Swiping at her face, she moved toward the window and stared at her reflection. Who was she to think she could do this? Bill was dead. Josh was missing. They were no closer today than they were two days ago, to finding him and stopping a killer.
Her chin trembled and more tears spilled down her cheeks. She let them. Hoping to God they could somehow cleanse her, wash away everything she’d seen today. But as she stood in front of her reflection, her vision distorted and blurred by her tears, Bill’s image emerged.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she smacked her palms to her ears and shook her head. Trying desperately to ward off the memories, to shake off the sounds of cawing crows. But Bill remained. Lifeless. Eyes plucked, skin torn…
She quickly reached for the blind, and pulled it shut, blocking her reflection. Breathing hard, she turned around, looking, searching for…something, anything to stop the maddening thoughts and emotions. She needed a punching bag. If the temperature hadn’t been nearing zero, a long, hard run might have worked. The energy seething throughout her body needed a portal of release.
Grabbing a tissue, she blew her nose, then paced. With each pass through the small room, she tried to convince herself that she’d done everything right, that the investigation was solid, but also seriously messed up. That she wasn’t the one messing it up, either.
No. I just got Bill killed.
Her stomach cramped and knotted. Sobs wracked her body as she dropped to the floor. Pressing her forehead against the soft area rug, she exorcized the high hopes and optimism she’d felt at the beginning of the investigation. She purged her goal of being a field agent. And with it, she banished her ridiculously silly dreams of action and adventure.
This life wasn’t for her. She couldn’t handle death up close and personal. She couldn’t—
A warm hand rubbed her back. She froze, but didn’t bother to look up and over her shoulder. Through her crying frenzy she hadn’t heard Owen walk into the room, but she knew it was him. He’d only intimately touched her a few times, but she’d relished those brief encounters to the point she’d memorized every nuance.
Bringing the tissue to her nose, she drew in a deep breath, then whispered, “Please. Go.”
Instead of obeying, his knees hit the area rug. In an instant he had her in his lap and cradled to his solid chest. He smoothed his hand over her hair, then kissed the top of her head. “I can’t.”
The anguish in his voice forced her to look up at him. He half-smiled, touched her cheek and swiped away her tears. “You’re so strong. I can’t believe you’ve managed to keep this locked inside you all day.”
“I don’t feel strong. I feel weak, and guilty, and so…sad.”
Shifting her body so she sat squarely in his lap, he pressed his lips to her forehead, then hugged her. “I understand.” He rubbed her back, his firm fingers working the knots along her shoulders and spine. “Weakness, guilt, sadness…if you don’t feel those things, if you don’t let them out now and then, they’ll destroy you.” He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face. “That would kill me.”
Confused by his admission, and unsure how to react, she did what she did best. Sarcasm. “Nice word choice.”
Disappointment showed in his eyes as he studied her face. “I’ve always loved your sarcasm and jokes.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “But sometimes I wish that maybe once in a while you’d stop hiding.”
If she had the energy, she might have stiffened at the remark. She didn’t hide, she kept herself protected. For years she’d watched her mother destroy her life with one messed-up relationship after another, openly wearing her emotions on her sleeve, inviting people—and not just the useless men in her life—to knock her down until she’d become needy and pitiful. At a very young age, Rachel had decided she would not be anything like her mom. And if that meant being alone, without many friends, so what? “It beats the hell out of being hurt,” she admitted, then closed her eyes with regret. They weren’t talking about relationships. They were talking about how to deal with an investigation, the murder victims and all that other horrible crap.
“I have no intention of hurting you. Say what’s on your mind,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with so much conviction, she opened her eyes.
He already had hurt her.
But she shoved that thought aside and again reminded herself what they were talking about…Bill and how she was handling his death. Owen had plenty of experience with murder victims and their families. She trusted him. Beyond that, she could use someone to lean on. She could use a friend to help her deal with her doubts and insecurities. And despite her shitty attitude toward Owen, despite the hurt she’d endured since that mistletoe kiss, he’d been a good friend to her.
