by Addison Fox
Was she off duty? On a Wednesday?
The steady putt-putt continued and even without extra horsepower he had no doubt if Belle chose to put on the gas, that mild-mannered SUV creeping closer from the distance could haul ass.
One more reality of their situation.
Belle Granger knew how to hold her own. The fear he lived with—that she’d perish at the hands of a criminal with a gun—couldn’t stave off the truth. The woman had gumption. She also had extensive training, both physical and mental, to handle the job she’d chosen. None of it made him feel better when he lay in his bed at night and imagined her facing down drug dealers or running down a back alley after a perp or, his most recent nightmare, discovering the grisly, tortured body of a dead man.
With those unpleasant images filling his mind, he dismounted off Tot and left the horse to roam. Although it would be a pain to chase after him if Tot elected to go off running, the combination of cruddy weather, the warm stall that awaited him and the apples in Tate’s coat pocket ensured the horse likely wouldn’t roam far. Tate rubbed the horse’s neck, running his hands through Tot’s mane. “Take a load off, boy.”
Tot’s warm brown eyes, always so perceptive and open, seemed even more so as they flicked toward Belle. Tate avoided thinking too hard about what the horse saw and stepped back, giving him a light pat on his flanks. “Go enjoy for a few minutes.”
“Were you talking to him?” A wry smile rode Belle’s face as she closed the last few steps between them. The MPPD T-shirt and jeans she wore reinforced the idea that she was off duty.
“Always.”
“Does he answer back?”
“In his own way.”
She shook her head but the smile had turned reflective. “Tate Reynolds. Horse whisperer.”
It was an old joke and one that had grown more pronounced years before when they’d caught a Robert Redford movie one Sunday afternoon. She’d been at his place, along with a few other kids from their study group, and the movie had come on after a Cowboys game. No one had paid much attention as they’d closed their books and, crazed on an afternoon of gummy bears, Cokes and cupcakes, tumbled out of the house and back home. It had only been Belle, having already completed her homework, who’d grown enraptured with the movie and Redford’s steady “whispering” to the horse.
“You can do that.”
“Do what?” He looked up from his stupid physics book, sick and tired of how the ideas made sense but describing them on tests didn’t.
“That cowboy. There in the movie.” Belle pointed toward the TV. “He talks to horses. Calms them. You can do that.”
Something hot and warm settled under his chest before it crept up his neck. “No, I can’t.”
“But I’ve seen it. Animals love you. Especially horses.”
It wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but the horses did love him. And he loved them. All of them, even the ornery ones their foreman liked to take on from the rescue.
“I just know how to work with them. No whispering involved.” He’d shot her a warm smile then, the one he’d been practicing. The one that seemed to get him out of trouble and make the girls smile and made his bus driver giggle.
The one that seemed surprisingly ineffective on Annabelle Granger.
“Why are you embarrassed about it?”
“It’s hard to be embarrassed about something that doesn’t exist.”
Looking back on it now, it was one of the first—of many—conversations with Belle where she called him on his crap. She didn’t take the easy smile and quick jokes at face value, but forced him to go deeper.
To look deeper.
The rub was, she was the only person he was willing to show what was deep within him.
Shaking off the weird old memory, he nodded in Tot’s direction. “You know as well as I do that animals communicate with us. Having a voice, more often than not, only fouls up our ability to communicate.”
“I won’t argue with you there.”
“Finally.” He shot her a grin, the one she had a near-legendary immunity to. “Something we agree on?”
“Maybe.”
As compromises went it wasn’t much, but he’d take it. “What brings you out on such an ugly spring day? And why aren’t you at work?”
She shrugged but he didn’t miss something dark flash briefly in her eyes while her mouth thinned into a flat line. “I had some comp time coming to me so I took it.”
“So you came here? Seems like you could spend your free time in more interesting ways.”
“I wanted to make another go of the fence line. See if there’s anything we’ve missed. Look at those spots your ranch hand mentioned once more.”
Whether he liked her job choices or not, he’d always admired hard work. He equally admired an ability to put the job aside every now and again.
Yet here she was.
“After two weeks and several bouts of rain?” He shook his head, pushing back even if he’d had thoughts of doing the same. “Darlin’, it was a long shot you’d find something the day we found the body. Mother Nature’s seen to it there’s nothing left to find.”
“It’s more the fence line. I want to trace the killer’s path. Where they went. Why they picked that place.”
“Profilers have already been here. Have already taken enough photos to launch a magazine. Why not use those?”
She stilled, that smile still firmly pasted across her lips, even as any hint of humor vanished from the depths of her blue eyes. Tate’s gaze roamed over that face—that heartbreakingly familiar face—and fought the urge to press a fingertip to the small divot in her chin.
Fought the urge to touch her.
Just like always, he held back the urges and the needs and the desperate desire that had driven him since before he fully understood what it was to want a woman.
“I get a better impression on my own. Seeing it with my own eyes, not the framing of a photograph. That’s what I need.”
