Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville)

by Mary Burton

  When the light clicked off in Jake’s room, she imagined him sliding into the center of his king-size bed. Seconds ticked past. The silence grew. When it was clear they’d not have sex, she allowed the breath she held to flutter over her lips.

  Knowing he was so close offered a comfort she did not enjoy very often. Soon she’d awake. Soon she’d worry.

  But for now, sleep.

  * * *

  Dalton Marlowe was on the phone the better part of the evening since the detective had left his house. Seeing the picture of the man in Austin, Texas, solidified in his mind that Amber had found another pawn to do her work. She could be so seductive and make a man do just about anything.

  “Damn it. I’m so sorry I ever brought her into our lives, Mike.”

  Mike had been a good kid before Amber. He’d not been the smartest guy, but he listened and was easy enough to handle. Life had been good. And then Amber had shown up with her secrets and wagged her tight little ass in front of him, knowing he would want a taste.

  He dragged a hand over his head. God help him, but the sex between them had been so good. That first time she’d come to him had been in a small hotel bar. She had swept her hair up, a black dress hugged her curves, and extra makeup made her appear older. He’d taken her up to his room and she’d slid off her dress, which pooled around her high-heeled feet. She’d been wearing only lace panties. She had let him fuck her three times before she’d whispered her secret in his ear.

  Now, as he sat in the dimly lit parking lot of the bar, he thought about what it would take to control that little slut. Like a cockroach, she was hard to destroy.

  He checked his Rolex and confirmed it was after two. The bar’s parking lot was nearly empty and he could see inside that the staff was wrapping up. She’d be out soon.

  When Tracy Ryder came out at two-ten she was alone, moving easily across the lot in three-inch high-heeled shoes. Her short skirt hugged trim legs that still got noticed. When she was younger, she was pure candy. The instant she first walked up to him and smiled, he was as hard as a pike. For months, he was so damn hot for her. When he wasn’t fucking her in the city apartment far from his wife, he dreamed about fucking her. In those days, he could barely think.

  In that sleek apartment, she rode him and moaned his name as if possessed. And then his wife had hired a detective who snapped pictures of him and Tracy in the hotel room. How the hell his wife discovered the affair, he would never know. When confronted with the pictures, she raised her voice and broke down into tears. She did not beg. She did not plead. She gave him a choice: break it off immediately or get out of the marriage and lose the money and all rights to their unborn child.

  Even with the ultimatum looming over his head like the sword of Damocles, he hesitated, resenting that this plain, cold woman controlled his life. But his wife’s money trumped the sex. Without it, he was nothing.

  Shit.

  He could only blame his lapse in judgment on youth and stupidity, especially as he now watched Tracy Ryder crossing the parking lot. A taut figure now sagged a little under a short miniskirt and a low-cut top. Once blond hair was now dyed a harsher and more unnatural white. And the wrinkles around her mouth were deep from years of smoking.

  Whereas Tracy had been easy to handle, Amber had not. Christ, if he’d known what trouble Amber was going to cause, he might have just killed her himself right then and there in that hotel room.

  As Tracy fumbled for her keys, he got out of the car and crossed the lot toward her. The chill in the night air quickened his step. The crunch of his shoes against gravel had her turning, eyes narrowing and her hand slid into her purse. No doubt those long red-tipped fingers were curled around the trigger of a gun.

  “Tracy.”

  Her head cocked at the sound of her name. For a moment, she stared at him before she recognized him. “Dalton Marlowe.”

  Her wrinkled skin and brittle blond hair turned his stomach. “Where’s Amber?”

  A lift of the chin hinted to her disappointment, but Tracy had always been quick to recover. “At the Reed house, I suppose. She’s been there since she got out of the hospital.”

  “What does she want? Why is she back?”

  She moistened her lips, smiling at the discomfort seasoning his tone. “Amber? Who knows what Amber wants? But she won’t let go until she gets it.”

