His brother had been taking out the trash when he was almost a witness to a murder. By the time Chayton had come upon the Dumpster, the guy had fled and another man lay in a pool of blood, his throat slit, with untold millions worth of gems surrounding him.
It was a wonder Chayton had come along when he did. It was a wonder Chayton hadn’t been killed. Some would think his life was worth less than the gem he’d found, even if it was only a partial.
“Dammit,” Garret said, throwing his hand against the table. “Can’t a guy get a break?”
“I’m so sorry to pull you away from your slumber,” Chayton said sarcastically. “Or should I say Reagan’s bed?”
Garret cut his gaze toward Chayton, his frown hacking its way into his forehead and aggravating his headache. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I wasn’t in Reagan’s bed. I don’t sleep with women who won’t remember the next morning.”
Chayton didn’t appear as if the revelation made him feel any better, but Garret didn’t give a damn right now. Why did it bother Chayton if he was in Reagan’s bed?
Garret notched his elbows on the table and knit his fingers through his hair, letting out a low breath of exhaustion and uncertainty. His fingers remained in his hair as he rested his palms on his forehead, trying to ease the dull pain behind his eyes.
Reagan’s admission that Ray was her brother, the ambiguity of her relationship with the Mass family, and now these jewels. It was all becoming more than he could take. And as much as he didn’t want another agent to get involved, he knew Buchanan would have his hide, possibly take him out of the loop, if he didn’t report this.
Chayton drummed his fingers on the table as he and the other cops watched him, waiting for his signal, for his word, for something he couldn’t quite give them.
None of them had a clue the scope of this necklace, this investigation. Feds would be swarming their cozy little town by morning.
Chapter Sixteen
Slivers of sunlight sketched the strands of Reagan’s hair, shaping the outline of her neck. She’d removed her shirt, bra, and shoes last night but never made it to her jeans. A blanket covered her breasts but the dotting of freckles along the tops of her shoulders didn’t escape Garret’s notice.
Garret shouldn’t be here, he damn sure shouldn’t be here when she woke, but he couldn’t help himself. He rocked in the chair near her bed, watching her sleep, trying to forget the images of last night.
Jewels were supposed to be a beautiful part of the earth, but they possessed an evil unlike anything else. The power to make men kill, for the color, the clarity, or the possession, no one knew for sure why.
Garret wanted to savor the sweet innocence of the sleeping smile on Reagan’s lips. Her hair wisped across her forehead and eyes.
Why didn’t he leave? She’d only be embarrassed to see him here when she woke. He’d have to explain what happened last night because he doubted she’d remember.
He worried about her. Though he’d convinced her it was the cat in her condo, he wasn’t entirely sure. Now someone was dead. Someone with a necklace the Mass brothers had been after for years. Was the necklace stolen from her, or had she given it to the man who was killed? Did she know how dangerous it was to possess it? Or was she an innocent pawn in a twisted game that wouldn’t end well?
Reality was that people died everyday over inconsequential things. People killed over a diamond, an ounce of marijuana, a woman.
And it was Garret’s job, in some of those cases, to find out why and how, when he only wanted to escape reality himself.
Reagan moaned, stirred, stretched. He tensed, waiting her to come fully awake. His lower extremities ached, straggling all the way to his legs. He shifted, adjusted himself, and watched her. It wouldn’t do for her to open her eyes while he tried to get comfortable with the upsurge in his jeans.
She opened her eyes.
He jerked his hand away.
Her brown eyes, cloudy with sleep, took a moment to take in her surroundings. She glanced around, back at him, and righted herself on the bed of pillows.
“What?” she asked sleepily.
His jeans narrowed even more.
She skimmed the bed, at the clothing on the floor, and back at him, her cheeks reddening.
“Oh God,” she said. As if just noticing her display, she tightened the sheet around her breasts.
Garret gulped and clenched his teeth.
“Morning,” he said, his voice guttural.
She glanced down as if to check to make certain she was covered, which she was, and he jerked his gaze back to hers.
He liked that her eyes were an earthy brown. There was no jewel on earth that compared to the beauty, and they didn’t remind him of any cursed jewel he’d ever had to deal with. When he looked into her eyes, he could convince himself she was solid and pure, just like the earthiness of her eyes.
She fell on the pillows and covered her head. “What happened last night?”
“Would you like coffee?” he asked. He’d already brewed some and chugged a few cups himself.
“What happened last night?” she repeated.
“You danced on the table, took off your clothes, and passed out.”
“What?” She glanced under the covers, shading him from her topless torso. She chewed her lip and tightened the covers around her. Unless she’d woken up and removed the rest of her clothing while Garret was away last night, she still wore her jeans. They’d be unbuttoned. “Where did I dance on the table?”
“Oh, you saved that for when you got here. No worries, I’m the only one who saw you. Nice panties, by the way.”
Her cheeks flamed an enticing shade of red. “How did you see my … my panties?”
He loved the way she stuttered, as if embarrassed by the intimate word choice. “When you were dancing on the table and started to unbutton your jeans.”
“Well, why are my jeans still on?”
