Danger and Desire: Ten Full-Length Steamy Romantic Suspense Novels

by Pamela Clare

“Okay,” I said. “So how was Bailey for you? I mean, I know it’s only been a few hours. What time did she wake up?”

  “She’s been fine. She woke up at eight and had watermelon for breakfast.”

  My face fell. He was so distant. “Colin, talk to me.”

  He shook his head, though it wasn’t quite a refusal. His throat worked. Oh no, he wasn’t uncaring. He was upset. I set Bailey, who’d recovered from my absence with somewhat insulting speed, down and went over to him.

  “Hey,” I said, touching his cheek. “I know things were bad last night. But we’ll get through this, right?”

  “You shouldn’t be standing,” he said gruffly.

  It wasn’t the reassurance I’d been hoping for, but at least he cared. I let him maneuver me onto the couch. I also let him serve me the lunch he’d had delivered from his restaurant, without helping clean up afterward. Then I lay down for Bailey’s nap with her. He tucked us both into his bed, settling the blanket around us before shutting off the light and closing the door. Throughout it all, he barely said a word to me.

  No, things weren’t great between us, but they would get better.

  After the nap Colin insisted I lie down on the sofa while Bailey played in front of me. Since I was, in fact, tired, I allowed him to coddle me. Besides, about the only time he talked to me was to tell me to eat or sit or lie down, so I figured I might as well encourage him with my obedience. I wished he’d open up to me, but that wouldn’t be Colin.

  Oh, I figured he’d crack one of these days. I’d learned that much, at least, from our drama about Rick. He kept quiet, but if I waited long enough, he’d be the one to bring it up. That’s what I told myself.

  Like that night I’d been sick in my apartment, he even put Bailey down for bed.

  I lay across the hall, listening to him read Goodnight Moon. There was murmuring back and forth and a song. Then he trekked down the stairs and back up, for a glass of water was my guess. And so forth.

  Late, past Bailey’s normal bedtime routine, Colin came into our bedroom.

  “Ready to shower?” he asked.

  I raised my eyebrows, amused. “Are you telling me I stink?”

  “You’ll need help,” he said as he walked into his closet.

  Hmm, help in the shower. I did need one, and bonus—we’d be naked. I desperately needed to reconnect with Colin, and sex was the one way that had always worked. My head kind of hurt, and my body rather ached, but I could do this. It would be worth it, not to have Colin holding himself so still and tense whenever I was near.

  He came out of the closet wearing only boxers. He pulled me off the bed and undressed me, reminding me of that night in my apartment. That night he had kissed every bruise. Would he now? I had plenty of bruises in all kinds of interesting places. And if I didn’t, I’d fake it.

  Colin held my hand as I stepped into the shower; then he came in after me. He didn’t take off his boxers, though. He just walked right in and soaked them through.

  He gently soaped me, starting at my neck and working down my back, down my legs and then up my front. His blunt fingers ran the soap between my legs and then up to my breasts, reminiscent of our last time in the shower together. My body remembered, getting hot and wet. That had been good, if a little too acrobatic for my current physical state. We would just have to move slower, maybe find a nice position that involved sitting completely still.

  I slid my hand down to the wet fabric of his boxers and gripped his cock. He moved my hand away.

  “You don’t want me?” I pouted. It was a game.

  He shook his head. “Not now.”

  And then it wasn’t. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t always have to want sex.”

  I narrowed my gaze to his erection, covered in wet cloth but obvious. “I think you do.”

  “I said I don’t.”

  “Then why did you come in here with me?” I asked, honestly confused.

  “You had a concussion. You might be unsteady and slip.”

  “Fine,” I said. “So this isn’t about sex. You’re mad at me. I know you’re mad. Can we just talk about it?”

  He turned off the water. Cold air sucked into the stall, pebbling my skin. “Christ,” I said.

  Colin stepped from the shower and helped me out. Then he tossed a towel in my arms and stalked out, still dripping water, his wet boxers sagging from his hips.

