Within His Sight

by Denise A. Agnew

  A wicked expression heated his eyes. “I told you the other day. It’s because I come out on top in physical fitness tests.”

  “I know that, but these women are all wondering … you know…”

  Damn it, Mary. Get a grip, girl.

  “You felt what kissing you did to me, Mary. Was that hard enough for you?”

  His statement, raw with husky vibrations, sent additional fire rolling through her loins.

  “I’m sorry.” He sipped his sangria again. “I’ve embarrassed you.”

  “No. Yes.” Her face heated like a candle. “But last night was great.”

  Come on, Mary. Choke it out.

  Before she could speak again, he broke in. “It was great. I want more of the same.”

  Oh, hell. Just admit it. “Me, too.”

  They ate in silence a short time before trundling out to the kitchen to make another fajita.

  “Tell me more about your family,” he said.

  Oh, no. She didn’t want to tell him. But how could she refuse without sounding rude? She couldn’t.

  He prompted her. “Show me your dysfunction and I’ll show you mine.”

  Surprise made her shovel fajita fixings onto to her tortilla quicker than she might have otherwise. “You didn’t grow up in a dysfunctional family, did you?”

  He clasped the ladle as she turned it over to him. “Depends on your definition, I guess. My parents divorced when I was only three, and my mother never remarried. My father had me every other weekend and some holidays, and I love my stepmother, Maggie. She’s perfect for Dad.” He put the lid back on the slow cooker and dug into the cheese, guacamole, and sour cream. “My mother is a little jealous of Maggie, I think. All of us get together for Thanksgiving and Christmas when we can. Last year I had to work both holidays, so I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving with all of them this year. What do you do for Thanksgiving?”

  Loneliness swamped her. “I do Thanksgiving alone every year.”

  Mary stepped away before he could comment, and she headed back to the table with her plate.

  He returned a few moments later and sat down, his gaze concerned. “I sense a story behind this. You prefer being alone on holidays?”

  “I’m alone for Thanksgiving.” Her throat tightened, and she took a sip of Sangria. “Christmas I usually go to friends’ homes, but Thanksgiving is a no-no.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you mind me asking why?”

  If she wanted to have any kind of relationship with him at all, she’d have to cough up the reason. “My dad died on Thanksgiving Day.”

  Dace’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that part of it. So Thanksgiving is a rough time.”

  “It’s not rough for me.”

  His attention snapped sharply to her. “Oh?”

  Suddenly the rest of her fajita didn’t taste so good. “I haven’t talked about this in a long time. Let’s finish eating and then sit on the couch. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

  She knew stalling worked on many people, but also understood Dace wouldn’t stand for evasion forever. A harder glint entered his eyes, as if he not only didn’t understand her coldness about her father, but disapproved.

  After they’d cleared away the dishes and placed leftovers in the refrigerator, they settled on the couch. She kept a cold glass of sangria clasped between her hands. She stared into the red depths like it was a crystal ball with all the answers before placing the drink on a coaster on the coffee table.

  Dace sat close, sprawled in a cavalier, male animal pose. His hands clasped over his stomach, his head back on the couch, legs parted in typical masculine ease. Her gaze snagged on all that gorgeous flesh, and what she planned to say snapped right out of her head.

  “So your dad was a cop, your grandfather, and your great-grandfather. That’s quite a record.”

  “Dad had twenty years in the force when he died. I was eighteen. I spent my whole life putting up with him. That’s why I couldn’t feel bad about his death.”

  Nothing like spilling it all out at once in an incoherent jumble.

  “I know that sounds cold.” She almost reached for her sangria, almost wished she had spiked the drink. “There’s a lot of history in my family you don’t know.”

  “Tell me.” His voice was gentle, understanding. So much more accepting then she expected. Dace’s eyes held a guileless, urgent need to hear her out.

  “Dad wasn’t the best man in the world. In fact, he had a truckload of faults.”

  “Such as?”

