One Night At A Time

by Christa Conan

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “But it’s still there.”

  The psychologist, the woman. Arielle. “It’s still there. You were right. I can run, but I can’t hide. I learned that I didn’t know squat, that letting your guard down for even thirty seconds gets you killed. Or worse. It gets the woman you love killed.”

  “Guilt’s a heavy burden to bear.”

  “Lady, you don’t know the half of it.” She didn’t know about the nightmares, how he’d replayed the scene night after night, desperately searching for a different outcome, one that left Kerry alive.

  “You would have traded places with her,” Arielle guessed.

  “Gladly,” he responded, without hesitation.

  “I would have traded places with Danny, too.”

  He drew strength from her lack of judgment, from her support. The light of trust in her eyes never wavered. He’d demanded that of her, unconditionally. Now that he’d received the gift, he was no longer certain he deserved the honor. Still, it gave him the courage to continue.

  “I screwed up. I believed I was enough, that we didn’t need more backup than the two people I’d taken with us. I believed they couldn’t find us. More, I believed Kerry’s father when he said he’d returned the money he owed. I believed him, Arielle, because they’d already killed his son. I thought Kerry meant the world to him. I thought the heat was off.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “No. He lied.”

  “Doug, don’t you see? It’s not your fault, Kerry’s father—”

  “Don’t. It is my fault. I had a job, an assignment. Her life was my responsibility.” The breath he took burned with the fire of failure. “John trusted me with his daughter’s life. I failed.”

  “Who forced you to be responsible for another human being?” Her voice dropped as she asked, “Who made you God?”

  “She took a bullet meant for me.”

  A tear spilled from one of Arielle’s eyes.

  “Kerry died in my arms, whispering my name.”

  In an instant, Arielle was in front of him, her hand, soft and small, warm and tender, resting on his tightened one. “You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”

  Had he done many things more difficult than making that telephone call? “Tell that to John Denning.”

  She gasped. “He blamed you for Kerry’s death?”

  That was an understatement. The nine-millimeter Doug had been forced to stare down the barrel of hadn’t been a water pistol. Fortunately, he had seethed with the need for his own revenge, and that had preserved his survival instinct.

  Despite the ugliness of his confession, Arielle remained steadfast, never recoiling in horror. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. It was a testament to her inner convictions that she still stood there.

  Now more than ever, he understood what had driven Arielle to hire the hit on her life. She felt as deeply for others as she did for herself. Not surprisingly, she’d rather face an assassin than a slow death that would destroy her family financially, as well as emotionally.

  She amazed him.

  “I’m sorry I forced you to relive it.”

  As she had earlier, she touched him on the cheek, leaving the top of his hand chilled. Interesting how he hadn’t noticed her warmth until it was gone.

  “My heart aches for you. You can’t curse yourself for Kerry’s death. If she hadn’t been in danger, she wouldn’t have needed you. You can’t save the world, Doug, no matter how much you try.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “If it does, I don’t want you holding yourself responsible.”

  Anger spiked.

  “I begged you to protect me, Doug. I didn’t give you much of an opportunity to refuse. There’s no way you could have known we’d both be targets.”

  Rationally, he realized she was right. But his protective nature told another story. Failure wasn’t an option, ever again. “You’re my responsibility, Arielle.”

  “No one can be responsible for someone else.”

  He closed his hand around hers, and his eyes captured her. “You’re my responsibility, Arielle, make no mistake in that.”

  “I can’t allow—”

  “When the threat against you has been neutralized and you’re back in school, my job will be over. And not until then.”

  “Doug, has anyone told you how infuriating you are?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” he countered.

  A smile ghosted her features, banishing, if only momentarily, the ache. “Funny, I was just going to say the same thing to you.” She rose on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his.

  His heart thumped, and response stirred in his groin. “Arielle?”

  Their gazes met. Slowly he unfolded his fist.

  “Kiss me, Doug.”

  He needed no second invitation.

  Doug pulled her to him, claiming her lips. But this time he didn’t want to punish, he wanted to accept the healing she offered. He needed Arielle.

  Her tongue met his, melding, mating. He tasted the sweetness of forgiveness, the headiness of honesty.

  With a groan, he deepened the kiss, pulling her against him. Nothing could have felt more natural, more right. Moist warmth invited and welcomed, encouraged.

  It wasn’t enough. God help him, the taste wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted more, wanted all she had to offer. He’d sworn never to take again, never to ask again, but here it was, wrapped with powerful heat.

  Her breasts pressed against his chest, the femininity of her making him harden.

  She reached behind his neck, lacing her fingers in his hair. As she shifted, her thigh slipped between his legs, pressing against him.

  Blood surged through him, vanquishing everything else. All that existed was now and here. Him and Arielle.

  “I need you to hold me, make love to me,” she said against his lips.

  “Arielle, we can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” A shadow of hurt shaded her eyes.

  “Can’t,” he said firmly. “I can’t let my guard down, can’t take a risk with you.”

  “I already told you that you can’t save the world, Doug.”

  “But I can save you.”

