Deadly Lies

by Cynthia Eden

  “You busted ass to find him.” He shook his head. “What those bastards did—that was them, not you.”

  Her eyes watered—stupid contacts, had to be them—and she blinked.

  “I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.”

  Oh, damn. Sam admitted, “I didn’t even try.” Because he’d been all she could think about.

  “Fuck.” He pulled her even closer. His clothes were wet, but she didn’t care. “I need you,” he growled.

  When they kissed this time, she was desperate for him.

  A thin cotton t-shirt covered her breasts. A pair of old jogging shorts skimmed her thighs, and she wanted them off. Wanted her clothes gone. Wanted his on the floor.

  Wanted him on the floor.

  No, the bed. Do this right. This was different. Not just sex.

  Not. Just. Sex.

  “You’re wet,” she whispered against his lips. “G-get out of those clothes.” She licked his lower lip. Nipped him.

  A shudder worked over his body.

  Her gaze bored into his. “Come to bed with me.” Her hands caught the bottom edge of her t-shirt, and she pulled it over her head. She tossed the shirt to the floor, let him look, then walked away—slowly, carefully, knowing that he watched her every move.

  Sam climbed the stairs. She heard his footsteps behind her. He’s coming.

  At the top of the stairs, she pushed down her shorts and ditched the panties that would only get in the way. Look back. Sam glanced over her shoulder. Max was halfway up the steps. His shirt was gone. That chest—oh, how she loved those sexy muscles.

  His stare was like a hot touch on her skin. And he would be touching her soon. Touching every inch of her. Just as she’d touch him.

  She went into her bedroom. Dark, so dark. She liked the dark. Always had. Things were softer in the dark. It was easier to hide in the dark.

  Sam went to the bed and slid beneath the covers.

  His footsteps were muffled by the carpet upstairs, but she could all but feel him. Sam knew the instant he walked into her room.

  Closer, closer…

  Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see his silhouette looming near the edge of the bed. Her hand lifted and touched the flat planes of his stomach. Hot flesh. Her fingers slipped down. His pants were gone. His cock was up. Straining, thick, and more than ready. Her hand curled around him. She pumped that hard flesh. Once. Twice.

  Max caught her hand and locked his fingers around her wrist. He climbed into the bed and surrounded her with his strength and his scent. His mouth took her breast, closing over the nipple as he sucked.

  Her back arched off the bed. Sam bit her lower lip. Yes.

  “Don’t hold back.” His breath blew over her tight nipple. “I want to hear you.” His hand eased its grip on her wrist. He stretched over her, reaching for the nightstand. The lamp light flickered on, too bright, and she blinked. “And I want to see you,” he said. “Every bit of you.”

  No hiding in the dark. No pretending to be someone else. No pretending at all.

  He’d risen over her. His gaze weighed her, and Sam realized he knew. Her secrets. Her fears. He could see everything. Maybe he’d always seen.

  “Not just sex between strangers.” His whisper had her tensing. His palm slid down her stomach and curled around her hip. “I want more.”

  She’d give more. This time, to him. Her legs parted and eased open for him. He could thrust inside, could take her and—

  “No.”

  An ache lodged in her heart, like she’d been punched, right there. “Max?”

  Another swipe of his tongue over her nipple. The light score of his teeth against her flesh. “I’m going to watch you. I’m going to see everything.”

  He already did. But his hands were on her—lifting her, turning her, and the covers rustled beneath her body.

  Max stretched out on the bed. His eyes glittered, and he waited. His cock glistened, and he waited.

  Sam rose above him. She put her knees on either side of his hips, and her sex brushed over his cock, a long, slow, slick glide because she was ready, too. Had been, since that first kiss downstairs.

  The light seemed too harsh as it shone on them, but she knew it was just a small glow that barely drifted past the bed. Too bright. There was no hiding now, not from him or from herself.

  His fingers were warm and strong on her hips, and when she arched up, the broad head of his shaft pushed just inside her sex.

