He’d blown up. He’d lost his temper. He’d done it in front of an audience, too, which he must really hate and which probably accounted for at least some of the animosity coming off him right now. She didn’t know a lot about Ric—way less than she would have liked, given how she felt about him—but she knew that he was a private person. He didn’t broadcast his emotions, and yet tonight they’d erupted from him in front of three people.
You think that wouldn’t cut me off at the knees, Mia?
She wasn’t done thinking about what that meant— what all of his words meant, including the ones that were easy to decipher. You’re acting like a spoiled brat. Not only did he think she was oblivious to what he and Rey and Jonah had done for her, but he also thought she was oblivious to what Frank had done, a man who’d sacrificed his life to help her. For Ric to believe that she could be that callous and insensitive wounded her.
Mia’s phone sounded from the depths of her purse as Ric swung into a driveway. She checked the number and turned off the ringer, then watched with surprise as Ric rolled down his window and tapped a code into a keypad. After passing through an electronic gate, he drove around a four-story stucco apartment building that backed up to some sort of greenbelt. He parked his truck and grabbed her duffel and computer bag from the backseat.
“I can get that,” she said.
He shot her a glare and slung everything over his shoulder before shoving open the door.
Mia slid out of the pickup, empty handed except for her purse. He led her to a glass door, punched in another code, and held the door open as she stepped into a warm lobby with Saltillo tile floors. He walked ahead and jabbed the elevator button.
This was definitely not what she’d pictured. She stepped inside the elevator and glimpsed his reflection in the mirrored doors as they rode up to the third floor.
“Nice place,” she said. “How long have you lived here?”
“Couple years.”
“Lot of security.”
He glanced at her in the doors just before they dinged open. “My old neighborhood was getting sketchy. I didn’t feel good about Ava coming in and out of there, so I moved.”
He led her down a carpeted hallway, and her stomach danced with nerves as she watched him unlock his door. Then he pushed it open, flipped on a light switch, and ushered her inside.
“It smells so clean,” she blurted.
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Were you expecting gym socks?”
“No, I just …” Her gaze skimmed over the shiny tile foyer, the living room sparsely furnished with a glass coffee table and a masculine black leather coach, the beige carpet lined with vacuum tracks. “I guess I didn’t know you were so tidy. It looks better than my place.”
“The cleaning lady came this week. I haven’t had time to mess it up yet.” Ric set her bags on the floor beside the door.
Mia dropped her purse next to the bags and glanced around. There was a dark corridor to her left—the bedroom, presumably—and beyond the living room a darkened kitchen. The dining area was empty, but there were two wooden bar stools pulled up to the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.
She became aware of the silence. Ric was watching her with one of those simmering looks again, one of the hostile ones like she’d been getting in the car. She felt a rush of insecurity, followed by a surge of annoyance.
“Don’t look at me that way,” she said.
“What way?”
“You’re the one who insisted on this. I can just as easily stay at a motel.” Or Scott’s house. But something warned her not to say that, or he might go ballistic again.
His phone buzzed, saving him from a response. He glared at her as he pulled it from the pocket of his slacks.
“Santos.” His eyes stayed on her as he listened. He turned and tossed his keys onto the table by the door. “Yeah.” He turned back to Mia. “I have to take this.” He hesitated, and something flickered across his face. Uncertainty? Concern? “If you’re hungry, I can order us some dinner or something.”
It was his way of answering the motel comment.
“I’m fine. I had a bite after work.” She nodded at his phone. “Take your call.”
He took the phone into the living room, where he switched on a lamp.
Mia looked around again, absorbing more details this time. On the hallway table was a heap of unopened mail. Several fliers lay on the floor and looked as though they’d been slipped under the front door. Mia picked them up. Pizza coupons, a notice about an upcoming visit from a pest-control company. She tucked the fliers under the stack of mail.
Ric stood at the bar now. He had his sleeves rolled up and one hand braced against the bar as he spoke to someone in low tones. In the yellow lamplight, the lines of his face were sharp, and she could see the tension there as he talked. Was it his brother? Jonah? She didn’t know everything that had happened tonight, but apparently, the investigation was in disarray. She got the sense that Ric and Jonah were being set up to take the fall if the case fell apart, which seemed increasingly likely. The DNA results that afternoon might have been the final nail in the coffin.
Mia scooped up her duffel. She felt nervous, jittery. Her instinct was to organize something or maybe cook, but she couldn’t do that now. The very last thing she wanted to do was show up at this man’s home for the first time and start acting like his mother.
She forced herself to move from her spot and cautiously began exploring. The first door on the right was a bathroom, where she saw a pink toothbrush in a cup beside the sink. She peeked into the room across the hall and flipped on the light. An entire wall was papered with posters of teenage boys, which confirmed her guess about the owner of the toothbrush. A turquoise bedspread covered the twin bed. Beside it was a desk that seemed to have been converted to a makeup table. Mia’s gaze scanned the row of lipsticks and nail polishes before she turned off the light and continued down the hallway.