  “He didn’t know how to cool down when he left work. He was sometimes biting and cruel with his jokes. I never once heard him say … that he loved me.”

  She couldn’t finish, the harshness of acknowledging the past cutting too deep.

  Dace reached for her right hand, his left covering her flesh in a warm, supportive grip.

  He didn’t urge her to speak again, but he didn’t need to. She found her stride and continued. “Dad was that way with Mom and with Teresa and me. Teresa was two years older than me. Both of us tried to please him. We got into rivalries part of the time to one-up each other. Mom didn’t try and stop the competition. After Mom died in a car accident, Dad got worse. He was colder. Harder. The harder he got, the more Teresa tried to please him. She earned her criminal justice degree and became a cop. By that time I’d just started college and was studying art. Dad hated that. Said it wasn’t practical and I’d starve. He was right about the starving part, and I discovered I wasn’t a very good artist, too.”

  Dace smiled a bit, his handsome mouth taunting her into a grin of her own. “Sounds like a hell of a family dynamic.”

  “That’s true. Teresa decided I’d never make Dad proud, so she took on the entire burden herself. I think there was part of her that wanted me to fail. She was more like Dad than anyone in our family. He never got over Mom’s death. He worked longer hours, and when Teresa was hired into the police department, he reversed his sexist attitude about women cops. He put his pride into her.”

  Dace squeezed her hand gently, then brought it to his lips. “Let me see if I can guess where this is heading.” He kissed her fingers, and the resulting tingle swirled low in her belly. “Dad decided Teresa replaced the son he never had. He paid more attention to her than you. She ate it up. He invested all his fatherly energy into her.”

  “That’s it.”

  He lowered her hand and pressed it to his left thigh. Hard muscle moved under her fingers. “There’s more?”

  “Lots more. Sure you want to hear it?”

  He released her hand long enough to brush his index finger over her nose. “Absolutely.”

  This time she reached for his hand, placing her smaller fingers over his much larger ones. She needed his warmth, his support, to continue this story. “Teresa… She…”

  He brushed back her hair. “Easy, sweetheart.”

  Her fingers tightened on his. “Teresa made a big, big mistake one day on patrol in Chicago. Her partner was injured because of it, and she was killed.”

  Dace frowned, his lips parting and eyes filled with sympathy. “No one told me that part. I thought the whole thing was just your father.”

  “Teresa died a few months before Dad.”

  Silence swallowed them as she stared at the light hardwood floor. Dace scooted closer, his arm slipping around her shoulders to bring her into his side. His warmth soothed the steady ache of memories she’d worked so hard to deny. She laid her head on his shoulder, and his arm tightened.

  “There’s more. Teresa and I didn’t know it, but my Dad started to gamble before she was killed. He got into heavy debt.”

  “Shit.”

  “Exactly. He found trouble with some bookies, and he took bribes and, well, I think you know the rest.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

  She didn’t need to say it. Or maybe she did. Maybe part of her problem was she’d never explained, refused to tell anyone. “After the internal aff
airs inquiry got hold of him Dad went home one day and…” How would she say it out loud? How? “He went home, locked himself in his car, and started it in the closed garage. It should have killed him.”

  “He was a tough man.”

  “Not in the way it counted. He made so many wrong steps, Dace. So many damned wrong steps. When his friends wondered why he didn’t show up to a gathering, they found the car in the garage and it had been running for some time. They got him out. He’d sustained a lot of brain damage. Two weeks later I let the doctors pull the plug. I knew he was at peace then.”

  “And in one way, so were you.”

  It might have sounded callous to some, but she recognized the truth in his words. “I lost my sister and my father all in one year.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mary. I can’t imagine what that’s like.” He smiled ruefully. “Who am I kidding? I can imagine, and it hurts like hell.”

  She felt moisture on her cheeks and wiped at the tears. When she looked at Dace, she saw support and understanding when she’d felt so afraid of what he might believe, what he might think.

  His acceptance sparked a healing balm in her heart. Through another sheen of tears, she tried to take a deep breath. He kissed her forehead, her nose, with a tiny brush of affection.

