Heat of the Moment

by Diana Duncan

  “Here is good. This is fine.”

  “No. I want you in my bed.” He scooped her up and she wound her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. To the erotic beat of drums and the echoing strains of “In the Air Tonight,” Liam carried her upstairs. Every step caused her moist, sensitized center to ride the hard ridge of his arousal.

  Phil Collins’s sensual lyrics mirrored her need; she’d been waiting for this moment all her life. “You can have me wherever you want me.” She writhed against him. “Just hurry!”

  His breathing rapid, he chuckled unsteadily. “Keep that up, and I’m gonna forget how to walk.”

  She moaned in pleasure and kissed his neck, devoured his essence. “As long as you don’t forget how to do anything else.”

  He laid her on the bed. Light from the hallway gilded the passion-taut lines of his face as he drank her in. His glowing admiration made her feel more beautiful than a Monet garden, more precious than Michelangelo’s Pieta.

  Seconds later, he followed her down, his solid body heavy and powerful on top of her. The possessive glint in his emerald eyes was all male. “I’ll remember everything about you. Always, my sweet Kate.” In one smooth motion, he sank deep inside her.

  She was prepared for the quick stab of discomfort. But not the shock of searing intimacy. Not the heart connection.

  Not the ultimate bond of soul-to-soul.

  In a horrifying instant, her fatal mistake hit home. She’d struggled back from the shattering brink of loss and betrayal, convinced she had nothing more to lose.

  But she’d been dead wrong.

  Her beautiful kaleidoscope picture shattered. If she let Liam O’Rourke as deeply into her heart as she had her body, he would have more power to ruin her than the two traumas combined. Love ’em and leave ’em Liam could destroy her. When things inevitably got complicated, his rejection would hurtle her over the edge into the depths of hell. And she would never resurface.

  Liam froze above her. “Dammit, Kate, why?”

  Dying inside, she choked out, “I’m…sorry.” She stiffened, braced for his wrath. She deserved it. “I can’t…do this.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Okay. It’s okay. I didn’t realize— Hell, Kate, why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered on a sob. “I never intended…” To expose my heart. To make myself fatally vulnerable to you. “I didn’t know it would be so…” Soul-shatteringly intimate.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” Horror darkened his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.” Mortification sickened her. She was as clumsy in bed as everywhere else. “Could you please…get off me?”

  “Sure.” Slowly, gently, he withdrew and rolled to the side.

  Humiliated, and feeling more alone than ever, she covered her face. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, Liam. But I am truly sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing.” He drew her into his embrace. She hid her face in his shoulder, but he grasped her chin and made her look at him. “What just happened here?”

  “I made a mistake. I thought it would be…different.” She’d thought he could make her forget. Instead, he’d made her remember who and what she was. Or rather, wasn’t.

  Made her see the potential for her own devastation.

  She couldn’t trust anyone. Not even herself.

  His expression tender, his tone patient, Liam kissed the tip of her nose. “Talk to me, Kate. What’s going on?”

  Nearly blind with panic, she blurted out the only thing she could think of to stall him. “I’d like to…shower first.”

  “Sure, sweetheart. Use the first floor bath, the rooms up here aren’t finished. I’ll order Chinese food. Then we can eat and talk.” As she gingerly eased off the bed, he sat up and swung his long legs over the mattress. “Let me help you downstairs.”

  That’s all she needed to complete her descent into hell. “I’m fine, thanks anyway.” She turned and fled.

  In the kitchen, she gathered her scattered clothes. Clutching them, she locked the bathroom door and turned on the shower.

  Upstairs, horror assaulted Liam, and he lowered his head into his hands. He’d just abruptly ended Kate’s virginity. She’d been more than ready, but if he’d known, he’d have taken far more time with her. Been much more gentle, stayed in control.

  He scrubbed his palms over his face. Who was he blowing a smoke screen for? If he’d known, he’d never have taken her to bed. Even that small expectation of commitment would have sent him hurtling into a tactical retreat. Confusion slammed into fear. Except he hadn’t been able to resist Kate. The instant he’d spotted her in the bar, he’d been drawn to her side. Every defense he’d deployed had been useless against basic physics.

