Nowhere to Run

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, his soft accent like velvet in the quiet room.

  Carrie’s stomach clenched with a sudden rush of desire, and inwardly she kicked herself for her body’s blatant reaction to this man. Hungry? Yes, sir, but not for food.

  He was wearing only a pair of dark blue, knee-length shorts. A size or more too large, they hung low around his waist. He looked as if he were on vacation at the beach, as if he’d just come in from a morning of swimming in the surf. His muscles rippled as he gave his hair one last shake dry. Carrie remembered the feel of those arms around her, the incredible smoothness of his skin. She wanted to touch him again, but he stayed in the doorway all the way across the room.

  “There wasn’t much in the kitchen,” Felipe said, “but I found some frozen vegetables and a bag of rice. The rice should be done in about five minutes. The vegetables are already hot.”

  He was going to play it normal, pretend that nothing between them had changed. He was going to be polite and friendly and keep his distance until the heat between them got too intense, until they ended up making love again. He wasn’t going to hold her in his arms just for the sake of holding her, for the sake of closeness and comfort and warmth. And, oh, how she needed that right now.

  To Carrie’s horror, she felt her eyes fill with tears. Why? Why was she crying now? She never cried—well, hardly ever. And she was damned if she was going to cry in front of Felipe again. Fiercely blinking, she quickly turned away from him, pretending to study the view of the ocean. The blues of the water and the sky blurred together and she blinked even harder, forcing back her tears.

  “Are you all right?” There was concern in his warm voice, and she heard him start to limp toward her. Heaven help her if he got too close. She’d end up crying in his arms, and that was the last thing she wanted. She wanted him to hold her, but not out of pity.

  She took a deep breath and turned to face him, forcing her mouth into a smile. He wasn’t fooled—she could see that from his eyes, but he stopped on the other side of the couch that bisected the room.

  “The thought of rice and vegetables always gets me choked up,” she said breezily.

  He smiled at her words, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. No doubt he’d figured out that she’d fallen in love with him. No doubt it was a common occurrence. Every woman he’d ever slept with probably fell in love with him. And no doubt the concern in his eyes came from his imagining all the grief she was going to give him—the jealous phone calls, the tears, the desperate visits to him at work….

  Except that he was a suspected murderer on the run. And she wasn’t like all the other women he’d ever known. She had backbone. She had grit. She had pride.

  “What happens now?” she asked, holding her chin high, letting him see that her eyes were dry as she walked past him into the kitchen. It was a big room, with cabinets and tiled counters lining the walls, a center island with a sink in the middle of the room, and a huge, round, butcher-block-style table off to the side in a breakfast nook. Windows and skylights were everywhere, letting in the sunshine, but the trees and shrubs outside provided a screen for privacy. No one could see inside.

  “We’ll have lunch.” He followed her.

  “That’s not what I meant.” There were two pots on the pristine white stove and the fragrant smell of basmati rice filled the air.

  “We’ll stay here another night,” he said, crossing to the stove and turning off the burners.

  Another night here at the beach house, alone in the candlelight. Heat rushed through Carrie at the thought of Felipe with her in that king-size bed…but tonight was too far away. She didn’t want to wait until tonight. Man, she was shameless.

  But here and now was all she had. He’d told her that himself.

  “And then what?” she asked. Her voice sounded husky, so she cleared her throat again.

  “Then I try to contact Diego,” Felipe said. He leaned forward, bracing his arms against the back of one of the chairs that surrounded the big wooden table, taking the weight off his injured leg. The muscles in his arms and shoulders tightened and stood out. “Hopefully, he’ll be able to tell me something new, something that will tip me off as to who in the police department set this frame up.”

  “And if he can’t?”

  “If he can’t, we find someplace else to hide while I figure out a way to get past the security system in Richter’s mansion and—”

  Shocked, Carrie’s mouth dropped open. “That’s incredibly dangerous.” As she stared across the room at him, she remembered Rafe’s words. Felipe, he’s an addict, too. He’s addicted to danger. “It’s crazy.”

  “This whole thing is crazy,” he countered.

