He waited.
She didn’t move.
She remained staring up at him with eyes that were calm, accepting, trusting. The opposite of what they should be.
“Okay,” he growled, “you asked for this.”
He clasped her around the waist and turned her to face the wall. He pulled her sweater over her head, then discarded her camisole in the same ungentle manner. Her bra strap fell victim to his jerky impatience. The garment fell forward from her chest. He pushed it off her, then took her hands, placed them flat against the wall, and covered them with his as he crowded in behind her.
He nipped the side of her neck with his teeth, wanting to mark her as his, damn well knowing he had no right to her, no right even to want her. “Scared?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not doing it right.”
He charted a trail of biting kisses down her throat; she whimpered but with arousal, not fear. He thrust against her bottom, making certain she knew he meant business. “Now are you afraid?”
Rather than recoil, she pushed back, adjusting the fit, increasing the pressure, causing him to hiss through his teeth.
“You’re playing with fire, Doc.”
When she did it again with a grinding motion, he removed his hands from hers, reached around, and blindly unfastened her jeans. With little finesse, he pushed his hand into her panties and between her thighs, finding her hot, wet, swollen with the same insistent desire that was throbbing through him.
His fingers curled upward, into her. He stroked the magic spot and felt her quicken. Against her ear, he whispered roughly, “I want to be right there. Right now.”
He turned her and lifted her against him, carrying her down the short hallway and into the bedroom. He stood her beside the bed, and she began to take off the rest of her clothes as hastily as he began removing his.
He was naked before she got off her second boot. Flinging back the bedspread, he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her just as she stepped free of her underwear.
Positioning her between his open thighs, he held her breast and took the nipple into his mouth, tugging at it with hunger, almost desperation, before folding his arms around her, drawing her closer and pressing his face into her giving middle, then lower into the sweet muskiness of her sex.
Nuzzling there, he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then parted them with more mastery than necessary, because it was clear by now that, as baffling as it was, her trust in him was unshakable.
He used his thumbs to spread her, expose her, prepare her for his mouth’s assault. He dipped his tongue into her, once, twice, three times, going deep, then applied it to the tender flesh in fleeting strokes, eliciting from her choppy breaths that coalesced into a low moan when he sucked her tight little center into his mouth.
But he didn’t want her to come until he was inside her. He guided her down onto the bed, stood on his knees between her raised thighs, and was about to lower himself onto her when she said, “Wait!”
“I can’t.”
Well, he could—he did—when she angled up, clasped his ass between her hands and took the head of his cock into her mouth. The pleasure was so immense, he clenched his teeth and wasn’t even aware of the pressure he was applying to his jaw until the tip of her tongue delved into the groove, found the sweet spot, and he tried to speak. He gasped and groaned and managed to strangle out, “Christ, I thought I’d dreamed the way you do that.” A few seconds more and he panted, “Doc, stop. Stop.”
He eased her head away, but not before she got in one quick kiss on his tat.
When she lay back, he followed her down and sank into her, pushing until they couldn’t possibly be any closer, then he settled his weight onto her and buried his face in her neck. “You’ll be the ruin of me. But fuck if I can help myself.”
He levered himself up and, eyes focused on hers, began to thrust into her.
And it was incredible, not only because she was so deliciously tight and silky. She was. Not only because she perfectly timed a corresponding motion for each short, quick jab and every long, smooth glide of his cock. She did.
Not only because whenever he all but pulled out, she worked the tip of his penis with seductive belly-dance motions until he couldn’t stand it any longer and had to again sheathe himself completely.
Not only because her hands caressed him with flawless intuition. And not only because, when she climaxed, he felt every convulsive squeeze, but also saw the tears in her eyes that attested to the overflowing emotion behind them.
All that contributed. But what made him come harder, longer, and more meaningfully than he ever had in his life, was that in those moments when he lost himself in her, she closed her arms around his head, and held it close, and said on a sigh, as though it was the dearest word in her vocabulary, “Hayes.”
For a long time after, neither of them moved. Eventually, his mind cleared enough for him to have that oh shit instant of realization: he’d come inside her without anything between them. Which was also why it had been so good, and why he didn’t regret it enough to disengage himself quite yet.
When he finally did move, he came up on one elbow and looked into her face. She smiled drowsily. He cupped her chin in his free hand and kissed her, taking his time, mating his mouth with hers, lecherously and leisurely.
When at last he angled his head back, he said, “Lucky for me, you don’t scare easily.”
“Lucky for me too.”
