Rush

by Beth Yarnall

  In bold, block letters the address label read: To Mrs. Doyle Gann.

  CHAPTER NINE

  After two agonizing hours they were allowed back into the apartment. The bomb squad had cleared the package. Whatever was inside was not explosive or made of explosive material. And now they stood in Lucas’s living room, staring at the box sitting on his coffee table as if it would explode.

  Detective Rolls flipped his notebook closed. “Do you want to open it before we take it in?”

  “No,” Lucas responded at the same time Mi said, “Yes.”

  “Well, which is it?”

  Mi huddled as close to Lucas as she could, her arms wrapped around herself. He had thrown an arm across her shoulders, claiming her, and brought her tight up against his side. He was looking at her now to give her permission to open the box.

  “Open it,” she said as though they were talking about a coffin instead of a six-by-six inch cardboard box.

  Rolls snapped on a pair of latex gloves and pulled out a pocketknife. The box had already been photographed from every angle and now the photographer stood ready to document its contents.

  With the care and skill of a plastic surgeon, Rolls deftly sliced open the bottom. He lifted back the flaps, flattening them down with both hands. Then he placed his palm over the opening and up-ended the box, releasing the contents into his hand. He lifted the box away, a square of neatly folded tissue paper sitting in his palm. He set it on the table and peeled back the layers to reveal a circle of fine brown lace large enough to be worn around the neck.

  As one, they leaned forward for a better look.

  “Is that—” Rolls broke off.

  Mi clamped a hand over her mouth, bile rising up the back of her throat.

  “Jesus,” Lucas breathed.

  The artist had painstakingly woven the dark strands into an intricate floral design. It was delicate, dainty, and obviously meant to be worn proudly as the exquisite piece of art it was. Up close, thin threads of gold and bronze wove through the chocolate.

  The son of a bitch had sent her a necklace made of hair. Her hair.

  The flash from the photographer’s camera played tricks with Mi’s eyes, making her dizzy. Gagging, she pushed away from Lucas. She ran down the hall to the bathroom, barely making it in time to be sick. Wracked, her body heaved the meager contents of her stomach into the toilet.

  Lucas stood outside the bathroom door, his forehead and palm pressed against it, listening to Mi’s pitiful retching. Useless. That’s what he was. The bastard had found a way to get to her despite his precautions. And now she was paying the price for his carelessness.

  “Mi, open the door for me.” He thumped his palm on the door. “Querida, please.” He heard the toilet flush, then the water in the sink. After a few moments, the door handle rattled.

  Her face was pale, her lips moist and red. He reached for her, drawing her into his embrace. She carried the minty tang of toothpaste, her skin and clothes damp with the sweat of exertion. She trembled as though cold, shaking with the effort to hold herself together.

  “Mi guerrera valiente,” he whispered more to himself than her. His valiant warrior.

  “Wh… why would he s-s-send me that?”

  “I don’t know.” Smoothing a hand down her hair, he kissed the top of her head. “Come lay down, querida.” He picked her up and took her to his big bed. He laid her down amongst the mound of pillows and took off her shoes. She looked so small. “I’ll get rid of the detective. You rest.” He kissed her lightly and closed the door behind him.

  Mi curled onto her side away from the door. A moment later the door opened again, the bed dipped, and then she was gazing into Gooch’s big blue eyes.

  “Here.” He tucked the kitten against her and with a last kiss on her cheek he left.

  As though knowing just what she needed, Gooch snuggled into her embrace, purring like a lion. She closed her eyes, focusing on the moment and the feel of the kitten’s warm furry body.

  Some time later, Lucas roused her from sleep. “I made some soup. We never did get that pizza you wanted.”

  She sighed and stretched, dislodging Gooch, who protested loudly and launched himself off the bed. She followed Lucas to the kitchen. He’d set out two bowls of tomato soup, plates of grilled cheese sandwiches, and glasses of milk.

