Find Me (The Donovan Family Book 3)

by Margaret Watson

  As she studied the room, looking for more pieces of a younger Mac, he put his hand on her arm. "I'll put a toothbrush and a towel in the bathroom, which is just across the hall. I'll get a plastic bag to cover your ankle so you can take a shower, okay? I'm going to fill Bren and Con in on what's going on."

  He brushed a kiss over her lips and eased out of the room, leaving her and Franny watching the door close behind him. "Well, Fran," Lizzy finally said, "we've been put to bed. You okay waiting for food until tomorrow?"

  Franny wagged her stumpy tail, as if she understood every word.

  "Food first thing in the morning," Lizzy promised.

  She waited for Mac to return with a plastic storage bag and rubber bands, then stumbled across the hall into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and took a fast shower, then returned to Mac's room. There was a small dresser near the closet door, and she began opening drawers, looking for something to wear to bed.

  She found a soft, faded green tee shirt that said 'Beverly Cougars', and it settled over her body like a caress. The shirt drooped off one of her shoulders and the hem dipped over the top of her thighs. She studied it for a moment, picturing a much younger Mac wearing it. Little League? A soccer team? She glanced at the Michael Jordan poster. Basketball?

  Some other sport he'd abandoned after his father died?

  She rubbed her face on the short sleeve of the shirt, inhaling the scent of him that clung to the fabric, even after all this time. Then she drew back the blanket and quilt on the bed, slid between crisp sheets, put the ice pack on her throbbing ankle and fell asleep immediately.

  She was running in the woods, crashing through brush and jumping over logs rotting in the mud. The man chasing her was getting closer. She risked a glance over her shoulder and stumbled against a root. It was him. The guy from the parking garage. As she watched, he lifted a gun. It looked exactly like Mac's gun.

  Then the killer morphed into Deputy Kyle Diggens. He was the one chasing her. The one gaining on her. She felt his hand on her shoulder and wrenched away from him. "No! Stop. Don't touch me!" She drew in a breath. "Help," she screamed. "Help me!"

  Instead of a shout, her voice came out as a whisper. No one would hear her. No one would help her. She was on her own.

  Diggens' breath was hot on her neck. His footsteps were so close she heard the squish of mud beneath his boots. Smelled the stink of sweat and excitement oozing from his body. "Mac! Mac! Help!"

  "Wake up, Lizzy," Mac said. He touched her cheek. "Sweetheart, wake up."

  She jerked to consciousness and opened her eyes in a darkened room. Moonlight streamed through the window, and Mac's face hovered over hers. "Mac! You came!"

  "It's okay, Lizzy. You're safe." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and eased onto the edge of the bed. "You were having a nightmare," he said quietly.

  She stared at him for a long moment, then touched his cheek to make sure he was real and not part of the dream. Bristles from his beard rasped against her fingertips, and he turned his head and kissed her palm. Warm lips lingered against her skin, and she shivered.

  "Awake now?" he murmured.

  She nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. He slid beneath the covers and tucked her against his body. "Want to talk about the dream?" he murmured against her hair.

  "No," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Just...bad. A bad dream." Wisps of terror crawled over her skin like spider webs, trying to draw her back into the dream. Her heart thundered against her ribs and her mouth was as dry as sand.

  "You're safe, Lizzy. I have you. You're safe." He stroked her back, massaged her tense muscles, murmured soothing words, held her close.

  Slowly, carefully, she drew in a trembling breath. Felt herself shaking. Tried to stop. Her breath shuddered out, caught as she inhaled, and she struggled to steady it. Her leg was tucked between his, her arms around his back. He nuzzled her neck, and his touch was comforting. Soothing.

  "It was the killer." She gulped in air and opened her eyes, focusing on Mac's face. Not the killer. Mac was holding her. "He was chasing me through the woods. He had a gun. Then he changed to...to the deputy sheriff. From...before. I could feel his breath on me. His...his..." She swallowed, horrified to feel tears welling up.

