by Nikki Duncan
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Kyle admired her strength and was concerned with any injuries they couldn’t see. He also wanted to see her relax so he could get more information out of her, and the tension in her body when they mentioned the hospital suggested a visit there would only make matters worse. “Give me instructions, and I’ll keep an eye on her.”
The words crossed his lips while the recognition of a line being crossed snapped into focus. Professionalism dictated he call the sketch artist, get CSI out, and then leave. The quicksand of complicated involvement had sucked him in the moment he’d seen Gisella in the pictures.
She’d appealed to and scared him at the wedding. Everything about her shouted involvement when all he wanted was some good times. Or, he had. Now, after holding Lisa’s baby—his goddaughter—once, he wasn’t sure he was interested in no strings. Knowing he wanted involvement on a deeper level didn’t make taking chances less terrifying.
Gisella Sands defined terrifying.
Chapter Two
Gisella agreed with every dictate the paramedics made. Half their instructions escaped her memory as soon as they were muttered. Nothing mattered more than the paramedics and officers leaving. Only then would she check on her jewelry. Jewelry that had been her mom’s.
It had taken everything she had to not tell the robbers where it was. Or to resist looking in the general direction of the pantry when they’d dragged her into the kitchen to search.
Broken dishes, scattered Tupperware, and baking ingredients had been tossed about in their search. Like any self-respecting baker would allow perfectly good flour to be wasted on hiding something. She would be forever moving the jewels from one bag to another, or be fighting weevils from having open flour sitting around.
“Gisella?” Kyle pulled her attention back to him. She blinked and angled her head to show he had her attention.
“Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Words meant to comfort shouldn’t awaken fear, but Kyle’s awakened a flash of terrifying memory. Her body tensed to the point where holding herself upright took too much effort, so she dropped her head onto the table.
Nausea rolled in her stomach. She wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes and drew into as small a version of herself as possible. It made no difference.
Her home had been compromised. She’d been left behind. She didn’t mind being alone, if she was the one who did the leaving. Every time someone she might care about, someone she trusted, left a room before her, a grain of doubt shifted in her mind.
Would she see them again? Would they return?
Kyle’s departing back shifted those doubts to the forefront, but why? Sure. The sense of safety enveloped her when he was beside her. She barely knew him though. He’d been nice at Darci’s wedding, and she hadn’t imagined the shared chemistry. A few times she’d been sure he was going to kiss her. He hadn’t.
If he didn’t want her, if she’d imagined the chemistry—a conclusion she’d reached when he didn’t kiss her or call—why did she worry now if he wouldn’t come back? Why was the idea of him not returning unsettling?
She moaned, fighting the pull of exhaustion and ugly dreams expected to follow. Her throat hurt, the skin was stiff and pulled with the smallest flexion. Her side hurt—tender and bruised, likely from slamming against a table. Pain brought the past closer.
Stay put. I’ll be right back. Words, uttered so many years ago and then more recently, revolved in her head. They offered no comfort.
“Gisella.” A tender touch brushed her arm. A man’s voice swept her consciousness as tenderly and rescued her from the dreams threatening to swallow her.
She moaned again. The kindness made no sense in the face of her nightmare. It made no sense anyway. Men with soft, seductive voices didn’t speak to her in tones suggestive of intimacy.
“Can you stand and walk?”
Too weak to lift her head, she rolled it back and forth. Then, as if she weighed nothing, she was floating. Her head lolled for a minute before landing on something solid and soft. Her forehead brushed skin.
Inhaling deep, pulling in the barely noticeable scent of men’s cologne—something delicious—the tension bled from her body.
“Kyle?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing?” Reluctant to face whatever came next, Gisella opened her eyes and shifted so she could see Kyle. “Why are you carrying me?”
“I’m taking you to bed.”
“Oh.” She nestled her head against his shoulder again and sighed. “It’s about time.”
He cleared his throat. His heart sped inside his chest, pounding against her body. “So you can sleep.”
“Party pooper. You were a party pooper at the wedding too.”
“I like things simple.”
“Sex is supposed to be simple.” According to her friends anyway. She must be more tired than she imagined, or the paramedics had given her some drugs, because she shifted her fingers through his hair as she curled against him. She’d never been brave, but he brought out a different side of her. With him she was brave enough to ask for what she wanted to finally experience outside of books.
“Not simple enough.”
“It’s as simple as we want it to be.”
“Gisella.” His tone sounded threatening, but it didn’t scare her. It only made her want to giggle.
“Do you ever use more than fifteen syllables at a time?”
“I don’t count. How much pain are you in?”
“I only feel you.” She played with his hair and rubbed her nose against his neck. “I feel your arms around me. I like you touching me.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
He turned into her bedroom, angling through the doorway to keep from smacking her against the frame. He didn’t sound any less gruff when he said, “Say shit like that.”
She noticed the room was clean, which hadn’t been the case when the burglars had gone. “You cleaned up.”
