Together Again?

by Jill Shalvis

  7

  CHLOE GASPED AT THE sudden, unexpected darkness. “The storm?”“No.”

  That was when she realized Ian had gone taut with tension, and not the good kind of tension.

  “Someone’s in the house,” he said quietly, without inflection. “They just cut the power.”

  “Ohmigod.” Since he was so calm, she panicked for the both of them, clutching at him, feeling all one hundred and eighty pounds of him quiver with a dangerous edge. “Are you sure?”

  Instead of answering, he reached for something, came up against the restraints of the handcuffs, and swore beneath his breath.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Not we.” His voice was low, a barely there sound against her ear. “Me. You’re going to—”

  “We’re handcuffed! There is no just you!”

  He pushed her behind him, where she concentrated on breathing. Not easy. Only a moment ago she’d been breathless for an entirely different reason, and now with the adrenaline flying through her, she felt dizzy, light-headed and sick.

  She heard another drawer open and then caught the glint of something—

  A knife. He’d grabbed a knife.

  Oh, God. Her hands were on his back, smooth and sleek and shirtless.

  Defenseless.

  Not defenseless, she reminded herself. He was trained; he knew what to do.

  She hoped.

  He moved, and without any choice she followed, thankful at least that they were on familiar territory for him because she couldn’t see a damn thing.

  God, she was tired of the dark. After tonight she wanted never to be in the dark again.

  “Careful,” he said, craning his neck to speak softly to her. “Stay behind me.”

  Which she’d be glad to do, except that left him even more defenseless because he had one hand twisted behind his back, attached to her.

  Oh, God.

  He flattened them against a hard surface. Given the icy-cold steel that hit her bare shoulders, she realized it was the refrigerator. She bit back her gasp, and with her free hand attempted to right her tank top. But it was twisted around her and not cooperating—

  “Stop.”

  Yes, she understood he wanted her to stop fiddling around, but hell if she’d be chased around the house by a burglar while half-naked.

  “Shh,” he added, as if she’d dare say a word, and he brought their joined hands to her belly, maybe as comfort, but more likely to hold her in place so she didn’t give them away.

  She heard a light squeak and caught the vague outline of the double kitchen doors opening, which had her heart launching into her throat.

  Ian’s hand tightened on her stomach. Definite warning.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere, she was paralyzed in fear.

  A shadow stepped into the kitchen, crouched low, holding something that looked like a—

  Oh, God, a gun.

  Then Ian stepped into the middle of the room—dragging her with him—and executed some amazing sort of roundhouse kick that sent the intruder flying. It would have sent her flying too, just from Ian’s momentum, but he grabbed her and they both fell to the floor.

  Ian immediately rolled toward the intruder, but what exactly he did after that, Chloe couldn’t be sure, she couldn’t see, she was too busy trying to keep out of Ian’s way while attached at the wrist.

  “Got him,” he said grimly.

  She came up to her knees. She realized Ian was on his as well, at her side. “Who is he?” she whispered.

  “No idea.” He was holding the guy down with his free hand. With his other he tried to reach into his pocket and instead came up against the cuffs. “Damn it. My cell phone. It’s in my pocket. Can you—”

  She slid her fingers into his pocket. Only a few minutes ago she’d been in his pants for an entirely different reason.

  “Call 9-1-1,” he said.

  Sitting back on her heels she did just that, thinking of how just a short time ago her plans for this evening had been a few cookies and more work. Well, the evening had veered just about as far from her plans as it possibly could have.

  CHLOE SAT IN A cold, hard metal chair at the police station sipping the water Ian had brought her before he’d gone to talk with a group of police officers.

  Each of whom repeatedly kept glancing over at her.

  Ian’s intruder had been ID’d from his driver’s license, but once the police had arrived and had shone their flashlights on them all, Chloe hadn’t needed to see the guy’s ID because she’d recognized him.

  He was one of Steve and Al’s employees, and at the sight of him and the gun he might have used on them, she instantly realized two things. One, this case of Ian’s was apparently far more dangerous than she could have imagined. And two, given the clench in her heart every time she so much as looked at Ian, she’d fallen for him all over again.

  Which actually brought her to a third problem—did he think she was connected to his case?

  Was she…good God…a suspect?

  She shivered wildly, and almost before she’d finished, he was there, wrapping his own zippered hoodie sweatshirt around her shoulders. “Almost done,” he promised in a low voice, giving her arms a quick squeeze.

  She hugged herself tightly and didn’t look at him. Looking at him screwed with her head because she couldn’t seem to reconcile the man she’d played tonsil hockey with, with the FBI agent with secrets.

  “Chloe?” he asked. “You okay?”

  Taking a deep breath, she bit the bullet and asked, “Am I a suspect in something, Ian?”

  “McCall,” one of the men called out, gesturing with his chin for Ian to join them.

  She just looked at him, wanting, needing, an answer.

  His eyes held regret. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

  It didn’t escape her that he was avoiding her question.

  “Chloe. I will, I promise.”

  “I think I’ll just go home, and—”

  “You can’t.”

  Oh, yeah, he was definitely bad for her mental health. “Why not?”