  "Shhh, Lizzy." He turned her face up to his and brushed her curls out of her eyes. "Shhh. You're not in the woods. You're here, with me. In my mother's house. You're safe. Brendan and Connor are downstairs. No one can get to you."

  She buried her face in his neck and pressed her mouth against his skin. He tasted salty, and she wondered if it was the spray from Puget Sound, trailing him all the way back to Chicago.

  She should push him away. He'd woken her from the dream, and she was grateful, but she didn't want him to see her like this. A whiny mess. A woman who needed to be soothed after a nightmare.

  He felt so good, though. His heart beat against hers, strong and steady. His arms were comforting as he held her close. She was engulfed by Mac, and she felt safe. Secure.

  She could stay here for another moment. Just until her breathing steadied and her muscles relaxed. His scent wrapped around her and she closed her eyes, letting Mac fill her senses.

  "I need to take a shower," he murmured. "I'll be right back."

  "Not yet. Stay." It had been so long since she'd felt safe. So long since she could completely relax. Surely a few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

  ***

  Lizzy woke with the sun warming her face and a furnace at her back.

  A furnace that had its arm wrapped around her.

  Mac. Just four days, and his scent was imprinted in her brain. Four days, and all she had to do was catch a whiff of his piney, outdoorsy smell and she wanted him.

  Not good.

  "I can feel you thinking." His voice, still husky from sleep, sizzled through her like she'd touched a live wire.

  "Why...you're...let me go." She wanted to face him. To see his eyes, touch the bristles of his beard, bury her nose in his neck.

  Not good at all.

  "Don't want to let you go." He flexed his hips, and his erection nestled into the cleft of her ass. Fire rushed through her veins, heating her skin, pooling between her legs. She couldn't stop herself from arching into him.

  He groaned, and his arm tightened around her. His fingers splayed over her ribs, and she squirmed. She needed him to move his hand up. Just a little. Or down. Down would be good, too. In fact, down would be perfect.

  "Talk to me Lizzy," he murmured, sucking at the tender skin of her nape. "Tell me why you want me to let you go."

  Why did she want him to let her go? He flexed his hips again, and her body pulsed. Wanted. Her brain was useless. It could do nothing but beg for him to touch her.

  "I, ah..." He cupped her breast with his hand. "Oh, God."

  "You want me to let you go, right?" he murmured into her ear. His teeth scraped her ear lobe, and she arched against him again. "Right, Lizzy?"

  "Mac," she whimpered.

  "I like that you're wearing my shirt." He traced the white letters on the front of it, his fingers brushing over her nipples, a whisper-light caress. She swallowed the moan that rose from the back of her throat. "Never thought basketball could be so sexy."

  He finished tracing the letters, and his hand settled on her belly. She ached for him, swollen and hot. Wet. She throbbed in time with the pounding of her heart. "Please, Mac,"

  "You're begging me to let you go?" He nibbled at her nape again, swirled his tongue in languid patterns. "Really?"

  "No!" He smoothed her hair away from her neck and nuzzled her, tiny sucking kisses that sent sizzles of heat flashing through her. "Don't stop." Don't ever stop.

  She felt his mouth curl into a smile against her skin. "Not going to stop," he said. He slid his hand beneath her shirt and explored her belly, swirling his fingers over her skin, into her belly button, over her skin again. Each time creeping higher, until she couldn't stand it any longe
r.

  "Touch me," she begged.

  "Where, Lizzy?" He brushed one finger over the bottom of her breast and bit lightly on the tendon in her neck.

  "My breasts."

  "Like this?" He cupped one in his hand, testing its weight. Being careful to avoid her aching nipple.

  "No," she breathed. She held her breath as his fingers caressed the sides, the tops, the valley between her breasts.

  "Tell me, Lizzy."

  His beard scraped against her neck and she grabbed his hand and put it on her nipple. "Here. I want you to touch me here."

  "I thought you'd never ask."

  He brushed his thumb over the aching tip once, then again. She couldn't stop herself from squirming against him. "Mac! Please!"

