by Julie Miller
A laugh vibrated through Edward’s body, and Holly smiled. “You loved her with all your heart, didn’t you.”
He nodded. “I’ve always had a thing for strong women. You know, the reason I’m not too big on the season is…” His arms tightened again. When they didn’t relax, Holly didn’t complain. “Her last words to me…”
His ragged, pain-filled breath tore at Holly’s heart. She wriggled her arms free and propped herself up on one elbow, crying herself as she caressed the lines of sorrow from beside his taut mouth. “What did Melinda say?”
His eyes crinkled and the tears spilled over. “She was lying there in the snow beside Cara’s body, her own precious life seeping away, and she said…‘Merry Christmas, Daddy.’ She was still happy, still trying to make me feel better, and she said, ‘Merry Christmas.’”
She kissed a tear from the corner of his mouth, kissed another from his cheek and wept along with him.
“Sounds like she was saying, ‘I love you’.”
“Yeah.” Edward’s gaze focused, tearing himself from the past and looking up into her eyes. He was with her now. With her in the warm, soothing dark on this couch. Putting the past to rest. Seeing her. Healing. “Yeah. She was saying, ‘I love you.’”
The intensity of the emotions he’d shared blended with the heat stirring between them and transformed into something else entirely. Healing took on a new form as he slipped both hands beneath her camisole and skimmed it off over her head. With little to cover, Holly rarely wore a bra and Edward’s hungry gaze seemed to appreciate that fact.
Aligning her squarely over his body, he pulled one breast into his mouth, the straining tip eagerly budding as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive nipple. Spikes of red-hot desire arrowed through her, landing straight in her womb and making her hips twist against his, seeking release.
Holly cradled his head between her hands, guiding his wicked tongue to the other breast. She pressed kisses to his hair and gasped as he pulled on her, igniting a liquid fire in her veins. “Edward…” His hips bucked beneath her and Holly’s thighs spread open. “Ed…”
He abandoned her breasts to capture her mouth and take her in a thorough, drugging kiss that reached into her heart and granted him whatever he wanted, whatever he needed from her.
The hands that had roamed across her back slid lower, dipping into the waistband of her jeans. Holly ran her hands over his chest, curling hairs prickling her palms and exciting her skin. As one hand slipped deeper beneath the denim to squeeze her bottom, the other came around to work the snap and zipper of her jeans.
“I need you, Stick.” He nipped at her chin. Tongued the spot and nipped her again. “I need you.”
“Yes.” The bulge inside his jeans pushed against her hip and she instinctively moved to cradle him. “Yes.”
His breath was hot and moist and erratic as he inched his way toward her breasts again. “Tell me to back off now, or this is gonna happen.”
Holly pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed him hard, squeezing him through their jeans. “Trust me, sweetheart, my answer is yes.”
With a sweep of motion and a creak of leather and a dozen more kisses, Holly was naked, pinned beneath Edward’s strong, male body. He’d paused long enough to cover himself, but now he was stretching her arms above her head, nudging her thighs apart with his knee, and she was loving it. Loving him.
He entered her slowly and Holly arched at the almost instantaneous heat that burst into flame at the spot where their bodies joined, groaning with delight as she adjusted to take more of him. “Are you all right?” He quickly withdrew, grunting at the effort it took to hold himself back. “I’m so out of practice. If I hurt you—”
“Damn it, Edward.” She pulled her hands free and forced him to look her in the eye. “You did not hurt me. You will not hurt me. Not with this or anything else. I’m one of those strong women you talked about. The ones you can’t resist? I want you in me. Now.”
He smiled.
“That I can do.”
He took her in one long stroke and Holly convulsed around him. By the time he’d pumped his release inside her, she was crying out his name, shouting out her pleasure and welcoming him straight into her heart.
SOMETIME DURING THE NIGHT, Edward roused himself from the clinging delight of Holly’s naked body. His first intention had been to retrieve the blanket that had fallen to the floor so he could cover her. But now he found the blanket hanging from his hand while he watched her sleep.
As the glow from the firelight warmed her creamy skin, he checked her from head to toe, looking for bruises or any other kind of injury or discomfort he might have caused her. He touched a dark spot here. No, just a shadow. He brushed a pink abrasion on the swell of her breast, wishing he’d taken the time to shave before he’d left the mark of passion on her.
He dipped his nose into the sugary vanilla warmth of her hair, breathing in her scent as he draped the blanket around her. He didn’t have any problem keeping her warm on a winter’s night with the shelter of his body, but he thought he should do something a little more tender, show her a little more finesse, than that bull-in-a-china-shop rut she’d shared with him earlier.
Despite her claim that she was a strong woman—and in countless ways, she was—Holly was also a woman who had stitches in her head and a hugely compassionate heart. She’d cried at the tragic beauty of Melinda’s short life, had shared his sorrow and listened and kissed away his own tears.
And then, when the emotions became too much—while the barriers were down and he could no longer filter his reactions through the mores of polite society, she’d given him her body. She’d offered herself like a balm to his ravaged soul, and he’d taken everything she was willing to give. Edward had buried himself so deep inside her that he lost himself. He hadn’t felt the pain then, hadn’t felt the sorrow. He hadn’t been able to feel anything beyond his need for this sweet, smart woman.