“I…it’s more than that,” she said. “I’ve wanted Ian to give me a chance to work in the field for a long time. But now that I’m doing it, I don’t think I’m ready. Seeing Bill today…I’ve analyzed crime scenes through photos and videos, but I’ve never actually seen one.” Tears filled her eyes. “I let it become personal, especially later, when we went to Bill’s house. Seeing how hard this is on his dad, Joy and Walter.” She choked on a sob. “The way Bill’s dog just lay on the floor as if he knew…Owen, I just don’t think I’m cut out for this. I’m having second thoughts and at the same time, I’m second guessing myself.”
“What do you need?” he asked, his tone coaxing, the caress of this thumb along her cheek soothing, his familiar scent enticing.
He tempted her to take what she wanted and needed right now. Him. His touch, his strength, the comfort and relief she knew she could find in his arms. The intensity, the undeniable concern and desire in his eyes didn’t help. Neither did the way he tilted his head, drew his mouth close enough so his warm breath burned a path along her lips.
Knowing how they would feel against hers, she stared at his parted lips. The earlier tension that had coursed through her body throughout the entire, messed-up day began to slowly subside. Encouraging flutters grew deep within her belly, while her heart raced with indecision and longing. She wanted to let go. She wanted to melt into his kiss, into his hard body and replace all the bad with something good. She wanted—
His lips brushed against hers. Firm. Warm. The tentative touch, the simple caress sent sparks of desire straight to her core. When he grazed his mouth against hers again, she parted her lips. And when he ran his fingers through the back of her hair and held her head close, she lost all sense of right and wrong. Swept her tongue along his. Lips melded together, they kissed. Last night’s kiss had been a clumsy passionate rush. Tonight, he took his time, kissed her with gentle finesse, seduced her with slow, languid strokes of his tongue. He stoked the fire, and the love she’d tried to deny.
Snapping her eyes open, she drew back, the “L” word an icy, cold reminder that he would hurt her again. “You should go.”
His forehead lined with frustration. “I…what am I not getting?” he asked while keeping her head locked in his hand and his lips still temptingly close. “Yesterday you said something about the last time we kissed. I still don’t know what you’re talking about. What I do know?” He swiped the pad of his thumb along her lower lip, which sent goose bumps along her skin. “From the moment you walked into CORE I’ve wanted to kiss you. I’ve fantasized about tasting you. So unless I have a clone running around Chicago, I think you owe me an explanation.”
“You really don’t remember, do you?” The confusion contorting his face might have been comical if guilt hadn’t suddenly swallowed her whole. She’d pegged Owen as the bottom feeder of the dating pool, a charmer who would do anything to talk his way into a woman’s bed. But she’d labeled him after the mistletoe kiss when he’d quickly dismissed her for another woman. Prior to that, she’d considered him a solid, honorable man filled with integrity. She still did. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Last year’s company Christmas party…you, me, the mistletoe.”
“I didn’t make it to the party. I was flyin
g back from Germany. Remember the Shmelter case? The one where I—”
“Yeah, I remember the case. But you did come to the party. I saw you there. You kissed me under the mistletoe, then suggested we leave and go for a drink. I went to the bathroom to freshen up my makeup, only to walk out and find you leaving with another woman.” She gripped the front of his shirt. “You’re telling me you don’t remember one thing from that night? Sorry, but I might have to call bullshit on that one.”
“You of all people know I don’t lie.” She gasped when he gripped her hair and brought them nose-to-nose. Powerful determination filled his eyes as he tightened his jaw. “By the time I left Munich I had a total of eight hours of sleep over the course of three days. I took one of those prescription sleeping pills, but it didn’t work. So I had a couple of drinks, hoping I’d eventually sleep. I…ah.” He eased his grip. “Shit.” He shook his head, then completely disengaged their bodies and stood. “I remember getting my luggage and I remember Amber. Was the woman you saw me with a tall blonde?”
She nodded, stunned. Because she had a feeling that what had infuriated and humiliated her for over a year could easily have been solved over a cup of coffee.
