He lifts his gaze to mine, his eyes turning steely and determined. “Do you want to know what changed between our slow dance last night and me coming down those stairs this morning?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
“I went into my file on Katz to read the reports and portions of the investigation I spearheaded. And I made myself remember how badly I failed you and your parents.”
I’ve always known Clay carries around some level of guilt for not saving my parents. It’s clear he does for all the victims. But I never knew he viewed my parents’ murders as being a failure on his part. Compounded with guilt, it can be an extremely troubling burden to carry.
“How could you have failed us?” I ask with a frown. “You didn’t know us before Katz came into our lives.”
He doesn’t even blink. “Because I knew it was Katz long before he killed your parents.”
“What?” I exclaim, bolting upright and sloshing coffee over the armrest of the couch and my pants. It’s so shocking to hear that I immediately go into denial. “No. That’s not possible.”
“It’s true,” he mutters. “I knew it was him. Deep in my gut.”
My head spins a little, but I try to give Clay the benefit of the doubt. I need more context. “If you knew, why didn’t you arrest him?”
“I couldn’t,” he growls angrily, leaning forward and putting his cup on the coffee table. Mine is still dripping from the bottom onto my legs, but I ignore it. “I didn’t have probable cause, and his alibi had checked out for one of the murders. We knew it was the same guy committing them, so one alibi absolved him as the main suspect. We had two others who had lawyered up and wouldn’t talk to us, so they seemed more probable to the task force as a whole. But not to me… I knew it was Katz.”
I can feel my pulse immediately slow at this explanation. “Clay—”
“Corinne,” he says, leaning toward me so his stare becomes more focused. “I sat across a table from him.” He waves his hand between his body and mine. “I was as close to him as I’m sitting to you now. And I listened to him talk for hours. I fucking knew it was him. Even though he said all the right things and was charming and genial, I could see the psychopath within.”
I shift slightly to put my cup on the table beside the couch, run my palm over my jeans to dry off any remaining coffee clinging to my skin, then reach out to put my hand on his forearm. “But if you didn’t have probable cause, then there was nothing you could do. Surely you have to realize I would never blame you for the constraints by which you had to work.”
“I should have pushed harder on the alibi,” he laments.
“From what I remember, she was solid. Katz’s girlfriend swore he was with her. His cell phone even pinged from her house on the night of those particular murders.”
“I could have made her crack,” he insists.
I don’t know if that’s true, but not once had I ever felt like he hadn’t given one hundred percent to his job. That alibi witness eventually recanted once my eyewitness testimony occurred. His girlfriend—who was a long-forgotten ex by then—admitted to using his cell phone at the time of the murders to make it appear as if he were far away.
He narrows his eyes, his voice changing to a tone I don’t recognize. “I should have planted evidence in his house. Something to connect him.”
“No,” I exclaim harshly. “No. That was not the way.”
“Your parents would be alive if I had,” he shouts.
I yell right back. “And you would have lost your career. Gone to jail.”
He slumps into his chair, pulling his arm out from under my touch. “It would have been worth it to me if I had prevented their deaths.”
I steeple my hands in front of my face, resting my chin on my thumbs. Carefully, I try to come up with the right words. When I think I have them, I pull my legs out from under me, scoot my butt to the edge of the couch cushion, and lean toward Clay until I’m directly in his line of sight. He has no choice but to look at me.
“Clay… this might be hard for you to understand because this has clearly been troubling you for years, but I’ve been able to find peace over my parents’ deaths. Do I miss them? Yes. Do I still mourn them? Yes. But I’ve also been able to build a life for myself that has made me happy, whole, and left me without regrets. And listening to you put this amount of recrimination on yourself about something you had no control over is frankly a little disappointing. Because had you just explained this to me all those years ago, I would have told you even then that I was at peace with everything done to catch Katz.”
His eyes move past mine. Blankly, he stares beyond me.
“I know the alibi was faulty, and that it wasn’t figured out until after he was caught. Just as I know my identification of him was what sealed his fate. I played an important role in his arrest and sentencing. Yes, I lost my parents in the process, but I look at the good that came out of me being there. I saw him. I was your only eyewitness, and that fact stopped evil in its tracks so he couldn’t harm anyone else.”
“You’re still not getting it—”
“I am,” I say, cutting him off. Once again, I reach out to put my hand on his knee. “But you have got to stop feeling guilty for not being able to do something within the constraints of the law. You took an oath to uphold the Constitution, and that includes due process. Even Katz deserved that protection. You would have hated yourself if you had planted evidence.”
“I would have never even thought of such a thing if it wasn’t for you,” he murmurs.
And this, I understand. This, I realize, is the crux of it. It was only after getting to know me after my parents’ deaths that he tried to think of other things he should have done. But he and I both know the truth… he would never have done it.
“Your guilt is misplaced,” I assure him.
“No,” he says harshly, which surprises me. “It’s compounded because it’s you, Corinne. I’ve never felt this way for any other victim’s family before. I feel bad for shortcomings or mistakes, but I’ve always been able to move on. I’ve never been able to move on from this because the more I got to know you, the more I cared for you on a level that wasn’t at all professional.”