He owed her far more than sexual release, far more than his thanks.
With a sigh that whispered across his skin, she settled more closely against him. Content. Secure. Trusting.
Her thigh accidentally brushed between his and Edward jerked, wanting her all over again.
“Satisfied that I’m in one piece?” Her drowsy voice was as intimate as a caress.
“Relieved,” he answered honestly, surprised to discover she was awake. Maybe that touch hadn’t been so accidental, after all. He began to think he’d been had. Drawing light circles against the soft skin of her back, he raised a riot of goose bumps and she shivered.
“Brrr.”
“Serves you right.” He smiled against her hair. “Spying on me when I’m trying to look my fill of you.”
The long, tall vixen sat up, letting the blanket pool around her hips and exposing every lean, perfect curve to the dappling touch of the firelight. Edward wanted to touch, too. She pulled his hands from her waist and lifted them right up to cover her breasts.
“Seen enough?”
All he could do was shake his head as she straddled him.
The embers between them fanned back to life and burned with equal intensity the second time around. In a glorious conflagration, he thrust himself up inside her and she cried out with a passion that made him feel like a whole man, a talented lover and one lucky son of a gun.
This time, when they finished, he led her to his bedroom and tucked her under the covers on a proper mattress. When he reached for her, she came willingly into his arms.
Edward lay awake in the dark, long after Holly’s soft snore told him she’d fallen into a deep sleep.
He was fighting hard to fix his armor back into place, listening for sounds around the perimeter of the house that might indicate anyone who shouldn’t be there. He tried to get the tough guy back who could spot the bad guys and keep them at bay long before they got close to the people he cared about. He tried to figure out how strong he could be when she wasn’t around to drive him to an AA meeting
or listen to his sorrows or talk him out of his fears.
He could call his sponsor, make an appointment with a counselor. Those questions he could answer.
But one problem left him completely stumped. He was in love with Holly Masterson.
What was he supposed to do about that?
Chapter Eleven
“Son of a…”
It was only one of many curses that brought Holly running out of the shower that morning.
“What do you mean, she got cut off? How much do we know?”
Wrapped in a towel and dripping on the throw rug beside Edward’s bed, Holly watched him pace from one end of the room to the other, half-dressed and all tense. His handsome face grew more tight and more grim with each step as he dealt with whatever horrible news the caller on his cell phone had to share.
“Yes, I said that to Bill Caldwell.” He raked his hair into spiky disarray as the fury worked through him. “I was stirring the pot, trying to get him to show his hand by appealing to his conscience.”
His caller made a comment. “Yeah—it worked too well. But he said he loved Mom. I saw the guilt in his eyes, Atticus. He won’t hurt her.”
At least now she knew it was one of his brothers calling. Was there a family emergency? A break on their father’s case? She was already worried for him. Now she was just plain worried. “Edward?”
He slid his steely glance across the bed, acknowledging her. Then he pointed to her clothes from the night before that he’d folded and laid neatly on the bed. Holly nodded, understanding that she needed to get dressed. Fast. “No, I can’t guarantee that. I can’t guarantee anything these days. But I swear, he wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt her.”
Edward pulled a T-shirt from the second drawer of his dresser and shrugged into it. With one hand, he tucked it into his jeans. Holly picked up the brown tweed sweater he’d set out and circled around the bed to hand it to him. But he reached for something else instead.
He reached for a box on his closet shelf and pulled out his gun. Glock 9 millimeter. Police issue. He strapped it onto his belt before plucking his sweater from Holly’s startled fingers. A man with Edward’s background arming himself couldn’t be a good thing.
“What’s happened?” she mouthed, wishing they had time for morning-after conversation to discuss the closeness they’d shared last night—wishing they had time for any kind of conversation at all.
But Edward had gone into cop mode. No, something harder, more driven, more dangerous than anything she’d seen yet. Maybe she’d never get back the man who’d loved her so well last night, the man who’d opened up his heart to her. Maybe Edward Kincaid couldn’t do both anymore. He couldn’t be a cop and a lover or friend or something more.
Something inside her mourned for the dichotomy within him he couldn’t seem to resolve.
Something inside her still hoped.
“Is Holden’s team on this? What about Sawyer? Good. Get there. Now. I’m on my way.” He had his boots tied on and was striding out to the main room. “Move it, Stick,” he ordered, shielding the phone from his command. “I need to drive you to the lab or precinct headquarters.”
No way. Not if there was a break in the case. “Where are you going?”
But he didn’t hear or wouldn’t spare the time to answer. “And you’re sure Irina Zorinsky isn’t with them?”
Irina Zorinsky? Oh, my God. Holly pulled her jeans down over her boots, ready to get her coat. She could comb through her hair and put on some lipstick in the Jeep. She was ready to leave.
But she paused and went back for one more item she’d seen in the box Edward had pulled from the closet. She slipped the leather wallet into her purse, grabbed her coat and ran out the door after him. She was ankle-deep in snow before she got her coat on. They were speeding and skidding down the long gravel driveway before she had her seat belt on.