“But you’re still in danger, Doc. So be scared. Just not of me.”
“I know.”
“Never of me.”
“I’m not.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I don’t know everything, but one thing I do know. You weren’t responsible for the deaths of eight innocent people.”
Like the mellow glow of a lantern suddenly extinguished, his soul became dark and cold again.
He pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. Staring at the ceiling, he said, “You’re right. Only seven of them were innocent.”
Chapter 36
The aroma of fresh coffee woke her. It was still dark. She switched on the lamp beside the bed. Her clothes, which had been so haphazardly discarded the night before, were folded and stacked on a chair. She gathered them and her boots and slipped into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later when she walked into the main room, Hayes looked up at her from the dining table where he sat drinking coffee. He’d slept beside her through the night, but they hadn’t exchanged a word or touched since his startling statement: Only seven of them were innocent.
It had created an intangible barrier that neither had breached during the night. It seemed even more impenetrable this morning. As though last night’s intimacies hadn’t happened, his eyes were flat, his expression impassive.
He said, “Mugs are in the cabinet to the right of the sink.”
She filled one with coffee and sat down across from him at the table, pretending there wasn’t a pistol within reach of his right hand.
Noticing her damp hair, he said, “Sorry. I don’t have a hair dryer.”
“It’ll dry on its own.”
“Did I leave you enough hot water?”
“Yes, thank you. How do you manage to fit into that shower?”
“It’s an acquired skill.”
So much for small talk. She sipped her coffee.
He said, “I’ve made a decision.”
She looked at him, listening.
“I’m not going to give Connell the satisfaction of catching me.”
“You’re going to surrender?”
“Not exactly.”
He avoided looking her in the eye, and that made her distinctly uneasy. “Then what are you going to do? Exactly.”
“Deliver you to him.”
Unsure how to respond, she waited to hear him out.
His eyes moved to the row of faint red marks on the side of her neck. “It’s up to you how much or how little you tell him about those. And everything else.” He motioned toward the bedroom. “Be as graphic or as coy as you want. He’ll be discreet. And, anyway, he’ll be interested in me, not us. He’ll question you about my state of mind. Plans. Things like that.”
“He already has.”
“He’ll keep at you to remember the smallest detail. Things I said, things you observed. While he’s taking it all in and figuring out his next course of action, I’ll be making myself scarce.”
“You’ll run.”
He raised his shoulder, a nonverbal, uncommitted answer.
She stared into her coffee. “You may get away, but you’ll never outrun the deaths of those people.”
“Well, that’ll give you and Connell plenty to chat about.”
Voice faltering, she asked, “Why’d you do it?”
He picked up his mug, then returned it to the table without having drunk from it. Disregarding her question, he said, “Tell Connell what you know about Jeff. He’ll see to it that he’s thoroughly investigated. Hopefully that will result in his cold ass landing in prison.”
“How do you know Connell will see to an investigation?”
“He’s an FBI agent. It’s his duty.”
“But it isn’t his case. Won’t he leave it to the sheriff’s office?”
“No.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“Because of the message you’ll give him.”
“Which is?”
“If he fucks it up, and something happens to you, whether in the near or distant future, I’ll kill him.” He let that register, then, “Where’s he staying?”
“So you can dump me there?”
“Where’s he staying?”
“Why should I tell you?”
He propped his forearms on the table. It rocked slightly as he leaned across it toward her. “Look, Doc, we can waste time waltzing around this, you can argue it with me up and down, sideways and backward, but it won’t do you any good. I’m not gonna let that fed make me the trophy of his career. Besides that—”
“What? Besides that, what?”
“I’ve got to get the hell lost, and I can’t take you with me. You’ve got a life to lead, and it can’t include me. It’s been fun, but here’s where we say good-bye and part ways, no matter how good we are together in the sack.”
“Why are you being like this?”
“Candid?”
“Offensive.”
“No, offensive would have been if I’d said you’re a great fuck.”
Her face grew hot with anger.
He must’ve have noticed, because he stifled a laugh. “A little late for blushes, isn’t it, Doc? You knew what you were signing up for last night, and it wasn’t hearts and flowers. The night in the cabin, too. We both got what we wanted. I got laid and you got…how’d you put it? ‘Raw emotions’?”
With that he scraped back his chair, stood up, and shoved the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. “Let’s go. I want to get there before daylight, and it’s a ten-minute drive to the motel.”
“Why did you ask me where Connell was staying if you already knew?”
“To see if you would lie to me.”