Kyle looked sweetly sheepish, and it made him the most irresistible man she’d ever met. When he lowered her to the floor, holding her to make sure she was steady on her feet, she should have moved away. It would have been the smart thing to do. Tonight, she wasn’t feeling smart.
“Kyle.” She moved daringly, at least for her, closer.
“It’s not a good idea.”
He didn’t specify what it was. She could guess, but she wasn’t going to ask. His hands rested on her hips with his fingers pressing lightly into her, and the sensation was glorious.
Heat radiated through her muscles and melted away her tension.
“You’re wrong. It’s a great idea.” Any idea was great if it kept his hands on her.
“Gisella, we can’t.”
“Because you don’t want me?” Where had the strength to ask that come from? She was never the one to make a first move.
“Because of your case.”
Testing them both, she moved a little closer, close enough that her body brushed his. Close enough to feel his reaction to her. “So you do want me?”
Any denial on his part would be a lie, because his body had already answered. His fingers shifted lower, curled deeper into her. Her core pulsed and her mind raced with ways to get him naked.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
He shook his head.
“Have another cop assigned.”
He shook his head again.
Gisella had to face the facts she couldn’t help but respect. She was losing ground to his stubbornness, or professionalism, or whatever it was holding him back, but at least she knew he wanted her. The knowledge made her brave.
“Are you saying no to sex?”
“I have to.” He lifted a hand to her throat and traced the bandage she’d briefly
forgotten about.
“Do you have to say no to staying?”
He watched her, one eye narrowed slightly more than the other. His fingers squeezed for her hips for the briefest second before he lifted them. “I’ll stay.”
Gisella nodded, silently agreeing to his unspoken request to drop the sex talk. If it meant not being left alone she’d comply, but she wasn’t going to stop wanting him.
She tossed the covers back and sat on the edge of the mattress. The uncertainty that was more like her returned. “If I ask you to lay with me, will you? I promise to keep my hands to myself and not mention sex.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to help.” Still, he moved forward and toed off his shoes.
Her heart lifted. Before he could change his mind, she laid down and moved toward the middle of the bed.
Anticipation bubbled through her. A man had never been in her bed or held her while she slept. Even if Kyle kept his hands to himself, she’d allowed herself to ask for more than any time before.
She’d trusted him.
Uncertainty reared up again. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to block it. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. She squeezed her eyes tighter. Would he move close enough to touch her? Would he wrap an arm around her?
His warmth reached her back but his only contact was a hand on her hip. It was less than she wanted and more than she’d hoped to get. The touch was nothing compared to trusting a man enough to have him sleep with her.
“Would it bother you if I turned over?” she whispered. “Laying this way hurts.”
He lifted his hand, which she took as a sign of agreement. He really wasn’t a man for many words.
When she settled, he returned his hand to her hip. His other hand was tucked beneath his head. Their gazes locked. Their knees brushed. Her blood rushed.
She swallowed and looked at his chest. He’d taken his jacket and gun holster off. His T-shirt was almost tight enough to hide the wrinkles. It was definitely tight enough to suggest he was strong without being largely ripped. She wanted to be close to his strength. Asleep. Awake. Aware.
Her cheek tingled at the memory of resting against his shoulder when he’d carried her. Her breath caught at the thought of him wrapping her in his arms and shielding her from harm.
“Is something wrong? Is this not better?” The concern in his tone turned her to jelly inside.
“What?” Wrong? “No.” Everything. “Just thinking.”
His chin was dipped at a slightly downward angle and his gaze was hard when it landed on her bandaged neck. His voice was heavy with a hint of unsteadiness when he asked, “About?”
“Too much.” Or at least it would be too much if she spoke them aloud.
Kyle’s eyes offered peace, compelling her to stay still and meet his gaze. He captivated her. She tried to smile, but the hardness of his gaze halted the attempt. She realized it was worry darkening his eyes and her stomach quivered.
A man she’d only had casual conversation with at a couple of wedding events had responded to her 9-1-1 call and was now in her bed proving himself to be one of the sweetest guys she’d ever met. If she wasn’t careful she’d fall in love.
“Makes sense. Considering the night you’ve had.”
Mild words to describe the second-worst night of her life. “Do you make a habit of sticking around crime scenes and getting in bed with the victims?”
“You’re my first.” Heaviness halted his tone, turning it into something she didn’t dare disregard. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Sure.” She rested her fingers on the edge of the bandage. “It’s just a scratch.”
Kyle’s fingers covered Gisella’s. There was no tremble in his touch, but neither was there ease. Expectations of what he may say, what she may want to hear, tripped over themselves.
“A scratch doesn’t need ten stitches.”
“Butterfly stitches.”
“Not enough difference.” His fingers didn’t tremble, but his voice did.
Hers shook in response. “It could have been worse.”
“Is that what you’re going to tell your friends? You could have died.”