  He flexed tense fingers. Laughter from a couple crossing the dark lot toward their car kept him from closing the gap between them and slapping her face. “I want to talk to Amber.”

  Bone thin shoulders shrugged. “I thought you paid her a visit in the hospital?”

  “There were too many people around for us to have a proper conversation.”

  “God only knows what you’ll do to her.”

  He tipped back his head, the irony of all this jabbing him. “Why should you care what I’d do to her when you never gave her any thought? You only cared about yourself?”

  Painted eyes narrowed. “Fuck you.”

  “I did, and I’m still paying dearly for it.” He tugged at the edges of his hand-tailored jacket. He was wasting his time with Tracy. The woman had no idea what her daughter was capable of doing. “If you see Amber, tell her I want to talk. She knows how to find me.”

  She sniffed, shaking her head slowly. “What’s in it for me?”

  The couple had vanished, leaving the two of them alone. He moved fast, snatching her thin arm in his meaty fingers. He tightened, squeezing until he saw the pain in her blue gaze. “Tell Amber to call me, Tracy, or I promise I’ll bury you so deep, the cops will never find your bones.”

  * * *

  Hal arrived home ten minutes after two, his head spinning from too much bourbon and beer. He fumbled with his keys, dropped them and cursed. “Goddamn lock. Carrie, you bitch!” This time she had locked him out. Bet that lady cop was filling her head with lies and trouble.

  He groped for the keys, staggered, and stabbed the key into the lock. Inside, the house was dark and quiet. He fumbled for the light switch, pawing his hand down the wall until he felt it. With a click, a dumpy little room came into view. It summed up his life. Shitty.

  “Carrie, where the fuck are you?” His voice was garbled and slurred. “Get your ass out here and cook me something to eat. I’m hungry.”

  He knew she was supposed to work tonight, but last call at Rudy’s was one a.m. She should be home, and that damn kid should have been fed and asleep. “Carrie!”

  He stumbled forward toward the kitchen, getting more pissed with each step. When he found that dumb bitch he was gonna knock some sense into her.

  A light in the hallway went on and he turned to find her standing in the hallway. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a jean jacket. She’d tied up her hair and had scrubbed all the makeup off her face, revealing a dark bruise on her cheek. For an instant, guilt jabbed his gut, but he quickly shoved it aside. He hadn’t wanted to hit her, but she made him. She always knew how to push his buttons.

  “Get me something to eat,” he shouted.

  “I wanted to tell you face to face, Hal. I’m leaving with the baby.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  His temper flared hot. “And where the hell are you going?”

  “I have a place to stay.”

  “That cop woman.”

  She swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m already gone.”

  “Like hell you are.” He advanced toward her with fist raised. His mind was in such a fog of anger, frustration, and booze that he barely remembered the next half hour. It was a blur of Carrie’s cries, bone-crushing hits, and blood.

  When she fell to the floor and he finally stepped back breathless, the adrenaline that had rushed through him vanished like water down a drain. His vision cleared and for the first time since he’d arrived home, he saw Carrie. Really saw her.

  Carrie. His Carrie. The woman he loved was lying facedown in front of the stove, her face beaten so badly he couldn�
�t recognize her.

  He stumbled back, slipping in the blood and nearly falling backwards. He looked down at his bloodied hands and cried, “Holy shit! What have I done?”

  In the other room, he heard the baby’s cries. His mind shut off and there was no more thinking as he moved to a drawer in a small table and removed a revolver. He put it in his mouth. The hammer dropped and the gun fired. Hal was dead before he hit the floor.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Wednesday, October 11, 6:00 A.M.

  Georgia’s sleep hadn’t been light, but deep and so dark that it had been devoid of images or worry. Out like a light. As if pushing up from the depths of the ocean, she rose toward the light and burst to the surface.

  Her eyes fluttering open, she was greeted by the sound of rushing water. A shower. Wherever she was, she wasn’t alone.

