Takedown

by Julie Miller

  “Yeah.” He dipped his head to reclaim her lips. Once. Twice. Again. “I need that, too.” His dark eyes told her the truth. “I need you.”

  And then there were no more words. He framed her face between his hands and took her mouth in a deep, fiery kiss. Jillian ran her fingers behind his neck and over his hair, opening herself to him in every way possible. What he wanted, she bestowed. What she needed, he gave.

  When he skimmed her tank top off over her head, she gasped in delight at every sure sweep of his hand against her feverish skin. When he laved his tongue around the pebbled tip of her breast, she moaned at the frictional caress. When he opened his hot, wet mouth over its aching mate, she bucked beneath him.

  His hands were in her hair, at her hips, on her thighs and in the swollen, needy thatch between.

  With every touch, an ember was born inside her. With every kiss, it burst into flame. She was molten, fluid, alive with Michael Cutler.

  When he moved on top of her, pressing her body into the mattress beneath the good, masculine weight of his, Jillian welcomed him as he slipped inside. Michael propped himself up on his elbows so he could soothe the waiting sparks with a kiss on her panting, parted lips. Jillian wrapped her long legs around his hips and locked them together. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hold on for the ride. She wrapped herself up in the power of that deep midnight gaze and let him see the flames of need and gratitude and love shining in her own eyes.

  She pulled him down to her when he began to move inside her. He thrust his fingers into her hair, burying his nose against her neck as he plunged into her throbbing heat.

  Jillian came and cried out and cried out again as the fire exploded deep inside and radiated through her in wave after wave of heat. A moment later, Michael’s hands fisted in her hair and he poured out his own release deep inside her.

  Sometime later, while Jillian dozed on the pillow of Michael’s shoulder, he picked her up and carried her down the hall to his own bedroom and tucked her into the four-poster bed. She murmured a drowsy protest that her own legs were working and he shushed her with a kiss.

  He climbed into the bed behind her and spooned his body to hers, pulling the covers up over them both. “Sleep, sweetheart.” Brushing her tangled hair off her face, he whispered a promise against her ear. “You’re safe.”

  Jillian sank into a deep, decadent sleep. Together, they’d burned the nightmares out of her system and replaced them with the sweet dreams and fierce gift of Michael Cutler’s healing touch.

  MICHAEL TOOK THE STAIRS two at a time, carrying a tray filled with two mugs of coffee and a package of chocolate fudge toaster pastries. Clearly, he was going to have to hit the grocery store if he was going to be keeping two teenage boys in his house.

  But when he opened the bedroom door—and quickly closed it behind him again—food was no longer the first thing on his mind.

  Jillian was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, wrapped in nothing but a towel. She had her long brown ponytail draped over one shoulder and was using his comb to smooth the tangles of their late-night tussle from her hair. “Good morning.”

  Obviously, she’d opened the door to let the steam from her shower escape—not to give him a midmorning peep show that revved up his energy more than that first cup of coffee he’d already drunk. So he made a valiant effort to turn his head from each stroke of her hand and carry on a normal conversation. “Good morning. Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  He set the tray on the dresser and brought her a mug and one of the pastries. “Sorry. Breakfast pickings are pretty slim today. The boys have already wolfed down the cold pizza and grazed through whatever they could find in the cabinets.”

  She laughed as she set down the comb and picked up the steaming mug. Her sniff and sip and resulting “mmm” were a little like heaven for him, too. “That’s good. Thanks.”

  Tactical error. In addition to miles of smooth, tanned skin stretching over sleek curves, the humid air in the smaller room was heavy with the scent of soap and Jillian herself. But he could handle this morning-after awkwardness if he didn’t look directly at her or her reflection in the mirror.

  But his effort to avoid her eyes left him staring at the long purplish bruise that adorned her collarbone this morning. He reached out and touched it gently with his forefinger, and then touched another bruise on her arm, and another. He bit back the furious desire to count each of the marks on her arms and legs, and who knew where else, from her tumble down the stairs with Blake Rivers last night.

  She seemed to think the risks she took were some kind of penance she owed for a rebellious youth. But no woman, especially a warrior as brave and stubborn and giving as Jillian Masterson, deserved to be hurt by the very scum of the world she tried so hard to help.

  Something about the stillness of his posture, or his inability to move his gaze from the black-and-blue swelling at her knee, must have betrayed him. She cupped the side of his clean-shaven jaw and turned him to face her. “Michael.”

  “Do they hurt much?”

  “I’m okay. My chin’s a little tender,” she admitted, “but I’m okay. I’m better inside, too, now. Thanks to you.”

  He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm before pulling away. Lighten the mood, Mr. Gloom and Doom.

  Turning to rest his hip on the vanity beside her, Michael pulled out the slick material that he’d stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans. “Here.” He handed her the pair of basketball shorts that Mike had picked out for her. “I thought you might like to wear something besides those blood-spattered khakis today.”

  Mention blood. Right. That’s how to move beyond that raw feeling of wanting to do some damage to the people who’d threatened and hurt her.

  He’d have to learn to count on Jillian’s resiliency. “Mike doesn’t mind me wearing them?”