  Flesh to flesh. So tempting…

  Swallowing, she eased back up. Fumbled. “I-I don’t…” She didn’t have protection near the bed. She did have a box of condoms in the bathroom, shoved in the back of her linen closet.

  “Nightstand.” His breath blew over her skin. “I put one down before I got into bed.”

  Her gaze shot to the left, and she found the foil packet. Her hands trembled when she grabbed it, and Sam knew he saw. She ripped open the packet, pulled out the condom, and eased it down his shaft as quickly as she could.

  His body stiffened beneath hers. His muscles were so taut and hard.

  Her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, and she guided his shaft into her, positioning him just right—then she pushed down in one fast glide, taking him deep.

  “Samantha!”

  He filled her completely, stretching her, and for a moment, she hesitated. Not sexy and sure now. Instead, she was lost, floundering—

  And he could see. Her eyes squeezed shut.

  His fingers eased down, caressing her abdomen, then pushing between her legs. His thumb pressed against her clit and a shiver worked over her. “Easy.” His whisper.

  But she didn’t want easy. Fast, hard, wild.

  “Easy,” he said again, and her eyes opened so she could meet his stare. Not just sex. “Kiss me, Samantha.”

  She bent toward him. The movement pushed her clit against his stroking fingers, just the right touch. His cock shifted and slid along her sensitive flesh. Her mouth touched his. Lips. Tongue. Her sex squeezed him, and there wasn’t any more pain. Only pleasure. Her mouth broke away on a moan.

  “Better.” His growl. “Slow, just… slow.”

  Her hands flattened on his chest. Her knees dug into the bed, and she pushed up, the head of his cock still inside her. Then she pushed down, so slowly this time, taking his cock one inch at a time.

  Oh, damn.

  “Again.” His order, hard, gritted.

  She rose again. Slid down.

  “Again.”

  A little faster now. His fingers worked her clit. Tugged, pressed. His thick length slid easily now, driving into the cream between her legs.

  She drove down—just as he thrust his hips up to meet her. “Max!”

  His hand left her aching flesh, and she could have screamed. More! Too close, she wanted—

  Max’s palms slammed onto the bed, and he rose up, facing her, chest to chest. His mouth took hers in a deep kiss even as he thrust against her, rocking his hips hard, and she loved it, loved it. Sam didn’t care about the light. She didn’t care what he saw. Everything was finally right. He was right.

  Sam’s nails dug into his chest as she clung to him. The climax was so close that her sex quivered.

  His mouth was against her neck now. Licking. Sucking. His hands buried in her hair and held her tight.

  “You’re so damn beautiful.”

  He made her feel that way.

  His head lifted. His eyes blazed at her. “Beautiful.”

  Sam trembled and seemed to break apart. The white-hot stream of her climax swept over her, and heat spiraled through her as she came.

  And Max watched her.

  Her sex contracted around him. Max kissed her, driving his tongue past her lips, and she shuddered against him. Sam rose higher onto her knees, drove down once more, and he came. No, he seemed to erupt in her. His cock jerked, his body went bow tight, and the pleasure rocked between them. So strong. So hard.

  Her heart
drummed in her ears. She tightened her inner muscles around him, wanting to steal every drop of pleasure from him.

  She wanted to freeze time. To stay with him.

  To be safe in his arms.

  Even if it was just an illusion.

  “My brother’s gone.” Quinlan’s gaze wasn’t on the full moon that hung just outside his window. His head was bent, and Beth could see him gazing at his left hand. That hand was still wrapped in white bandages, like most of his body.

  Not that the bandages had slowed him down any in bed. They’d just been… careful. She knew the difference between sexual pleasure and pain. Beth had learned that lesson a long time ago.

  And those damn agents knew about her past.

  After taking a slow, deep breath, Beth crossed to him and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. “You know where he is.” With her. Unspoken, but it hung between them.

  His body tightened. “She’s an FBI agent?”

