"I'm not talking about the kids," she said, watching him through eyes dark enough to lose himself in. "I'm talking about watching you."
He snorted.
"I mean it. You're good at it," she said softly. "Being a cop, I mean."
One eyebrow lifted as he shook his head. "Ex-cop."
"No." She pushed away from the wall and took a step closer.
In the narrow hallway, that put her about a breath away from him. His breath staggered in his lungs as he fought to concentrate on what she was saying—not how good she smelled.
"You can quit the force, but you're still a cop."
"Only temporarily," he reminded her.
"Nothing temporary about it. No matter what you think. It's in your bones," she said. "It's who you are."
Her gaze locked with his.
He couldn't have looked away if his life depended on it. And just for one wild flash of time, he thought it might. But life wasn't that fragile. Not even his.
"You can walk away from your job," she said, "but not from who you are."
"You're wrong." She had to be wrong. Otherwise, what was left to him?
"No I'm not. Watching you tonight, I learned a lot about you. Maybe more than you wanted me to know."
"Carol..."
"You're good with people, even when you don't want to be," she said and reached up to stroke her fingertips along his jaw.
Jack closed his eyes and hissed in a breath through clenched teeth. Her touch inflamed him, setting a match to the kindling that had been stacked inside him for days. If she didn't stop pretty damn fast, they were both going to get burned.
"You're fair," she said, her fingertips still smoothing against his skin, "but firm. You didn't let the boys fast-talk their way out of trouble and you didn't even give Peggy a break."
His sister, he thought. Good. Good. Focus on his sister and he'd be able to ignore what Carol was doing to him with a simple touch. "Peggy's gonna have enough trouble tomorrow from Mom. She didn't need it from me, too."
"See? Firm. Fair."
The slide of her fingers against his flesh pushed any thoughts of his sister right out of his head. Actually, her touch made thinking impossible at all.
He caught her hand in his and squeezed until he was almost afraid her slender bones would snap under the pressure. He eased up a bit, but didn't let her go. He had to keep her from touching him. Had to keep her from reaching the shadows deep within. "You don't know what you're doing here," he warned. Hell, she needed a warning. She needed to get the hell away from him before they both did something she'd regret.
And she would regret it if she let him too close. Jack knew it. Eventually, she'd see that there was nothing left in him that was worth her time.
"I know exactly what I'm doing," she said softly, ignoring Quinn's low rumble of disapproval. "I'm trying to get you into bed, Sheriff."
His body reared up and roared. His blood screaming, his heart racing, he looked down at her and remembered the first thing he'd thought of when he met her. That she was just the right height to kiss without getting a crick in his neck. And God, all he wanted now was to taste her. To devour her. To lose himself in her until even his own memories couldn't touch him. But he couldn't find peace himself at the cost of hers.
Mouth dry, palms damp, he kept a fierce grip on her hand and told himself to back off. To get a grip on the raging need pumping through him. "Don't."
"Too late," she said and stepped even closer.
One more half-step and her breasts would be pressed against his chest. He'd feel the hard, pebbled tips of her nipples burning into his flesh. He'd feel the length of her slim, tanned legs sliding along his. Her mouth ... "Dammit, Carol, back off."
She blinked up at him and in the lamplight he saw emotions darting across the surface of her eyes. Fast, though. Too fast to identify. Too fast for him to keep up, even if he'd been trying harder.
Gritting his teeth, he tried again to warn her off. "You keep looking at me through those big, wide eyes and I'm gonna do something you'll be sorry for later."
"If you do what I want you to do, why would I be sorry?"
His grip on her hand tightened, then slipped to her wrist. He felt her pulse skipping wildly and knew her heartbeat ran in tandem with his own.
"You don't know me," he ground out.
"I know enough."
"Not nearly enough," he assured her.
"Then show me the rest," she said, leaning into him and tipping her face up to his.
Dammit, he wasn't made of steel.