  “He offered.”

  “I’ll have to thank him.” She pulled the shorts on beneath her towel, hiding a few more inches of leg, and tilted her mouth into a frown. “You’re still going to take me back to my apartment to get my own things, right? I called Lulu at work, and she said she’d get Dylan to cover for me until lunch. But I can’t wear these when I do show up.”

  “Relax. I’m off the clock today. I’ll take you.”

  “And I’d like to get my own wheels back.”

  “Your SUV will be safe enough on the KCPD lot.” She propped a hand on her hip and turned to argue, but he didn’t give her the chance. “Besides, I’m not letting you go anywhere without an armed escort. Today, I’m your man. I’ll take you home, take you to work, take you to wherever. But I am not letting you out of my sight until we, a, have a better idea of who Loverboy might be and what his intentions are, and, b, I know you’re not going to run off and put yourself in unnecessary danger again trying to help someone else.”

  The frown curved into a wry smile. “That’s awfully bossy of you.”

  Michael sat back on the vanity top and crossed his arms over the front of his black T-shirt. “I like being in charge.”

  “So I gather.” She rested a gentle hand on his forearm. “That’s an awful lot of responsibility, Michael.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “You probably can,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be in control all the time. Cut yourself some slack.”

  Right. When Michael Cutler lost his focus, he got off his game. And that’s when people got tossed down a flight of stairs. Or shot by an obsessive ex-boyfriend.

  As if he was going to let any of that happen again.

  “Get dressed.”

  She arched a rebellious eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

  When Jillian turned to pull on her bra and tank top and lose the towel altogether, Michael went back into the bedroom to retrieve his own cup of coffee and try to get his head firmly back into cop mode, which meant putting some distance between them.

  He took a bite of cold pastry and chewed while he slid his holster and b
adge onto his belt and secured his Glock. Maybe he needed his uniform and body armor on to get last night and the memory of Jillian’s sexy, fragrant hair and supple body flying apart all around him out of his head. When Jillian padded out of the bathroom and went straight for the black KCPD jacket he’d loaned her last night, and shrugged it around her shoulders, he knew he was never going to be able to completely separate his thirst for the fire Jillian brought into his life from his need to protect her.

  But he’d find a way to get the job done. “I got the boys up without any problem and got their day started,” he reported.

  “I could have helped with that.”

  “You needed your sleep.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  She was tying on her tennis shoes now. Her sporty attire and lack of makeup made her look even younger. But the legs? His jacket? His Neanderthalic hormones were kicking in again. Nope. He wasn’t tired at all.

  He gave up on the idea of breakfast and keeping his distance and crossed to where she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Pulling her to her feet, Michael wrapped her in his arms and covered her mouth with a kiss. He teased her lips and taunted and tasted, and then got dead serious about claiming all of the eager response she offered when she stretched up on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck, running her hands along his nape and hair in that needy, graspy way that had ripped away the last of his defenses last night.

  When he felt the bedpost at her back, he realized he’d been shamelessly driving his hips against her, and finally tore his mouth from hers. His heart was pounding, his breathing was ragged, his jeans were tight. But he rested his forehead against hers and pulled back, desperately needing the cool air that flowed between them.

  Apparently, the only way he was going to know peace with this woman was to hold her in his arms 24/7. But his peace of mind wasn’t her problem. He looked down into her upturned eyes, thinking she knew exactly just how far out of his control his life was spinning since he’d invited her into it.

  But that wasn’t a fact he was ready to admit. Not when he needed to keep it all together to protect her from Loverboy.

  He turned away from those knowing green eyes and swatted her bottom before heading for the door. “Say good morning to the boys. I’ll meet you out front in my truck.”

  HIS CLOTHES WERE WRINKLED and a little ripe after his long night. A bite of lunch would be nice. But he wasn’t leaving his parking place until he knew Jillian had come home and seen the gift he’d left for her.

  He knew the policeman had taken her to the hospital, that she’d be cleaned up and cared for there. He’d wanted to be at the medical center this morning to see for himself that she hadn’t been seriously injured, but he’d been unavoidably detained.

  What happened last night couldn’t be allowed to happen again. Sweet, brave Jillian in the wrong part of town, outnumbered and outgunned. She was fortunate that her injuries hadn’t been life threatening. A tumble down those old stairs could have broken her neck. She could have been hit, strangled, or shot by a desperate man so full of himself that he didn’t care about the danger he put others in.

  But he cared. He cared that Jillian was safe. That she wouldn’t be hurt like that again. He’d seen to it personally that that bastard would never hurt her again.

  She’d be so pleased. It was the least he could do for the woman he loved. It was just a taste of all he was willing to do for her.

  He pulled down the visor over the steering wheel and touched the picture of her he’d clipped there. “I’ll take care of you, Jilly. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here for you. One day you’ll understand just how much I love—”

  A black pickup truck passed him on the road and turned into the parking lot of Jillian’s apartment building. He’d been concerned that he hadn’t seen her dark blue SUV in the lot, but now it looked as though the officer who’d driven her to the hospital last night had also picked her up this morning.