  An irresistible force pulling in an immovable object.

  He clenched his jaw. He loved women, loved everything about them, but he never dated the same girl twice. After his fiancée had cold-bloodedly warbled “buh-bye” to their three-year relationship without so much as blinking, he’d made a decision to avoid entanglements. He did the leaving, before anyone could abandon him.

  A gust of wind rattled the house, and he jerked upright. How long had he been absorbed in self-recriminations while the shower ran on and on? He shoved his legs into his slacks and zipped them while he sprinted downstairs. “Kate?” He knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”

  No response.

  “Kate!” He curled his fist and pounded. “Answer me!”

  Dead silence.

  Gut-wrenching panic ripped through him as he shook the locked doorknob. Had she passed out? He kicked in the door. Icy wind blasted through the open window, blowing the curtains aside. There was no trace of Kate…except for her torn panties in the trash can. She had vanished into the storm.

  Chapter 2

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Present Day, August 30, 12:15 p.m.

  Shaking from the memory, Kate jolted back to the present. How ironic. She’d finally rebuilt her life…and was about to die.

  She peered through the undulating heat curtain. TV cameras recorded every nuance as Carson, the young bomb tech, stood in the distance engaged in fierce conversation with a taller guy who had his back to her. Snug, faded denims showcased the new man’s athletic build, and like Carson, he wore combat boots. Longish, wavy black hair brushed the collar of his navy T-shirt. Bold white lettering on the shirt’s broad back proclaimed: I am a bomb tech. If you see me running, try to keep up.

  They weren’t going to send in the comedian? Both men turned and walked toward her car. Maybe the Joker was her only hope. Hardly reassuring. Tall, dark and so-not-funny took the lead, and the cameras followed his progress. There was something wrenchingly familiar about his loose-limbed saunter. Something heart tugging about the confident tilt of his head. Kate’s breathing sped up. He broke through the shimmering curtain, and his face swam into view. Kate gasped. Reeled.

  Oh, God! The last man she ever expected to see. The last man she wanted to see. Especially during her last moments!

  Liam O’Rourke!

  His hair was longer, his hard-muscled body leaner, his sculpted features more rugged. Two years had matured his good looks from just unbelievable into devastatingly handsome. She knew the instant he recognized her. He faltered, stumbled, and his beautiful face turned to stone. Then he recovered, schooled his features and strode full speed ahead.

  He reached the car, and his sexy mouth twisted sardonically. “I’ll be damned. A blast from the past.”

  Carson hurriedly caught up with him. “Meet Officer Liam O’Rourke. He has the best hands in the Western Hemisphere.”

  She stared up into Liam’s thick-lashed emerald eyes that still glowed with the secrets of the universe. “Yes, I know.”

  “Just Kate.” The smoky intimacy in Liam’s deep voice told her he remembered that the last time they were together they’d both been naked. “Long time no see.”r />
  In spite of the relentless heat, a shiver trembled over her. “I didn’t know you were a bomb tech.”

  He turned to Carson. “I’ll take it from here. Bug out of the hot zone.” Carson jogged away, and Liam swiveled back to her. “No. You didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

  Her gaze skittered from the censure on his gorgeous face to the dying calla lily. Over two years later, he was still angry. Could he be the man who was stalking her? Had he pretended to be surprised to see her? Nobody would know more about planting a bomb than a bomb tech. But why come to her aid? Confusion and fear spun in a sickening whirl. Maybe to make her trust him?

  “I need to get between your legs.” His demand cut into her turbulent thoughts.

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Hello.” He gestured with a pair of wire cutters. “Improvised incendiary device under the seat.”

  Gad, she was in sorry shape if the mere sight of him had made her forget she was sitting on a bomb. “Oh, right.”

  He flashed her a wicked grin as he slipped between her bare legs. “Déjà vu, Just Kate?”

