by Virna DePaul
Slowly, he followed. He didn’t bother responding to her blatant attempt to push him away. “Tragic circumstances aside, this was fun. Working with you. It’s been a while since we’ve talked shop together.”
“Thanks for all your help. I appreciate it.”
“I’m always here if you need another opinion. Or another massage.”
She smiled slightly. “Good night, Jase.”
Just before she shut the door behind him, he caught the edge of it, stopping her from closing it. He leaned closer. “Hey, Carrie?”
“Yes?”
“Despite what I said earlier at McGill’s, I think it’s only fair to tell you I’ve changed my mind.”
“Changed your mind about what?”
“About whether it’s worth pursuing this attraction between us. Like you said, you’ve got needs, and I’ve got a need for you that’s been building since the first moment I saw you. So long as commitment isn’t what you’re asking for, we can have some fun in the sack, too. If you thought a leg massage was good, you should see what I can do when you’re spread out and naked. I’ll show you a better time in bed than anyone on SWAT can, I promise you that.”
For a second she hesitated, as if she was considering his half-assed offer. Then she smiled tightly and said, “I have plenty of fun, Jase. You’re free to do the same. Just do it without me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
BRAD COULDN’T BELIEVE his luck. He’d never been the kind of guy to leave a bar with a girl, let alone one as classy and beautiful as this. Tonight, not only did he have a pretty girl on his arm, but she was going home with him. And according to her, she was willing to do whatever he wanted when he got there.
The possibilities were endless. There were so many things he wanted to do to her. And with her. So many things that he wanted her to do to him…first.
Before.
Before he took advantage of the information he’d overheard at McGill’s.
Before he proved that he was better. Smarter. More creative than even him.
After all, it was his fault Brad had never left a bar with a woman before. And it was his fault Brad now had the courage to do so. Being able to blame him for both seemed not just fortuitous but destined.
Like there was a higher power at work, telling Brad that after all the pain, the mockery and the rejection, his time had finally come. If only he was willing to seize the opportunity.
Still, in the back of his mind, a gnawing feeling of guilt ate at him.
He glanced at the woman beside him.
It would be wrong to sleep with her. Wrong to use her. After all, he didn’t love her.
He loved Nora.
It was Nora he really wanted to make love to.
But she’d never seen him that way. And she never would.
Not now.
Not when she had him in her life. Him—who was perfect. Handsome. Popular.
All things Brad could never be.
That knowledge wasn’t new, but it stung as if it was.
Pain was the last feeling he’d ever wanted to associate with Nora, but it was there. Erasing his guilt. Prodding him on.
If he couldn’t have Nora, he decided, then this girl would do.
She’d do for now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WE CAN HAVE SOME FUN,” Carrie mimicked the next day as she walked into the building that housed SIG Headquarters. “Fun my ass,” she breathed, more to push away the images the phrase brought to mind—all involving her and a very naked, sweaty Jase Tyler—than anything else. “He’s exactly what you thought,” she told herself. “He respects female cops, but God forbid he ever become involved with one for more than a quick screw.”
She snorted and shook her head. Quick screw? Right. As if. From what she knew about Jase Tyler, he wouldn’t be a quick lover. If his slight Texan drawl and his deceptive habits of lounging and ambling weren’t proof enough, all she had to do was remember the slow, firm strokes he’d used to massage her legs. He’d had all the patience in the world, teasing both her and himself with carefully controlled touches when it had been damn clear they’d both wanted more.
When he’d tugged her thighs farther apart, it had taken everything she had not to grasp his hand and guide it between them. She’d been aching for his touch, his penetration. Wanting to be filled. Wanting to lose herself in pleasure in a way she never had before. It was one of the things that drew her most to him. Her life demanded constant energy from her and that’s the way she liked it. Most of the time. She knew that once Jase got a woman in bed, he’d make sure they stayed there for a long time. While he did all kinds of wonderful things to her.
Too bad that woman was never going to be her.
So forget about him already. You’ve got a job to do.
Sighing, she rubbed at her eyes, which felt covered with grit.
She’d been doing her job all night. So much so that she hadn’t gotten any sleep.
After Jase left, she’d kept working just so she wouldn’t give in to temptation and call him. Thankfully, after looking at the crime-scene photos again and going over the notes she’d made, she’d forgotten about Jase and their turbulent relationship. All she’d been focused on was trying to come up with a lead. Any kind of lead.
Her mind still on the case, Carrie took the elevator to the lower floor that contained locker rooms and a small workout room. She hadn’t done her P.T. exercises this morning, so she’d do them now. That way, she could work uninterrupted through the rest of the day. After meeting with the commander, she’d start setting up interviews. Then she’d—
Turning a corner, she didn’t even see the man coming toward her. She ran right into him.
She actually bounced off Jase’s hard body before he grabbed her arms to steady her. Instantly, she took in his half-dressed state. He wore shorts, socks and sneakers, but nothing else. His chest was bare, his muscles defined and bulkier than she’d have expected, his skin a smooth surface sprinkled lightly with the perfect amount of hair. He was sweating and breathing hard, and she realized he must have just finished working out, either running on the treadmill or lifting weights or both.