  He grimaced, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Because there are questions.”

  “Theirs? Or yours?” She could see his colleagues waving him over, and she shut her eyes. “So. I am a suspect. Do you kiss all your suspects like you kissed me?”

  “Chloe—”

  “Just go. The sooner you do, the sooner I can get the hell out of here, go to bed and sleep off yet another bad Valentine’s Day.”

  She didn’t open her eyes, and after a moment, felt him move away. She nodded to herself, refusing to acknowledge the pain in her heart.

  IAN SET DOWN A MUG OF hot tea in front of Chloe. As peace treaties went, it was a poor one, but it was the best he could do.

  Without looking at him, she pulled the mug closer to her, and as she did, his sweatshirt—too long for her by half—fell back from her wrist. It was rubbed raw, chafed by the damn handcuffs, and he stared at it, feeling sick. “Let me get the first aid kit—”

  “I’m fine.” She said this curtly, and covered her wrist back up. “Just ask me whatever it is you think I know so I can go home.”

  “I know you’re upset.”

  “No.” But it came out in such a way that made it obvious she was upset and also that she considered him a first-class asshole.

  He sighed, and pulling a chair over to hers, he straddled it, then steepled his fingers along the back, setting his chin on them. “Chloe.”

  She blew on her tea. “Yes,” she said, a picture of supreme politeness.

  “You are upset.”

  “Okay, yes. I’m usually upset when lied to by someone I’ve trusted.”

  “I haven’t lied.”

  “Really?” She leveled her baby blues on him then, eyes that were huge and devastatingly beautiful. Not to mention filled with hurt. “You were actually ditched by a real date tonight?”

  Okay, so he had lied. “My partner got sick.�
��

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Look, the truth is we think the antiquities place is really a front for a fencing business.”

  “And you believe I’m involved exactly how?”

  “It’s not that—”

  “How, Ian?”

  “You’ve done their accounting.”

  Her eyes flashed her fury. “And you think I’ve played with the numbers?”

  “Someone did—Whoa,” he said, his hand shooting out to snag her arm when she jerked to her feet. “I said someone, not you—”

  “I’d like to go home now,” she said stiffly. “I want to change and get warm.”

  “Soon—”

  She drew up straight and pulled free of his touch. “Do you have any reason to hold me?”

  “What? No, of course not—”

  “Then, if you’ll excuse me…” And with her nose so high he was surprised she didn’t get a nosebleed, she walked to the door.

  “Chloe, wait.”

  She didn’t, of course. Wearing his sweatshirt, her arms wrapped around herself in quiet dignity, she walked out of the station, and most likely if she had her way, out of his life.

  Damn it.

  He couldn’t let her go, and that fact had nothing, nothing at all, to do with his case. First of all, she was innocent, he knew that in his gut, and he knew it by looking into her eyes, which were mirrors to her soul, a soul that had never purposely hurt or taken from another human being in her life.

  Earlier, Danny had suggested he get himself reassigned, that he couldn’t be objective.

  He’d vehemently disagreed.

  Yes, he’d known her once, known her intimately, but that had been years ago and he should have been completely over her. After all, it’d been him who’d walked away that time, him who’d decided it was time to move on.

  But that had been before he’d danced with her, touched her, kissed her. And now it turned out Danny was right. He couldn’t be objective because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe she’d done anything wrong.

  And since he could do nothing else, he went after her.

  8

  IAN RAN OUTSIDE THE police station into the now clear night. The wind had chased away the clouds.And, apparently, Chloe.

  He raced through the lot, turning in a circle in the middle, stopping short at the sight of her at the far end, his gut clenching hard.

  Her skirt soggy and clinging, his own sweatshirt covering her from fingertips to mid-thighs, her hair damp and hanging in her face, she looked like a wreck, an adorable, sexy wreck.

  He’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.

  “Great exit,” she was saying to herself. “But your car’s at Ian’s, you idiot. Of course, it’s at Ian’s, because this is Valentine’s Day.” Sighing, she tipped her head heavenward. “Karma? You listening? You suck.”

  “Does karma ever talk back?” he asked, stepping close.

  She didn’t jump, didn’t scream, just closed her eyes. “Perfect.” Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Do you believe in karma, Ian?”

  “That’s not the question I expected you to ask.”

  She let out a low, mirthless laugh. “Tonight, at the party? I had my palm read. The lady told me some pretty crazy stuff.”

  She’d been crying, and his heart tipped. “Like…?” he asked very softly.

  “Like…” She squirmed just a little, which he didn’t understand. He’d expected to be on the hot seat, not her. “She said true love was going to walk into my life. Tonight.”

  “What did you say to that?”

  “I laughed. And then she gave me a warning. She said my karma was going to take a vacation to the Bahamas.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Maybe she was mad that I didn’t believe her.”

  “You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

  She looked at him. “Do you?”

  “Yes.” He was shocked to hear himself say it, but it was true, he realized.

  “How about karma?” she asked. “Do you believe in karma?”

  “I believe in making your own karma, by being a good person, doing your best, finding ways to be happy so that life is good.”

