Nowhere to Run

by Suzanne Brockmann

  And there was no room in her life for both him and the danger he would bring with him. How many gang members, mobsters and crime lords had he angered over the past few years? How many contracts were there on his life right now? And how many people wouldn’t think twice about ripping the life from an innocent young woman, simply to get back at the undercover police detective who had given them their due?

  No.

  If he cared about her at all, after this was over and he knew that she was safe, he would walk away. And if he loved her, he’d run.

  Te amo. Te adoro.

  No. It wasn’t true. And even if it was, he couldn’t tell her. He’d never tell her.

  Never.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I’M SORRY,” Felipe said quietly, his mouth up against her ear.

  Carrie turned her head to look at him, pushing her hair back off her face.

  He gazed up at her, his dark eyes mysterious and unreadable.

  “Sorry?” she asked.

  She could have sworn she saw a flash of embarrassment in those eyes. He looked away from her, but then forced his gaze back up, steadily meeting her inquisitive stare.

  He moistened his lips. “I, uh…” he said, then he cleared his throat. “Usually…I’m not so…inconsiderate. Usually…I allow my partner to…reach, uh, satisfaction first.”

  Carrie felt herself start to smile as the meaning of his words penetrated. She couldn’t hide a laugh. “Are you apologizing for the way you just made love to me?” she asked, her voice dripping with disbelief.

  He was embarrassed. He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded his head.

  Carrie couldn’t keep from laughing. “Mister, are you telling me that this is just an off day—that you’ve done that even better?”

  “I came before you,” he said. He wasn’t laughing.

  “Was it a race?” she asked. “And were you trying to let me win?”

  Unblinkingly serious, he gazed up at her. “It’s important to me,” he said. And then he blushed slightly, looking away, unable to meet her eyes. “This hasn’t happened since…It hasn’t happened ever.”

  Carrie’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. The tinge of red across his high cheekbones was utterly charming, despite the slightly archaic and macho tinge to his words.

  He was still inside her and she didn’t move off him. She didn’t want to. The glow from the perfection of their joining still surrounded her. She nestled her head on his shoulder, careful that her hair didn’t fall across his face, marveling at how well they fit together, even now, even after.

  He stroked her back almost absentmindedly, his fingers trailing lightly from her neck to her derriere and up again.

  “Do you know,” she murmured, lifting her chin so that her breath touched his ear, “what it felt like to me just now?”

  His hand stopped moving. He swallowed, then shook his head once slightly. He’d closed his eyes, but he was listening to her very carefully, absorbing each of her words.

  “Do you know,” she asked, stopping for a moment to brush her lips lightly along the line of his jaw, “what a turn-on it is when the man you’re making love to loses control like that?”

  Again, he shook his head.

  “It’s unlike anything you can imagine,” she said, her voice husky with the memory and the emotion. “At the risk of feeding your ego, I’ve never been made love to like that before. And as far as I’m concerned, we were together. You started first. Big deal. I was a millisecond behind you. Who’s counting?”

  He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. “You’re very sweet,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  “You don’t believe me?” Carrie shook her head, feeling impatience rising in her. Impatience, and something else. Hurt? How could he not think that the love they’d just shared was anything but sensational? “I can’t believe we’re arguing about this. Can you honestly tell me that that entire experience gets stamped rejected because of one minute detail that didn’t happen exactly the way you’d planned? Or are you telling me that the whole thing was lousy—and if that’s the case, I better take a good long look at my sex life, because if that was lousy, I’ve been missing something all these years!”

  “Caroline—”

  “And if that’s the case, we’re on very different wavelengths, Detective, with you thinking that was lousy sex, and me thinking…” She took a deep breath and let it slowly out. “And me thinking it’s never been so perfect, so complete,” she finished miserably.

  She rolled off him, wishing she could crawl away and hide. How had this happened? Two minutes ago, she’d been laughing, euphoric. Then this man whom she thought she was finally beginning to know and understand, this man who had been so amazingly in tune with her every want and need as he’d made love to her, this man had mutated into some kind of rigid caveman who needed to follow an extremely macho set of rules when making love. She began to search almost frantically for her clothes.

  Felipe caught her arm. “Please,” he said. “I was being stupid.” He pulled her close to him and cradled her in his arms. “I was being really stupid. You were right. I was…stupid.”

  “Damn straight you were,” Carrie muttered.

  He gently moved her chin so that she was facing him. “I was frightened,” he murmured. “The power of the feelings…It still frightens me. Forgive me, Caroline.”

  And then he kissed her.

  He may have voiced some very old-fashioned ideas about male and female roles in bed, but his apology sounded sincere, and he could kiss like no one else in the world.

  Most men that Carrie had known had kissed her for a reason. To placate or apologize. To get on her good side. To get her into bed.

  But even though Felipe had just apologized to her, his kiss was very separate from his words. He kissed her purely for the sake of kissing her, for the pleasure of her mouth against his.

  He kissed her slowly, lazily, his tongue sweeping possessively into her mouth, claiming her, staking out his territory.