He wanted to drown in the warmth of her eyes. Lose himself in her touch. He wanted to feel again. With her.
He dropped her hand, snaked one arm around her waist, and pulled her tightly to him. Dipping his head, he took her mouth as he'd been dreaming of doing. Parting her lips with his tongue, he swept into her warmth and swallowed her gasp. Her arms reached up and entwined around his neck. He felt her fingers run through his hair and her short, neat nails scrape against his scalp.
Every nerve ending in his body came to life as if waiting for just this moment. She made him feel alive. His heart thundered in his ears and he held her tighter, closer, as if needing to feel her heartbeat to keep his own going.
Need.
It drove him.
Sang inside him.
And pushed him to claim what she'd so foolishly offered.
Carol held on and let the world tilt around her.
Skyrockets went off behind her closed eyes and were bright enough, colorful enough, to make the night's fireworks look like a child's sparkler in comparison. His arms came around her, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe. And she didn't care. Didn't care about anything but his mouth on hers, his breath sliding into her lungs, his hands on her body.
In one corner of her mind, she heard Quinn whimper and knew she'd have to let him into the apartment. But she didn't want to tear her mouth from Jack's for even that long. He tasted her, delving deep, and she met his driving quest with an eagerness that rocked them both.
She'd never known this kind of raging desire. Never experienced the wild, roller-coaster ride Jack had set her on. His mouth, his hands. He touched her and her body pleaded for more.
Then he broke the kiss and buried his face in the curve of her neck. His mouth drifted across her skin and Carol shivered, feeling the ripple of desire shake through her like the circles in still water after a pebble's been tossed in.
She heard a whimper and was surprised to note it had come from her. She hadn't known she could feel such a wildness inside her. Hadn't known she could want so desperately. Need so much.
When his arms tightened more firmly around her middle, she sagged into him, giving herself up to the sensations coursing through her.
So she nearly fell over when he very quickly, very forcefully, lifted her off her feet and set her back and away from him.
"That's it, Baker. That's enough."
"Huh?" She blinked and tried to catch her breath. The world was still spinning around her. Unfortunately, she'd been kicked off the whirlwind. She swayed unsteadily, so she locked her knees to stay upright. "What do you mean, that's it? What's it?"
He reached up and shoved both hands along the sides of his head before lifting his hands high and letting them fall again. "This. That's as far as this goes."
The world wasn't spinning anymore but her mind was a little numb and her body was still simmering with the flames he'd stoked inside her. "Says you?"
"Since I'm the only one with a working brain at the moment, yeah."
There was an insult in there, she thought numbly, and
as soon as her brain kicked back into gear, she'd sort it out and let him have it. For now, she settled for, "Are you crazy?"
He choked out a harsh laugh that stained the air and sounded painful. "Probably," he admitted, broad chest heaving as he worked for air.
The sizzle in her blood died off to a faint echo of what it had been a minute or two ago. Carol
missed the heat. Missed the hunger raging inside her. Missed the feel of his arms around her, dammit. She wanted it back.
All of it.
Wanted to feel that wild rush into oblivion. Wanted to be held close to him where she could feel his heartbeat racing and know that she was the cause.
But judging by the look in his pale blue eyes, that wasn't going to happen. At least, not anytime soon. So she gathered up what was left of her dignity and clutched it tightly to her. "Okay, then. Fine. Back out of coffee. Back out of sex ..."
"Baker—"
She held up a hand. If he apologized, she was pretty sure she'd have to kill him. "Don't say it," she warned.
"If you're thinking I'm sorry," he ground out, "you're wrong. I'm not sorry. And that's the point."
She sighed and pushed one hand through her hair. "What are you talking about?"
One hand shot out and grabbed the back of her neck, his strong fingers digging into her skin as though he were trying to brand her with his touch. Dragging her close again, his gaze raked over her features before finally meeting hers. "I'm not sorry," he muttered thickly. "That's the point. I wanted you and I took you."
