Hard Evidence

by Pamela Clare

  Wishing she had a rubber band or plastic bag, she bound the ice in the towel as best she could, then carried it back into the almost empty living room, amazed that she could still walk. Her legs, having spent the past thirty minutes wrapped around Julian's waist, felt like taffy. Her body was full of sunlight, warm and glowing. And yet…

  She had no idea how she was supposed to act, no idea how to feel. Julian had just made incredible love to her, but he wasn't in love with her. He'd stamped himself forever on her—body, heart, and soul—but a year from now he probably wouldn't remember who she was. He'd rocked her world, and yet he was only temporarily a part of it.

  What was a woman supposed to say? "Thanks, stud"?

  Regrets don't put supper on the table, Tessa Marie.

  Her mother's voice rang clear as a bell through her mind. She'd been in third grade and had gotten caught stealing a book from her teacher. The teacher, a severe older woman named Mrs. March, had ripped the book from her hands and pinched Tessa's arm with fingernails stained yellow from smoking.

  "Get your grubby little hands off the pages!" Mrs. March had bellowed in her face, her breath reeking of cigarettes. "White trash!"

  Tessa had spent the better part of the afternoon crying in the principal's office before her mother had come from her job to pick her up and take her home. She'd expected her mother to yell at her, maybe even spank her. Instead, her mother had made her take a nap, telling Grandpa that she'd had to come home from school because she had a fever.

  Strange that Tessa should think of that now. Or perhaps not so strange. That had been the first time in her life that she'd felt regret—the biting torment of wishing she'd made a different choice. Did she feel that way now?

  No.

  The answer came instantly and straight from her heart. There's nothing she would trade for the bliss she'd experienced with Julian. Nothing at all. Tessa wasn't even sure she'd really had a choice. The moment he'd touched her, she'd been lost.

  But she did have a choice now. She could either feel depressed that Julian didn't love her and would soon leave her life, or she could give and take what she could, savor it, and leave the future to deal with itself.

  And what if you end up pregnant because of tonight?

  Well, then, she'd have Julian's baby. She was in a much better position to deal with a baby than her fourteen-year-old mother had been. Hadn't Kara raised Connor by herself until she'd met Reece?

  One of the bedroom doors opened, and Julian stepped out, looking angry. He hadn't yet put his shirt back on, his dark hair hanging loose around his shoulders. The waistband of his pants was still unbuttoned, giving her a glimpse of dark hair but nothing below it. And she realized that, although he'd been inside her, she hadn't yet seen that part of him.

  Her pulse tripped.

  She fought to keep her voice steady and her words light. "So this is the Batcave."

  The interior of his house looked new—oak cabinetry, fresh paint, polished oak floors. It also looked as if the owner had yet to move in. The living room held only the leather sofa and a plasma TV on a stand. There were no bookshelves, no house-plants, no photographs.

  He stopped to adjust the thermostat. Somewhere in the house, the furnace kicked on.

  "What were you expecting?" There was a note of humor in his voice.

  She shrugged. "Guns. Furniture."

  'The guns are here, honey. I just don't leave them lying around." He glanced at the bundle in her hands. "What's that?"

  "It's time you had some ice on those bruises. Find a comfortable place and lie down."

  He met her gaze, a grin tugging at his sexy lips. "Yes, ma'am."

  Julian lay facedown on his bed, ice pack cold on his back, Tessa's small hand resting against one of his shoulders. He'd never had anyone fuss over him like this, and he wasn't sure what to think of it. He felt mesmerized and irritable at the same time, wanting her care and attention and being angry with himself for wanting it.

  He'd never brought another living soul into this house, and it felt more than a little strange to have Tessa here. But it also felt right. He'd had time to reconsider his decision, had weighed the pros and cons. She was a journalist, and he was a special agent. Revealing the location of his home wasn't in the manual. There were things in this house—evidence, documents, the contents of his computer—that she could never be allowed to see. Then again, he'd already thrown out the manual where Tessa was concerned.

