Remember the Night

by Linda Castillo

  He hadn’t the slightest idea what the hell he was going to do about it.

  How could he have let this happen, knowing she had a murder charge and possible jail time hanging over her head? She was vulnerable, for God’s sake. More vulnerable than he’d ever believed. He’d taken advantage of that vulnerability, knowing fully he had no intention of dealing with the consequences.

  Philip had known from the get-go he was in over his head; he’d accepted it, figured he could handle it. Now he wasn’t so sure. The thought made him feel sick.

  Restless, he stepped into his jeans, not bothering with the button, and walked to the kitchen, found a bottle of beer in the refrigerator and popped the lid. In the main room, he tossed another log on the fire, then walked over to the cot where Michelle slept.

  The sight of her stole his breath. Firelight turned her hair to spun gold, the delicate skin of her face to porcelain. Her full mouth was slightly open, and he could just make out the tiny space between her teeth. He smiled, remembering what she’d said about her gorgeous, sexy mouth. In his eyes, the tiny imperfection only made her more beautiful.

  She was lying on her back, with her head cradled on her arm. She hadn’t dressed after their lovemaking, and he could see the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hip beneath the thin blanket. As he watched her sleep, a wave of affection engulfed him. He wanted to go to her, open her, bury himself inside her heat and forget about everything except the moment.

  Blowing out a sigh, Philip scrubbed his hands over his face. Despite the situation, making love to her in this tiny cabin with the rain pounding outside was the most erotic experience he’d ever had. Her passion had touched the deepest reaches of his heart. The moment he’d sheathed himself inside her heat, his control had toppled, and he’d been mindless with the need to fill her with his seed. The sight of her writhing beneath him with tears in her eyes and her body clamped tightly around his had devastated him, moved him as nothing else ever had.

  How the hell was he going to handle this?

  She stirred, rolling onto her side. Philip watched as the blanket slipped lower, exposing her breast. He’d never seen such beauty. His body stirred undeniably, but he didn’t touch her. He wouldn’t give in to his own selfish needs again. He cared about Michelle too much to hurt her. Worse, he didn’t want to risk his own heart.

  Steeling himself against the rush of blood to his groin, Philip leaned down and tugged the blanket over her satin shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open, settled on him. Her full mouth lifted into a smile.

  His chest constricted unexpectedly. He’d never seen such a beautiful smile. “Hi,” he said.

  “Can’t sleep, Betancourt?” Rolling onto her back, she propped her head on a lumpy pillow and regarded him thoughtfully. “I don’t kick in my sleep, do I? Steal the covers?”

  “You were snoring.”

  She landed a playful punch on his stomach, hard enough to make him grunt. “I was not.”

  He took her hand, wished he hadn’t as her baby-powder scent teased his brain. He stared at her, realizing with some surprise he was once again fully aroused and aching to be inside her.

  She licked her lips, and he sensed she was aware of the same sexual tug.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “I don’t want to talk about the case. Not tonight.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Wariness entered her eyes. “You mean…us.”

  He nodded.

  She stared at him, and he could see she was mentally bracing, as if expecting him to fling something hurtful and unexpected her way.

  “What happened between us…” His voice was low and rough, not at all the way he’d intended. “We’re going to make…things more difficult for each other, Michelle.”

  Her gaze hardened. “You know, Betancourt, you can always come visit me in prison.” Clenching the blanket against her, she tried to sit up.

  Grasping her shoulders, he pressed her down firmly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “What exactly did you mean?”

  Couldn’t she see what this would do to them? Couldn’t she see that if they got any closer, their inevitable parting would only be that much more difficult? “You know damn good and well what the situation is between us. I’m a cop and I live for my job. I’m not good at relationships, Michelle. I destroy them. I destroy the women who love me. I don’t want us to end up hating each other. Dammit, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You think I need protecting from you?”

  “I think you need protecting from yourself.”

  “Don’t do me any favors, cop.” She said the word with loathing.

  His temper stirred. “Is that what I am to you?”

  “Look, Betancourt, we slept together. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I know what I’m doing, and I can take care of myself. How many times do I have to prove that to you?” Clenching the blanket to her chest, she shook off his hands and sat up. “I sure as hell don’t need you to do it.”

  Philip gaped at her. She’d dismissed him. He should have been relieved, considering his reservations about getting involved. But he wasn’t. Not by a long shot. “The coming days are going to be tough for both of us, Michelle. I’m no longer thinking clearly when it comes to you—”

  “You’re going to bail, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t miss the bitterness behind her words. “No. I’m going to see this case—”

  “It’s who I am, isn’t it? Where I come from?” Incredulity laced her voice. “I should have known—”

  He moved before he even realized he was going to, grasping her biceps in his hands and shaking her. “Stop it, dammit! Just stop with the tough-guy act! I know you’re not. And I sure as hell am not going to sit here and let you belittle yourself.”

  “No, that’s your job.”

  “I’ve never treated you like that.”

  “You’re doing it right now.”