“Even if any and all evidence is gone.”
“It’s not about evidence. It’s about the scene. Why that place? Why that moment in time?” She rubbed at her cheeks, wiping away moisture that had gathered there. “Look. I only drove out here as a courtesy. So you’d know I was here.”
“Okay. You’re here.”
“Fine. Then I’m going to go take a look around.”
She turned to go and something in the finality of it all struck him as wrong.
Maybe it was the endless lightning that seemed to spark, darkening every conversation they attempted to have. Or maybe it was the lingering memory of having her in his kitchen, laughing over a glass of wine and a plate of pasta. Or maybe it was even the fact that she stood there, in the warm spring air, rain coating her hair and her face and her coat.
Maybe it was just Belle.
But before he could check the impulse, he had her in his arms, dragging her close, his mouth descending on hers with all the fury of a spring storm and all the gentleness of a warm rain.
* * *
Belle had no idea what had happened. One moment she was talking murder scenes and profiler photos and thinking about tracing the steps of a killer and the next she was pressed tight against a large, warm body. She knew she should protest—had she been in uniform, decked out with her body camera she would have—but he felt too good.
And she wanted him way too much.
This had bad idea written all over it, but the combination of sexy man, warm rain and a very hot pair of lips made her ability to say no nonexistent. Belle wrapped her arms around Tate’s neck, threading her fingers through the short hair at his nape. Her fingers tilted the back edge of his cowboy hat and she was tempted to throw it off, but knew it would land in the mud. She could hardly be responsible for soiling a cowboy’s prized hat.
“Tate. We can’t do this
here.”
“Car. Your car.” His lips pressed against her neck, his voice muffled yet urgent.
“What about Tot?”
“He’s fine. He likes the rain.”
She giggled, especially with the realization that the horse could wind up halfway across the property by the time they were done, but figured Tate knew better. “Okay.”
She put her hands at his waist and pulled him against her, stepping backward across the grass toward the car. He seemed to be everywhere all at once, his hands on her, his lips roaming over her skin and that warm breath driving her crazy everywhere it flowed over her sensitive nerve endings.
How many times had she imagined this? How many nights had she lain awake, remembering how good it was to be with him? Could she really walk away now?
Absolutely not.
She felt the door at her back and fumbled behind for the door release. The rain had continued to fall lightly and was just steady enough to coat their bodies with slick moisture. The moment they got the car door open and fell across the back seat, she could feel the heat rise off them, steaming the windows.
Belle had no idea what she was even doing here. After her earlier conversation with the chief, she realized that she simply needed a bit of time away and had taken an afternoon of comp time. She’d earned it fair and square. The excessive hours she’d put in lately granted her a free afternoon.
It was only once she’d gone home, her plan to relax on the couch with a romantic movie she’d DVR’d the prior week, that she realized her error. The opening credits had barely rolled when she’d grown tired of her own company. Instead, the case and her conversation with Chief Corden weighed heavily on her mind. In a matter of minutes, she was back in the car and headed over to Reynolds Station.
How had that turned into a wild make out session with Tate in the back seat of a car? And did she really think that was all they were going to do for a few minutes?
Although she knew without a doubt Tate would stop in an instant if she asked, Belle had no desire to.
No desire at all to walk away.
It might be a bad idea, but she wanted him desperately.
Her SUV was a lot less roomy than her work vehicle and she found between the size of the back seat and the length of Tate’s body, they were half in and half out of the car. As she thought of an image of what the two of them must look like, she couldn’t hold back a giggle.
He lifted his head from her neck. “What are you laughing at?”
“We look ridiculous. We don’t even fit in here.”
“You need a bigger car,” he growled, returning his lips to her neck. His hat had fallen to the floor of the car when they’d tumbled in and his short hair stood up at spiky angles. Its softness brushed against her chin as his tongue did wicked things against her skin.
“At least it’s not my work car,” she said, her voice breathless. “Those in-dash cams are darn inconvenient when attempting a quickie.”
The comment was enough to bring him back to the moment and he lifted his head once more. “Do you want to stop?”
“If you stop now, I may have to pull out my gun.”
One of his smiles—one of those truly rare smiles that lit his face without any guile or artifice—captivated her. “We wouldn’t want that now would we?”
“An officer has to give a reason for discharging their weapon. Bunch of messy paperwork.”
“I can see where that would be awkward.” He nodded and schooled his expression in mock solemnity. “What would one put down on the form in that instance?”
“Getting brains kissed out?” She laid a hand on his cheek. “Um, no. Kinda gory.”
“It is a police report. No sugar-coating things.”
“Scratched an itch, maybe?” She smiled at the imagined paperwork. “Or even better. Attempting to end long dry spell.”
“A dry spell?”