“Yeah, she picked me up from the airport, but I swear I went home.” He paced for a few seconds then stopped and faced her. A wry smile tilted his skilled lips as he ran a hand through his hair. “I woke up the next morning, alone and feeling like hell. Amber left a note by my coffee pot telling me to lose her number. That she doesn’t date guys who call her by another woman’s name.” In a heartbeat, he knelt in front of her and gripped her shoulders. “She ended the note by saying, ‘I don’t know who Rachel is, but I hope she was worth it.’”
Her head grew dizzy with hope, while her heart raced out of control. He really hadn’t remembered that night. And…Oh. My. God. From the sound of it, he’d called another woman by her name. Instead of unadulterated satisfaction, a sense of loss also filled her. For the wasted year. For all of the horrible things she’d said to him. For the way she’d treated him like some bottom feeding douche bag.
“I’m so sorry, Rachel. I…I honestly didn’t know.” He looked away. “Um,” he began when he met her gaze again. “Did you…like the kiss? I mean. Was it what you wanted? I’d never—”
She slammed her mouth against his and twined her arms around his neck. He fell back on his rear, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she climbed on top of him and kissed him with reckless abandonment. Her confidence soared as he kissed her with equal fervor. It soared even higher as his words continued to sink in.
From the moment you walked into CORE, I’ve wanted to kiss you. I’ve fantasized about tasting you…
Over the past four years, she’d had quite a few fantasies of her own. Despite those fantasies, despite the throb building between her thighs, she also knew this could be a mistake. They worked together, and sex would change everything. But she ached for him. Body, heart and soul, she needed him for at least tonight. She needed his touch. She needed to erase the misery brought on by today’s events, the guilt, the horrible images.
As she tangled her tongue with his and he gripped her bottom, forcing her against his erection, she knew she was spinning half-truths to herself. Today had been terrible, but that wasn’t the only reason for giving her body to him. She’d been half in love with Owen for nearly four years. While she’d liked the men from her past, she’d never given herself—her whole self—to any of them. Fear of rejection, fear of dealing with uncomfortable and unfamiliar emotions had always forced her to keep her heart guarded. Tonight, this moment would live with her. She would give and take, keep those strange emotions to herself, but enjoy the pleasure of sinking her body onto his.
With that thought in mind, the tension in her belly coiled, and the ache between her thighs intensified. Tearing her mouth away, she pushed herself up, straddled his thick arousal and whipped her bulky sweater over her head.
A hiss escaped from between Owen’s parted lips as he pressed his palms over her bra, holding, cupping her breasts. He stared at her, lust darkening his eyes to denim blue. “Gorgeous,” he murmured, then lazily slipped the bra straps over her shoulders until her breasts spilled forward. Eyes still on hers, he grazed her hardened nipples with the back of his knuckles. Then, holding the small of her back, he leaned forward and circled one areola with his tongue.
She gripped his biceps, stared at his mouth. At the way he curled his tongue along one nipple, then the other. The sight so erotic, she sought some sort of release and ground herself along his erection.
With a low groan, he gripped her hips and sucked. She tossed back her head as delicious tingles radiated from her breasts and zipped throughout her body. Holding his head steady, she encouraged him, until she thought she’d explode if he didn’t strip off his sweatpants and bury his hard length inside her.
When she squirmed against his arousal, he chuckled, his hot breath fanning across her sensitive breasts and nipples. “Am I going too slow?” he asked and sent her the sexiest grin.
“Yes.” She unclasped her bra and quickly shucked if off, then reached the hem of his t-shirt. After pulling it over his head, she looked her fill. Holy crap. Used to dating guys whose closest call to the gym was programming the facility’s computers, she had never seen a man, never touched a man with such a sculpted body. She’d always suspected Owen would have an admirable chest, but…damn. She ran her hand through the dark blond hair lining Owen’s thick slabs of muscle, then trailed her fingers along his hard, flat abs. “Work out much?” she asked, then using her palms against his chest, pressed him back to the area rug.