  He didn’t like that. Didn’t like other men doing favors for her. Last night, he’d allowed it. It was quicker than getting an ambulance to her, and he’d had no other choice but to let her go. But today…

  Suspicion and loathing burned a hole in his empty belly. He kissed his fingertip, then shook it in reprimand at the smiling image looking back at him, before closing the visor and starting the engine. She shouldn’t be trying his patience like this, not when he’d been so worried for her. Not when he’d done so much.

  After the black pickup pulled into a parking place, he turned into the lot himself and slowly circled around, keeping an eye on Jillian. When the driver got out, he tapped on the brake and laughed at his foolishness. It was that old cop, the one with gray in his hair. He never should have suspected Jillian of betraying him. Naturally, she’d feel safe with a father figure like that. Considering where she’d come from, all she’d endured and overcome, she probably found great comfort in the paternal asexuality of Graybeard there.

  He waited and watched as the senior cop opened her door and walked her around to the back of his truck.

  And then he saw that they were holding hands. They laughed. She tugged on the man’s hand and he turned. Jillian touched the side of the old man’s face and drew him down for a kiss.

  He sat up straight. His blood boiled in his veins.

  The tramp! Giving her lovin’ out for free to every man she met when he’d been faithful and true to her for longer than she deserved. He loved her because she was sweet and innocent and his.

  “I love you, Jillian.” He shifted his foot to the accelerator. “I love you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jillian had her keys out of her pocket as soon as Michael turned the truck into the parking lot of her apartment building. But she wasn’t about to let this conversation end with him claiming that he was perfectly fine—that there were no lingering regrets about the outcome of the hostage crisis at the bank yesterday, that he wasn’t as perplexed by the yin and yang of their relationship as she was, and that everything was peachy keen and under control in his world.

  “I know it’s hard.” She reached across the seat and tugged at the sleeve of the pullover sweater he wore, wanting to offer comfort as well as understanding. “But acceptance does come. With enough time.”

  He took his hand off the wheel long enough to squeeze her hand. “Have you moved past feeling guilty about the things you did all those years ago in No-Man’s Land?” When she pulled away at the uncomfortable change of topic, he let her. “I know you understand guilt and regret the way I do, Jillian. Have you really moved on and left all that behind you?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “And when you can’t?”

  “Like with you and the shooting yesterday?” Uh-huh. She could tell by the tension in his knuckles around the steering wheel that the incident was still weighing heavily on him. “I’m blessed with family. And a good therapist who still listens to me every now and then when I need him.”

  “I tell my men to talk to the police psychologist when they need to.” Michael pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine, turning in his seat to face her. “Pam used to do that for me. Just listen. Before she got sick. I wouldn’t dump on her after that. And I won’t unload on Mike.”

  Had he talked to anyone beyond a grief counselor since his wife’s death? Pam Cutler had been blessed to have such a stalwart man by her side as she succumbed to cancer. But maintaining control of his emotions didn’t necessarily mean Michael was dealing with them. “Maybe you should try opening up with Mike a little. He’s sixteen. He’s trying to be a man. But he’s been through a lot. Maybe if he sees you opening up about some of your fears and frustrations, he will, too.”

  “Damn, if that doesn’t make sense.” His eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. Or couldn’t believe he was actually considering taking her advice. With a shake of his head he got out of the truck and circled around to meet her. He took her hand and walked her toward the building. “How’d
you get so wise for someone so young?”

  Jillian halted at the back of his truck and tugged on his hand to turn him. “I’m twenty-eight, Michael, not a child.”

  “Don’t I know it. This might be a hell of a lot easier if you were.”

  With a smile, she cupped his strong jaw and rewarded his open-mindedness with a kiss. She didn’t intend to make it easy for him to dismiss her very real, very grown-up love for him. “You can dump on me anytime,” she whispered. “And keep talking to Mike. Give him a chance. Give yourself—”

  She heard the whine of tires spinning to find traction.

  “Jillian!” A powerful engine roared in her ears an instant before Michael’s arm clamped down like a vise around her waist and they went flying through the air. A green monster barreled past in a rush of wind, spitting gravel that nipped at her skin a split second before they hit the ground and skidded across the asphalt. Michael tucked her head against his chest and they rolled until the front wheel of his truck slammed them to a stop.

  “Stay down!” Michael scrambled to his feet, gun drawn, and ran after the speeding car.

  “Michael, no!”

  Ignoring new bumps and dizziness and shock, Jillian sat up, curling her knees to her chest and huddling next to the wheel as she braced for the sound of a gunshot. Tires screeched. She cringed. Horns honked. Michael cursed. No shots. Thank God. And then the only sounds she heard were her heart pounding against her ribs and the crunch of footsteps hurrying back toward her.

  “This is Captain Cutler, SWAT Team One.”

  As soon as she saw him turn the corner between his truck and the car beside it, Jillian pushed to her feet. His gun was back in its holster and his cop face was on as he tipped his cell phone away from his mouth and took her hand to help her stand. “You’re bleeding.” He nodded down at her knee. “You okay?”