  She didn’t instantly recognize her surroundings. She sat up and shoved a lock of hair from her eyes as she searched baseball pictures. Smoothing her hands over the hand-sewn quilt, she smiled when she remembered. Jake Bishop’s house.

  She slid her legs over the side of the bed and, running her tongue over her teeth, hurried to the second bathroom where towels waited. She dug a toothbrush from her travel bag and brushed her teeth, turned on the shower, and shut the bathroom door. After peeing, she got into the shower and washed away the lingering fatigue as well as the scents of Rudy’s bar, which clung to the strands of her hair.

  She soaped her entire body and washed her hair and by the time she stepped out of the shower, she felt . . . human. It took another few minutes before she put on clean clothes and combed her hair.

  Emerging from the steam of the bathroom, the scent of coffee welcomed her. Jake stood with his broad back to her, staring out at the first hints of sunrise. Bread warmed in a state-of-the-art toaster.

  “Good morning,” he said. Without turning to look at her he poured her a cup of coffee and then splashed in a bit of milk along with some sugar as she liked it. When he turned, he looked rested, clean-shaven, and curious as he studied her. “Sleep well?”

  She accepted the cup. “Honestly, it’s the best I’ve slept in a while. Thanks for letting me crash.”

  “Anytime. No reservations needed.”

  She sipped the coffee savoring the taste and the warmth. “Thanks.”

  The toaster dinged and popped out its bread. He set both slices on a plate, buttered them, and placed them in front of her.

  “Five star, Bishop.”

  “Aim to please.” He popped more bread into the toaster.

  She bit into the toast, which quieted her restless stomach. By the time he’d buttered his bread, she’d gobbled hers up. “Hit the spot.”

  “Good.”

  He was the perfect host and gentleman as he took her empty plate, rinsed it, and set it in the dishwasher alongside his. “You got a full day?”

  “I don’t have to be in until eight.” His spicy aftershave tugged at her.

  “Good, you’ve got a few hours. Feel free to hang out here. Front door locks behind you.”

  “I’ll need a ride back to Rudy’s to get my car for work. Can you take me?”

  “Sure.” He tossed her a smile. “I’m headed to the Reeds’ residence this morning. Time to talk to Amber again.”

  “Right.”

  Such the gentleman. No flirting, touching, or bantering. Nada. Zilch.

  When he moved out of the kitchen to the side table drawer where he locked up his gun, she realized he was going to do exactly what he said. He was going to leave. Not touch her.

  She smoothed her hands over her thighs. “Amber won’t be up for hours.”

  “I’ll run by the office. I want to read over the files again before I talk to her.”

  She set her cup down and moved toward him. “Why haven’t you made a pass at me?”

  Calmly and with no hint of emotion, his gaze rose. “Because I said I wouldn’t. I don’t lie, especially to friends.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip. “You always keep your promises?”

  His gaze trailed over her, absorbing all the details. “I do.”

  She moved closer, not touching him but close enough that the energy of his body mingled with her own. Her fingers curled into fists, as if she stood on the banks of a deep lake, ready to take the plunge.

  A muscle pulsed in the side of his jaw. “What are you doing?”

  Consciously, she unfurled her fingers. Time to take the plunge. She took his hand in hers, caressing his calloused palm with her thumb. “You can’t figure it out?”

  A wry smile softened his stern features, but he made no move to touch her. “You’ve called me a hound dog more times than I can count.”

  “I know.” She turned his palm over and traced the long lifeline.

  His hand tightened around hers.

  “Maybe, I’m rethinking my opinion of you.”

  He watched her so closely. “How so?”

  Damn, he was really going to make her work for this. “I’d like to get to know you better.” The words rasped as if they’d been wrenched from her throat. She stepped to within inches of him. “That okay?”

  His hand rose up to gently trace the line of her jaw. “I think that might be acceptable.”