“Because you didn’t finish removing them.” He didn’t mention it was because he didn’t let her.
He’d deposited his hands on her hips to stop her from swaying, but her hips kept swaying and his hands had gone along for the ride. He had stopped her when she went for the button and zipper of her jeans, but her hips kept swaying as she unbuttoned them. His skin sizzled and tingled, but she finally moved away from him and zeroed in on her shirt.
For a brief moment, as she’d stood on top of the coffee table, her waist only inches from his face, he wanted to lose control. He could have stroked her where he most wanted to touch. He could have camped his lips against her lower abdomen and inhaled her sweet scent of woman.
“What about my shirt?” she asked, jerking him back to reality, the constraint in his jeans now utterly painful.
The shirt had been the hardest part of last night. When he’d placed his hands on hers to keep her from unzipping her jeans, she’d immediately gone to her shirt, unbuttoning it, throwing off her bra, dancing like a wild woman. He’d taken her down, her breasts inches from his lips, and he shook as he sat her on the bed and covered her. Not for her, but for him.
He could have flicked his tongue against her nipples, his mouth sucking her breasts as he experienced all of her, but he wouldn’t have been able to stop at just that. He had no intention of taking her to bed, of kissing her soft lips, when she wouldn’t remember. She instantly passed out the moment he lay her against the pillow.
He didn’t tell her any of that. He didn’t tell her that he’d almost come in his pants, until Chayton’s phone call jolted him back to reality. Instead, he said, “You took off your shirt before you lay down.”
“Then how … ”
How what?
“Did we … ”
“No,” he reassured her. “I don’t sleep with a woman who won’t remember the next morning.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Getting you a cup of coffee.”
He staggered into the kitchen and fixed her a cup with cream and
sugar though he had no idea how she usually drank it or if she even did. He took his time, trying to dispel the trembling in his limbs and the hardness of his dick.
Time didn’t work. It didn’t ease his ache.
He wanted her.
She could be a felon. A thief, a murderer. But he wanted her so bad he’d die for her.
He shook his thoughts aside. If she was involved with the Mass brothers, it was only because of Kyle. She could be running from them. Which meant he had to keep his head in the game. No way, no how was she guilty of anything but being a beautiful woman caught in a web she couldn’t untangle.
She wore a sweater when he came back in. He handed her the cup, urging himself not to spill it all over her. He sat down, hoping to conceal his desire.
“Someone was murdered last night,” Garret told her, watching her face go from a flushed pink to pallor. Talking about murder should ease that yearning to touch her, and he didn’t want her to find out from somebody else. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”
• • •
Reagan knew Garret stayed while she showered. She smelled coffee, bacon, and eggs when she emerged from her bedroom. Her massive suitcase clunked across the wood as she rolled it over the floor. Garret lowered the plate of food in his hands and flung it to the table, where it slid across the surface and halted before it plunged over the gulch. Like a dangerous precipice, the table clutched the fragile dish, but a piece of bacon escaped and softly slipped to the floor.
Reagan stopped and dropped the handle of her luggage. It teetered, but remained upright. She reached for the plate before it crashed to the floor, but lost an egg in the fight.
The yolk splattered across the tile.
Garret’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, his legs spread out hip distance apart in a relaxed stature. But the furrowing of his brow, the dent in his jaw, and his grip on the chair said he was anything but relaxed.
“What are you doing?”
This wasn’t how she wanted to tell him, but the chance never surfaced last night. She let it spill, believing her news was easier with little explanation. “I was hoping you would take me to the airport but if not I’ll get the shuttle to do it, or call a taxi.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
“I have to go home, to Florida. Maybe you’ll be here when I get back?” She hoped he didn’t notice the desperation in her high pitch.
“I take it you already have a ticket?”
“Yes, yesterday. I planned to tell you last night … ” The suitcase lost its battle to remain erect and it smacked to the floor, missing her toe by barely an inch. She cursed herself for not replacing the luggage with something newer, something with two wheels.
“Have you checked the airlines? All flights are being cancelled because of a winter storm.” His face was straight, his words frank, and she wasn’t sure if he was upset about her leaving or just angry she hadn’t told him until now. “Check outside if you don’t believe me.”
Without moving, she glanced outside. The drapes were open, she hadn’t closed them last night. She peeked at the time. Nine o’clock in the morning looked like nine o’clock in the evening. The sky was dark and heavy, with just enough light to reveal the snow churning through the air.
Her breath clustered in her throat, and she quashed the urge to let it out in hacking cough. Clearing her throat instead, she said, “I’m sure they’ll just postpone the flight. I still need to get there.”
Garret scrubbed the egg from the floor. She couldn’t fathom why he was angry. She didn’t owe him anything. Not even an explanation, really. She only told him because she thought friends would do such a thing.
“Why?” he asked. “So you can go sit in the airport for days? This storm is predicted to last at least a couple of days and the news says not to get out on the highway unless it’s an emergency. You’d never find a taxi.”
“This is an emergency.” She returned to the windows to remember what awaited her outside. Clouds hung low, bracing themselves against the side of the mountain barely perceivable through the haze of gray. The sky was nonexistent, and she couldn’t fool herself into believing any aircraft would attempt flight.