  “The hell I am.”

  “And the correct term, if you’re wondering, is swamp trash. Some diehards prefer swamp rat, or you could just go with the old standby white trash—”

  He shook her again, none too gently this time. “I’m involved with you, Michelle! I care about you! But I’m a cop! You’re a suspect, for God’s sake! Where does that leave us?”

  She was breathing hard, her nostrils flaring with each breath. “Why don’t you just say it, Betancourt? You don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

  He ground his teeth. “You’re too good for me!” His shout was like a gunshot in the silence of the cabin.

  Her surprised gaze snapped to his.

  “I don’t know how to handle what’s happened between us,” he admitted.

  The fight went out of her, like air out of a balloon. “I can’t change what happened.”

  “I don’t want to change it.” That wasn’t exactly true—he didn’t like it that their relationship had become so infinitely complex—but he didn’t say it. “We have to deal with this. We’ve got to deal with tomorrow. With next week. Next month. We’ve got to deal with what we’re facing in New Orleans. We’ve got to be prepared for the outcome.”

  A breath shuddered out of her. “I’m afraid, Betancourt.”

  His heart wrenched like a wounded animal in his chest. The pain that followed took his breath. With an oath, he reached for her, pulled her to him. He tried to tell himself it was because she needed to be held. But a wretched little voice in the back of his mind called him a liar.

  “I’m sorry I said those things.” She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “Maybe I needed to hear them.”

  “No. You’re right. This is getting really complicated.”

  “I knew it would.” He closed his eyes. “I’m taking you back to New Orleans tomorrow.”

  She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

  “I’ll take you to my place. Or a hotel—”

  “
I won’t let you risk your job.”

  “That’s not why I’m—”

  “Then why?”

  “Michelle, you can’t become a fugitive from the law.”

  A tremor rippled through her and he held her tightly against him. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t erase the feeling that she was slipping through his fingers, into a dangerous place he didn’t want her to be.

  The blanket had fallen at some point, and suddenly Philip was aware of her naked breasts against his chest. Her hard ened nipples brushed against his flesh, tormenting him with sweet temptation. He called himself a fool a dozen ways. He knew better than to give in to the lust burning through him, knew he would live to regret it. Dammit, he already had enough regrets. His career was about to go down the proverbial drain, and all he could think of was this proud, frightened woman going to jail. The thought tormented him. Her spirit was too precious to be crushed. How could he let that happen? How could he live with himself, knowing he would play a role?

  The weight of the questions devastated him, sent a choppy wave of panic through him. He wanted her, suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of her slipping away. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. You make me desperate. Insane. But I’ve got to have you. Now.”

  Her startled gaze met his. “I’m not going to fall apart when you walk away. I’ve got my own life—”

  “I’m not going to walk away.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” she repeated.

  He didn’t bother with kissing her. The needs inside him were too urgent, churning, hot, violent. Using the muscles in his arms, he lowered her to the cot, then stepped out of his jeans. She tried to cover herself with the blanket, but he jerked it from her and tossed it aside.

  “I want to see you.” He knelt. His mouth met hers so hard their teeth clicked together. He feasted on her for an instant, his tongue battling hers, then going deep. He couldn’t get enough of her and, in a moment of insight, knew he never would. Knew she was slipping from his grasp, and he felt that surge of panic again. Stronger. Shaking him to his core.

  His mouth trailed to her breasts, where he used his teeth on her nipples. She arced into him. Need and fear and pain churned in his gut, his mind, until he was shaking from head to toe. He cupped the softness of her mound, and she opened to him. A groan rumbled out of his chest when his finger found her wet and hot. He kissed her belly, then the crisp curls below. She tensed, but he didn’t stop. He was mindless with the need to taste her, to devour the sweetness he knew lay there.

  She cried out his name when his mouth found her. He kissed her deeply, greedily, drinking in her scent until her hips rose up to meet him and her muscles jerked with every flick of his tongue.

  And Philip knew he was lost to her forever.

  Michelle thought she would die of pleasure. No man had ever touched her intimate places with his mouth, and she’d never dreamed it would be like this. She crested twice before he stopped. Her body was still in spasms when he eased himself between her legs, entered her in a single, long stroke and went deep.

  The world simply ceased to exist. Her senses shut down until there was nothing except the moment between them, the pleasure pounding through her, the exquisite pain of two hearts beating as one. She knew he was fighting it. She could tell by the tautness of his muscles, the determined set of his mouth; she knew he wouldn’t give up his heart easily. Not this man with his cynical view of the world and hardened facade. But Michelle knew he felt the connection. Perhaps not love, as she’d hoped, but something profound and beautiful. No man could look at her the way Betancourt did and not feel something. He just didn’t realize it yet.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead as he gazed down at her, moving within her. She felt the waves beginning, wondered if they would drown her this time, if she would survive. They were coming so quickly she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “We’re going to ride this one out together.” His voice was low with tension. His jaws were clamped tight, his arms trembling with strain. His eyes were so intense, she thought he could see right through her to that part of her heart that belonged to him now.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form a single rational thought. Her body took over, and she met his strokes with the same desperate ferocity. Darkness washed over her vision. Her body clenched. He shuddered. She heard her name, felt his breath on her cheek, and she knew as surely as she felt his seed spilling into the deepest reaches of her that, somehow, everything would work out. Philip would be there for her. Stand by her. Never betray her.