  Carrie heard herself sigh, felt herself melt, felt the world tilt and disappear. Maybe having a lover who could be an absolute caveman at times wasn’t such a terrible thing. She laced her fingers up through his long, gorgeous hair, slanting her head to grant him easier access to her mouth.

  He drew in a breath and murmured to her in Spanish. She couldn’t understand the words, but his voice sounded like poetry in the hush of the quiet room. And still he kissed her.

  She felt dizzying heat pooling in her stomach. Was it really possible that she wanted him again? Already?

  He lifted his head, supporting his upper body with one elbow as he looked down at her. “I love kissing you,” he said.

  Carrie’s heart pounded in her chest. For a moment, when he’d started that sentence, she had been so sure he was about to tell her something else. I love you. But how could she expect him to say that? He barely knew her.

  They were undeniably compatible—especially physically. They’d certainly proved that. And despite Felipe’s momentary slip revealing his old-fashioned beliefs, she honestly liked him more and more with each passing moment. Heck, she liked him more because of his slip. Before she’d seen that side of him, he’d been too damn perfect. She liked him better because now she knew that he was human and that he had his weaknesses and doubts.

  He was stroking her, his strong, warm hand sliding up her hip and over the curve of her waist. His eyes were hooded as he looked at her. Carrie felt the tips of her breasts harden into tight little beads under the weight of his gaze. He glanced into her eyes and smiled.

  “Do you really go out to Tamiami Beach?” he asked.

  Tamiami…? Where…? The nude beach, Carrie remembered. No, not nude, topless. He was referring to her nearly allover tan. She felt her face heat with a blush.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No. I…do a lot of research work out on my boat, all by myself.” Did he really want to hear the entire story? He was listening, wai
ting for her to continue, so she did.

  “I always used to just wear my bathing suit, but one day I was out doing some work along the coast near one of the swamps, and I forgot to bring my suit or even a change of clothes. I was bringing in a sampling of the marine life that had died as a result of an oil spill, and I ended up with tar all over my T-shirt.” An angry alligator had surprised her near an illegal garbage dump and she’d tripped in her haste to get back into her boat. “It was hotter than hell that day, and the sun was heating the tar on my shirt. Obviously, it wouldn’t rinse out, and I was actually afraid it was going to burn me. My options were to take off the shirt, or turn and head for home. I figured if I were a man, I’d have had my shirt off hours earlier, so…I took off the shirt and put in five more hours of work. And got a great tan.”

  She smiled up into his eyes. “I also got a…certain sense of liberation. Ever since then, when I’m alone on my boat, I go topless. No one knows but me. And now you.”

  He leaned forward to touch the peak of her breast with the tip of his tongue. “The thought of you working like this is…stimulating,” he murmured. “Someday, will you let me come and help?” But then he shook his head, as if he thought better of his words. “Or maybe that’s not such a good idea,” he added. “It would be too distracting, at least for me.”

  He pulled back from her, no longer meeting her eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. She could see the sudden tension in his neck and shoulders. Even the well-defined muscles in his arms seemed tighter. He hadn’t moved an inch, but mentally he was stepping back, away from her. Was he doing that because he thought she wanted him to? Did he think she still wanted him to keep his distance?

  “I’d love for you to come out on my boat someday,” Carrie said quietly, trying to read his reaction.

  But Felipe shook his head, still looking away from her. “We don’t have someday, cara,” he said just as quietly. “We only have right here and right now.” He looked up at her then. The deep sadness was back in his eyes.

  “Walsh and Richter aren’t going to be looking for us forever,” Carrie said. “And you’re going to prove that you didn’t kill those men in the sandlot—”

  “Even then,” he said, interrupting her. “Even if this ends and we’re both still alive…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t make you any promises, Caroline. I probably should have told you this before we made love, but…I can’t fall in love with you.”

  His words filled her with a disappointment that was a great deal stronger than she’d expected. And his words proved how deceptive good sex could be. She’d interpreted his caresses, his sighs, those long looks he gave her, and especially the way he’d clung to her and called out her name, as a measure of his feelings. In truth, those things were merely a measure of what he was feeling. Physical sensations, not love in any way, shape or form.

  But what the heck, she told herself, she hadn’t really thought Felipe Salazar would fall in love with her, had she?

  Yes. The word rose in her throat like a bubble that had to break free.

  No, she told herself harshly. No, she hadn’t. And it was good he’d told her this, because now that she knew, she’d make damn sure she wouldn’t fall in love with him.

  She forced her mouth into a smile. “Well, that’s fine,” she said to Felipe. “Because I have no intention of falling in love with you, either. You know, I don’t even really trust you entirely.”

  Now, why the hell had she said that? She saw the flash of hurt leap into his eyes, and knew that her words had stung. She knew that his innocence was a sticky subject for Felipe, that he wanted her to trust him.

  But what she’d said was true, she told herself. For all she knew, he really had killed those men. Or maybe he hadn’t actually pulled the trigger himself. Maybe he was just involved in some other awful way. She had seen no proof that he wasn’t involved. She only had his word.