  Having her here meant taking a risk, but it was better than risking her life. And as he'd thought about it, he'd realized that his house was the safest place for her. Only two people knew where he lived—Dyson and Irving. The place was more secure than most safe houses. And he was in charge, meaning he didn't have to depend on anyone else to do his job correctly.

  "Does this hurt?"

  Like a sonofabitch. "No."

  "Liar." She moved the ice pack to a different bruise. "I think you should see a doctor."

  So did Irving. The old man had ripped his head off, not only for bringing Tessa home with him, but for failing to respond or check in. "Eyewitnesses said you took several rounds in the back! I was starting to think I'd find both of you dead in a ditch somewhere! Goddamn it, Darcangelo, you're not a free agent!"

  Julian had apologized, then explained that he'd had the wind knocked out of him and had been unable to respond. It made for a better excuse than, "We were fucking one another's brains out and couldn't get to a phone."

  Irving had ordered him to see the department's doctor first thing tomorrow and had placed him on medical leave until he was deemed fit for action. Dyson had insisted on the same and had then chewed Julian's ass off for wasting time protecting a journalist.

  "She's not your job, Darcangelo. You're thinking with your dick. Did you see her article in today's paper? If she wants to become collateral damage, don't get in her way. Margaux thinks you're passing this woman information, by the way."

  It had taken all of Julian's self-control not to react, his disappointment in Dyson cutting deep. Of course, he hadn't told Dyson that Tessa was now staying with him…

  "It's just bruised muscles." Julian tried to ignore the painful pressure of the ice pack and the shock of the cold as it touched new skin. He focused instead on her touch, on the scent of sex that lingered around her, on the heat that seemed to leap between them. "The doctor won't be able to do anything besides give me narcotics and muscle relaxers, and I won't take those."

  "A tough guy, huh?" She shifted, her thigh pressing against his hip.

  "Drugs fog the brain, slow the reflexes. I can get as much relief from ice and heat and stretching." That wasn't strictly true, of course, but he couldn't risk being zoned out on painkillers while on assignment.

  "I… I'm really sorry, Julian." She sounded truly ashamed. "You were almost killed—"

  "No, Tessa, you were almost killed." The anger he'd felt earlier when he'd gotten the message from Syko reignited in his gut. "They weren't after me."

  "Who were they?" Her voice was soft and held just a hint of fear.

  "Irving said they were gangbangers from one of the smaller gangs allied with the Bloods. The DPD picked up two of them. The rest got away, but not for long. Syko's probably on the prowl for them right now."

  "You paid Syko. He called you about me, didn't he?"

  So she'd figured that part out. "Yes."

  "I'll pay you back. Whatever it was, I'll pay you—"

  "Forget about it." For some reason her offer, as polite and reasonable as it was, pissed him off. It was the best grand he'd ever spent. He didn't want it back.

  "How did you know? How did you know they were going to shoot just then?" She asked the question casually, as if she were asking about the weather, but he could tell her calm facade was crumbling.

  "I saw the red dot from a laser sight on your blouse. They'd have hit you dead in the heart, blown your chest wide open with the first shot. I doubt you'd have felt much pain."

  He felt her stiffe
n, heard the breath leave her lunas. and knew she finally understood just how close she'd come to dying today. It had been a matter of seconds.

  "God, I… It won't happen again." She shifted the ice pack, her hands trembling now.

  Pain and anger turned his voice gruff. "Damned straight it won't! You're staying with me now, Goldilocks. You're on my turf. You follow my rules."

  Chapter 19

  Tessa felt emotionally overloaded, shorted out. So much had happened in so short a time, and she could barely keep up. Julian had driven all of it away when he'd made love to her, the power of his touch making her forget murder and bullets and terror. But the reprieve had been temporary, and the reality of her situation had come rushing back, leaving her almost numb. It took her a moment to understand what Julian meant.

