Chapter Ten
Stacy stared at the suitcase full of money. It didn’t even look real, so much of it all together. “How much do you think is in there?” she asked.
Patrick rifled through the stacks of bills. “Looks like all twenties, in bundles of fifty—I’d guess fifty thousand dollars.”
She sank onto the bed. “What were those two doing with that much money?”
He felt along the side of the case and in all the pockets. “There’s nothing else in here—no notes or ID or anything like that.”
“It’s the kind of thing you see in those TV mysteries,” she said. “The unmarked bag of bills, dropped off in the park to pay ransom. But ransom for whom? Have they kidnapped someone besides Carlo?”
Patrick pulled out his phone. “Let’s see if headquarters knows anything.”
While he waited on hold to speak to who knows who, Stacy looked through the other suitcase—the one with the clothes. She found another science-fiction novel, a phone charger (but no phone) and an open box of condoms. Nothing incriminating or even threatening. Except for the fact that they’d attacked her and Patrick with guns and knives, they might have been any traveling businessmen.
“Let me know what you find. I’ll call back in the morning.” Patrick ended his call and slid his phone back into his pocket. “They’re going to do a trace for large sums of missing cash, but I’m not holding out much hope that that will turn up anything. A team is on its way to the canyon to see if they can ID the guys.”
She studied the open suitcase. “Maybe we could trade the cash for Carlo.”
“We could try—if we knew how to get in touch with whoever has him.” He closed the suitcase and set it on the floor. “I’m going to take a shower. You should try to get some sleep. Maybe we’ll be able to get more information in the morning.”
He took some clothes from the other suitcase and carried them and the plastic bag of toiletries into the bathroom. In a few minutes, she heard the shower running.
Stacy lay back on the bed, on top of the covers. One bed. That was all right. Sleeping with Patrick last night had been nice—even if they were only sleeping. She’d never met a man like him. He could be hard, brutal even—he hadn’t hesitated to kill three men to save their lives. But he’d been so gentle, too, when he was tending her wounds, or when he held her while she cried.
He was the kind of man she wished Sammy had been. But Sammy had never looked at her the way Patrick did—as if she was an intelligent person whose opinions mattered. As if she counted.
And she could never think of Sammy the way she thought of Patrick—that he was a good man who deserved her respect and admiration. All the bad things Sammy had done had blotted out any good that might have remained, whereas the more she knew about Patrick, the more good there was to see.
She closed her eyes, the soothing rhythm of the water in the shower beating against the tile lulling her to sleep. She dreamed she was on a beach with Patrick, and they were lying in the warm sun and he was smiling and taking her in his arms....
* * *
PATRICK LIFTED STACY and held her close, her head resting against his chest, his heartbeat a steady, strong rhythm in her ear. His hands caressed her back, and she slid her arms around his neck and snuggled closer, pressing her breasts against his bare chest, her nipples straining against the thin fabric of the T-shirt.
He grew still, his heart beating harder in her ear. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly. “I was just trying to get you under the covers.”
She opened her eyes, the fog of sleep clearing as she stared up at him, at the jut of his chin and the masculine plane of his freshly shaved cheek in profile. He smelled of soap and shaving cream and warm male skin. This wasn’t a dream or a fantasy; he was really holding her in his arms. And the thought of him releasing her and moving away, as much as the memory of her erotic dreams, made her brazen.
“I’ll get under the covers if you’ll get under there with me,” she said. She smoothed her palm down the taut muscles of his chest to his flat abdomen, stopping just short of the waistband of his boxers.
He took her by the upper arms and gently pushed her away from him. “I’d better sleep on the floor tonight,” he said.
She looked into his eyes, feeling bolder than she had in a long time. Maybe because she’d reached the point where she had nothing to lose. She’d given up everything—her name, her dignity, even her child. She had nothing left but the need to be honest with herself about what she really wanted, and right now, she wanted Patrick. “Don’t sleep on the floor,” she said. “I want you to sleep with me. To make love with me.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, a gentle caress that negated his words.
“Because you think it would be unprofessional?” She trailed her hand along his jaw, enjoying the smooth coolness of the freshly shaved skin.
“I’m supposed to be protecting you,” he said.
