He didn’t push her away; he didn’t step back or crack a joke or turn his back on her.
“I never told you that I had a sister.”
It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “A sister?”
“Yeah,” he breathed his soft answer. “But when I was twelve and Crystal was sixteen, she died of a drug overdose. She was at a party, and it was … it was a mistake. She was experimenting, joining in with the group, having fun. One minute she’s there, in the next room over and yelling at me about leaving my clothes on the bathroom floor or eating the last of the chocolate chip cookies, the way big sisters do, and the next minute she’s dead.”
Grace laid her head against Ray’s shoulder and closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to say.
Ray’s body tensed, he balled his fists at his sides and took a deep, cleansing breath. When he spoke, his voice was low, as uncertain as she’d ever heard it. “I looked at Emily and I saw Crystal, and when Emily died I knew why I’d always been so determined to make a difference, to … to stop what was going on. And I knew, that night, that I’d been wasting my time. I threw away half my life for nothing.”
“Not for nothing,” she assured him.
“For nothing,” he whispered.
She rested her hand on his side, needing the connection, trying to give him her comfort. He had comforted her more times than she could count. He’d never needed consolation himself until now.
“Why did you never tell me about Crystal?”
He threaded his fingers through her hair and held on tight. They stood there, joined here and there, holding on as if to let go would mean to fall apart.
“Habit, I guess,” he finally answered. “It was so painful, after Crystal died we didn’t talk about it. She was just gone, and we never mentioned her name or talked about what happened.” A finger rocked gently, absently against her back. “Six months after Crystal died, my mother left home. Packed her bags, said she couldn’t take it anymore, and left. I haven’t seen her since. My father and I got real good at pretending everything was fine, everything was great. We ignored the unpleasantness and the pain and went on as if nothing had happened.”
Grace leaned into Ray, wanting to dissolve and melt through the floor. Ray’s need to wage his own war went too deep for her to fight. Of course he would go to Mobile when this was over, of course he would continue to throw himself into the middle of his own personal war. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
“It was more than that,” he added, his voice so low she could barely hear him. “I didn’t tell you about Crystal because you were my place to hide. I didn’t want to bring any of the crap in my life home to you. I wanted to forget with you.”
She’d always felt guilty for leaving Ray the way she had, for wimping out and walking away without telling him, face-to-face, why she had to go. Knowing about his sister’s death and his mother’s desertion when he’d been so young made her feel even worse. Ray didn’t need to be deserted again, he didn’t need the people he loved walking away from him.
She wanted to hold him like this all night. There was nothing she could do to change the past, to make up for leaving him, and she had no illusions that they might have something lasting.
But she still wanted to hold him, to have him for as long as she could. When he left – and this time he would be the one to do the leaving, she knew – it was over. Until then…
“Ray,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Take me home.”
*
Chapter 10
«^»
He shouldn’t have told Grace so much, and wouldn’t have if she hadn’t caught him off guard by asking so coldly about Emily Buck’s death and all that came after. What was she to you?
Most of all he regretted telling Grace why he’d never told her about Crystal before. His place to hide, his refuge, his sanctuary … what sentimental hogwash.
Ray stared up at the ceiling and listened to Grace breathe, deep and even. She’d been asleep for a while now, but he … hell, he’d likely never sleep well again.
He tried to turn his mind to the case, to the surly Ben McCann and the merry widow and the grieving mistress. There were still too many possibilities to consider, too many people who might’ve wanted Lanford dead.
Unplanned, unwanted, his mind returned to Grace. Until this was over, until she was safe and he left for Mobile, they’d be together. He knew it, she knew it. They hadn’t talked about this new aspect to the situation, it just was. And when this was over he’d leave for Mobile and smile when he told her goodbye, no matter how much it hurt.
They wouldn’t talk about the inevitable leaving, either. He reminded himself that no matter how disgustingly sentimental he occasionally got where Grace was concerned, he had to keep his relationship with her on a superficial level. Sex. A few laughs. No more heartfelt confessions that laid his heart open.
“Aren’t you asleep yet?” she asked sleepily.
“No.”
All the lights in the house were out and the curtains were closed tight, shutting out the moonlight and the glow of the streetlamps. Grace was a shadow, a warm, indistinct shape at his side. She rolled into him, slipped her arm around his waist, and sighed. He felt her sigh and her heartbeat – savored them. He waited for her to ask what kept him awake and tried to think of an innocent answer that wouldn’t reveal too much.
But she didn’t ask. She cuddled against him and stayed there, silent and soft. And not quite still. Her fingers brushed his side. Her foot rocked gently back and forth against his leg. When she raised her head and lightly brushed her lips against his chest, he put his hands in her hair and lifted her, dragging her body against his until they were firmly mouth to mouth. Her hand skimmed down his side, over his belly, until she reached out to touch him, to wrap her fingers around his arousal and stroke gently. Too gently.
He cupped her breasts and lightly brushed a nipple, and she shuddered, the quiver shaking her from head to toe. Her every response to his touch, every tremor, was deep and complete. Intoxicatingly so.