The master suite looked much more like Ric. King-size bed, black bedspread, a dresser topped with loose change, deodorant, a box of bullets. On the corner was a framed photograph of Ric and a beautiful young girl in a green soccer uniform. He had his arm hooked playfully around her neck as they both smiled out at the camera. The girl had smooth olive skin and thick black lashes and looked so much like her father that Mia’s heart turned over. Her gaze went back to Ric, who appeared more relaxed and happy than she’d ever seen him. Look how much he loves her, she thought, and felt a pang of yearning.
She turned away from the picture and surveyed the rest of the room. In the corner was a weight bench and a stack of impossible-looking disks and barbells. She walked over and ran her fingertips over the cool metal bar. She pictured him lying back on the bench, straining as he pressed up the weight. A memory of their night together came back to her, and her legs went weak.
She sank onto the bench and closed her eyes. Okay, honesty time. She could no longer lie to herself about what she felt for this man. She was in love with him. Not a crush, not infatuation—as she’d felt so often in the past—this was love.
But what did he feel?
You think that wouldn’t ruin my fucking life?
If something happened to her, it would ruin his life. He’d said that. But did he mean that as a cop—as in if he couldn’t protect her, he’d feel like a failure professionally? Or did he mean it as a man—if something happened to her, it would take away his chance to be happy?
She had so little to go on with him. But she did have her instincts. And her instincts told her that this man wasn’t going to be at all like what she’d pictured when she’d pictured being in love. This man wasn’t going to give her wine and roses and pretty words. He was a cop, and his hardened, streetwise attitude affected everything he did. He didn’t use words much, and when he did, they weren’t often pretty. And he sure as hell didn’t walk around with his heart on his sleeve.
But she loved him anyway. And she thought that maybe, just maybe, it was poss
ible that he loved her, too. All of that hostility could have more to do with him not knowing what to do about his feelings than about him not having feelings.
Mia took a deep breath and gathered up her courage. Before she could change her mind, she strode into his bathroom and stripped off her clothes. She folded them neatly and left them on the counter beside the sink. Then she turned on the water, and when it was scalding, she stepped under the spray. She tipped her head back and let it wash over her, clearing away all of her doubts and confusion. She might not know what he wanted, but she knew what she wanted, and damned if she wasn’t going to try to get it.
Ric inventoried his refrigerator as his brother filled him in on the latest developments in the case. In a nutshell, everything was screwed. Lane’s lawyer was screaming witch hunt and threatening lawsuits. The only good news was that the press hadn’t got wind of the story— a circumstance Ric figured would last about another five minutes—so both sides had an interest in keeping a lid on things. But everyone on the task force was running for cover, and Ric, as Rey had predicted, was being offered up as a scapegoat for today’s fiasco.
“What are you going to do?” his brother asked as Ric grabbed a couple of beers and took them into the living room.
“I’m going to work the case, like always.”
“This isn’t like always. This isn’t anything like always.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Ric sank onto the sofa and twisted off the bottle caps. “But what do you want me to do? I can’t just manufacture evidence against the guy. I’m going to have to keep digging.” He lifted the beer to his lips and paused. Pipes hummed at the back of the apartment, and a vision of Mia in his bathtub flashed through his head.
“You know, you could be off base on this thing,” Rey said. “Maybe Jessup’s right.”
“How’s that?”
“Maybe we should be looking at someone else.”
Ric set down his beer. His brother had a point. Ric’s cop intuition had told him repeatedly that Lane was their man, but the physical evidence didn’t lie. Still, he might just be missing something. Ric figured he had about one more day to salvage the case, or his reputation as a homicide detective was trashed.
“Give me twenty-four hours,” he said.
“What happens in twenty-four hours?”
Ric had no idea, but he needed more time. “I’ve got a couple of leads left. Just don’t let them pull the plug yet, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Like it’s my call. I’m just an agent. You want any favors, you should be working on Singh, but I hear you fucked that one up from the first day.”
“She still doesn’t like me, huh?”
“She thinks you’re a loose cannon. Plus, she’s political, and she wants to cover her ass. Just a heads up, I wouldn’t be surprised if you and your partner get kicked from the task force by tomorrow morning.”
“Stall them. I need another day.”
“What are these leads, anyway? This is no time to hide the ball.”
Mia walked into the foyer and crouched down beside her purse. Her hair hung in messy wet curls around her shoulders, and he watched her dig around for something. Her feet were bare. Her legs were bare. And she wore a gray hooded sweatshirt that looked familiar.
“Ric?” Rey said.
“What?”
“What’s this evidence?”
“Mia’s working on it,” he improvised, watching her rummage through her purse. “I should know more tomorrow.”
“You need to get real with this thing. He’s the goddamn lieutenant governor. We either have to put up or shut up, and if we don’t do it soon, heads are gonna roll. Starting with yours.”
Mia twisted her hair into a clip and crossed the living room to the kitchen. He caught her attention and held out a beer for her. She paused and looked at him.
“Ric, are you listening to a damn thing I’m saying?” Rey’s voice came distantly through the phone.
“No.”
She walked over and stood in front of him, all warm and damp and sweet-smelling. All of the blood rushed out of his head. She took the beer and watched him as she brought it to her lips.