"Wrong, big shot," she snapped, glaring up at him. "We wanted. We took."
"You're still not getting it," he said, shoving one hand through her hair and tangling his fingers in it. "If we did this, you y d be the sorry one."
She stared up into his eyes and saw that for once, the shutters keeping her and everyone else out were gone. She read desire, need—and regret—in his eyes before he let her go again and took a step closer to his own front door. She felt the trembling start low in her body and then spread until every nerve in her body felt as though it was exposed to the air chilling the hall between them. She inhaled slowly, deeply, then released the breath on a long sigh.
Carol swallowed the disappointment, the frustration, boiling inside her as she grabbed hold of her doorknob and gave it a turn. Quinn darted through the partially opened door and went inside the apartment, his nails clicking jubilantly against the floorboards. But Carol didn't go in. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at Jack, still standing there watching her through pale blue eyes that would be haunting her dreams.
"You know what I'm sorry for, Reilly?"
He shoved both fisted hands into his pockets and braced himself like a fighter waiting for a sucker punch. "What?"
"I'm sorry you stopped."
He opened his mouth.
She held up one hand to keep him silent so she could finish what she wanted to say. "You're not trying to scare me off, Jack," she said, keeping her gaze locked with his. "You're trying to scare yourself off." Taking one step into the apartment, she turned and faced him head-on. "Is it working?"
She didn't let him answer. She just closed the door, shutting him out.
Jack stood there watching it as if he could see through the wood to the room and the woman beyond. The woman who touched things inside him he'd thought long dead and buried. The woman who made him wish he was a better man.
As he listened to the soft tinkle of the bells on her shoes, he muttered, "No, it's not working. Not working at all."
knew her—and her mother—and to build a life different from the one everyone expected her to have.
"Lacey?"
Carol's voice cut into her thoughts and she forced a smile as she turned around to face her boss. "Yeah?"
"Everything okay?"
"Sure." She plastered a smile on her face as she met Carol's interested gaze. "I uh, just finished stocking the Santa coasters and the angel bells."
"Good, thanks." She set the baby carrier on the counter and leaned in to smooth one hand over the top of the baby's head. She slanted an interested look at Lacey. "No problems at home because of the party?"
Lacey flushed, and dipped her head to hide the color she knew was racing into her cheeks. This was why she had to get away. People knew too much here. What they didn't already know, they found a way to discover. And being the daughter of the town drunk just meant that Lacey got way more than her share of nosy questions. Not that Carol was being nosy, she thought quickly. No, her boss was different. Nicer about it. But still, Carol knew. And her knowing made Lacey uneasy.
"Mom was okay about it," Lacey said with a shrug she hoped would be enough to make Carol stop asking questions. "We had a talk."
It had been brief.
Lacey'd walked in the front door and stepped into a dark room illuminated only by the flickering light of the muted television set.
Just like most nights, her mom had come home from work, plopped herself in front of the old-movie channel, and drunk herself to sleep. It hadn't always been like this. Her mother hadn't always been such a sad and lonely woman. Before her husband died, Deb Reynolds
had been... different. Everything had been different then, Lacey thought, remembering the laughter that used to fill the house. But that was a long time ago and a lot of tequila had floated under the bridge since then.
Her mother, snoring lightly on the couch, woke long enough to ask, "Lacey? That you?"
"It's just me, Mom." Lacey dropped her purse onto the table behind the sofa and walked across the room to turn off the TV. Flashing black-and-white images disappeared. Moonlight drifted in through the chink in the living room drapes and bathed the room in a flattering glow. Sadly, Lacey stared down at her mom for a long minute, then picked up a crocheted afghan. Draping it across her mother, she turned for her own room.
"Honey?"
Her mother's whisper hushed into the silence.
Lacey stopped and looked back. Pain skittered through her. Pain and disappointment and a tired pity that tore at her. "It's okay, Mom," she said, her voice pitched low. "Just go back to sleep."
"Did you have fun, honey?"