  Okay, I supposed we were done talking. I dried off and put on one of my oversize sleep shirts. The bed was plush and warm and wonderful. I’d wanted to wait for him, I’d wanted to fix this, but I fell asleep.

  We slept in the same bed, as usual. Side by side, though, not touching.

  The next morning was the same, or maybe even worse. Colin made breakfast. He cleared the table. He even took Bailey for a walk. Anything but talk to me.

  And the next day Colin catered to my every need, still managing to maintain his silent treatment. The day after, Colin went to the restaurant for a few hours, but only while Bailey and I were napping. The rest of the time was spent covering me with blankets or handing me new things to read, but he seemed to be talking less as the days went by.

  Somehow he’d managed to punish and care for me at the same time. The more I pushed him to talk, the quieter and the more helpful he would become. It would be impressive if it weren’t so frustrating.

  *

  “So let me get this straight,” Shelly said. “He’s making you meals, doing all the housework, and not even asking for sex, and you’re complaining.”

  “I actually like sex with him,” I said. “But okay, when you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

  I pulled out a vase from the box and held it up. “This definitely isn’t yours.”

  She shrugged. “Just stick it on the mantel.”

  “You’re in a downtown loft. There’s no fireplace.”

  “Whatever.”

  I set it down on the dining table, next to the growing collection of rich-ass things Philip had packed in Shelly’s boxes. So far I’d found a heavy crystal clock, a figurine of a dolphin, and an oriental fan folded accordion-style. Leave it to Philip to do the breakup box backward, putting in extra stuff rather than leaving a few things out. I was surprised he’d even packed them himself, but I figured if anyone was giving away hundreds of dollars’ worth of junk from Philip’s place, it was Philip. No one else would dare.

  Shelly had been released from the hospital yesterday. I’d picked her up with Bailey. Colin hadn’t wanted me out of the house yet, hadn’t thought I was ready, but I insisted. Poor Rose had suffered the position of in-between as we’d had Shelly’s belongings brought to Colin’s house and then forwarded on to her new condo.

  No way was she going back to the mansion, not being suicidal and all. Philip had helped her after she’d been shot, sure. She had saved his life, after all. But since then, he’d had time to think, maybe about how she’d betrayed him while living under his roof and on his dime. There was no reason to press her luck.

  It had surprised me, though, that she hadn’t moved in with her cop. Sure, I had only just found out about them, but they’d seemed…intimate. But no, she told me when I asked, they weren’t a couple. They’d never even had sex, paid or otherwise. There was something there, of course, but it wasn’t enough.

  We stood in the fancy furnished apartment, boxes piled high in the large foyer.

  “Bailey, no!” I grabbed the painting, but she’d already torn the corner.

  I shoved the canvas back into place. It curled up. I stared at the ruined painting of geometrical shapes.

  “Please tell me Philip likes to paint. Or he’s one of those guys who likes to support local college kids by buying cheap art.”

  “Nope,” Shelly said, sounding almost pleased. “He’s got an art dealer. All famous stuff.”

  “Damn,” I said.

  Bailey toddled over to Shelly, who handed her a golf-ball-sized rock that looked suspiciously like an emerald.

&nbs
p; “Tell me again why we aren’t taking this stuff back,” I said.

  “It’s part of the game,” she explained. “That’s why he likes me, because I know how to play.”

  “Only rich people would throw away expensive shit for fun,” I grumbled.

  “Don’t judge, Allie baby. We’re all mad here.”

  There she went again, quoting Alice in Wonderland. Using silly to cover up the serious. I moved to the kitchen and packed the plates in the cabinets.

  “You know what I think?” she called from the sofa. “I think he’s sulking.”

  I almost thought for a minute that she was talking about Philip, and then I would have agreed that yes, maybe he was. But her voice was way too contented, and that meant she wasn’t talking about her man problems, but mine. I poked my head through the bar to look at her. “Colin doesn’t sulk. He’s angry at me. You know, for not telling him about the cops and Jacob and all that.”