She wanted to play it off. Pretend that she’d had plenty of experience since the last time they’d been together. But it would be a lie. Other than a few short-lived romances and some rather unsatisfying sex in both of them, she’d focused on her career. Now that she did the math, it was humbling to realize just how much time had passed. The dates she’d had since those relationships hadn’t produced more than a few goodnight kisses.
Which meant she had a choice. Tell Tate the truth or casually avoid any further mention of what had transpired since the last time they were together.
“Belle?”
In the end, the choice was easier than she thought it would be as she stared into his gentle gaze, something soft and achy settling in her chest. “Yes. It’s been a long time.”
And in that moment, she was glad she’d waited.
Chapter 12
Tate drowned himself in the feel of her. Warm skin. Lush curves. And a scent that was uniquely Belle. The faintest hints of hibiscus and vanilla that he always associated with her.
Memories and fantasy and reality all seemed to converge at once and Tate felt himself going under. How long had he dreamed about this? How long had the feel of her in his hands continued on, a powerful sense memory that he could still conjure after so many years apart?
And how was it, no matter how powerful those sense memories, that the feel of her against his skin could prove just how lacking they really were?
Belle hadn’t been kidding—the space was much too small to accommodate both of them—but he wasn’t giving up. Cradling her in his arms, he managed to twist them and turn them around so that he was laying on the back seat and she was perched above him. He wanted to strip her. Wanted to see her pale skin. Wanted to see her flesh in his hands. The need clawed at him, a living, breathing dragon inside of him.
Even with the need and all that clawing fire, he stilled, holding himself back.
“Are you really sure about this?”
Her eyes had grown drowsy, her dark pupils wide as they filled her light blue eyes. That sexy haze faded quickly at his words. “What was I just saying about my gun?”
But this wasn’t just anyone. And he and Belle had been down this path before and it had done its lasting damage to both of them.
Wasn’t he right to be cautious?
“It’s not like we’ve done this in a while.”
“Has the process changed?”
“No.”
“You sure?” She pressed, the hint of a smile ghosting across her lips. “Because you seem very concerned all of a sudden.”
His hands played at the hem of her T-shirt. “I’m sure.”
“Good. Because you know, with all this talk, you’re making me think I may need to seduce you.”
Seduce him?
If she thought she had to seduce him then she hadn’t been paying attention very well. Everything about Belle Granger seduced him. Her smile. Her mind. Even that damnable focus on work.
She seduced him in every way imaginable, and even several he hadn’t thought of yet. And he’d thought of quite a few.
“Seduce me?”
“I think so.” Her mouth thinned to a straight line. She leaned over him, her breasts pressed to his chest, and whispered against his ear. Her lips skated lightly along his earlobe, the featherlight touches torture on his self-control.
“I’m not—” He broke off as she lightly bit the lobe. “I’m not reluctant.”
He felt her answering smile in the way her lips spread over his ear. “So how are we going to do this?”
“Now who forgot the process?”
She readjusted herself over him, the move adding even more pressure to his groin. He winced at the sensitive contact, but wouldn’t have changed it for anything.
“I’m actually talking about the space here in the back seat,” she said, before adding, “And that small little matter of protection.”
A mix of gratitude an
d embarrassment filled his veins, combining with all the finesse of cement. “I have something, but I’m afraid it might embarrass you.”
“Embarrass me?” A funny light filled her eyes and Tate knew he was in imminent danger of overstepping.
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“Well, yes? Or sort of?”
“Hoyt was ripping on me the other day when we were out working a stretch of fence. It was right after you were here for dinner. Before I could stop him, he shoved a few condoms in my back pocket.”
“Why?”
“He told me they might come in handy.”
“Handy for whom? Or with whom?”
“I’m looking at whom.” He tapped a finger against the edge of her nose. “You.”
“Oh.”
“My brother might not say much, and he’s usually a raging curmudgeon when he does, but every once in a while, he hits one out of the park.”
“Hoyt actually prepped you to have sex with me?”
Since his brother had—and he was going to thank him with a sizeable bottle of whiskey later—Tate couldn’t resist teasing Belle a bit more. “I guess it depends on how you look at it.”
One lone eyebrow arched over that crystal blue. “How are you looking at it?”
“Maybe he was just prepping me so you could have your way with me?”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t actually get off his lap either. “So where is this special gift from Hoyt?”
“My back pocket.”
“I suppose you want me to do the work to go find it?”
“Well, you know,” he said with a smile. “If you’re headed that direction anyway.”
“Oh, I’m headed that direction. But before I go.” Belle lifted up slightly, her hands going to the hem of her T-shirt. Before he could even move to help her, she had the shirt over her head and her hands behind her back, unfastening her bra. The breasts that pressed against the cups were bared to his view as her bra and shirt fell to the floor of the car.
She was gorgeous.
The girl he’d remembered—and he’d remembered her well—had nothing on the woman on his lap. Her breasts were softly rounded, her nipples hard with need, and he knew he had never seen anything more beautiful. Unable to resist, he reached up, cupping that fullness in his palms, his thumbs playing over those tight peaks.