  "Staying with you? Here?" she asked, dumbly. "But Chief Irving is taking me to—"

  "The safe house isn't safe enough. I want you where I can keep an eye on you, where you won't be able get yourself into trouble, where no one else is in charge."

  A little voice inside her wanted to object to the authoritarian tone in his voice, to this sudden change in plans. She couldn't stay with him. It would be too distracting, not to mention a complete conflict of interest. But she couldn't summon the words. She was tired. So tired.

  He must have noticed her silence. The next thing she knew, he was sitting up, the soggy ice pack lying forgotten on the gray quilt that covered his big four-poster bed. He cupped her cheek in one big palm. "Tessa?"

  She met his gaze. "I-I think I need a nap."

  He frowned. "When's the last time you slept?"

  She had to think. 'The night you knocked me out."

  "Why don't you hop in the shower, while I try to figure out what's for dinner?" He pulled her to her feet. "The bathroom's through there."

  A shower suddenly sounded wonderful. "I don't have my things. They're in my suitcase in the trunk of my rental car."

  "You can use my stuff for tonight. The towels are under the sink. Yell if you need anything." He turned and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  It took Tessa a moment to get her bearings. She undressed, draping her clothes across his bed, then walked into the sparkling-clean bathroom—a man's bathroom. It was the one room, together with his bedroom, that looked lived in. It smelled like him, like his soap, his aftershave, his skin. His toothbrush sat in a cup on one side of the sink next to a tube of mint-flavored toothpaste. A comb sat on the other. There was soap in the soap dish and shampoo and shaving cream in the shower. A razor was perched on top of a shaving mirror stuck to the white tile wall.

  Feeling oddly comforted by these everyday things, she turned on the water as hot as she could stand it, stepped under the spray, and drew the transparent shower curtain into place.

  The showerhead was one of the detachable massaging kinds she'd had in her last apartment. She turned it to her favorite setting and let the current pummel her. The hot water loosened her tense muscles, but it also loosened her emotions, and she found herself shaking from head to toe, until the hell of the past two weeks came spilling out of her in sobs.

  Gunshots. Blood. A hard, groping hand. The photo of her naked in the tub. An officer shot. Kids living and killing on the streets. Girls kidnapped and sold like slaves. Needle tracks. Rape. Murder.

  ¡Ayüdeme! ¡Me van a matar!

  Tessa wasn't sure how long she'd stood there crying in the pulsing spray, when she heard him enter. He stood there, wearing only his leather pants, a look of concern on his handsome face, gun in hand. "Tessa? Are you all right, honey?"

  And she knew what she wanted. Him.

  She drew back the shower curtain and reached for him. "Please, Julian!"

  He answered her by setting his gun aside, unzipping his pants and shoving them down his thighs to the floor. Then he stepped into the shower with her and closed the shower curtain with a jerk, his gaze raking over her as intimately as a caress.

  He seemed to tower over her, filling the tiny space with his broad shoulders. But she wasn't staring at his shoulders. His erection was huge and dark, rising from a thatch of black hair to stand thick and full against his abdomen, the tip just touching his navel, his testicles hanging dark and heavy beneath.

  It was the first time she'd seen him fully nude, and she wanted to touch him, to feel that satiny hardness, to taste the engorged head. But Julian didn't give her time. He crushed her to him, his mouth closing over hers in a probing, hot kiss.

  One sensation collided with another. The velvet glide of his tongue. The sweetness of skin against naked, wet skin. The rasp of chest hair against sensitive nipples. The insistent press of his erection against her belly. Water pulsing against nerve endings. Moans mingling in the thickening steam.

  The kiss seemed to go on forever, drawing out the minutes, heating her blood by degrees until she burned. Then he ducked down to suck her nipples. She cried out, arched into the heat of his mouth, clinging to him, her fingers twined in his wet hair. He seemed to make a feast of her breasts, tugging on her nipples with his lips, nipping her with his teeth, suckling her, flicking her with his rough tongue, every touch making the fire between her legs burn brighter.