  He tugged her toward him, cupping his hand at the base of her spine. His chest felt hard under the smooth starched fabric of his shirt. His hand slid to her bottom, pushing her against his erection. She wriggled closer against him, savoring the fact that he wanted her so much, and pressed her lips to his.

  He tasted warm and salty. Kissing him sent a thrill through every nerve in her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rose up on tiptoe and teased his lips open with her tongue.

  A growl rumbled in his chest as he squeezed her bottom. “You’re trouble.”

  “I like to think so.” Her hand slid down his chest to his belt buckle. Without breaking the kiss, she unfastened his belt and reached the band of his boxers, suddenly feeling an urgency to have him inside her.

  Jake tugged her shirt free of her waistband and slid his hand up her chest to her breasts. Rough fingers deftly pushed away the bra’s cotton fabric and teased the tip of her nipple until it was rock hard and aching. She moaned, unashamed and so horny she really thought she just might explode.

  “You like it?” he whispered against her ear.

  “A lot.”

  “What do you want from me, Georgia?”

  “I want this.”

  “Is this all you want?” Tension rippled through corded muscles.

  Embarrassed by her emotions, she tried to slide her hand lower, but he manacled his fingers around her wrist.

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  Frustration boiled inside her veins. She’d denied herself this kind of pleasure for so long and now the dam was bursting and desire was flooding all around her. “I want you.”

  He released her hand. “I’ve wanted this since I saw you onstage at Rudy’s six months ago.”

  Her fingers moved below the waistband, wrapping around him. “I didn’t think you noticed. You never said a word to me.”

  “I noticed.” The intensity in his eyes darkened as she began to stroke. “You were singing ‘Breathe,’ like last night.”

  Pleased, she whispered, “Now every time I sing that song, I’ll be thinking about this.”

  “Good. Because I’ll be thinking the same thing.” He ground out the words, drawing away from her as if he couldn’t take the sweet torture any longer.

  He pulled her to the bedroom and pushed her down on smoothed sheets. She tugged her shirt off, tossed it aside, and then reached for the clasps of her bra nestled between her breasts. Cool air brushed her nipples as she shrugged off the undergarment and watched him yank the knot in his tie free and unfasten the buttons of his shirt. He tossed his shirt onto the floor next to hers. The morning light peeked through the closed slats of window shutters, and cut across his wide muscled chest. A gold chain and a ring hung around hi
s neck. Tattooed on his right bicep was a bold Celtic cross made of thorny vines. Woven between the barbs were the words Honor, Family, Justice.

  Seconds after she wriggled out of her pants, he climbed on top of her and settled between her hips.

  He reached into the nightstand for a condom and with practiced efficiency slid it on as she watched with growing need.

  When he pushed inside of her, she was so tight. Groaning her name, he braced one hand on the bed while the other slid up her flat belly to her naked breast as her body molded and stretched.

  When he began to move, her heart pounded against her throat. She allowed her hands to move over his muscled back. She squeezed. Raised her hips.

  “God, I’ve wanted this,” he said, his breath hot against her ear.

  Tougher emotions came easy to her, but the tender ones left her feeling vulnerable, exposed, so she rarely spoke them aloud.

  When she didn’t speak, he asked softly, “Do you want me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Louder. And I want you to look at me when you say you want me as much as I want you.”

  She opened her eyes and stared into the depths of his gaze. “Just you. I want just you.”

  He kissed her on the lips, pushing his tongue into her mouth as he began to thrust faster and faster. She allowed the walls to drop and she could feel every bit of sensation that this moment offered. She wanted to make this last and to savor the build, but the need pushed her too fast. Before she knew it, her nerves lit on fire.

  In the next instant, Jake came in a nerve-splintering moment.

  He collapsed against her, his heart thudding against her chest and his breath warm against the crook of her neck. “Damn.”

  She smoothed her hand up his back to his wide shoulders. “Wow.”

  Jake rose up on his elbow and brushed the hair from her face. He kissed her gently on the lips. “I could get used to this.”