  She looked at him with that unqualified trust he’d been demanding. It was a blessing as much as it was a burden. Instead of lessening the pulsation of desire, though, it only increased the urgency.

  “I will save you, Arielle. No matter what it takes.”

  “Who will save me from myself?”

  “Arielle.” Resolve and patience tied into a knot and, together, slowly slipped away.

  “I want you to make love to me.”

  Nobility demanded that he try again. Trying to think when her arms were around him, her body against his, became an act of total concentration. And his was about shot.

  “Don’t you want to make love to me?”

  Her voice haunted him. She thought he didn’t want her. “There’s nothing I want more, but for your sake, we shouldn’t do this.” Quicksand seemed stable, compared with his insides. He’d wanted her in his arms, in his bed, for a long time. “This is your last chance.”

  She licked her lower lip in a nervous, sensuous gesture that made his gut constrict. “Then I’ll pass.”

  He looked into her eyes and was lost. Nobility, after all, was for kings. And Doug definitely wasn’t royalty.

  Chapter 13

  Doug’s eyes darkened, from the calmness of an ocean bay to that of a stormswept sea. Indecision disappeared into the blazes of passion, and a tremor traced her spine.

  She wanted this, but nothing had ever scared her more.

  His grip on her tightened. He pulled her against him again, his lips descending on hers. She felt his hardness against her, his masculinity and power.

  His tongue probed the deepness of her mouth, demanding her response. Willingly, she gave it. Her hands tangled in his hair as she tried to drag
him closer and closer.

  She savored his taste, the tanginess of desire. She reveled in the feel of him, sinew and strength. His scent, that of power, surrounded her, sweeping over her senses and consuming her thought.

  She wanted to be in his arms forever, wanted the future kept away, wanted to truly live, wanted the horror of the past blocked by his presence. For a moment, for that moment, it was.

  She’d come so close already to losing her life, and nothing at all was certain. A few weeks ago, she’d spent her nights writing lesson plans, grading papers, returning calls from concerned parents. She’d gone from that to the terror of a misdiagnosis, to the possibility that an assassin’s bullet would find its mark.

  Tomorrow wasn’t a promise. She had no guarantees. Arielle longed to live for the moment, longed to have Doug hold her tight.

  The kiss lasted just short of forever and not long enough, at the same time. When cool evening air bathed her moist lips, she shivered.

  “Cold?”

  She didn’t answer, didn’t know whether she could find her voice.

  Doug eased away, stepping back a couple of inches. He plucked the barrette from her hair, then framed her face with his hands, pushing back wayward strands and looking deeply into her eyes.

  “Are you scared, Arielle?”

  “No... Yes.”

  His grin offered reassurance. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “I know.”

  Slowly he moved his hands, untangling hers and then reaching beneath her to sweep her from the floor.

  “Doug!”

  “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he said, holding her against him. “Humor me.”

  Her legs dangled in midair, her thighs supported by Doug’s strength. “And I’ve always wanted someone to do this,” she admitted.

  He grinned, deducting worry and years from his face. She snuggled close and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  The fire gave a small crackle, as if in encouragement, when he strode from the room.

  He took the stairs effortlessly, each step jostling her and igniting nerve endings. She was still fully dressed, but oh-so-aware of him as a man.

  He kicked open the door, carrying her into the bedroom. Doug flicked the light switch, and a dim glow filtered across the darkness. “Do we really need the light?”

  “I want to see you. Every inch of you.”

  Her eyes closed as she realized what he wanted from her...everything, with nothing held back. Just as he always did.

  He paused at the foot of the bed, held her for a few seconds, and quietly said, “Open your eyes, Arielle.”

  Obeying the command was more difficult than she could ever have imagined. When she did as he asked, she saw an expression on his face that she’d never seen before. In his smile rested unadulterated approval. He wanted her for herself. Right then, she knew she cared for him...realized her heart was in danger of becoming forever lost.

  Slowly he slid her down the length of his body. Her hands dropped to her sides. Now that they were here, she wasn’t sure what to do, what to say.

  “You’re still with me?”

  She nodded.

  “Say it, Arielle.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Her mouth went dry when he reached for the top button of her blouse. When he slipped the second free from the fabric, her heart added a second beat.

  He opened the third, the one covering her bra, all without ever breaking the contact of their gazes. She saw his intensity, knew she was the recipient of the same energy and devotion he showed in all aspects of his life. She’d never received this kind of intensity before, and it overwhelmed her.

  The fourth surrendered. And her knees threatened to buckle when he pulled the cotton free from her jeans, his fingers lighting on her midriff. She sucked in a breath at the feel of his hand on her bare skin.

  The material of her shirt spilled downward, lying in disarray across her hips. Still, he hadn’t looked away from her face. “Doug...”

  “Shh. Anyone ever tell you not to disturb a man at work?”

  “No.”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  Finally the last button was freed. The cotton gaped, and evening air nipped through the opening.

  Instead of removing her shirt as she expected, Doug touched her chin. Silently he trailed his index finger down her throat, pausing there, at the hollow. Her pulse pounded beneath the brush of his fingertips, and she wondered whether he felt it, if he heard it.