  That had been news to her. Dammit. All her plans… “I just thought she was his latest screw.” Max liked variety in his women, and she’d even thought about making a play for him once or twice.

  Quinlan turned toward her. “She is the latest. His lover and an agent.” The moonlight slid over his face. “They told Max no cops. They told him, and he broke the rules.”

  “And your father died,” she said softly. Beth figured she should probably feel badly about that. She didn’t. No more screwing the old bastard and wearing that stupid smile, the lying smile that said she loved having his small dick inside her.

  Quinlan flinched. His uninjured hand balled into a fist. “When I go to sleep, I see my dad. The agents shined their flashlights on us, and I was over him, and his blood was everywhere.”

  Beth swallowed. Okay. She didn’t want to hear this. “Don’t think about it.” Her hand curled around his arm. “Come back to bed.” The rumpled bed sheets waited for them. If he gave her the chance, she could make him forget almost anything.

  His gaze held hers, and for an instant, anger flashed across his handsome features. Anger and… disgust? “You were in his bed just nights ago,” Quinlan muttered. “He’s not even cold in his grave, and you’re back with me.”

  If he expected her to blush or feel some kind of shame, he had the wrong woman. “I was with you while he was still breathing.” So easy to do—all it took was a quick walk down the hallway. But Quinlan had been able to give her what she needed when Frank hadn’t even been able to come close. “Now things are just easier for me.”

  He shook his head. “I can never tell for certain.” A brief pause, and his eyes narrowed. “Are you really as cold a bitch as you pretend to be?”

  A smile curled Beth’s lips. “Maybe.” Her heart pounded too fast. Maybe not. “And are you really the lost little rich boy that you pretend to be?”

  His lips took hers. Softly at first, then harder, harder. Because he knew what she liked. “Maybe,” he whispered against her mouth. He moved to face her fully, and his cock, aroused, thick, so ready, pushed against her legs.

  Maybe not.

  CHAPTER Thirteen

  A few cases back,” Samantha’s husky voice floated in the darkness, “something happened to me.” She lay in bed next to Max, her hand on his chest and her head turned so that their eyes met. The scent of sex and woman hung in the air, making Max want more.

  With her, he always wanted more.

  But an echo of pain drifted through her words and Max’s body tightened. “What?” Her hand slipped off his chest, and he missed that touch instantly. “Samantha?”

  “I was working a case down in Mississippi. The Watchman case.”

  The name clicked. “That bastard who was killing women?”

  “Not just killing them.” Still husky and soft. “He tortured them first. He turned their worst fears into reality.”

  Max didn’t like where this was going. He reached for her, curling his hand around her hip and pulling her next to him. “You stopped him?”

  A broken laugh. “If only.” The click of her swallow was painful to hear.

  “My plane had just landed in Jasper, and I was walking through the terminal. Well,” she gave that same weak laugh, one that held no humor, “that’s what they tell me, anyway. I don’t really remember much about the airport. I just remember waking up and being tied to a chair in some cabin.”

  When she sucked in a sharp breath, Max realized that his fingers had pressed too tightly around her hip. He forced his hold to ease. “What did he do?”

  Her lashes swept down. “Does anything scare you, Max?”

  You do. “I was scared as hell that I wouldn’t get Quinlan back alive. When I got to the hospital and found my mother in a coma because she’d overdosed on her pain pills, yeah, I was scared.” Terrified. “I know fear. Everybody does.”

  “But you’re scared for others.” Her lashes rose. “You’re like Monica. Both of you—you’re strong.”

  “So are you.” Absolute certainty.

  The covers rustled as she shifted against him. “I need to—I have to get up.”

  He didn’t want her to move, but he wouldn’t force her to stay with him. So he pulled back his hand and let his fingers graze her silken skin as he released her.

  Samantha all but jumped from the bed. She hurried to the vanity and picked up a robe. Her arms shook a bit as she pulled it on and tied the belt. Protecting herself.