She gulped in air, trying to steady herself, but all she ended up doing was inhaling his spicy, musky scent, all hint of cologne gone and only the wonderful subtle aroma of man left behind. His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go of her. Instead, he smoothed his palms against her arms in a gentling motion. From just that slight touch, from just seeing him, she was ready to take. And to be taken.
It pissed her off, but…
Big deal. So her response proved she was human, female and breathing.
Despite his southern charm and snazzy clothes, he exuded that bad-boy quality that made grown women turn into simpering fools. She’d seen that herself last night at McGill’s when one woman after another had propositioned him.
But he didn’t want them, a voice taunted her. He wanted you. Only not for a commitment—for a roll in the sack.
Story of her life.
But she was stronger than the bolt of chemistry that hit whenever they were together.
She had to be.
Didn’t she?
She wasn’t so sure anymore. They stared at each other before his gaze dropped to her mouth. She sucked in a breath, wondering if he would kiss her. Hoping he would.
Instead, he frowned and took a step back. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
She immediately tensed but there was no hint of taunting or innuendo in his expression. To the contrary, he looked subdued. Tired. As if he’d done the exact opposite of sleeping well. Because of her? Had he replayed their time together as much as she—
“Listen, Carrie. I need to talk to you about something,” he said, his expression growing even more solemn.
She cleared her throat and tried to look anywhere but at his bare body. “Did you have more thoughts about the case? Because it really helped me to talk things out with you last night, Jase. After you left, I thought about—�
�� She couldn’t help it. Her attention had strayed to his naked chest. Then his six-pack abs. Her gaze would probably have continued its downward path but for the fact that she caught sight of a crisscrossing network of raised scars on his smooth, slightly tan skin. She sucked in a breath. “Jesus, Jase, what happened?” Without thinking, she reached out to touch the scars that riddled his left side. Before she could, he caught her wrist.
“It happened a few years ago,” he said, still holding her. “When I worked for Dallas P.D.”
“They look like knife wounds.”
“They are. I got called to a domestic situation. Met the woman outside. She was beaten pretty bad but she told me her husband, the guy who’d done it to her, had left. When I walked her back inside, he ambushed me. Sliced me up six ways to Sunday before I could get to my gun.”
“She let you walk in there knowing he was going to do that? Knowing that you were just trying to help her?”
“I don’t think she knew what he was going to do. She thought he was hiding in the bedroom. Waiting for me to leave.”
“So he could beat her up some more,” she snapped.
He shrugged. “You know the reality of domestic abuse, Carrie. He probably apologized before I got there and that was enough for her to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time he’d change. Anyway, it was touch-and-go for a while, but…” He shrugged.
Her mind reeled at his words. She shouldn’t be so surprised to learn he’d been hurt on the job or that he’d almost died, but seeing the proof of his wounds, hearing him describe the incident that had almost taken his life, rattled her so much that she shocked them both.
With him still holding her wrist, she bent awkwardly and pressed her lips against the worst of his scars.
He sucked in a hissing breath and went perfectly still.
Straightening, she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m really—”
He curled his arm around her and yanked her against him. Then his mouth slanted over hers. This time, she knew he kissed her with absolutely no thoughts of comfort in mind. Instead, he seemed to care only about possessing her. And despite where they were, who they were, she wanted to be possessed by him.
* * *
JASE SLIPPED HIS TONGUE into the heated cavern of Carrie’s mouth and groaned at the pure pleasure of it. Despite her prickly demeanor whenever they were together, she was as soft and warm as he’d always imagined she’d be. As soon as her body touched his, their individual components locked together with ease, as if every part of her had been created for the sole purpose of complementing every part of him. At work, they were equals; by nature, they were opposites, but opposites of the best sort. Where he was hard, she was soft. Where he was male, she was fabulously female. Her plump breasts gave to the pressure of his torso. Her graceful hips cradled his. And her scent? God, her feminine scent wound around him the way he knew her hair would if it was loose.
With his free hand, he reached up and carefully withdrew the band from her ponytail. Her russet curls spilled over his hands like molten lava, and he buried his fingers in the tangled mass. Cradling the back of her skull, he tilted her head to give him better access to her mouth. He explored every sweet corner with his tongue, lingering over the smooth sharpness of her teeth. She rose on tiptoe, trying to gain control of the kiss by sucking on his tongue. With a groan, he ripped his mouth free to take in desperate bursts of air.
His hands didn’t know what to do. They wanted to stay in her hair and around her waist, but at the same time it wasn’t enough. He wanted to touch her everywhere, all at once, to cup breasts and buttocks and, yes, that sweet hot core between her thighs before one of them came to their senses and realized they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing.
He licked the hollow beneath her ear just as she gasped, “Jase. Jase, stop. We can’t.”
He rested his forehead against her shoulder, and although he wanted to howl in denial, he took several deep breaths, released her and stepped back.