When she had him the way she wanted, skin to skin, she rubbed her breasts along his chest. Loving the way the soft hair tickled and teased her nipples, she kissed him again. He slid his hands down her spine, cupped her rear, then shocked her when he rolled her on her back.
On his knees and between her thighs, he unzipped her jeans, then yanked them and her panties down. Raising her legs so they balanced on one shoulder, he slipped the clothes off and tossed them aside. Then he parted her legs, let them rest on both shoulders, and bent his head. He stared at the apex of her thighs, at where she ached the most, then snapped his gaze to hers. “I told you I’ve fantasized about tasting you,” he said, and keeping his eyes on hers, dipped his head and slowly licked her labia.
She sucked in a breath and arched her hips, wanting more, wanting it now.
Another low chuckle rumbled from his chest. From between her thighs, he smiled. “Have you no patience?”
Pushing herself onto her elbow, she reached for his head. “At the moment, no.”
“So this…” He gave her another slow, torturous lick. “This is too slow for you?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Then how about this?” Owen smashed his lips against her folds, and pushed his tongue deep, curling it inside her slick opening. Loving the taste of her, her throaty moans and demands, he left finesse behind and focused on her pleasure. When her inner thighs shook against his cheeks, he worried he’d come in his pants. Based on her fiery temperament, he’d always suspected Rachel would be a hot lover. But he hadn’t expected her to be so sensual and passionate. He also hadn’t expected his body to react the way it was now.
Fierce need coursed through him. Hell, it scared him. He’d had plenty of women, and he’d cared about them, but not like this. Beyond wanting to give her pleasure, he wanted to bind her with trust. He wanted to show her, prove to her they could be partners in and out of bed.
Now wasn’t the time to tackle all of that. Not when he was loving her body and on the verge of embarrassing himself. Determined to coax an orgasm from her, he spread her lips, sank his thumb between her folds and honed in on her clit. He licked and sucked. Her wetness coated his thumb while her throaty moans filled the room.
She suddenly gripped his head and arched her back. Releasing a husky groan, her flat belly trembled, her inner thighs shook. As he tasted her orgasm on
his lips, pride and need consumed him. While he quickly lost his jeans and underwear, caution lights went off in the back of his mind. He’d already tasted her, and knew he’d want to again and again. She intoxicated him more than he ever thought possible. But once he filled her, once he sank into her warmth, felt her heat around him…there might not be any turning back. No denying they’d made love. No room for regrets if things went south and they had to continue to work together.
And that’s what scared the hell out of him.
She lay on the area rug, a small, sexy smile playing along her lush lips as she stared at his naked body. When she swiftly pushed herself upright, he knew her intention. He intercepted her hand just as she wrapped it around his erection. Covering her small hand with his, he helped her stroke him, then he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth when she pressed her lips against the tip. When her tongue slid along his sac, he abruptly pulled away, scooped her in his arms and set her on the bed.
Fuck it.
He pressed himself between her slick folds. He’d spent too many years regretting the past and avoiding the future. Right now, with Rachel’s inner muscles gripping him, her sexy legs wrapped around his ass, he was too far gone to care about tomorrow. Now was all that mattered. And making her come again.
Holding her hips, he rocked into her body. Loving every little, throaty moan, the way she bit her bottom lip and stared at him. As if he mattered. As if what they were doing mattered. Before his mind went down another road he wasn’t prepared for, he pumped harder, faster. She pushed onto her hands and braced her upper body with her arms. He held her rear off the mattress and guided her over his erection. Over and over, the pressure, the stimulation…it was too much. He needed her to let go before he did.
“Come for me,” he murmured, his breath labored, his heart racing.
She wrapped an arm around his neck. Bucked her hips and met each of his thrusts. Her breasts tempted and teased him. Desperate for another taste, he dipped his head and caught a nipple between his lips and sucked. Her inner walls suddenly clenched and milked him. Releasing her nipple, he sought her lips. Their noses bumped as he captured her mouth, mimicked each thrust with his tongue until she cried out against his lips.
Shadow of Vengeance Page 27
