He meant it as a warning, but Becca heard it as an engraved invitation on fine linen paper. That was a party she sooo wanted to attend. “Good,” she said, groaning as he removed his hand.
Green eyes blazing, Nick slipped his visibly wet finger between his lips and sucked. It was one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen.
With a sound that was nearly a growl, he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and removed a condom. His gaze trapped her against the wall as if she couldn’t move unless he told her to.
Suddenly, the floor went wavy under her feet, challenging her hold on reality. Was this really happening? Would someone see them? Did she care? Her headache flared behind her eyes and Nick went blurry, and then a rush of white noise shoved the questions away.
OUT OF NOWHERE, Becca swayed to the right.
Rixey grabbed her by the ribs, holding her steady. “Whoa, you okay?”
She sucked in a harsh breath and flinched away from his right hand, eyes flying wide, her pretty mouth shifting into a grimace.
Ice trickled down his spine and extinguished his arousal. “Shit, your stitches. I’m sorry.” He dropped his righty to her hip, afraid she wasn’t yet steady. What a fucking dog he was, crawling all over her when she was this vulnerable. Exactly what he’d said he wouldn’t do. No matter how hard his body craved the connection. And not with just anyone. With her. But not like this. And not with everything that was going on. “I’m sorry,” he said again, a wave of self-loathing turning his voice to gravel.
“It’s okay,” she said with a small, embarrassed smile.
He gave a humorless laugh. “It’s about a million miles from okay. I shouldn’t have—” The words stuck in his throat, because so many failures competed to flesh out the sentence. I shouldn’t have let you go to work this morning. I shouldn’t have sent you away that first day. I shouldn’t have tasted your juices on my tongue, because now I’ll never be able to forget just how sweet you are. “Something about you Merritts screws with my judgment every time.”
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, that little frown of hers filling the space between her eyes.
Smooth, Rixey. “Nothing. You steady?” Because he really needed to stop touching her.
“Steadier. It’s just a headache. But I want to know what you meant.” She fixed her bra and crossed her arms over her breasts. Fierce animation roared back into her eyes.
“Not a goddamned thing, Becca.” Giving her a last, searching look, he dropped his hands and bent for his T-shirt. He tugged it back on, failing to force away the remembered feeling of her hands on his skin, then grabbed his jacket and slung his holster loosely over one shoulder. “I’ll take you upstairs. You should rest.”
“I’ll go upstairs, but I’m not resting. We still haven’t finished talking, you and I. If someone broke into my house, I should go there. Call the police. Something. This can’t all be coincidence.” A flush on her cheeks replaced the pallor from moments before.
“I know, but we can’t.”
She froze. “Why the hell not?”
He heaved a weary sigh, not sure what he was going to do if she insisted. “On the phone earlier, Miguel made it sound like there’s a reason we shouldn’t report the second break-in. He wanted to tell us in person. I trust him implicitly, so I’d like to wait to hear what he says. He’ll be over as soon as he can. But it is your decision.”
She rubbed the skin above her eye, bringing his gaze to the bruise forming on her forehead. “You really think it’s better to wait?”
“I don’t think Miguel would advise that unless he had a good reason.”
“God. What now?” Her shoulders sagged and she rubbed her forehead again. “Okay. I’ll hear him out. And thank you for being straight with me.” She sighed and turned, then crossed the stairwell to where the puppy lay curled in a ball by the door to Hard Ink. “You’ve been waiting patiently, haven’t you?” she said.
Rixey caught up with her, hollow pressure expanding in his chest at the sadness saddling her shoulders and dimming the lightness he’d admired about her from the start. He wanted that back. For her. For himself. “Wanna see something funny?” he asked, hoping his idea might replace the anger and hurt in her expression. She shrugged, her guard back up again. “Open the door and let—what’s her name?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Maybe Sadie. Or Georgia.”
“What about Cujo?”
Her disapproving expression was almost comical, and it was a lot better than what she’d worn a moment before. “Cujo is a boy’s name, and he was a crazy killing menace. Plus Cujo was a Saint Bernard.”
Rixey winked, and she rolled her eyes. “Well, then, open the door and let Sadie-or-Georgia in by herself. We’ll hang back and see what happens.” All right, it was probably stupid, but if it made her smile, he was all for it. No plan was stupid if it worked . . .