“Right. I’ll meet you there. We’ll get her back.” Edward closed his phone and stuffed it into his pocket, putting both hands on the wheel as he pushed on the gas.
“Get who back?”
“My mother. Bill Caldwell kidnapped her.”
“KIDNAPPING IS SUCH A STRONG word, Susan.” Bill Caldwell kept both hands on the steering wheel as he sped along I-435 north of Kansas City.
“What would you call it?” Her knuckles were white where she gripped the armrest of the car he’d rented for their visit to a local winery in the rolling hills northwest of Kansas City. But John Kincaid’s widow was proving as stubborn to reason with as his friend had been eight months earlier. “I ask you to turn the car around and take me home, but you won’t. I try to call my sons and tell them you’ve changed our plans, and you take my phone. Sounds to me like I’m going somewhere against my will.”
Bill reached across the seat to take her hand, but she pulled away even from the friendly touch she’d come to accept so readily these past weeks they’d been together. A little frisson of irritation crawled across his skin. True, he hadn’t had time to plan this escape the way he wanted. But he was William Caldwell, damn it. She should be grateful for the opportunitity he was giving her to escape the sorrow of these past months.
He’d discovered the remote location where he could stage their “accident.” He’d secured male and female cadavers from his research facility and packed them into the trunk. Hopefully they’d burn beyond recognition in the wreck he’d staged and be buried in their place. If not, they’d still be long gone. It was only a hop, skip and a jump to the airport. With the false passports he’d obtained, they’d be on a flight to Hong Kong before the cops even knew they were missing. They’d die, just the way Irina had. And then they’d live their new lives.
“This is a chance for us to have a new start.” He eased into the far left lane of the highway to pass a slower-moving vehicle. “We can distance ourselves from the pain of losing John and all the things around us that remind us of him.”
“New start? To what? I don’t even want to go to the wine-tasting with you anymore.”
He bit down on the sharp retort. He’d always admired Susan’s levelheadedness, her ability to meet any challenge with her chin held high and a beautifully serene smile on her face. Now that sensibility was keeping her from taking the impulsive leap he’d hoped she would. “It’s not as though you’d want for anything, Su. I have money in accounts around the world. We can live anywhere you want.”
“I want to live right here in Kansas City.” She shook her head, not comprehending the love he felt for her, nor the danger she’d be in if they turned back now. “My sons are here. I’m a grandmother again, with Sawyer’s son and a little one on the way. I don’t want to leave them.” From the corner of his eye he saw her nostrils flare as she took a deep breath. Then she reached across the seat and touched his arm. She’d defied him and lectured him. And now she thought she could sweet-talk him? “Bill. You and I have been good friends for thirty years. You and John were so close—you’ve always been family to me.”
“I don’t want to be family, Su. I want to marry you.” He took his eyes from the road long enough to condemn the false affection of her touch for the ploy it was. “I’m a good catch.”
Understanding his displeasure, she pulled away and fixed her eyes on the highway ahead of them. “I’m not sure I could have gotten through these months since John’s murder without you, Bill. Your support, your caring. For that, I will always be grateful. But I don’t love you. Not in that way.” She gestured out to the bare trees and snow-covered hills as they flew past them. “I understand this is a very romantic gesture on your part—to simply drop everything and run away together. Maybe when I was a young woman. But not now. It’s two days before Christmas. Our first Christmas without John. My sons and I—our family—we need to be together. Edward is finally showing signs of becoming the man he was before losing Cara and Melinda. If I leave now, he might see it as another loss. He’d blame himself again. I won’t do that to my son. Please, Bill. Turn the car around.”
<
br /> “Listen, Su, I’m saving your life!” He pounded the steering wheel, watched her startle and turn pale. “There are people…things you don’t know about. But Edward…knows.”
“Oh, my God, Bill. No.” Her pretty face squinched into a frown of disbelief. And then her cheeks flushed with anger. “Tell me you had nothing to do with John’s murder.”
“Su—”
“Tell me everything my sons have been telling me about Z Group isn’t true.”
Bill stared at the gray road ahead of him.
“Tell me you had nothing to do with John’s murder!”
He thought of Irina’s gloating smile as she’d climbed into the SUV that April night at the river docks. She’d still reeked of blood and gunpowder and death when she dropped John’s Z Group ring into his hands and kissed him. “He’s not one of us anymore. He doesn’t deserve to wear it.”
With his thumb, Bill turned the gold signet ring on his own finger. John should have listened to him when he’d told his friend to back away from his personal investigation into Z Group. The players were as dangerous today as they’d been during the Cold War.
Yes, he’d been selling technology on the black market through Z Group, as John suspected. Bill would have paid him for his silence, even offered to let him back on the team so he could make more money than any police officer’s pension could ever hope to. Bill would have done anything to keep him alive.
But John Kincaid had been an Eagle Scout from day one. How could he face his sons? he’d argued. How could he lead a police department if he took a bribe? He’d warned Bill that he had information that he’d hidden away. John had offered him some bizarre deal that would save his soul and secure their friendship but put Bill away in prison, probably for the rest of his life.