  “You cooked,” she said, sliding onto a barstool.

  “I opened a can and slapped some cheese between slices of bread. I wouldn’t call that cooking.”

  “I would.” She bit into a sandwich. The cheese was creamy and salty, oozing out the sides just the way she liked it. “Mmm, so good.”

  He gave her a shy kind of smile, as though her compliment had embarrassed him. They ate in companionable silence, more out of hunger than a lack of something to say. After polishing off her second sandwich, Mi asked the question that troubled her the most.

  “Why me?”

  Lucas examined the remains of his soup bowl for a moment before answering. “There’s no way to know why. Only Doyle Gann knows. For whatever reason you attracted his attention.” He put his hand over hers in her lap. “You did nothing to deserve this. You didn’t cause this.”

  “I know that. I do. But I still don’t get the why. Why me? I’m not special or pretty or rich or even especially famous. So why me?”

  “I think you’re pretty.” He leaned in and kissed her. “I don’t care if you’re rich or especially famous.” He kissed her again. “You’re special to me.”

  She placed a hand to his cheek and looked into the dark eyes that had riveted her from the first moment their gazes had met. How could she have not thought him handsome? He was everything that was masculine and good, kind and sexy, strong and caring. And he wanted her.

  God above, she wanted him.

  Taking his hand, she slipped down from her barstool and drew him off his. Without a word, she towed him to the big bedroom at the end of the hall. When she’d imagined them together, she’d pictured them here in his big bed with the walls of windows. Stopping at the side of the bed, she turned to face him. She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. The city lights twinkling in the distance were the only illumination, but she could clearly make out his expression as his gaze roamed over her bare skin.

  God damn, but she was beautiful, Lucas thought, shucking his shirt in one fluid motion. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She glowed. The golden light gilded her skin, like the statue of a goddess, the gentle slope of her breasts the only shadow. She reached for the button of her jeans. His eyes followed the motion. Then she was standing before him in nothing but the smallest scrap of lace. He wasted no time following suit, kicking off his shoes and shedding his jeans. He didn’t dare look away from her. If she were going to retreat from him, he’d have to find a way to convince her to stay.

  He stood before her, bare in more ways than one, wanting nothing more than the feel of her skin on his. She moved toward him, her lips curved into a coy smile as though she knew she had all the power. And damned if she didn’t. She put her hands on him, rising up on her toes to smooth her palms over his pecs, across his shoulders, down his arms and back again. He shuddered and she repeated the motion, adding a sweet little purring sound that locked the breath in his throat.

  “Touch me,” she begged in the softest voice.

  He dropped to his knees before her, giving her the advantage of height. He reached for her, bringing her against him. The feel of her skin on his nearly broke him, her kiss inflaming him to the point of madness. She threaded her fingers through his hair. He couldn’t stop touching her, kissing her, licking her, pressing her to him. He wanted to be everywhere at once.

  Her breasts, a miniature perfection, drew his immediate attention. With a hand on her ass, he clasped her to him. He traced a finger over the slight slope, down and around, closer each time, watching in fascination as her nipple pebbled for him just inches away. He’d never seen breasts so small and hadn’t thought size much ma
ttered. But hers… Jesus. He flicked his tongue out for a taste. She moaned and arched. So sensitive. He licked again, holding her as she leaned back, offering more. He took it. Her nipple in his mouth…

  He could smell her. God he wanted her. Bare. All of her. Gripping the scrap of lace covering her, he yanked. The material ripped, gave way. She whimpered, her knees buckling as he slipped a finger in from behind. She was so hot, so wet, the scent of her… aw, damn. Had to have her. Had to taste her. Now.

  He lifted her and threw back the covers, placing her close to the edge of the bed. She spread wide for him and he got his first look at her. So beautiful. His. She made a small noise as he knelt before her. One lick and she jerked, gripping the bed sheets. And then he set his mouth to her, loving her. She writhed and moaned, pressing her feet against his shoulders. He slipped in one finger, then another. Working her with his tongue and mouth he took his time, stimulating and soothing, he brought her to the edge.