“Later, bro.” He clicked off and tossed the phone away. For a few seconds, they stared at each other, and she looked as if she was sizing up an opponent.
“You took a bath.”
“A shower.” She leaned over to set the bottle down, and his sweatshirt rode up on her.
That tight, strangled feeling he’d been battling all week was back again, and all he could think about was having her. He wanted to drag her to the floor and pound himself into her. And then he wanted to haul her into bed with him and do it again. And again, until he finally got this choking lust out of his system.
He wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs and pulled her closer, watching her face to see if she’d resist. She didn’t, and he slid his hands up and found all that smooth, bare skin beneath his sweatshirt. He leaned his forehead against her stomach and cursed softly.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
He took her perfect hips in his hands and squeezed. God, he’d missed her. He kissed her through the sweatshirt. Then her fingers slid into his hair, and he felt it in every cell of his body. He looked up at her, and there it was again. The look.
A little knife twisted in his chest. He didn’t want to hurt her. Never in his life had he been so determined not to hurt someone, but he couldn’t stay away. He couldn’t leave her alone. He’d tried to be cool and distant, but it hadn’t worked at all. He burned hotter for her than ever, and knowing what she would be like, warm and pliant underneath him, just made everything worse.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“It’s just … this.” Her skin was hot silk under his fingers, and all he could think about was making her come. He filled his hands with her lush, beautiful breasts and watched her eyes glaze over. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to touch you?”
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You can show me.”
• • •
His eyes locked on hers as he slid the zipper of the sweatshirt down and pulled her against him. The stubble on his chin rasped against her breast, and she felt a hot jolt of lust. She held his head against her and sighed as he pulled her into his lap. He pushed and tugged at the sweatshirt until it disappeared and she was sitting on his thigh without a stitch of clothing, while he was completely dressed right down to his sidearm.
“Get this off.” She pulled on his belt.
He tipped her back onto the cool leather and jumped to his feet. She smiled at his rush to undo his belt. Seconds later, it, along with his gun and badge, had been tossed onto the coffee table. He started to lower himself over her, then cursed and jerked a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and tossed them to the floor.
She laughed. “In a hurry?”
He planted his knee between hers and leaned forward to kiss her, stroking his hands over her arms as his mouth moved from her lips to her chin to her rib cage, completely bypassing her breasts, and she realized what he was up to.
She sat up. “Ric, wait!”
He shot her a glance. “No.” And then made a dive for her navel, and she squirmed beneath him, but he held her firmly by the hips as he kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her some more, until she saw stars behind her eyelids, and her entire world was reduced to a tiny blissful pinpoint. She was dimly aware that she should object to this, that she didn’t want to be in this heavenly place all by herself, and she took his head in her hands and moved her leg to force him up.
“Please.” She gasped. “Please, come here.”
He came back to her and kissed her thoroughly, and she was so gone for him that she wanted to weep. She felt his heat through his clothes and started jerking at the buttons of his shirt. He sat back to help her, then stripped the shirt off and threw it onto the floor. She glided her hands beneath his undershirt so she could feel the muscles there. His skin was warm, the roughness of his hair aching
ly familiar. He pulled the T-shirt over his head and tossed it away, and then he was back again, and she kissed him and smoothed her hands over his strong back.
I missed you so much, she wanted to say, but instead, she just touched him, reveling in his wonderful heat and the weight of him and the way his muscles bunched under her hands. She pressed her hips against him and knew how much he’d missed her, too, even if he’d never say it. But in a way, he was saying it with his long, deep kisses. With his low moans of approval. With the urgent way he clutched her to him, as if he couldn’t get enough.
He sat back, breathless, and stared down at her and she reached up and cupped her hand against his sandpapery cheek.
“What?” she whispered.
He kicked off his shoes and shed the rest of his clothes as she watched him, her pulse thrumming with anticipation. His gaze never left her, and her skin burned from it and felt feverish and much too tight. Finally, he kneeled between her legs again and kissed her breasts and her neck and then her face, and she felt the heavy weight of him pressing against her thigh. Then his breath was hot against her ear.
“You okay with this?” he asked.
She brought his mouth to hers and kissed him. He shifted over her as she braced herself.
“Mia?” He pushed up on one arm and looked down at her. She nodded.
He shifted her hips, and she felt the brutal force of him pushing inside her. He closed his eyes and made a low groan in his chest. He drew back and did it again. She pulled him as close as she could, and tears sprang into her eyes, because she was finally as close to him as she’d wanted to be. He moved above her, powerfully, forcefully, setting that perfect pace again, as if by instinct. As if he knew her, all of her, right down to the very beat of her pulse. His neck corded with tension. She brought his head down and kissed him roughly, with the same reckless abandon she was feeling with every thrust of his hips. She clawed at him, clutched at him, struggling for control as he pushed her and pushed her and pushed her into a place where there was nothing but the two of them, joined, and in a blinding flash, she knew she didn’t need control at all. She didn’t want it. She threw herself into the white-hot flame and let herself go.
Unforgivable Page 26