  How could she deny his insight when it revived her own? “You’re right. Sometimes it still hurts like hell.”

  “In some ways you’re still trying to escape your father’s legacy, aren’t you?”

  She drew back a tiny space. “What?”

  “You want to forget what happened in your family.”

  “Of course.”

  “That explains where you’ve been avoiding me for six months.”

  Puzzled, she stared at him like he’d lost his head. “I don’t understand.”

  His palm spread over her upper back rubbing up and down. “You don’t want to get involved with me because I’m a cop. But there’s a part of you that secretly wants it. You wouldn’t be working with cops if you didn’t like them in some way. You’re confused.”

  He’d hit the proverbial nail on the head, and she didn’t like it. Maybe she shouldn’t have done this … shouldn’t have invited him into her home to ferret out her secrets. After all, they were secrets for a reason.

  She eased out from under his arm and stood. Mary scanned her cozy apartment, with the touches of Chicago, of her life back in the big city. “I came to Gold Rush because I wanted to leave Chicago.”

  Dace rose and stood beside her, not touching, not speaking. Burning with curiosity and hope and a simmering attraction that never seemed to diminish, his gaze spoke volumes.

  “Thanks for listening.” She impulsively reached up to cup his face and drew his head down so she could kiss his cheek. “But I’m leaving Gold Rush soon. I need a fresh start.”

  “If you wanted to change jobs, you could. If you wanted to make things new in your life, you could. But there’s more to this. If you weren’t attracted to me and I wasn’t attracted to you, I could understand.” He slid his arms around her waist and brought her into his body. “If we didn’t feel this wild thing between us I’d say good luck and find another job in another city. But you’re trying to run away again, and I don’t want you to go.”

  Mary flattened her hands against his chest, half-tempted to push away. “Why do you want me to stay?”

  His voice lowered, went husky with emotion, his eyes full of purpose. “I’ll show you why.” Dace’s hands tunneled into her hair. He tilted her face up and kissed her.

  Oh, my. Fierce with hunger, his kiss demanded. His tongue plunged deep, hot and searching. She felt devoured, craved in a primal way that went beyond the stirrings she’d experienced with other men. Her breasts tightened, her nipples tingled. Whether she wanted it or not, he turned her on.

  When he drew back, yearning burned in his eyes. “Tell me you don’t want me, Mary.”

  “I don’t want to want you.”

  He grinned slowly. “But you do?”

  “I do.”

  She circled his waist with her arms. His satisfied smile faded into soul-searing need once more. He dove in for another kiss. With a self-assurance she hadn’t known earlier, she returned his searching, passionate kiss. She responded when his tongue touched hers, expressing the latent feelings she’d bottled up for way too long. He feasted, his touch touring downward until she felt the weight of his hand just above her left breast. A whimper escaped her throat as the toe-curling arousal shifted, grew, demanded more from her.

  Dace’s cell phone rang. He pulled back and released Mary from his embrace. “Damn it.”

  The spell was broken.

  Dace released Mary and reached for the cell phone on his belt, pacing away as he answered the call.

  “Damn. Really?” Dace said into the phone. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” After he hung up, he turned to her. “Kelso just called. Two of the guys are down with a bad stomach bug, and there’s a call out for SWAT over at an apartment building.”

  Disappointment made her sigh. She’d planned to seduce him with just a little bit more time, then he’d sidetracked her into revealing a sad section of her history. She walked toward him and put her hand on his forearm. “Is this town going to the dogs lately or what?”

  “This week it is.” He returned her grin. “I’m sorry.”

  “What can you do?”

  He leaned in to taste her thoroughly. His kiss held heat and promise. “I’ll make it up to you. What about tomorrow night at six? My house this time?”

  Part of her wanted to say no, because she remembered how it had been for her mother when her father had to miss out on so much.

  “Mary?” His voice lowered, his eyes concerned.

  “Sounds great.” She winked. “But I’m holding you to that promise, bud.”