  Still touching her, he said, “I’ve wondered all day.”

  “What?”

  “Which one.”

  “Which one?”

  “Which bra you’re wearing today. Red? Purple? Black?”

  She shivered, in spite of the room’s warmth. In maddeningly slow motions, he continued to trail lower, pausing when he reached the valley between her breasts where the lace covered her. Her breaths came in hollow bursts.

  “In fact, I’ve been wondering the same thing every day since we went shopping.”

  At that instant, his gaze dipped, and her breath froze in her throat. She wanted to look away, but he captured her chin with his free hand.

  “Red,” he whispered, tracing the tops of the satiny, lacy material. Letting go of her, he eased the blouse from her shoulders, allowing it to puddle behind her, sinking on the carpet.

  Even though she was still covered, she felt her nipples harden beneath his perusal. She’d never experienced this kind of physical reaction before, this consuming desire to join with another person.

  Leaving her still partially clothed, he continued his lazy downward exploration, causing her to suck in her belly. No, she had definitely never felt this way before, but then again, no other man was Doug Masterson.

  With his thumb, he parted the button at the waistband of her jeans, then snagged the zipper tab between his thumb and forefinger. In the silence, each rasp of the parting metal screamed with the same anticipation that was singing in her.

  Impatience swelled as her insides raged, tossing and turning. She kicked off her shoes as he maneuvered denim past her hips, snagging but not removing her panties.

  In seconds, she stood before him, wearing only her lingerie. She experienced a twinge of shyness that disappeared when he inhaled sharply. Beneath his jeans, she saw his arousal, and her nerves stretched taut.

  Her fingers trembling, she reached behind her for the clasp of the bra, brushing her hair out of the way, only to have him stay her movement with his hand. She wanted to hurry, wanted to join with him, but he refused to rush.

  “Let me.”

  His fingers on her sensitized flesh made her murmur. “Doug, I...”

  He kissed her, gently, with a promise of fulfillment.

  The hooks parted, leaving her breasts unbound. Doug drew one of the straps from her shoulder, then removed the bra entirely, allowing it to sashay to the floor. Her breasts filled, seeming heavier than ever before. They throbbed and ached. But still he didn’t touch her, and, oddly, that seemed to thrill her more than if he had.

  He removed her panties, then took a step back. She’d never stood in front of a man like this, open and needful. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her breasts, then wasn’t surprised when Doug reached for her, uncrossing her arms.

  “You’re beautiful, Arielle,” he whispered.

  Her eyes squeezed shut. She knew that wasn’t the truth.

  “You’re beautiful,” he repeated, in that husky voice that oozed down her spine.

  “My breasts—”

  “Are perfect,” he said. And he meant it, she realized. To him, maybe she was beautiful.

  He touched her then, cupping her breasts. Unable to help herself, she let her shoulders drop forward, spilling the weight of her breasts into his palms. His thumbs arched over her nipples, bringing them to a heightened sense of awareness.

  And when he lowered his head, a tiny moan escaped. He circled one nipple with his tongue, while he gently squeezed the othe
r. She cried out, her knees finally buckling.

  As always, he was there, wrapping a supporting arm around her, protecting her, even when she could no longer think. Her hair hung down her back when she tipped her head, unconsciously granting him the access he wanted.

  She was lost in a world that spun crazily with emotion, a world where nothing would ever be the same again. Her eyes closed when he moved to dampen the nipple of the other breast.

  He grazed the darkened tip with his teeth, then shocked her by lowering his hand and slipping it between her legs. She cried out his name, and then, when he found her private spot, she gasped. “Doug, please.”

  Arielle knew she was going to come undone in his arms. “Make love to me, Doug.” She raked her hands into his hair and, thankfully, he relented.

  “I am making love to you...every inch of you. I want to know you, discover your secrets.” Scooping her from the floor, he carried her the few feet to the bed, momentarily setting her down to haphazardly throw off the covers. He lowered her to the sheet, placing her head on a pillow.

  In less than thirty seconds, he’d removed his own clothes and placed his gun within easy reach. He stood before her, a magnificent man who had shuttered away everything except the moment. She noticed his chest, the whipcord power, tanned and honed. His chest was shaded by hair, a band of it trailing lower, thinning as it went.

  Unable to help herself, she followed the path, past his waist, his navel, and lower. She pulled her upper lip between her teeth.

  He wanted her. He’d thickened, straining toward her from the thatch of hair. She hadn’t imagined he’d be so...masculine. Arielle reminded her heart to keep beating as thunderous thoughts chased through her mind.

  Doug opened the nightstand drawer and drew out a package before joining her on the bed. She knew she should make her final confession to him now, but couldn’t find the words. In fact, she couldn’t think, let alone talk.

  He rolled onto his side, facing her, not letting her look away, and said, “Touch me.”

  Hesitantly she did, closing her hand around him. Doug sucked a breath between his teeth, and she tightened her grip. He removed her hand with a soft curse. “That wasn’t such a good idea,” he said, voice gravelly.