  She was so not going there. “You’re a long way from Oregon.”

  “Riverside SWAT is engaged in tactical cross-training for Homeland Security with Vegas SWAT and the FBI.” His bristled cheek grazed her calf in a sensual caress, and her toes curled.

  Fate had again thrown her into his path during a crisis. “Once more, we’re both in the right place at the wrong time.”

  “Guess this is your lucky day.”

  “Yes, I’m so fortunate that some nut job wants to blow me to kingdom come.”

  His warm breath feathered over her instep, making her stomach jitterbug. “If I weren’t in Vegas, he’d have succeeded.”

  “I sincerely hope that arrogance isn’t misplaced.”

  “Relax.” He chuckled. “You’re in the best hands in the Western Hemisphere.”

  Been there, done that, had abandoned the torn panties. She didn’t doubt his prowess…in bed. Whether she trusted him with her life was another question. Her temples throbbed. She despised giving up control, hated not having a choice.

  Six hours after she’d run out on him, she’d boarded a one-way flight to Europe. As the 747 had lifted into the sky, she’d prayed for forgiveness. And hoped that somehow she would find the strength to resurrect her spirit from the grave of despair.

  Over the past two-plus years, she had reinvented herself. She’d rebuilt her shattered psyche an excruciating step at a time. She was a woman reborn. Nobody’s pawn. She was in charge of her fate.

  Until the stalker had upped the ante.

  Liam’s strong fingers gripped her ankle. “I need more room. Prop your right leg over my shoulder.”

  Flushing, she did as he directed. No need to stress over the bomb. She’d expire from embarrassment. If she lived, tonight’s entry dictated to her electronic journal would be a lulu! Dear Diary, an old lover I never wanted to see again saved me from getting blown to smithereens by a crazed stalker.

  He whistled. “Nice piece of work! Never run into one built quite like this.”

  “That’s what Carson said.” He’d also informed her that, because of the close quarters, the bomb tech couldn’t wear protective gear. Liam was as vulnerable as she was. She bit her lip. “Can you deactivate it?”

  “No worries.” His voice was muffled as his big, warm hand eased her thighs farther apart. “I don’t seem to have a problem not causing an explosion where you’re concerned.”

  Her flush burned hotter. As if she needed a reminder of her ultimate humiliation. Even more humiliating, her body still craved his…like a dangerous narcotic. She’d locked away her longing over the years of agonizing withdrawal. But her subconscious insisted on tormenting her with dreams of being in Liam’s bed. Dreams that left her trembling with need and aching with desire that no amount of cold showers could quench.

  Why did her mind continue to inspire passion that her body was incapable of consummating?

  “I’m gonna shift you into a better position.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “All my ideas are good.” Several seconds passed. “Except one,” he muttered. “Once upon a time.” His wide palm covered her thigh, and she jumped. “Easy. Hold real still.” He pressed the lever, and her seat hummed slowly backward.

  He returned his focus to beneath her. Long, tense heartbeats of thick silence ticked past. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip, and she fought not to fidget.

  “Hmm.” Liam’s dubious exclamation made her go rigid. That didn’t sound promising. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Why?”

  “Trying to determine which wire to cut.”

  Belatedly, she remembered the man had claimed his middle name was Gamble. “You’re gambling with our lives?”

  “More like an educated guess.” He laughed. “Live life on your own terms, Just Kate.”

  “I d-don’t…” Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat. “I don’t have a favorite color.” Not anymore. She only saw the world through her camera lens…in shadowed shades of gray.

  “Black it is.” His unruffled reply was as jaunty as ever. Metal bit into metal, unnaturally loud in the heavy silence.

  “Son of a bitch!” Liam gritted, and she flinched. He segued into fast motion. “I suggest you offer up any last prayers. Fast.” Rapid-fire snaps echoed from under her seat.

  Hot, suffocating air jammed in her lungs. She cringed, braced for the fireball that would end their existence.

  Nothing happened.