  You said it because you wanted to hurt him. You said it because you want him to fall in love with you, because you’ve already fallen in love with him.

  “You must trust me on some level,” Felipe said, “or you wouldn’t have made love to me.”

  Carrie lifted her arms over her head and stretched, pretending desperately to be casual and noncommittal while her brain and her heart were going in twenty different directions. He followed her movement with heat in his eyes, like a cat watching a bird and ready to pounce. Was it desire or anger glowing there?

  “I trusted that sex with you would be great,” she said, keeping her voice light. Inside, she felt heavier than lead. She wasn’t in love with him. She wasn’t… “I wasn’t wrong, was I?” She pushed herself off the floor and stood. “I’m going to take a shower, maybe take another soak in that tub.” She stopped at the bathroom door, looking back at him. “Too bad you can’t get your stitches wet for another day or so.”

  Then it was all desire that flared in his eyes. “Maybe I can—”

  “You told me nothing but a quick shower until tomorrow,” Carrie said, pretending that she actually wanted him to shower with her, pretending that his admission that he didn’t love her, would never love her, was something that she took casually in stride, pretending that her heart wasn’t breaking. “And if you get in the shower with me, it won’t be quick. You better wait out here.”

  He smiled at her, a smile that held a promise of paradise. But no, he’d said he couldn’t promise her anything. Nothing but sexual pleasure anyway, and certainly not paradise. Paradise was more than pure, raw sex. Paradise was murmured words of love, promises of forever. He wasn’t even going to pretend to give her that.

  Carrie supposed she should be grateful that he wasn’t trying to deceive her. At least he’d been up-front and honest about his feelings—or lack of feelings in this case.

  He was so utterly handsome, lying there on the floor buck naked, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him. His hips were narrow, leading up to his equally narrow waist and the washboard muscles of his stomach. He didn’t have much hair on his chest. He didn’t need it; it would have hidden the near perfection of his pecs and other steel-hard muscles. His skin was smooth and golden brown, his nipples a darker shade of that same delicious color. A line of dark hair started at his belly button and spread downward toward the thick thatch of black curls between his legs and…

  He was fully aroused.

  She did that to him, Carrie knew. With her talk of showering together, her stories of working on her boat without a top, and with the way she’d just looked at him—as if she were starving and he was a five-course gourmet meal….

  He was more than willing to let himself make love to her. Make love, yet not love her. He wouldn’t let himself love her.

  It didn’t seem fair.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Carrie went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Stepping under the rush of water, she closed her eyes.

  He could be a killer, she reminded herself. Maybe if she repeated that over and over, she’d stop loving him. Maybe she should take precautions against further hurt and take care not to make love to Felipe again.

  Yeah, right. And maybe alligators could fly.

  Rafe’s prediction had come true, she realized ruefully. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since she’d sat with Felipe’s brother in the kitchen of the halfway house, and sure enough, she’d gone and slept with Felipe. Slept with. It was a funny expression, considering neither of them had ever had the slightest intention of sleeping. Gone to bed with? That wasn’t true, either, since they’d made love on the plush carpeting on the bedroom floor. Made love to. Only half-true—her half, not his. Still, a half truth was better than none, wasn’t it?

  Any predictions for the next twenty-four hours? she wondered as she turned her face up to the stream of water. Where was Rafe when she needed him? Too bad he hadn’t warned her she was going to fall in love with his little brother. Of course, if he’d as much as suggested the
possibility, she would’ve laughed that off, too.

  The water falling on her face hid her tears. As long as she stood there in the shower, Carrie could pretend that she wasn’t crying.

  Predictions for the next twenty-four hours? She had one that she knew so damn well to be true, it would make Nostradamus look like a cheap carnival palm reader.

  Sometime in the next twenty-four hours or less—and probably many, many hours less—she was going to make love again to that man, that beautiful, exciting, charismatic, dangerous man that she’d so foolishly, and against all her better judgment, fallen in love with.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  UNTANGLING HER WET HAIR with a brush she’d found in the bathroom, and dressed in a too-big pair of cutoffs and a man’s dress shirt that nearly covered the legs of the shorts, Carrie walked down the hall toward the living room. Felipe was nowhere in sight.

  She stood looking out through the big glass doors at the turquoise blue ocean. The private beach was deserted and picture postcard perfect. She could see why someone would want to build a beach house on this spot. The sun reflecting off the white sand filtered in through the tinted glass of the windows, illuminating the living room with an unearthly golden light.

  A sound from behind her made her turn around.

  Felipe stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen. His hair, too, was wet from his own quick shower, and he ran his fingers through the tight curls, loosening them and letting the air dry them. His eyes were gentle, so soft and serene as he looked at her. There was no sign of the fire that had threatened to consume her only an hour or so earlier. But then his gaze traveled down her body, grazing her breasts, taking in the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her shirt, reminding her that both her bra and panties were hanging in the bathroom, drying. His eyes caressed the length of her legs, lingering, heating her with just a look.

  The fire was still there, Carrie realized as he glanced back into her eyes. He was just very, very good at keeping it hidden.