  Abruptly, he withdrew his mouth, turned her to face the wall, and stretched her arms out on either side of her head, his hands shackling her wrists, forcing her palms against the wall. Then he nudged her feet wide apart and entered her from behind with a single, perfect thrust, his lips nipping at the skin beneath her ear. "God, Tessa, honey, you are incredible!"

  Tessa thought he was the incredible one, but she couldn't say so, not with words. He felt so good moving inside her, each stroke so deep, so right. She moaned at the wonder of it, ground her bottom into him, arched to take every bit of him she could, desperate for completion, her tortured nipples brushing against the chilly tile.

  She caught just a glimpse of the two of them in the shaving mirror—her lips swollen from his kisses, his chest pressed into her shoulders as he drove himself into her. It was one glimpse, but it made her breath catch. They looked primitive—male and female caught in the primal act of mating.

  Then he released her wrists, one hand spreading across her rib cage to hold her steady, the other reaching for the shower-head. She realized what he meant to do a moment before he did it.

  When the pulsating spray hit her clitoris, she cried out in shock. It was too much—the pulsating water, the power of his relentless, forceful thrusts, the feel of his left hand as it worked over her throbbing nipples. She whimpered, her breath coming in ragged pants, her hands bunched into fists, her cheek pressed into the tile wall.

  The tension inside her drew into a tight, shimmering ball— and then shattered. Pleasure surged through her in a great gush, swamping her in delight almost too intense to bear. But no sooner had the first wave begun to recede, when another crashed through her. And another.

  Again and again she came, each peak drawn out by the slide of his cock inside her and the pulsing spray. Her body trembled, her legs no longer strong enough to hold her. She heard a woman's keening cries, then a man's deep groans as the next wave caught him, too, and carried them both into sweet oblivion.

  She was vaguely aware of it when Julian turned off the water, her head resting against his strong shoulder. She knew when he wrapped her in a warm towel, his embrace keeping her on her feet. She felt him lift her out of the shower and into his arms.

  "You're safe here, honey," he muttered against her cheek as he lowered her onto soft sheets and covered her with the quilt. "Sleep."

  And she did.

  Julian sat in the dark on the edge of his bed and watched Tessa sleep, the sight of her alive and breathing making him grateful for the throbbing pain in his back. Her hair lay in damp, curling ropes across her pillow, one shoulder exposed, the curve of her hips outlined gently by the quilt. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, a faint gray beneath her dark lashes. She'd been on the brink of exhaustion, he realized, her emotion
s worn threadbare.

  He'd been in the kitchen trying to decide whether to cook the can of chicken noodle soup or to run down the street for some carryout Vietnamese when he'd heard her crying. He'd told himself she needed her privacy, that she'd get it out of her system and be fine. But the wrenching sound of her sobs had been like a razor to his gut, and unable to leave her alone with her anguish, he'd gone to her.

  He'd taken one look at her, tears in her blue eyes, her wet hair clinging to her breasts, water sluicing over the satin of her skin, and he'd completely forgotten his decision not to have unprotected sex with her again. He'd forgotten everything but the need to hold her, to comfort her, to drive away her tears.

  He'd tried to convince himself that what had happened between them was only sex—nothing more than mind-blowing, adrenaline-charged fucking. But he knew better. He'd never wanted a woman the way he wanted Tessa. Never. It wasn't just that she was beautiful. It wasn't just her charming combination of grit and girliness. It wasn't only her intelligence or her quiet resolve or the vulnerability that lurked behind those big blue eyes. It was all of that together—and much more.

  Something about her opened up something inside him.

  And he wasn't sure he liked it.

  He'd never been generous with his soul. Too much of it had been lost growing up under his father's roof, watching the old man kill himself with tequila, seeing the bastard abuse every woman who walked into their lives, being lett to rend for himself on the street. He'd buried what remained of himself, kept it to himself in an effort to stay sane, tried to seal it off from the horrors of his job—both what he saw and what he had to do. Not even Margaux had been able to touch that part of him.