  She expected him to laugh or grin, but instead he leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Oh, yeah. I’ll cover my promise. And more.”

  When he left, the searing memory of his lips sustained her and fueled fantasies for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Four

  Mary felt Dace down into the marrow of her bones, the sensation visceral and her senses alive with possibility. How or why she had this radar for his presence, she didn’t know. When he walked into the administration section that Thursday afternoon, her entire body reacted on reflex, with a puzzling series of sensual keynotes she couldn’t stop.

  Other employees in their area were at lunch, and that left Hannah Curry and Mary alone.

  He nodded, his gaze warm and appreciative, but his face neutral. “Hi, ladies.” He handed Mary paperwork collected in a file. “Back to you, as promised.”

  Their fingers brushed with the barest of touches, and she thought she’d never get her breath. “Thanks.”

  He grinned and a low, heated stirring came to life inside her. Wow. Another indication of how dangerous he’d become to her composure. Soon she’d start purring like a cat when he appeared. When he left the area, she reached for her diet soda.

  “Wow, that man is hot.” Hannah’s gaze trailed after Dace. “Just once I’d like to find out what it would be like to sleep with him.”

  Mary almost choked on her drink as a snorting laugh left her throat. She coughed once and smiled at her co-worker. Then, full-on jealousy arose. No, no, no. She couldn’t be jealous of something she didn’t have. Could she?

  Hannah pushed her silver-framed glasses higher on her nose. At twenty-five, she always showed a poised, outwardly uptight demeanor that made her seem considerably older. But Mary had learned that appearances, where Hannah was concerned, were decidedly unreliable. Her uptight, high-collared dresses and conservative shoes hid a sassy personality.

  Hannah’s green eyes glinted with naughtiness. “I think he’s the most gorgeous guy on SWAT. I mean, the Justice brothers are awesome, but there’s something so sexy about Dace. You know. Dark and dangerous and unpredictable.”

  She knew all right. The Justice brothers, M
ick, Trey and Craig MacGilvary were an interesting trio. Adopted many years ago by a SWAT team member when they were teens, the three boys were as close as any blood brothers could be. Dace, though… Well, Dace had something extra Mary had difficulty resisting.

  Hannah grinned. “Do you ever wonder how Dace got that handle of ‘hard man’? Rumors say it’s because he’s … uh … hard everywhere.”

  Another spurt of jealousy swamped Mary. The thought of other women touching his body, making love with him burned her cookies. “He’s a highly-trained law enforcement officer who has to stay in shape, and before that he was in the marines. It’s not like he’ll let himself go to pot. He told me he got the name from winning the fitness tests.”

  “I dunno.” Hannah cracked a grin. “Remember Sanders? He just got a butt kicking from the sheriff for gaining too much weight.”

  “Oh, goody.”

  “Probably explains why ‘hard man’ has looked crabby lately. With Sanders’s ass in a loop and two guys down with the flu, that makes the SWAT team short three men. Oh, well. Whatever. All I can say is that I’d give just about anything for one night with Dace. He looks like he’d be fantastic in bed.”

  Mary almost swallowed her tongue. She forced her next words from her throat. “Then why don’t you ask him out?”

  “Moi? Surely you jest?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Humph. Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered about what he’d be like in bed?”

  She had. Endlessly. Especially since they’d shared powerful kisses. Maybe, if everything worked out tonight, she’d know the answer once and for all. The mystery would be solved and the craving quenched.

  Hannah grinned and started typing at her computer. “I’d like to strip all that equipment off him and see what he’s hiding under his shirt. Haven’t you ever wondered?”

  Oh, she had all right. Wondered and fantasized and imagined into the deep, dark corners of the night until she was hot and unsatisfied. “I’ve never seen him without his shirt.”

  Hannah’s fingers flew over the keys, then she stopped. Behind the glasses her eyes looked big. Pretty and sparkling, but almost owlish. “Neither have I. God, you don’t think he’s gay, do you?”