  Mac turned her onto her back and shoved the shirt over her breasts. Then he took her into his mouth.

  When she cried out, he covered her mouth with his and swallowed the noises she couldn't help making. He stroked her tongue with his, and eased his hand beneath her panties.

  He slid one finger between her folds, and she rose up on the bed, needing more. She wouldn't be able to bear it if he stopped. Then he circled her clit, and she moaned into his mouth.

  His breathing quickened as he touched her, circling, pressing, circling again. "Mac," she sobbed as her climax approached. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

  He sealed his mouth to hers and slid two fingers inside her, then pressed down on her clit. She tried to choke back her scream as she came, clutching him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

  He held her tightly as the spasms began to fade, then tugged her onto his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

  Even through his boxers and her panties, his cock was hot between her legs. She reached down to touch him, but he caught her hand and twined their fingers together.

  "What's wrong?" She struggled to free her hand, but he held on more tightly. "I want to touch you. I want you inside me."

  He groaned. "God, Lizzy. You're going to kill me." He arched into her once, then once more, before easing her to his side. "We'll have to wait until we're somewhere more private. Somewhere we can make love without everyone in the house knowing what we're doing. This bed squeaks. A lot."

  She slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and caressed his length. "Can't I..."

  "I would love nothing more." He took her hand and guided it away from his cock. "But I'll move and I don't want you to be embarrassed in front of my mother and brothers. I can wait."

  Lizzy propped herself on one elbow and looked down at Mac. His skin was flushed and taut. His eyes were almost completely black, only a tiny rim of blue still visible. He gripped her too tightly, his fingers curling into her side, and his muscles were rock-hard against her body.

  She had never been with such an unselfish man.

  "In the shower?"

  He smiled and kissed her. Deepened the kiss until her hands burrowed beneath his pajama pants. Then he eased her away. "They'd hear us," he said. "I won't do that to you. So I'll take a pass."

  "I don't know what to say," she murmured.

  He sat up and dragged his thumb over her lips. "Say you want to do this again soon, and I'm good." He bent and kissed her. Lingered. "And promise that next time, you won't hold back those screams. I know you were trying to be quiet."

  "No holding back," she agreed.

  Mac swung his legs over the side of the bed. His boxers were still tented, and she wanted to touch him. Wanted to give him as much pleasure as he'd given her.

  Instead, she gripped the sheet to keep from reaching for him.

  "You want the shower first?" he asked. "I'll go get our clothes. I tossed them in the washing machine last night, and I'm sure my mom already put them in the dryer."

  "Um, sure. A shower sounds great." It was odd to be thinking about laundry and who showered first. Mundane, everyday things instead of murder and escape and being on the run. "Then what?"

  "Then I take a shower, we have breakfast, and we talk about the plan."

  "We have a plan?

  "Worked some stuff out with my brothers last night. We'll talk about it downstairs."

  She didn't want to think about a plan. She wanted to take him in her hand, in her mouth, give to him what he'd given to her. She wanted to wrap him in her arms afterwards, hold him tightly, feel his breath against her hair as she rubbed her cheek against his bristly chin, inhaled his scent.

  She wanted to get to know his brothers and his mother.

  She wanted...things she couldn't have.

  Dangerous things.

  As long as she was in Mac's mother's house, as long as his brothers were nearby, they were at risk. Mac wasn't safe.

  No one else could get hurt protecting her.

  So she unwrapped the bandage around her ankle, stood up, bent to kiss him once more, and limped out of the room.

  Chapter 18

  Mac closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of the shower in the bathroom across the hall. Lizzy was standing under the spray, her hair wet, her body slippery with water and soap. Memories from the previous night in the cabin spooled through his brain, making him painfully hard.

  If they were anywhere but here, in his childhood house, he'd be in that shower with her. He'd pin her against the wall, lift her until she could wrap her legs around his waist, and he'd slide into her hot, welcoming body.