“I have to get home.”
“Stop being stubborn. You’re staying here.”
• • •
Garret wondered what the emergency was. Did she know about the necklace? Maybe she’d given it to the victim and someone else had killed him. Had Kyle called her? Did they plan to meet somewhere? Was she leaving for good?
Had she even meant to say goodbye, or did she plan on leaving without a word, like her cousin?
After scrubbing the egg from the floor, he tossed the rag into the sink and washed his hands, keeping his distance from her lest he be tempted to strangle her pretty little neck. She worried the bottom of her lip with her teeth, and he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or hurl the plate, along with the rest of the food he’d prepared, out the window. The crash would jolt him back to reality and loan credence to his irritation.
“Did someone die?” he asked as he swiveled to face her. Not the smoothest thing to say to her but he preferred bluntness, and none of his other options would fly.
He’d told her about last night’s murder, but none of the other details. She’d acted concerned, but not like she wanted to run, as she did now after her shower. Maybe she’d been thinking about it and figured out who he was, or maybe she’d found out about Agent Cox and had known her and grieved her death. Kyle had been seen with Agent Cox; they planned to meet up together. Then she’d been found with her throat slashed, much like last night’s victim. Maybe they were all in on this.
Or maybe they were after Reagan next.
Her face stretched as she shook her head and her upper lashes battling with her lower lashes indicated she was about to cry.
He stepped toward her and extended his arms. “It can’t be that bad.” Whatever was wrong, she seemed upset.
He would do whatever necessary to make sure she was safe. Witness protection was always possible, but he would protect her with his life if it came down to it. If she was mixed up in this shit, she probably didn’t know how to get out.
She moved into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder. Instead of being friendly and sympathetic, his body responded by hardening — every muscle, bone, crevice, and length of him.
She didn’t speak. It was hard to keep her close without touching him, but he promised himself he’d only offer comfort. Smoothing his hand across her hair, his calluses latched onto her silky strands. The stiffness in his jeans grew unbearable.
All reasoning, whatever reasoning he may have possessed, fled when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her hips closer.
She tilted her face up to him. Her eyelashes fluttered as she drew into him, her lips stopping a breath away from his mouth. “I want you.”
A deep groan stuck in his throat. Fire erupted behind his eyes. White-hot desire shot all the way to the tips of his toes. His heart flipped, emotions erupting as he melded his mouth with hers. He planted his hands under her ass and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he walked them to the kitchen counter, never taking his lips from hers as he settled her on the bar.
Reagan fingered the back of his hair, her featherlike touch igniting sparks of fire on his neck. Her tongue danced with his, her mouth opening, closing, sucking.
He shouldn’t be doing this, especially not right now. Not when he should find out why, so suddenly, she had to get to Florida. Why, when Agent Cox was dead, Kyle was missing, and a man had been murdered over a priceless necklace.
God, he just didn’t care. He couldn’t stop even if he did care. He’d wanted her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. His body was weak with the need of her, his self-control even weaker.
As his control slipped, he kissed her with an urgency that would chase away the bad stuff. The bad memories, the bad possibilities, and the bad realities. His head exploded. His ab
ility to think fled.
He tugged at her hair and she angled her head back, granting him access to her neck. He suckled the sweet bouquet of her skin. Thumbing his fingers over her sweater, he ironed his hands down her waist, sliding his palms under the soft fabric to cup her breasts under her lace bra. Her nipples pebbled.
Removing her sweater, he struggled with the closure on the back of her bra, finally managing to unclasp the damn thing. He suckled her breast as the bra wisped to the floor.
She tasted like snow-kissed sunshine and timeless imagination. He imagined himself touching her and tasting her for the rest of his life under the sun-drenched waters of the sea or the mountains. Anywhere she wanted to be, at this point he would follow.
He claimed her mouth. They stopped kissing long enough for her to pull his shirt over his head, and he recaptured her lips as she tossed the shirt to the floor. Trailing her fingers over his shoulders, she lightly nipped his skin with her nails. He struggled with the button and zipper on her jeans, their lips skimming and suckling and reaching until finally they could mate again. Her boots thudded to the floor, her jeans next.
He flicked his thumb across her lacy thong, teasing the lips of her wet heat, and slid his hands over her hips and across her pelvis as he caught the straps of her thong in his thumbs. Slinging it to the floor, he swept his mouth across her skin. She reclined on the counter and propped herself up by the elbows.
He lowered his mouth down on her and drank in her elixir. Chest bursting open, he imagined little patterns of heart-shaped tissue spilling out on the floor.
He’d never felt anything like this before. His heart wasn’t supposed to hurt, only his dick.
She moved against his mouth, emitting low, luxurious cries of rapture and release. He wanted to please her, but feared he would lose what little restraint he had left.
He had to step away.
“You’re a tease.” She jumped from the counter as he backed away, watching her heady flesh advance on him.
She grabbed him by the loop of his jeans and pulled him in closer. He captured her lips with his, soaking in her treasure. Their tongues tangled in a dance of fire and ice and heat.
Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) Page 18