  Liam’s broad back rose and fell. He emerged from beneath her and knelt between her thighs. His dark hair was tousled, and his eyes sparkled as if he’d stepped off a thrill ride instead of cheating death by seconds. “That was interesting.”

  The horizon spun in crazy loop-de-loops. “It’s over?”

  “Yeah.” He shot her a wry smile. “After the big buildup, the finish is often anticlimactic.”

  “Stop it,” Kate whispered. Her shoulders sagged and she wove from side to side.

  “Whoa! Head down.” Liam pushed Kate’s head between her knees. Her soft cheek brushed his, and her sun-warmed hair trailed over his skin like silken licks of flame. His belly clenched. When he’d recognized her, the world had screeched to a halt. His brain had blanked out. He’d forgotten how to walk.

  He’d had to force aside stunned shock and snap his focus back to save her life. Now that the danger had passed, Kate consumed all his attention.

  Her shiny chestnut hair was longer, down to her midback. She’d gained much-needed weight, and the ragged, angry red scars mottling her right arm had faded to pink. The biggest difference was in her face. The raw pain that had been torturing her when they’d met had ebbed to haunted shadows in her big brown eyes.

  He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her essence. She smelled the same, like the elegant, expensive flower gardens gracing estates where he used to mow lawns for spending money.

  His heart stumbled, mimicking his body’s reaction when he’d recognized her. Two-plus years of soul-searching. Twenty-nine months of questions. One hundred and sixteen weeks of living hell receded into the past as he held Kate in his arms.

  Liam had never confided in anyone about Kate. Why talk, when only action achieved results? Hell, he didn’t understand why he was so confused and hurt—so obsessed over tracking down a woman he’d known mere hours. So he’d suffered in silence and camouflaged his pain behind a good-time-guy smoke screen.

  But everything had changed for him that night. His life, his beliefs, his heart had been flipped upside down and yanked inside out. He’d spent four months searching for her and the following two months serial dating—trying to forget her. He’d eventually stopped dating, but he’d never forgotten Kate. Even as recently as an hour ago, he’d studied women’s faces as he passed them on the street, hoping, needing to find her.

  No other woman tripped his pulse. No ot
her woman weakened his knees. No other woman hurtled adrenaline through his system with the same thrilling rush he got when he disarmed a bomb.

  No other woman terrified him.

  Just Kate.

  “I still remember the way you taste,” he whispered into her silky hair.

  She flinched away like he’d burned her and jerked upright. “Are you stalking me?”

  Yanked out of the past, he blinked. “What?”

  “Notes, flowers…and now a bomb. Is this your way of exacting revenge because I ran out on you—”

  “Hold the phone, babe. How could I send notes and flowers when I didn’t even know who the hell you were?”

  “You’re a cop, you could have easily found out.”

  “I searched for you for months. But I had no last name, address, make or model of vehicle. Nobody at the bar remembered seeing you before. I didn’t know where you worked. Mercy Hospital wouldn’t release patient information. I had squat.”

  Her eyes widened in bewilderment, her long lashes dark against her pale face. “Only my first name,” she whispered.

  “Just Kate.” He scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. “Do you know how many variations of Kates live in the vicinity of Riverside, Oregon? One thousand, four hundred and eighty-two.” He clenched his jaw. “None of them were you.”

  “You called over a thousand women?”

  “I could hardly trot around with a pair of torn panties and see who they fit.”

  Her lips went white. “Why did you try so hard to find me?”

  He’d convinced himself it was because he wanted to ensure she was okay. He wasn’t a player. He’d never taken a woman to bed without a clear understanding of terms.

  Just Kate.

  When he messed up, it was his duty to fix it. “Out of all the men in the bar that night, why did you go home with me? Why did you give away your virginity to me?”

  Trembling, she stared down at the tips of her French manicured toenails. “I didn’t intend to sleep with you.”

  “You could have changed your mind at any time. Refused me at any time.” He nearly choked as he spilled out the terrible fear that had tortured him for two years. “I never would have forced you. You had a choice, even at the last second. One simple ‘no’ would have stopped me cold. You do know that?”