  She looked puzzled. “But his brother tried to kill you. Doesn’t that mean he loses his right to be mad at you anymore?”

  Hmph. That’s exactly what I thought, but apparently not.

  I folded up the box I’d emptied and plopped down on the armchair beside Shelly. “This chair is harder than the floor,” I said.

  “Rich people,” she said, shaking her head.

  “You’re a rich person.”

  She laughed softly. “I know.”

  “Just how much money did Philip give you?”

  “Way more than I’m worth.”

  My curiosity sparked—what did she do to him?—but no. This was Philip, who I both knew and disliked, and I didn’t need the mental images.

  “What do you think I should do?” I asked.

  “I think you should make him talk to you,” Shelly said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Or maybe give him time to come around,” she said.

  “That’s the exact opposite advice.”

  She shrugged. “What the hell do I know about relationships?”

  Point taken.

  It had been a week. In only a couple of days it had been clear I was physically recovered, but we still hadn’t really talked. We still hadn’t had sex. He barely even acknowledged me.

  He’d frozen me out for one week. Surely he couldn’t last much longer.

  *

  When I woke, it was dark and still, but something prickled at my awareness. I turned my head on the pillow to see Colin standing beside the window, staring between the slit in the curtains, all big and solid and beautiful. I loved him. Well, clearly I’d hit my head. I’d turned into a sap.

  But I did love him. I’d proved myself to him, when I hadn’t given the cop information. And he’d proved himself to me, when he’d trusted me about it. It didn’t fix everything, but it was enough. It should be.

  I slipped from the bed and padded across the wood floor. He didn’t move, even when I laid my head against his back.

  “You never said if you liked them,” I said.

  There was a short pause. “Like what?”

  “The curtains. I made them, so they’re kinda wonky in places, but they’re a hell of a lot cheaper than what they were trying to sell. If you don’t like them, I can—”

  “I like them fine.”

  I ran my hands up the smooth muscles of his back to his bunched shoulders. “You’re so tense.”

  He said nothing, but he didn’t move away, so I kneaded gently. I hated that he was so upset. If he’d just open up, I could fix it, surely I could. Maybe it was just a high, but after facing the cops, both dirty and clean, and coming out on the other end intact, I felt invincible. I could be normal. We could be together.

  He sighed, and his shoulders relaxed just slightly.

  “I want to tell you something,” I said.

  He tensed even tighter.

  “No, no,” I soothed. “It’s nothing bad.”

  I waited until he’d leaned back into my hands again, urging me to continue.

  “I don’t expect anything from you when I say this. It’s just that, after everything that’s happened, I feel like I should tell you.” I slipped my hands around his waist. “I love you.”

  He bolted away so fast I almost fell over.

  “Shit,” he said as he steadied me.

  I tried not to be offended. And failed. “Shit? I mean, not that I expected you to say it back, but shit?”

  He paced away from me to the other side of the bed. What was he scared of? His hard expression told me to leave it alone, that I’d never know, but I couldn’t.

  “Are you that mad at me? I can’t even love you while you’re mad at me? Well, too bad, because I do. I love you, I love you, I love you—”

  He turned and left the room.

  Well. That could have gone better. It didn’t matter to me that he said it. I figured a girl who deserved Colin had to learn to read his actions, not his words, but even his actions hurt at this moment.

  We were so close. We had everything right there, within our grasp, but he—what? He didn’t believe in it? He didn’t want it?

  I wasn’t good enough.

  No, dammit! I wouldn’t go down that path again. It wasn’t so much a path as a sinkhole. I’d fallen into the ice, or been pushed. I’d treaded water, stuck, as people gave me pitying looks. No one wanted to come close for fear they might fall in with me, except for Colin.

  I was good enough. If he didn’t want me…well, I would be devastated. Even my newfound confidence couldn’t protect me from that. But as painful as that would be, I refused to let it define me.