She hadn’t been with another man since she left him. He was the only man who had ever touched her this way, who had ever laid with her and whispered in the dark and made love as the sun came up. She was his, only his. Why did he have to remember that now? Why couldn’t he just enjoy the sex and forget the rest?
“Did you miss me, Gracie?” he asked as he rolled her onto her back and spread her thighs with his knee.
“You know I did,” she whispered.
He kissed her neck, sucked gently beneath her ear where she was so sensitive. She sighed and turned her head to give him greater access to her slender throat, and arched her back slightly so her breasts pressed against his chest. He licked and nibbled his way down her neck, and she raked her hands slowly down his back, her fingers exploring, touching, loving.
In the dark he could not see her nearly well enough. He knew her face, though. He knew it too well. He could close his eyes and see her lying beneath him as he loved her, he could see her lips part, her eyes shine dark and tender. He could see her hands when they reached for him, her pale body pressing against his.
He could see the shape of her, lean and rounded, soft and strong. The shape of a woman who came to him the way a woman comes to a man. Open and naked. Giving and taking.
Ah, he was much too tenderhearted where Grace was concerned. He’d warned her not to make more of this temporary relationship than it was, and here he was fantasizing while he touched her in the dark. Skin deep.
“What do you want, Gracie?” he whispered as he ran his hand down one long, slender thigh.
“You know what I want.”
“Tell me.” He kissed her, hard and fast and deep, before she could speak. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and devoured her while his hands roamed over her body, touching what he remembered. What he saw in his mind. A curve here, a dimple there.
She kissed him back, and that little catch in her throat when he took his mou
th from hers told him exactly what she wanted.
“What do you want?” he asked again, parting her legs wide with his hand on her thigh, his fingers almost touching her intimately.
She wrapped her hands around his neck and held on tight, trembling soft and deep. “I want you to make love to me.”
Ah, that request was phrased too prettily, much too fancifully. “Tell me plain, Gracie,” he insisted softly as he touched her, parted her legs wide and stroked her where she was already wet for him.
She rocked gently against him, sighing and shuddering. “I want you inside me,” she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her words.
He reached for the bedside table, throwing open the drawer and reaching inside to grope about for a condom. Tempted as he was to immediately give Grace what she wanted, what he wanted as well, he couldn’t forget how and why they were here. They were temporary, he was nothing more than a passing fancy. There would be no mistakes made, no reminder nine months from now that Grace was the one woman in the world who could make him lose control.
“At this rate I’m going to have to make another trip to the drugstore soon,” he said as he slipped the condom on.
“Yes,” she whispered, not arguing, not denying their days together that were still to come.
He pushed inside her and she released a moan that tried to stick in her throat. While her hips rocked against him he made love to her slowly, holding back, wishing for enough light to see her face. Imagining wasn’t enough, not anymore.
Darkness blanketed them. Ray kept his thrusts gentle and incomplete, teasing them both, making this encounter last. Grace swayed against him, wrapped her legs around his hips and surged to meet him. Her hands were in his hair and on his back, her breath, coming harder now, caressed his ear.
He didn’t have many perfect moments to remember. Most of them, maybe all of them, included Grace. In his best memories, she was there. If he died happy he would die with the memory of her face behind closed eyes. He tried to memorize the way she felt right now, under and around him, moving against him. Wanting him.
Thrusting hard he filled her and held himself deep inside her. As soon as he was there, complete, she began to pulse around him, to shudder in his arms, and he didn’t know anything else. There were no memories, no thoughts at all, just the feel of Grace shattering in his arms. He pumped hard, again and again, and she moved with him and cried out softly.
His release came on the waning waves of hers, while her inner muscles squeezed him and she shuddered and whispered soft words he couldn’t quite understand.
Who was he kidding? He could never have a shallow relationship with Grace. They had too much history, he’d loved her too much. She’d hurt him too badly.
Her arms remained possessively around his neck, but her body was relaxed. Depleted. She breathed deep and not so easily, and seemed in no hurry to disentangle their bodies.
He’d sworn not to ask. He knew this was a terrible idea.
But he lifted his head and looked down at her. He was tired of looking at a shadow, so he reached out and turned on the bedside lamp.
Grace blinked against the harsh light, but smiled at him, anyway. He didn’t smile back.
He brushed the hair away from her face. “Why did you leave?”
*
Grace’s smile faded. Not now, please not now. “I told you, years ago.”
“No,” Ray snapped. “You didn’t.”
He pined her to the bed, hovering directly above, all around her. There was no escape.
“You asked me to quit my job,” he whispered. “I said no and less than a week later you were gone. It was nice of you to hang around until I was on my feet again. I never got the chance to thank you for that.”
“Ray, I told you a thousand times…”
“You told me nothing.”
She had explained, hadn’t she? Ray watched her and waited, and she didn’t know what to say.