  “What if you’re too busy securing your future to stop and smell the roses, and then one day you’re thirty and all you have to look forward to on Valentine’s Days is a day like this?”

  She sounded uncertain and alone, very alone, which he hated. With a sigh, he pulled her close, wet clothes and all. “Was the night all bad?”

  She went quiet a moment. “No, not all bad.”

  He found his mouth close to her face, and kissed her temple, her jaw. “Destiny is your own for the taking, Chloe. You know that, right?” He kept his mouth on her, loving the feel of her skin beneath his lips. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine you doing anything bad enough to warrant worrying about your karma going south.”

  Arching her neck to give his mouth better access, her hands came up to his shoulders as if she couldn’t help herself. “Why not?” she whispered.

  “Because I know you.”

  “But your case—Steve and Al—”

  “If you had anything to do with this, it was without your knowing it.”

  Her huge eyes never left his, though some of the tension in her body did. “You really feel that way?”

  “Really.” He let out a long breath. “Jesus, Chloe, do you really think I could kiss you like I did, and believe you to be a thief?”

  “I kissed you.”

  “Well, I can fix that.” Hauling her up against him, he covered her mouth with his. Like before, it was a sucker punch of need and arousal to his gut.

  And something more.

  Chloe kissed him back, murmuring her pleasure with a sexy low hum in her throat. “Tonight?” she whispered. “When you found me in that office?”

  He stroked his thumb over her lower lip. “Yeah?”

  “I’d gone in there because I’d heard a noise.”

  “Me.”

  “Yes.” She shivered, and he ran his hands up and down her arms to warm her. “I found something,” she said. “A set of files. Files I didn’t know about that show far more income than has been reported.”

  “Good. That’s really good, Chloe, but right now I want to get us out of here and into dry clothes. Can I do that? Take you home?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, and he hoped to God she saw a man she could trust. When she finally nodded, he felt like he’d won the lotto. He steered her toward his car, which Danny had left in his spot.

  Inside, he directed the heater vents her way and drove her home. He parked in her driveway and walked her to the front door, but when she moved to let herself in, he stopped her, his hands on her chilled arms as he looked into her eyes. “You asked me about karma,” he said carefully, watching her eyes flicker with her own unsettled feelings on the matter. “And I said we make our own. I mean that, Chloe. So much so that I’m about to make mine.”

  “What—”

  He put a finger over her lips, then, looking deeply into her eyes, he murmured, “Let me be with you tonight.” Then still holding her gaze he replaced his finger with his mouth and let his eyes drift shut, because having his mouth on hers again was so exactly what he needed he could hardly stand it.

  Chloe held herself still at first, not because the kiss wasn’t stop-her-heart yummy, but because his words had been so unexpected.

  No. Not unexpected, but wanted, wanted more than anything, and she hadn’t been able to see that they’d ever be here again, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, mouths fused, soft, sexy little sounds escaping their throats…“Inside.”

  “You read my mind.”

  They fumbled to open the door, both their hands trying to work the key at the same time. She pushed his hands away, which left them free to touch her, a situation he took full advantage of, gliding his hands up her rib cage, to beneath her ribs, the tips of his fingers just brushing the undersides of
her breasts…

  Knees wobbly, she finally got the key in. “There—”

  Which was all she got out before he lifted her over the threshold, kicked the door shut and turned to press her back against it, taking her mouth again.

  And again.

  Mmm…

  “I’ve got to tell you,” he managed. “Ever since I saw you tonight, I—”

  He broke off when she pressed her mouth to his throat and just breathed him in, inhaled him. “You what?”

  “Wanted you.” His fingers tightened on her. “Jesus, I wanted you.”

  “You never even let on—”

  “I was trying not to be me, remember?”

  “Your eyes gave you away.”

  “Yeah?” Sliding his fingers into her hair, he gently tugged her head back and stared into her face. “What did my eyes tell you?”

  That you love me. Her breath caught on that. She’d have to be crazy to admit that out loud, that fantasy. No way would she make herself that vulnerable. “They told me that we have a connection.”

  “Always have. No matter how I ran.” He stroked his finger over her cheekbone. “I know it’s too late for this, but I’m sorry about how I left you. You deserved better. I was afraid back then, afraid of what we had. I’ve lost that fear, Chloe.”

  Oh, God. What was he saying? She didn’t want to have to beat back the knot of hope currently blocking her air passage. “Ian—”

  “I know, too little too late, right? But if you can’t believe me, Chloe, and you don’t believe in karma, then maybe you can believe in letting people right their wrongs, fix their mistakes. I want to make this right.”

  She pulled his head to hers for another mind-altering kiss, where there were no misunderstandings, no mistakes.

  All that existed was now, how he made her feel. He had his hands flat on the door on either side of her head, his mouth hard on hers, and she lost track of everything but this…God, this…

  “My room,” she said between kisses.

  “Again, just what I was thinking.” Still holding her, he turned away from the door. “Which way?” he asked, nipping her lower lip with his teeth.

  Oh, God. She sank her fingers into his hair and returned the little love bite, thrilling to his rough groan. “Down the hall.”