“No one’s going to hurt me while you’re this close.” She kissed him just below the ear, then began feathering kisses along the path her hand had just traced.
“Stacy, no.” He cradled the side of her head.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t felt this...this heat between us,” she said. She held her breath, waiting for him to lie.
“I’ve felt it,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
She leaned back to look up at him. She wanted to see his face, to read all the emotion there. “We’ve been through hell the past couple days,” she said. “I can’t think of much worse. I’ve been terrified and hurt and my whole life right now feels like a nightmare. I can’t think about the future and I don’t want to relive the past. All I can do is hang on to this moment and focus on getting through the next day, the next hour, the next minute.”
“You should sleep,” he said. “We both should sleep.”
“Or we could lie down together on this bed and forget about everything else for a while by focusing on each other. We could give in to that attraction we’ve both felt and create at least one good memory from this whole mess.”
“I am attracted to you.” He smoothed his hand down her shoulder, his thumb grazing the side of her breast and sending a tremor through her. “But duty doesn’t always allow me to do the things I want.”
Heaven save her from logical, steadfast men. She’d heard that men liked women who played hard to get, but apparently the reverse was true—the more Patrick resisted, the more she wanted him, and the more she was determined to persuade him. “You’ll be right here with me. You said yourself we can’t do anything else until the morning. We’re stuck here in this room. In this bed.” She took his hand and kissed his palm. “Please. I don’t want to beg, but I need you tonight. And I think you need me.”
“What about protection?”
She laughed. Even on the verge of giving in, he was still so calm and practical. “There’s a box of condoms in the suitcase. More than enough, trust me.”
“Then I guess we have everything we need.” His eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze pinning her back against the pillows and stealing her breath. “If you’re sure this is what you want,” he said. “Because once this starts between us, I don’t know if I can stop.”
He would stop if she asked; he was that kind of man. But she wouldn’t ask. “I want this, Patrick,” she said. “I want you.”
He leaned forward, covering her with his body, lips pressed to hers, chest flattening her breasts, stomach to stomach and thigh to thigh. He held himself up just enough to keep from crushing her, but the weight of him felt good. She wanted him close—even closer. She shifted to shape herself more firmly to him and opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. His tongue caressed and claimed her, and she reveled in the sensation.
He was such a contradiction—hard muscle and tender caresses, insistent pressure and whispered encouragement. He helped her out of the boxers, and then the shirt, so that she lay alongside him naked. She should have felt vulnerable—exposed. But seeing her reflection in his eyes, she felt more beautiful than ever.
He shaped his hand to her breast and dragged his thumb over the distended nipple, eliciting a gasp. “You’re really special, did you know that?” Then, not waiting for an answer, he bent his head and covered her breast with his mouth.
She closed her eyes and surrendered to the heat and light he sent coursing through her. Waves of feeling she’d almost forgotten could exist washed over her. He turned his attention to her other breast, then moved lower, trailing kisses along her ribs and across her abdomen.
She arched to him and felt him smile against the curve of her thigh and press her down into the mattress. “Don’t be impatient,” he said.
“I feel as if we’ve waited so long,” she said.
“We can wait a little longer. It will be worth it.” As if to prove his point, he ran his tongue along the sensitive folds of her sex. She bit back a moan and felt him smile again. He was normally so solemn; she liked the idea that she could make him smile this way.
* * *
ONE OF PATRICK’S former supervisors had labeled him single-minded—so intently focused on one task he failed to notice anything else. The man hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but Patrick saw this talent for intense concentration as a gift sometimes.
At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to focus all his senses on the woman in his arms—on the silken feel of the skin of her thighs, on the intoxicating scent of her, on her sweet taste on his tongue. For these few minutes or hours he could lose himself in her, devote his full attention to pleasuring her and receiving pleasure in return.
She sighed and shifted beneath him, arching to him, a sweet offering and a silent plea. He rested his hand on her stomach, a gentling gesture. He was so tempted to bring her to release right away, but that would be cheating them both. Instead, he left her wanting, and moved away from her.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He smiled and removed his boxers, his erection straining toward her. If she’d had any doubts about how much he wanted her, surely that would be erased now. He dug in the suitcase until he found the box of condoms. Whatever else the two thugs who attacked them had been up to, at least one of them had planned on getting lucky.