  Every atom in his body ached to be in that shower with her. Wanted to see her in the daylight, map her body with his hands and his mouth. He wanted to make her come until she was limp and exhausted in his arms, then start all over again.

  As the pictures flashed through his brain, he shoved his hand into his boxers, imagining it was Lizzy's hand, Lizzy's fingers stroking him. Caressing him. Kissing him as she touched him, drinking in the sounds he made. Cupping him gently, making him groan.

  Lizzy, sliding her fingers up and down, driving him insane, making it impossible to hold back. Touching him until he came so hard that his vision went gray.

  He clenched his teeth and bowed his head until the spasms stopped, then flopped back on the mussed bed. Inhaled the sheets that smelled like Lizzy, felt himself stir again.

  She couldn't find him like this, like a teen-aged boy who couldn't control himself. He was supposed to be protecting her.

  So he struggled upright, stripped off his boxers and pulled on a pair of sweatpants.

  The water in the shower stopped, and he closed his eyes. Lizzy would be standing in the steam, drying herself. Combing the tangle of her curls away from her face, taming them into submission.

  He liked her wild, curly, uncontrolled hair. It suited her. He wanted time. Time to play with those long curls, wind them around his fingers, breathe in the scent of her. Time to watch her comb her hair at night before she went to bed. Time to feel those curls trail against his skin as she kissed her way down his chest.

  Not the time for that.

  He couldn't afford to daydream about having Lizzy in his bed. Couldn't let his mind wander. Couldn't be distracted.

  He needed to focus on his job, because right now, his job was to keep Lizzy safe and to find out who killed Kelly. Figure out how deep the cancer in his office ran.

  Remove it before the poison spilled over and contaminated everything. Before all the good the FBI did was ruined by a few.

  The door opened and Lizzy walked in, a towel wrapped around her. She scanned the room, clutching the towel between her breasts. "Did you get our clothes?" She didn't meet his gaze.

  "Just heading down there." He watched as she shifted from one foot to the other, wincing when she put weight on the sprained ankle. Her gaze lingered on his bare chest, then she looked away. But not before he'd seen the flush spread over her face.

  He was glad she felt awkward. Glad she wouldn't look at him. Thanked God she wasn't all giddy and happy. Her self-consciousness made it easier to do what he had to do. To keep his hands off her. To focus on his job.

  But
he ached with the loss. He wanted the Lizzy who'd come apart in his arms twenty minutes earlier. Wanted her in his bed. In his life.

  In order for that to happen, he needed to keep her alive.

  "I, ah, need to feed Franny," she said as she sat on the bed. "And where is she, by the way?"

  "Brendan has her." Thank God they were talking about something other than what had happened in this room earlier. "He's probably already fed her."

  "Good. That's good. Thanks." She met his eyes, then her gaze skittered away. "I should, ah, get dressed so I can go downstairs."

  "Right. I'll get our clothes."

  "Before you go, could you help me wrap my ankle?"

  He picked up the discarded beige bandage coiled on the floor. "Brendan said he'd get a soft cast for you. It'll be easier to deal with than the bandage. We'll get it on your ankle when you come downstairs."

  "Okay." She wrinkled her nose as if she was trying to understand. "That's...that's really nice of him. Does he carry stuff like that around with him?"

  "No. He probably asked Mia to bring it over. She's was going to bring some other stuff." He began to coil the bandage into a roll and shrugged. Lizzy still looked confused. "It's not that big a deal. You're here with me, I'm family, that's what we do."

  Lizzy nodded slowly, but he saw a flicker of pain, quickly hidden. "Okay. Tell him thank you."

  "You can tell him yourself as soon as you get dressed." He dropped his gaze to where the towel was knotted between her breasts. He needed to get out of this room. A barely-covered Lizzy was too much for him to handle right now.

  He ran down the stairs, ignoring his brothers, who were lounging at the dining room table with their phones and empty plates in front of them. His mother was in the kitchen, finishing a cup of coffee. "Hey, Mom," he said as he passed her, then turned into the tiny laundry room and pulled their clothes out of the dryer.