  That kind of confidence mumbo jumbo was easier said than done, though. I wanted him, loved him, and his rejection hit hard. I debated leaving him alone, letting him calm down, but it had been a week since the explosion, and we’d gotten no closer to getting over this. No closer to each other.

  Down the stairs I went. I found Colin sitting on the couch.

  I sat next to him. “Colin,” I said, in my best imitation-Colin voice. “I was hoping we could be together, you know, like a happy ever after, but this doesn’t bode well for my chances.”

  It was, of course, a mimic of what he’d said to me that first night. It was also cheesy as hell, but I wanted to make him laugh, and also to show him that he’d been right. We belonged together, and he’d insisted on it until I finally believed. This was the reverse, and to my surprise it worked.

  His lips cracked just slightly. Then they slowly, reluctantly widened into a smile.

  I cheered inwardly. “Oh, you like that? I’ve got more where that came from.”

  “Yeah?” he said, the grin—that sweet, sexy grin—still in place.

  “No, that was a lie. Or a horrible attempt to talk dirty. I’m just happy I got you to smile.”

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m not that bad.”

  He ducked his head to hide his smile. I squirmed onto my belly so I could see it, like a puppy begging for attention.

  “You are that bad,” I said up at him. “You’re a bad boy. That’s what I like about you.”

  “Really?” he asked skeptically.

  “No, not really.” My head rested on his lap. I turned to nuzzle my nose into his abs.

  “So everything you’re saying right now—”

  “Lies, all of it. I like your smile, though. That’s the truth.”

  He leaned back, amused. His hand came up and stroked my hair. I closed my eyes and dreamed.

  When I woke up, I was in the bed. In the dark and alone.

  I sighed. That man was more obstinate than I gave him credit for. I didn’t want to nag him, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I got up and peeked in Bailey’s room, but she slept on, snoring softly. I went downstairs. He wasn’t in the living room, though the throw pillows were still squashed from where we’d sat on the sofa. I checked his study and the kitchen—nothing. Had I missed him upstairs? Maybe he’d decided to stand behind the curtains, seeing as a certain nosy girlfriend had disturbed his reflection last time. I s
hould let him be, but a little bit of unease had wormed its way inside me.

  Back upstairs I checked the bathroom, which was still open and dark. Then his closet. His clothes hung there, like always, but there was a gap. It could be a trick of the light. Or maybe it was laundry day.

  It wasn’t.

  The sadness hit me full force then. He’d left; I knew it.

  I checked behind the curtains anyway. Then I went downstairs and stared at the oil blot where his truck should have been parked, to be sure.

  What did it mean? Was I supposed to move out? Was I supposed to wait for him?

  I’d thought we’d stay together, I really had. And barring that, I figured we’d break up and I’d move out. Never had I really imagined that he’d leave me alone…in his house.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The day dawned drizzly. Bailey watched morning cartoons, happily oblivious to the fact that we’d soon be leaving. I sat on the couch drinking my coffee, memorizing whatever details I could see.

  When I got the energy to get up, I’d have to start packing. Then we’d have to move into a new place of our own. The details on how we’d accomplish any of that were hazy, but that didn’t make them less real.

  I supposed it made sense that Colin would break up this way. Quietly, the way he did everything else. And it also illustrated just how angry he was with me, that he couldn’t even give me the courtesy of a get out.

  He just slipped away, leaving me to figure it out and get myself gone. I could stay, make a fuss, but that would just be embarrassing for all of us.

  I would miss this place. I would miss Colin more, but for now I soaked in the somber peace of the house. The moldings at the bottom of the wall didn’t match the floorboards. They were a different kind of wood. I’d never gotten to ask Colin if he knew how that had happened.

  There was a cobweb at the top of the slanted ceiling that I’d never been able to reach, not even standing on a stool and waving a broom. It had been here before me, and it would still be there after I left.

  The weather hadn’t stayed warm enough to spend much time in the backyard. I would have liked a barbecue. I’d never been to one, but they sounded nice.

  A knock sounded at the door.