She tried not to think about facing her friends. They would overreact, and then hover. She hated when people hovered. She couldn’t avoid them though. They worked too closely together.
“But I didn’t. I didn’t even have to go to the hospital.”
“You’re going to need a better argument.” Kyle shook his head. “They won’t buy that.”
She sighed. “I know.” She hated it and loved it at the same time that her friends would be worried and turn to hovering. “Don’t tell them before I can.”
It wouldn’t be hard to oblige. He didn’t talk to her girlfriends often. “I’ll do my best.”
The more time she spent with him, the more her mind focused on him instead of the pain and fear which accompanied home invasions. What didn’t make sense was why or how. What made Kyle so different from other men?
He pulled her hand away from her neck and traced the bandage. His tongue slickened his lips as he watched the path of his finger.
“Why’d you stay?” she whispered.
“I wanted to. Still do.”
“I don’t understand.” Memories of her parents involved laughing and dancing and kissing. A lot of laughing and dancing and kissing. They’d enjoyed each other even when times hadn’t been the best. There’d been a connection built on undeniable trust and love.
She’d never come close to finding a guy to kiss, let alone to laugh or dance with. There’d been a time when she’d have settled for one of the three. Now, after witnessing her friends’ happiness, she wanted the whole package.
She wanted the tastes of dancing and laughing. She craved the touch of a man who could light a fire in her soul. A kiss. Of all the delicacies and cakes she’d tasted, she’d never tasted a man’s kiss. Not a man who knew how to treat a woman anyway. A man who deserved trust and could be loved.
So close to Kyle, she grew tingly and jittery. “Why would you want to stay?”
He rested a hand on her leg, much like he had in her kitchen. Only this time his fingers massaged instead of gripped her flesh. He swallowed, leaned forward. If he kissed her she would finally know the kind of kiss she’d dreamed of so often.
Imagination was easier, but she was tired of her imagination. She was ready for practical application.
“You’re not answering the question,” she whispered.
Seemingly content to stare into her eyes, he moved closer. “I wanted to stay because I want you.”
Chapter Three
“What kind of dumbass are you?”
No stranger to his captain’s wrath, Kyle faced the man who struck fear in the hearts and souls of every man under his command. Kyle had grown up calling the man Dad, so though he respected him, he didn’t fear him. He knew when to push and when not to. He also knew what approach to take at different times, how much information to divulge and how much to withhold until later. “Should I sit? Is this going to take long?”
“I expect better of you than to get involved with a victim.”
A lifetime of lectures provided his answer. Kyle sat and held his tongue. His time to speak would come.
He had told his father about staying the night at a victim’s house, though he’d made it sound like less than what it had been. He’d focused on a recap of the work he’d done while Gisella had been asleep and he’d been too restless to stay beside her. It hadn’t been minimized enough to curtail a lecture.
“Getting involved with a victim is the kind of asshole move the idiots out there would pull.” Captain Riley gestured toward the busy room beyond his office. “When the hell is Lisa going to be back to keep you in line?”
“I wouldn’t call it an involvement.” One night didn’t make an in
volvement. “And I don’t need Lisa to keep me in line.”
If Lisa had been with him, the night would have turned out differently. Or not. Even she couldn’t change the way Kyle had responded to Gisella.
“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”
Kyle watched the man glowering from the other side of the desk. He was larger than life and more powerful than his slender build would suggest. The men and women working for him claimed he was a hard-ass with little personality. And he was a hard-ass. On the job. Kyle, though, knew a softer side of the man.
“Question for you,” Kyle said.
“It better be damn good.” The crossed arms and hard scowl didn’t put Kyle off. Knowing the answer to what would be asked before it was asked didn’t put him off. He’d faced the evidence every day of his life.
“How’s it make you feel when Mom walks in the room?”
Captain uncrossed his arms. When he leaned forward and his elbows landed on the desk with a thwack, Captain Riley became Dad. Dad was entirely approachable and easy to confide in. Dad had guided Kyle through too many tricky situations to count, and this case, Gisella, was a tricky situation. “You’re not saying this woman makes you feel like your mom makes me feel, are you?”
“I’m saying she intrigues me in a way I’ve not experienced before. She has since Vic’s wedding.” He wouldn’t put a name to what he was feeling; it was much too soon in what could barely be called an acquaintance. Gisella deserved time to heal before dealing with him and the consequences of being with a cop. He would be a constant reminder of what she’d faced.
“She was at the wedding?”
Kyle nodded. “I walked her down the aisle.”
“Shit.”
That’s what Dad said without knowing Kyle had slept beside her. Or considered waking her up with a kiss. Or fantasized about kissing her before he left until they were both panting. Some details, no matter how close they were, didn’t need to be shared with Captain or Dad. “I couldn’t walk away from her.”
“Your mom will love hearing that.”
“I’d prefer she not hear about it yet.” At least until he’d worked a few things out for himself.