“Now that is something I fully understand,” I assure him. “I truly get what’s going on inside that head and heart of yours. But I’m begging you to let it go because I don’t have one single negative thought about you. I think you’re an amazing FBI agent, that you saved countless future lives with your incredible investigation of Katz, and I will always—and I mean until the day I die—consider you to be my hero.”
Clay’s eyes round. He swallows hard, his expression resembling someone who had just been smacked in the side of the head with a two-by-four. His confusion is palpable, and I can see his struggle as he tries to accept my words.
I can also see how easy it would be for him to dismiss them.
So before he can try to rationalize his way out of this or put me off any further, I decide to make a bold move.
I rise from the couch, then crawl right onto his lap. He adjusts, dropping the leg that was propped up to the floor to make room for me as I turn sideways. Curling into him, I lay my head on his chest. I sigh in relief as his arms finally come around me.
“Clay,” I whisper, ready to reveal my best card. “I loved you back then. When I kissed you in that bar, I loved you completely. You broke my heart when you walked away. But want to know a secret?”
His voice is clogged with emotion. “What’s that?”
“I still love you. Always have. And I want a chance with you.”
I’m surprised when his hand comes to my face, his fingers gripping my chin. He forces my head up and off his chest so he can peer down at me.
He searches my face, apparently needing to read what’s in my eyes to see if they match my words.
Whatever he sees must satisfy him because the next thing I know, his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me the way I always dreamed he would.
Chapter 7
>
Corinne
* * *
I wrap my arms around Clay’s neck, fearing he’ll suddenly pull away. While I hope my words have penetrated and he’s taking me at face value over the fact he has nothing to be ashamed about over how he handled the Katz case, I’m not going to take the chance that his brain might start battling his heart.
And other parts of him that I can feel start to react to our kiss.
“Corinne,” he whispers into my mouth. I can’t tell by the tone of his voice why he might want to stop kissing and start talking, but I’m not going to let that happen.
Pulling my lips back just enough to say, “Shh,” I quickly bolt up from where I was lying sideways on his lap and move until I’m straddling him. I hover over his face for just a moment before putting my mouth back on his and deepening the kiss.
He is effectively silenced.
His hands come to my hips, briefly digging in before sliding to my ass. I’m wearing only a pair of soft leggings under a thin tunic, and the heat from his touch slams into me. When his tongue touches mine, we both moan.
But then he pulls back once more, saying my name again. “Corinne.”
I shake my head. “No more talking.”
Pressing my mouth to his, I settle more firmly onto his lap, my core pressing right over the thick bulge of his erection. I tilt my hips, rubbing against him. Clay growls fiercely.
A hand comes to the back of my head, his fingers winding into my hair. It’s not hurtful, but he’s forceful when he jerks me backward slightly so he can look at me. His gaze is fierce, but his lips are curved into a smile. “I was only going to say we should move this to the bedroom.”
“Oh,” I murmur, feeling heat stain my cheeks. “I thought you were going to change your mind.”
“Not changing my mind,” he assures me, then offers up the sweetest brush of his lips over mine like a soft promise.
“To the bedroom then,” I demand, then let out a yip as Clay surges his powerful body off the chair, taking me with him as if I weigh no more than a feather. I wrap my legs around his waist, my hands gripping his shoulders, and the man I’ve loved almost my entire adult life strides confidently into my bedroom, holding me tightly.
Perhaps he has taken what I’ve said to heart.
Or maybe it’s just lust driving him right now, which is also fine. Because as much as I’ve loved him, I’ve yearned to experience the ultimate intimacy with this man. No matter what comes of us after today, I’m not going to pass up the chance to be with him this way.
I’d love to look back on this day—this moment—and be able to say everything was like the perfectly choreographed romantic movie. But we’re both awkward and fumbling as he deposits me on the bed, then covers me with his body before kissing me again. We try to figure out how to get clothes off each other, keep our ravenous kiss going, and touch each other as more bare skin is revealed. I’ve had smoother experiences with sex, but when I remember this moment, I know there will never be a better one.
Because this is Clay and me learning about each other’s bodies. It’s a monumental event, and it doesn’t have to be perfectly choreographed.
I manage to convince Clay—with a lot of tugging and growling—to get his bulky sweater off. When his chest is bare before me, I have to take a moment to lean back and study it. It’s beautifully formed and solid with a light dusting of hair.
Masculine is the word that comes to mind. Without hesitation, I reach out to run my hands along the contours and down his abdomen, which contracts against my touch.
And hey… six-pack when he does that.
God, I need to get him completely naked.
I drop my hands to the button of his jeans, but he knocks them away. “Just wait a minute.”
I panic for a moment, thinking he’s had a change of heart, but he does nothing more than slide to the edge of the bed to rise so he can toe his shoes off. He grabs hold of my bedpost for balance, removing first one sock, then the other.
And Clay Brandeis standing at the end of my bed in nothing but a pair of well-worn jeans is the image I’ll choose to have in my head every night from here on out when I go to sleep.