  “Oh, God,” she begged. “Oh, my God. Oh, oh, ah…”

  He sucked gently, swirling his tongue, pistoning his fingers and she came hard for him with a long low moan. He nearly lost it, holding on to her through her last shudders.

  Had to be in her. Now. He stripped the rest of the way and reached into the bedside drawer. The condom secured, he returned to her. He nibbled her inner thigh and she twitched, reaching for him. He stretched out next to her, watching as he smoothed a hand up her thigh, over the flat of her stomach and back again.

  She pulled him down for a kiss and he knew she could smell herself on him. Running her hands over him, she shifted and then he was there. Right there. Between her legs. He looked down. He had to go slow for her. Had to make it good. He held himself over her, careful to not crush her. She moved beneath him, tilting her hips in invitation. He gripped himself and spread her moisture to lubricate his entrance. He hesitated, unsure. She was so small.

  “Please tell me you’ve done this before.”

  He looked up at her. “What?”

  She leaned up on her elbows, getting her first good look at him. “You’re big, but you’ll fit. You have done this before, right?”

  Her words finally sank in. He didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then get on with it!”

  He blinked down at her. Then with care he positioned himself and pushed. She gave. He took a breath, his muscles straining with the effort to keep from crushing her and thrust a little deeper. Damn, she felt good. She moaned. Using her grip on his ass, she tilted and pushed him in a little more. He stilled, absorbing the incredible feeling of finally being inside her.

  She pinched his ass. “Don’t stop. Please move. Now.” She added a smack. “Hard.”

  He exhaled in a whoosh, driving deep within her. He got lost in the frenzy, pumping fast and hard. She cried out for God, demanding he go harder, faster, harder. He changed his grip, her legs thrown over his arms. And hit deep. She screamed his name. He plunged into her grabbing the bed, her, anything, as he came hard into her.

  He dropped, collapsing in a heap on top of her, but Mi didn’t care. He’d finally lost control. She’d made the great Lucas Vega lose control. And oh, my God it had been amazing. She gasped for breath. She knew he’d be good, but oh!

  Man he was heavy. She poked his arm. Nothing. She squeezed her inner muscles. That got his attention.

  With a grunt he shifted his weight to one side. “Sorry.”

  She sighed.

  “Are you all right, querida?” He caressed her cheek. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

  “Yes. And I’m hoping you’ll do it again in a few minutes.”

  He flinched, then her meaning seemed to sink in. “You’re teasing.” His grin started slow, spreading to his eyes. He palmed her breast, lazily flicking his thumb over her nipple. He licked the shell of her ear and she trembled. “On one condition.”

  She squirmed, shifting for better access to his body. “Anything.”

  “You’re with me and only me, querida.” He nipped her lobe, then sucked on the sting. “Say it.”

  God, he barely touched her and she wanted him all over again. His mouth moved down her throat, kissing, nibbling. She tried to turn into him, but he held her down with one strong leg over hers. By slow torture his mouth found her breast, his hand stroking down her stomach, then lower. He slipped a finger inside, then out in a slow, agonizing motion that made her whimper. And then his mouth was on her breast and he sucked hard, deep. She flexed her hips, wanting, needing more. She was right there…

  “Say it, querida.”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it.” He quickened the pace.

  “Oh, God, yes.”

  He pulled her nipple in deep, flicked just the right spot and she came in a sharp, limb-numbing orgasm that rocked her into another universe.

  He held her, gently soothing, coaxing. “Querida,” he barely whispered the almost plea.

  “Yes, Lucas,” she near sobbed. “Only you.”

  He kissed her, a firm seal on her promise, and then he was gone. A moment later the bed dipped and he was there between her legs, gathering her to him.