  She paced a bit, and then stopped near the side of the bed. He eased up, sitting, and kept the sheet over his hips as he waited. This moment was important for her, and he wouldn’t rush her, even though he was desperate to find out—

  “If I’d been stronger, he wouldn’t have broken me so quickly.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “By the end, I was begging him to let me die.”

  The nightmare she’d had—dammit. Max was out of the bed and on his feet in an instant. So much for holding onto his control. He needed to hold her. His hands closed around her upper arms and he pulled her against him. “What did he do?”

  “I told you before. When I was a kid, I-I almost drowned at my parents’ lake house.”

  And she’d said her mother… hell, she didn’t even notice because she was so drunk. Not like he’d forget that story any time soon.

  Her breath heaved out. “I hated the water after that. Hated it. My mom—she started working to get sober, and when she was better, she wanted me better.”

  “You? What was wrong—”

  “Every time she tried to get me to so much as dip my toes in the pool,” she said, cutting across his words, “I started shaking. If I thought I’d have to get in the water, I’d have a panic attack. My mom took me to see some shrinks. About half a dozen of them. They said I had hydrophobia—”

  She broke off and shook her head. “Like I needed those guys to tell me that I was afraid of the damn water.”

  “It’s normal to be afraid after an event like that.”

  “So they said,” she murmured. “They also said that I could work my way past the fear.” She breathed out a long sigh. “But I just said screw ’em. I didn’t like the water, and I sure didn’t want to go jumping in it again.”

  And then the Watchman had come along.

  Her gaze darted to his, and Samantha said, “When I woke up, tied in that chair, I heard the water lapping nearby, and I knew what he was going to do.” The words were so low that he had to strain to hear them. “I just didn’t think… I didn’t think he’d bring me back so many times.”

  He shook his head because he had to be wrong. No way did she mean—

  “After the fifth time he killed me in that water, then brought me back—his mouth on mine, his breath in my lungs—I stopped counting. And I started begging him to let me die.”

  He dragged her against his chest and held her close to his heart. No, no, fuck, no.

  “Do you know what it’s like to drown?” Her voice was still whisper quiet, but unfocused now and weak.

  “No,” he bit out and tightened
his arms around her. His hands were in her hair, and her body pressed against his. Soft. Warm. Alive.

  “Most people think drowning is fast and easy, but it’s not. Every second stretches for so long, and your throat closes and your lungs burn, and you want that air so badly.” The words tumbled out in a quick whirl, gaining strength and getting louder. “Your temples explode, and the pain comes in, hitting in waves just like the water, and then—then you start to sink. Your body won’t work. You can’t kick anymore, you can’t claw the water, you can just sink and the water gets darker and—”

  “Samantha!” He shook her, and her head whipped back. She blinked and seemed to see him.

  Her lips pressed together. Silence held for a beat of time, then she told him, “It’s not easier the second time. Or the third or—”

  Tears slid down her face. His lips feathered over her cheek and tasted the wet salt. “You survived.”

  “No.”

  His head lifted, and he found himself staring into the dark pools of her eyes.

  “I died that day,” she told him. “And no matter what I did in the months after that, I couldn’t come back. I couldn’t live.” She swiped her tongue over her lips. “My control was gone. Fear rode me constantly, and I just wanted to break away. I wanted to pretend I wasn’t the damaged agent.”

  He remembered a beautiful woman walking into a smoke-filled bar. Short skirt, long legs, and a smile made for sin. But eyes flickering with fear.

  She’d only wanted sex then. No past, no future, just the two of them in the darkness.

  She’d left him after only a few hours. Walked away. But she’d come back and found him at that party…

  Then the world had gone to hell around them.

  “You were supposed to be a one-time deal for me,” she admitted, echoing his thoughts, and her eyes were stark. “A chance for me to take control back, to prove I wasn’t some broken doll.”

  A woman who took what she wanted.

  Her head shook slowly. The tears had dried on her cheeks. “But I needed you. Just one time, but I needed you, and I had to find you again.”