her back, then closed his eyes and drew in another Raven-scented breath before murmuring, “I could get used to this.”

  There was a silent moment before she answered, and when she spoke, it was in a serious tone. “I’m already used to it. Is that weird?”

  He didn’t have to think about is reply at all. “No.”

  She was quiet for a second again, then sighed. “But we have to get up, don’t we?”

  “Probably a good idea. I left my phone out in the living room.”

  “Well. That explains why Sergeant Gray didn’t interrupt us.”

  He laughed, kissed the top of her head then sat up to search for his discarded pants. His boss and the case—and Hanes, thank God—hadn’t even been on the periphery of his mind during their time in bed. In fact, it’d all felt very far away. Like a lifetime had passed since he’d hurried through the house in search of her. But now that he was reminded of it, the urgency of the situation was hurtling toward him again.

  He yanked his pants over his thighs, then sat back down, his brain switching back to cop mode. An idea was trying to take solidity. His fingers tapped his thigh as he watched Raven move to the closet to thumb through the clothes she’d left behind three years earlier, and that he’d never had the heart—or the desire—to get rid of. She grabbed a pair of jeans, then turned toward him, holding them out.

  “Hope these still—” She stopped, her eyes hanging on his face. “What?”

  His fingers stopped moving, and he answered slowly. “What if there is a brother?”

  “In the Rickson family?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jim out and out told your boss that there wasn’t.”