  “I want you again.” She felt his tentative invasion. “I have to have you. Forgive me.” With a growl, he plunged deep, gripping her hip. He set a wicked pace, kissing her with equal fervor, whispering endearments in two languages. She could hardly keep up. She came again, but he held off, driving into her with a relenting force that demanded everything from her. As though he were trying to imprint himself on her with every thrust, he made her feel him. Understanding dawned. He was claiming her, commanding her to be his.

  She pushed on him and he rolled them. Now she was on top. His gaze was hot and fierce, glittering up at her, daring her. She gripped his shoulders as he’d gripped her hips and rose up, then down, matching his intensity. Sweat beaded her brow, but she wouldn’t back down. She knew she couldn’t just say the words, that wouldn’t be enough. She had to declare them with her body. His. Only his. And in return, he was hers. Only hers.

  He smoothed a hand up her thigh to where they were joined and used his thumb to touch her there, just there. Throwing her head back, she went off, crying out. He held her fast to him and pushed deep, grinding his release into her with a rumbling groan that vibrated through her.

  They clung to each other, panting. She might have dozed, she wasn’t sure. Loose limbed, she couldn’t move if she tried. Or speak. She lay sprawled on top of him, arms and legs akimbo. He didn’t seem to mind. She should probably move. Or say something.

  As their heated bodies cooled, reality set in. She opened her eyes to the perfect view of the sparkling Dallas skyline. Soon it would be morning. Dawn would bring back her problems along with the scorching summer sun. In the meantime, she had the twinkling lights and the strong, steady heartbeat of the man beneath her.

  He caressed her back, languidly smoothing a hand down then up. He sighed and shifted. She propped her chin on her hand and looked up at him. His eyes were closed, but there was the faintest of smiles curving his lips. He seemed very pleased with himself. As he should be. Hell, she was pretty pleased herself.

  They’d knocked together like a couple of crazed teenagers. She was bound to be sore in some very inconvenient places. A good kind of sore. The best kind. She touched a fingertip to a mark on his chest. She’d bitten him. Huh. She resisted the urge to turn him over and examine the scratch marks she was sure were there. He probably looked like he’d slept with Wolverine. She suppressed a giggle at the thought.

  “What’s so funny?” He raised his other arm and reached for a pillow, pulling it down under his head. His dark eyes open, watching her.

  “I was just thinking that your back probably looks like you slept with Wolverine, you know, the scratch marks. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  “Huh, not likely.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’ll be, uh, sore. In a good way,” she quickly added.
“But otherwise no. You’re not the brute you think you are, you know.”

  “No?” He didn’t seem convinced.

  “You can have a look. Examine me from head to toe. I bet there’s not a mark on me.” She touched the bite on his chest. “I wasn’t so gentle with you.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll take you up on that exam later. When I can move.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you and Vanessa break up?”

  He tensed at the name. “It’s complicated.”

  She was immediately sorry for asking the question and then just as suddenly she knew the answer, could feel it vibrating off of him. “She cheated.”

  “Yeah.”

  She waited with the feeling there was more to the story and a rising dislike for the cool, red-haired beauty.

  “With her personal trainer. She got pregnant.”

  “Obviously not yours.”

  “No.” His expression made it clear the subject was closed.

  She made a quick topic change, opting for neutral ground. “Who do you think is behind the sabotage at the station?”

  “My turn to ask a question.”

  She tried to hide her reticence. “Shoot.”

  “Who called you yesterday?”

  “Yesterday?” Her heart sped up, cold dread pricked from the inside out.

  “Yesterday morning. You came in here to take the call and then when you came out you were upset.”

  She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and thought hard about what to say. Finally she decided to go with the truth… mostly. “My mom.”

  “Your mom.”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And, well, she hasn’t been feeling well. I had asked Jason to keep an eye on her for me.” Her useless brother hadn’t ever gone by, only called. Once.

  “Do you want to check on her tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Incredulity turned that small word into a condemnation.