“Never mind,” he said, rolling away and leaving the bed quickly to head for the hallway and the bathroom. “I don’t know why I asked. Must’ve been some kind of bizarre afterglow backlash.”
Grace sat up and reached for the bathrobe on the floor at the side of the bed, where she’d left it hours ago. The pink silk was frivolous and feminine and sexy. She’d bought it on impulse three years ago but she hadn’t worn it until tonight. It didn’t cover much, but if she was going to confess to Ray as he had confessed to her … well, she couldn’t sit here naked and do it. She was still wondering if there was time to get completely dressed before this confrontation when Ray came back into the room.
She wished she could read his mind, that she could look into the face she’d loved and know what he was thinking. He’d become too skilled with the nonchalant mask he wore to keep his thoughts from others. Sometimes he could even fool her.
Saying not a word, Ray crawled into bed and pulled the sheet to his waist, positioned himself with his back to the headboard and his eyes pinned on her. It would be easiest to turn her back to him, to bury her face in a pillow. She didn’t though. Instead she scooted up to sit beside him; close but not touching.
“The third time you were shot,” she said without preamble. “I was sitting at home watching some silly sitcom. I remember which episode, I remember the dialogue that was being spoken when the doorbell rang.”
Ray said nothing, just stared at her and waited.
She turned away, staring straight ahead as she continued. “When I saw Luther, I knew what had happened. I knew that you had jumped into the middle of someone else’s mess and gotten yourself shot again.
“But I was smarter than I had been the first two times, or so I thought. This time I was not going to panic. I was going to be calm. Mature. Reasonable.” She took a deep, calming breath. “I took the time to get dressed and brush my hair, even though Luther shouted for me to hurry. After all, I’d made a fool of myself the first two times, showing up at the hospital in my nightgown and a coat and untied tennis shoes. Worried half to death while you sat there and … and laughed with your buddies and flirted with the nurses.”
Her heart lurched. She didn’t want to remember. “On the way to the hospital, Luther assured me, as he always did, that you were going to be fine. He said it again and again, and I didn’t notice that there was anything different in his voice. Not until later, when I thought about it while I sat in the waiting room and waited for you to get out of surgery.”
“We don’t have to relive this,” Ray said gently, surely regretting his impulsive question.
“You asked,” Grace snapped. She felt him next to her, saw his form out of the corner of her eye, and still she couldn’t make herself look directly at him. “Now you can damn well listen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stared straight ahead, not wanting to see his accusing eyes. “You were out of it, so I’m sure you don’t remember much, if anything, about those first few days. The doctor didn’t give you much of a chance to make it. He thought it was a miracle that you didn’t arrive DOA.” Her voice shook, just a little. She wanted to reach out and lay her hand on Ray’s sheet-covered leg, for support. For comfort. But she didn’t
“The first two times you got shot were bad enough. I always felt like someone had reached inside and yanked out a part of may soul that I’d never get back. Afterwards I always felt … less whole, less safe.”
She finally turned her head to look at Ray, and her eyes fell on the scar high on his chest. She reached out and touched it. For the first time, she purposely laid her hand on the evidence of that devastating wound. “You almost died and it nearly killed me. I don’t know how I got through that week, I really don’t.” She stroked the scar one last time and then let her hand fall away. “We’d been talking about having children then, remember?”
He nodded his head once.
“My period was a few days late,” she whispered. “It was too soon to be sure, too soon even to mention, but I thought of it that night while I w
aited for you to get out of surgery. I didn’t know if I was pregnant or not, but I wondered while I waited to see if you would survive this latest shooting. And I wondered how I was going to get by without you, how I was going to raise a child without you.” Tears stung her eyes and she willed them not to fall. “Luther kept saying that everything was going to be all right. He said it until I wanted to scream and slap him until he just shut up. Nothing was all right. I felt like someone had taken me apart and put me together again all wrong.” A too-familiar hysteria welled up inside her. “My heart was battered, my brain was mush. I knew I couldn’t go through that again, and you refused to quit. What was I supposed to do?”
“I was a cop when you married me,” he said defensively. “You knew what I did.”
“But I didn’t know you were a hotdog who felt compelled to be at the front of every battle, a danger junkie who would regularly risk your life without a second thought.” She understood now why Ray felt compelled to do what he did. It didn’t make any difference. In fact, it made things worse. This wasn’t something he could walk away from.
“I didn’t know you were so damn delicate you couldn’t weather a few bad times,” he said harshly, refusing to understand. “I didn’t know you were going to run at the first sign of trouble.”
“First sign?” She shook her head in wonder at his incredible density. “I lived in absolute fear for three years of the six we were married. After the first time you were shot everything changed. If you were five minutes late I started imagining all the terrible things that might’ve happened. When you were working undercover and I didn’t know when you might come home it was even worse.”
“Things got too rough for you and you left,” he said casually. “You’ve told me all I wanted to know. You didn’t care enough to stick it out when things didn’t go your way.” He shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care at all.
MADIGAN'S WIFE Page 12