She sat up and reached out her hand. “Let me,” she said.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Even her gaze on him was enough to make him lose focus; at her touch he might go off like a rocket, spoiling this for them both.
He carefully rolled on the condom, then knelt on the bed beside her. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, caressing her breast. She was so petite and perfectly proportioned.
“Flattery will get you everywhere. Now come here, handsome.” She reached for him and he moved between her legs. He didn’t ask if she was sure or if she was ready; the answers to those questions were clear in her actions.
He was a man who lived his life by control. His survival and the survival of those he was assigned to protect relied on his vigilance. He had to always be on guard, aware, in charge. But with Stacy he was able to surrender, to lose himself in passion and pleasure.
She responded with similar abandon, opening to him fully, then wrapping her legs around him to keep him close, meeting him thrust for thrust. And all the while she looked into his eyes, holding him with her gaze, letting him see all her emotions—an offering as intimate and intense as the giving of her body.
He waited for her, feeling the tension within her build, doing whatever he could to coax her to her release. When at last she came with a loud cry he followed her quickly over the edge, holding her close, rocking together with her, moving as one, unable to tell where his pounding heart ended and hers began.
When at last he withdrew to lie beside her, she shocked him by bursting into sobs.
“Stacy, what is it?” He bent over her, alarmed. “Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...” She shook her head and tried to push him away. “I’m just being stupid, I—”
“You’re not stupid.” He pulled several tissues from the box by the bed and handed them to her. “What’s happened to upset you?” he asked. “I really want to know.”
“It wasn’t you, I promise.” She blew her nose. “I’m such a mess.”
Maybe this was grief over her husband, finally hitting her. Or a memory of something else—the human mind was a funny thing, and emotions could sneak up on people. “Maybe it would help to talk about it,” he said.
She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a fresh tissue, then looked up at him through a fringe of lashes glittering with tears. “Being with you, just now, was so wonderful. I was afraid no man would ever want to touch me like that again.” Her voice broke on a fresh sob.
He caressed her cheek. “It was wonderful for me, too. I’ve wanted you from that first night at the hotel.”
She turned away from his touch, her shoulders hunched, and refused to look at him. “My husband—Sammy—hadn’t touched me for at least two years. He told me no man would want a woman like me, that that was why my father had to sell me to the Giardinos, because he knew no other man would want me.”
“If he wasn’t already dead I’d make him wish he was.” Patrick closed his eyes against a surge of anger, the rage a physical thing that heated his blood and shook him. “He was lying. And he was a fool.” He took a deep breath, struggling for calm. Sammy was gone now; there was nothing Patrick could do to hurt him. He needed to focus on Stacy. He gathered her close and kissed her—he kissed the top of her head and the side of her face and the tip of her nose before lingering at her lips, trying to tell her without words how worthy she was of all the love her monster of a husband had denied her.
She began crying again, the tears flowing silently down her cheeks. He tasted them, salty and sweet, the taste of his own mixed emotions of regret and longing.
He pulled her down beside him and held her, the covers pulled up over them, her head cradled against his chest, until her tears were spent, and she sighed again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s not the reaction a man wants after making love to a woman.”
“I’d rather you be honest with me than pretend,” he said.
“That’s one of the things I like about you. You don’t lie, even when lying would be more convenient.”
“You’ve had enough of lies. Including all the ones Sammy told you. Don’t believe him.”
“I try. But sometimes it’s hard.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Maybe when this is all over it would be a good idea for you to talk to someone. A counselor. I could give you a name.”
“Yeah. That probably would be a good idea.” She snuggled down more tightly against him. “Thank you, for everything.”
“Try to get some sleep,” he said. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“Maybe I’ll get to see Carlo.”
“Maybe you will.” And maybe he’d figure out a way to say goodbye that wouldn’t end up hurting them both.
* * *
POUNDING ON THE door woke them. The room was pitch-black and Patrick groped for his phone on the bedside table. The display showed 5:00 a.m.
“Who is it?” Stacy sat up beside him, the covers clutched to her chin.
Patrick reached for his pants as the pounding repeated. “Open up!” a deep voice demanded. “This is the police.”