  Chapter 13

  Philip should have been relieved driving back to New Orleans, where he could salvage what was left of his career, resume his quest for Armon Landsteiner’s murderer and, ultimately, save Michelle’s life. Only he wasn’t relieved. Instead, he felt as if he were leading a lamb to slaughter.

  He couldn’t hide her in a hotel. He couldn’t take her back to his house. The notion was worse than stupid; it was insane. Running from the law would only result in more charges being levied against her. He’d already laid his career on the line. Was he prepared to do the same with his freedom?

  He loved her. He told himself he could deal with it. He even thought he could walk away when the time came. After all, that’s what he did best. That was the kind of man he was. Only he couldn’t quiet the little voice that kept calling him a liar.

  His cell phone chirped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michelle stiffen, then lean back in the passenger seat and close her eyes. He couldn’t blame her for being jumpy. He was getting that way himself.

  Philip answered with a curt utterance of his name.

  Cory’s curse burned through the line. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Had the situation not been so dire, Philip would have smiled at his partner’s tone. “Bayou Lafourche. Why?”

  “You could have answered your damn phone.”

  “I was out of range.”

  “You with Michelle?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I figured you were. Well, brace yourself, my man, because that bastard Montgomery just put out a warrant for you, too.”

  The words hit Philip like a kick in the solar plexus. He nearly dropped the phone. He saw Michelle watching him, and swallowed the outrage that had risen like bile in his throat. “What the hell for?”

  “The strongest charge is aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice. A couple of others won’t stick.”

  Disbelief swamped him. “Somebody’s pulling Montgomery’s strings, Cory.”

  “I figured that. The question is who.”

  “Someone with a lot at stake.”

  “Sounds like they want you out of the way pretty badly.”

  “You can bet on it.” Philip’s gut clenched as the repercussions of what his partner was telling him hit home.

  “You’ve got to bring her in, Betancourt.”

  He cursed, knowing Cory was right. God, he hated this. Hated it that Michelle had been caught up in someone’s ugly game. “Call Jane Bevins, will you? Fill her in on the situation.”

  “For you?”

  “No, for Michelle.” Philip’s chest tightened. Jane Bevins was a feminist attorney who thrived on high profile cases, and he knew she’d stick by Michelle like a terrier to a bone.

  “She’s expensive.”

  “I’ll cover it.” He didn’t know how, but somehow, he would. “I’ll see you at the station in about an hour.” He disconnected, then glanced over at Michelle.

  Her eyes were large and dark against her pale complexion. “You’re turning me in, aren’t you?”

  The sadness in her voice struck a chord, but the resignation there sliced him clean through the middle. “If I don’t take you back, we’ll both be fugitives from justice.”

  “Better I go to jail than both of us, huh, Betancourt?”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it,” he warned.

  “Who’s Jane Bevins?”

&n
bsp; Michelle was too cool, too calm. He wondered what was really going on behind that tough facade. “An attorney I know. She won’t let you out of her sight.”

  “Oh, you mean so the guards don’t get to put their hands all over me like they did when I was seventeen?”

  Fury cut through him with such force that for a moment he was blinded. Philip mashed his foot against the brake and brought the car to a screeching halt, throwing both of them against their shoulder harnesses. “I don’t have a choice in the matter! I have to do this!”

  “Feeling guilty?” she asked nastily.

  “Hell yes, I feel guilty! What do you think? I care about you, dammit! I don’t want to do this!”

  “Then don’t do it!” A sob tore from her throat.

  He slammed his fist against the dash. Plastic shattered. Pain zinged up to his elbow, but he welcomed the diversion from the agony ripping through his heart. “What would you have me do?”

  “Take me back to Bayou Lafourche.”

  “That’s how much faith you have in the criminal justice system? And you’re a year away from taking the bar?”

  “Ask my brother about faith in the criminal justice system, cop!”

  His hands were shaking. Blood oozed from his knuckles. Realizing he’d damaged the dash, he wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and looked straight again. “I can’t take you back to Bayou Lafourche.”

  A hard laugh broke from her mouth. “I didn’t think so.”

  “That would only make things worse.”

  “For me or for you?”

  She said the words with a flippancy that set his teeth on edge. He looked down, realized the engine had died. “I’ll take care of your bail. Jane will see you through processing. You’ll be out in a few hours.”

  “Unless, of course, the judge deems me a flight risk.”

  “You’re not a flight risk.” Philip couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bring himself to look into the soft depths of her eyes, knowing what he did about her past. And do this to her. The realization made him feel as if he were dying inside.