I’m not wearing shoes, so Clay nabs my feet and divests me of the thick, fluffy socks I’d put on, taking a moment to rub his thumb across the arch of my foot in a way that doesn’t tickle but instead makes me groan with satisfaction.
Settling my leg onto the bed, he stands there, eyes roaming from my bare feet back up to my head.
Finally, he meets my eyes and says, “Let’s get you naked, okay?”
But I’m not the young twenty-year-old who kissed him all those years ago who had never had a man return it with so much fervor and passion like that. I’ve matured, had experiences, and I am confident in what I want.
Lifting my chin toward him, flicking my gaze to his jeans, I say, “You first.”
Fire leaps in his eyes, and I can tell he likes my request very much. His hands move to the button of his fly. Very slowly, he works it open, then starts to push his jeans and boxers down. My breath catches in my throat as his lower body is revealed.
I greedily take in that sexy V below his belly button, strong, powerful legs, and the part I’m most interested in, which is fully hard and ready for me. My mind races with all the things I’d love to do right now, most of which involve crawling across the mattress toward him and begging for just a taste.
But there’s no time to even think about doing that because he’s bending over the bed, steadily working to strip me naked. My leggings and panties come off, then, with a hand hooked around the nape of my neck, he’s lifting me enough to pull my tunic off. That leaves me in only my bra, which necessitates him coming onto the bed and straddling me to get it off. A flash of minor jealousy whips through me as he deftly maneuvers the clasp, faster than I’m ever able to get the damn thing off, which tells me how much experience he must have.
“There,” he murmurs, lowering me back down to the mattress. “That’s better.”
It sure is, because the way he’s on my hips leaves his thick cock within easy reaching distance. My hand goes right to it, gripping it at the base and stroking upward.
Clay’s hips buck, and he groans. I expect him to swat my hand away, but the man closes his eyes and tips his head back to luxuriate in the feeling.
God, he’s beautiful. Straddling me with his knees pressed into the mattress and legs spread wide. His thick erection pulses in my hand, his abs contract, and a soft growling sound rumbles in his chest.
“I want you in my mouth, Clay,” I murmur. When his eyes snap open and his gaze locks onto mine, I have to suppress a laugh.
For just a moment, I can see indecision warring within him, but then he’s lying on the bed beside me, forcing me to release his hard length. I roll toward him. We stare at each other briefly before he rolls to his back, giving me the access I want.
I rise to my knees, shifting and shuffling closer, then bend. Hand sliding to the base of his cock again, I wrap my lips around him and take him in deep. When I pull back, sucking hard along the way, I anticipate a beautiful and sexy sound to come from Clay. An indication he likes what I did.
Instead, I find my body being lifted and swiveled, his strong hands at my hips. I’m not sure how he accomplishes it, but he has me turned in the opposite direction with me straddling his face in mere seconds.
“Spread your legs,” he orders, and I don’t hesitate. His hands wrap around to my ass, and he pulls me to his mouth.
As his lips press against my clit, I’m the one making the noises. I cry out from the pleasure. I’ve had some experience with oral sex over the years, but not with being manhandled into a sixty-nine position and attacked with lips, tongue, and teeth.
Because I’m overcome with feeling and emotion as Clay devours me from below, I’m slow to remember my original desire, which was to put my mouth on his cock. It’s still standing strong and proud before me, though, which brings back my need. I manage to t
ake it again, drawing him into my mouth. My head starts to bob on him, syncing my movements to his.
It’s raunchy and beautiful at the same time, and wow, does he taste good. So good I don’t ever want to stop—
“Clay,” I cry out, pulling my mouth off his cock. My back dips into an arch of pleasure. He’d pressed two fingers inside me, and the combination of his tongue on my clit is too much to bear. I groan, my hips rotating to demand more. When he sucks on me with more pressure, I break apart into a million shattered pieces of ecstasy.
He feels it. Has to feel my muscles contracting around his fingers. He chuckles, the vibrations causing my orgasm to rumble harder.
I think about collapsing because, right now, my legs are shaking, but then Clay uses his incredible strength to somehow flip me onto my back with my head on the pillows. His body is over mine, nudging my legs apart, and the head of his cock presses against me.
“Need a minute?” he asks, staring down at me in question. I can’t imagine how I look, but I feel wrecked by that orgasm.
Still, my body wants more, and I shake my head. I lift my legs, bend my knees, and spread for him.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, pressing one hand into the mattress and using the other to take himself in hand to guide his cock into me.
I can feel how slick and ready I am, given how skillful he was with his mouth. My body stretches to accommodate him, and I feel like it’s welcoming him home. He slowly slides into me, inch by thick inch until his pelvis presses against my bottom and he’s completely filling me.
“Christ, you feel good,” he mutters, the muscles in his neck and shoulders straining with his effort to hold still. I know he’s seeking restraint, but I want him to let loose. If he’s felt about me the way I have about him, then this past nine years was too long to have waited, and I don’t want him to hold back.
I need him to know I want everything from him… and I want it right now.
I slide my palms up his arms to his shoulders, then along his neck to his cheeks. His eyes bore into mine.
'Tis the Season for Romance Page 5