She looked like an erotic fantasy, her lips bee-stung and her hair a wild cloud around her face. Most of all, her blue eyes glittered with a fierce desire that he’d never forget, no matter how much she denied it later. She raised her hand and gingerly touched her mouth, and he remembered the sting of pleasure that had bolted through him when she’d pressed that mouth against his scars. Automatically, he lifted his hand and touched the scars at his side, as if by touching himself he was touching her, too. Her eyes followed the movement before darting back to his.
With a whimper, she turned and walked away.
* * *
ODELL BOWERS’S SMILE disappeared as soon as the door to his office closed. He’d just finished a consult with yet another woman willing to pay thousands of dollars for elective cosmetic surgery that she really didn’t need. It was the bread and butter of his practice, and enabled him to live in the manner to which he’d grown accustomed, but he was so damn bored with boob jobs and tummy tucks. Even the face-lifts, which he’d always viewed differently, weren’t challenging him any longer. All he could think about was his girls. The magnificent results of what he’d done to them. How proud Laura would have been of him and his work.
Unlike the women he saw day in and day out, Laura had been comfortable in her own skin. She’d made it her duty to help Bowers become the same. She hadn’t cared that he’d liked to borrow her clothes or play with her makeup. In fact, she’d reassured him that he looked better in them than she did.
Laughing affectionately, Bowers rose and locked his office door. Then he buzzed his receptionist and told her he needed an hour of privacy. Using his private bathroom, he washed his hands thoroughly, the way Laura had taught him. By the time he was done, and he retrieved his briefcase from under his desk, he was trembling with anticipation.
He always had his briefcase with him. Always.
The snick of the lock as he disengaged it made him jerk.
The smooth glide of the lid as he slid it up made him gasp.
The sight of the small box inside, an intricately carved ivory container Laura had given him for his birthday, made him moan.
Lightly, he brushed his fingertips over the surface and imagined he could still feel the warmth from her having held the box so long ago.
But he knew it wasn’t real.
That was okay. Because the contents of the box were very real.
Each time he added more items to the box, he paid homage to Laura and repented for the way he’d failed her. He was good at his job, the best, but what he did with his girls was the work he was most proud of. He’d give up everything—his practice, his money, his social standing, everything—for the time with Laura that he’d been denied. But since that couldn’t happen, he took comfort in the ones that he could help.
He closed his eyes and recalled the last one. How smooth her skin had looked. How creamy. He’d over-plucked her brows, just the tiniest bit, but he was confident the brow corrector had done its job. Even if the police had enlarged the photos he’d sent them, he doubted anyone would be able to pinpoint his mistake.
Grimacing, Bowers reached down and cupped his growing erection. He hissed and let go. Hand shaking, he touched the ivory box once more, then picked up the shiny tube next to it. As he popped off the lid, he strode to the gilded mirror on the wall across from his desk. He layered the lipstick—the same baby’s breath color he’d used on his girls—on his lips.
He studied himself from first one angle and then another. Not satisfied, he added even more color.
Yes. That was it.
Lovely. He was lovely.
His gaze strayed back to his briefcase and the ivory box inside.
It was almost a shame that he had to limit himself. The urge to speed things along, to show off his artistry, was increasing. It was getting to the point that whenever he caught sight of a woman that reminded him of Laura, he could barely stop himself from approaching her.
But he had to. And he did.
Because Laura ha
d been in a hurry when she’d been killed. She’d taught him the dangers of impatience.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake.
* * *
CARRIE BEAT JASE to the SIG office by a mere ten minutes, yet when he strolled in, he’d already showered and changed into his work clothes. He looked calm and composed, but the searing heat in the gaze he directed at her told another story. She, on the other hand, was feeling anything but calm. She tried to look anywhere but at him. Although she’d once more pulled her hair back, twisting it into a strategically tucked knot because he’d pulled the band free and tossed it on the floor somewhere downstairs, she imagined that everyone could see how his lips and hands had been all over her.
What on earth had compelled her to kiss his scars the way she had? She hadn’t even been aware she’d been thinking about it until she’d already had her lips pressed against his naked skin. Who could blame him for taking her up on such a blatant invitation by kissing her the way he had? As if he truly desired her. As if she wasn’t a convenience or a challenge, but a woman he wanted to sink into and stay inside for a good long while.
But that was silly, she told herself. He was Jase Tyler, playboy cop extraordinaire, and she was Carrie Ward, cop, plain and simple. Maybe he always reacted that way when a woman expressed sexual interest in him.
Nervously, she glanced up, hoping he’d have mercy on her and let things be. But instead of ignoring her the way she’d been hoping and, yes, half expecting, he came right up to her desk. “I told you, I need to talk to you about something.”
She lowered her gaze to the paperwork in front of her. “I’ve wasted enough time with you, Tyler. I have work to do before I meet with Stevens.”
“Damn it, Carrie. That’s what I want—”
“Hey, Ward. Tyler,” DeMarco called from his desk. He was leaning back in his chair and flicking a small green card between his fingers. “Commander Stevens wants to see the two of you.”