Lacey leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and pretended, just for a minute, that her mom's voice wasn't slurred. Just for a minute, she imagined that her mom was sober and wide awake and furious that her daughter had been at a party broken up by the police. Even being in trouble would be better than being overlooked.
But reality tripped back into her mind and destroyed her fantasies. Reality was always just a blink away and she'd stopped playing pretend when she was a kid. "Yeah, Mom, the party was fun."
"Good. Thass good."
Lacey's eyes squeezed briefly shut as the memory of
that night ended. Then taking a deep breath, she hunched her shoulders in defense against Carol's concerned gaze. She didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to think about it anymore. Wasn't it enough that she had to live it— knowing that everyone in town knew just what her home life was and felt sorry for her?
She'd had more sympathy in her life than anyone should have to experience. And as much as she liked Carol, Lacey just didn't want any more of it. One more kind word or sympathetic glance and she might choke.
"If you're sure you're okay—"
"I am," she said firmly and pasted another smile on her face—this one bright enough to irritate a blind man. "Everything's cool. Really." Couldn't be any cooler, right? Most of her friends had been grounded—but Lacey was still flying free.
"Okay, then," Carol said, smiling. "We got that shipment of candles yesterday. Would you mind setting them out on the shelves near the front window?"
"Sure." Grateful for the escape, Lacey headed for the storeroom and glanced at the baby as she passed. "She's sleeping again?"
Carol laughed and her eyes got all sparkly. "She's a champ at sleeping. At least, during the day. But then, what else would she be doing at the ripe old age of a week?"
"Six days, isn't it?"
"Yeah." Carol stopped, thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "I guess it is." She turned and smoothed one fingertip over the baby's chin. "Just six days, Liz. You're still a spring chicken, right?"
Lacey watched her boss coo and make stupid baby noises for a few minutes, and felt a little weird. She'd never seen anyone talk to a baby so much. Carol was<
br />
always joking around and having conversations with Liz like the baby understood what was going on. She told her stories or fairy tales and then would cover her ears if she didn't want Liz listening. Like the baby knew one sound from another or something. Weird.
"So, you want the candles in the window?"
Carol looked at her briefly, the smile for the baby still on her face. "Close to the window. Not in it. In the window, the sun would melt them, despite the glass tint."
"Right." Lacey started for the storeroom and stopped when Carol spoke up again.
"Lacey? You sure everything's okay at home?"
Home? A cold fist squeezed her heart and Lacey breathed slowly, deeply, to dissipate the ice. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"
"No reason." Carol's voice was soft, as were her eyes.
Pity was a hard thing to choke down. She should know, she'd been strangling on it since she was old enough to understand that not everyone's mom spent most of their time on the couch with a beer in her hand.
Carol meant well. Lacey figured they all meant well. But that didn't make it any easier to accept.
"I'm gonna go get the candles unpacked." Before her boss could start asking more questions Lacey didn't want to answer, she ducked into the storage room and took a breath as soon as the door closed behind her. Her gaze swept the neatly stacked boxes of new merchandise and the shelves where stock had already been unpacked and sorted. There was order here. It was soothing, she thought, to be able to step into this room and find everything the way it was the day before and the day before that. Here, things stayed where she put them and belonged where they stayed.
Unlike home.
Funny, she thought, that word should bring up different feelings. It should make her feel warm, she guessed, as she slit open the strapping tape on the box closest to the door. Peggy and Donna were always complaining about home, but they didn't really mean it, she knew. Sometimes, she was convinced they were only bitching about their moms so Lacey wouldn't feel so bad about her own. But that was dumb, since she knew Mrs. Reilly and Mrs. Flynn and neither one of them was like her mom. Not even close.
A small twist of guilt nagged at her.
Sighing, she tore the cardboard flaps open, then pulled out the Styrofoam peanuts, dropping them neatly in the trash can set aside for that purpose. As she went about the familiar task, her brain wandered.
Some Kind of Wonderful Page 11