  “You’re planning to go—no, break into—the house of a man who wants you dead?” She started to pace. If Felipe went into Richter’s house, did he really stand a chance of coming out alive?

  “I’ll go there if necessary,” he said, his eyes following her as she moved back and forth across the cool tile floor. “But I’ll have to do it soon. If I wait too long, Richter and Walsh will be expecting me to show up. Right now, they know I’ve been shot because of all the blood in that car. They’ll expect me to lie low, to recuperate.” He smiled tightly. “They’re probably hoping I’ll die from infection.”

  Carrie stopped pacing. “How is your leg?”

  “Better.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Well, it’s not getting any worse.”

  “Are you really going to be ready to leave here tomorrow?” Carrie asked.

  “I have to be,” Felipe said. “We can’t stay here much longer. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds the van and the police connect it to us.”

  “I could go out and drive it farther away from this house,” Carrie suggested.

  “Without me? Bad idea, remember?” he said, softening his words with a gentle smile.

  Bad idea. It wasn’t as bad an idea as falling in love with him. Falling in love with Felipe Salazar was about the worst idea she’d had in all of her twenty-five years.

  Carrie crossed her arms and looked down at the floor. “It seems all my ideas are bad ones these days,” she said.

  He was silent for a very, very long time. In fact, he didn’t speak until she glanced up at him. His expressive eyes held real sadness and disappointment.

  “Caroline,” he said, “are you having regrets? About making love to me?”

  She couldn’t hold his gaze. “I don’t know what I’m feeling,” she admitted.

  “I never meant to take advantage of you—or of our situation,” he said quietly. “Although I guess I must have—”

  “Oh, cut the macho attitude,” Carrie said, exasperated. “How do you know I didn’t take advantage of you? How do you know I didn’t intend to seduce you?”

  “Are you saying you worked out a plan to seduce me while we were down in that crawl space?” he said. “Nice try, but…” He shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

  He was smiling, and despite the heaviness in her heart, that smile was contagious. Carrie found herself smiling back.

  “With your wounded leg, you couldn’t exactly run away from me,” she observed, putting her hairbrush down on a wicker telephone stand.

  “I did run,” he said with a broader smile that exposed his straight white teeth. “Last night. And it was after you, if I remember correctly.”

  His smile faded as he gazed at her. Carrie looked down at the floor, suddenly embarrassed by his scrutiny. She could feel his eyes studying her, watching, trying to read her mind. “I didn’t want you to have any regrets,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  Her lips were dry. She moistened them with her tongue, feeling his eyes follow the slight movement. “I don’t regret making love to you,” she whispered. “How can I regret something that I’m dying to do again?”

  She turned to look at him and found he’d silently closed the gap between them. He was standing only inches away, yet not touching he
r.

  “Maybe you were right,” he mused, gazing into her eyes. “Maybe you did seduce me this morning. Because I think you are about to seduce me again, no?”

  “What about lunch?” she breathed, lost in the whirl of heat in his eyes as he moved even closer but still didn’t touch her.

  “Lunch can wait,” he said, watching her mouth.

  He was waiting for her, Carrie realized. He was waiting for her to make the first move, to touch him, to kiss him. To seduce him.

  But he didn’t love her. He liked her, and he lusted after her, but he didn’t love her. He said he wasn’t going to let himself fall in love with her, either. Not now, not ever. That hurt. To think that he could control his emotions as easily as he controlled his body and—

  But he’d lost control. When they made love this morning, Felipe had lost control. Who was to say the same wouldn’t happen to the tight rein he held on his emotions?

  Carrie wanted him to love her. It was crazy. For all she knew, he was going to spend the rest of his life in a maximum security penitentiary or—God help her—on death row for the crime of first-degree murder. For all she knew, he had pulled the trigger two times, sending bullets into the heads of those mobsters. Oh, she didn’t think he was guilty. Naturally, she didn’t want to believe him capable of such a thing. But she didn’t truly know. There were no hard facts or any proof to placate the scientist that she was. And her faith in Felipe wouldn’t help him in a court of law.

  Yeah, she was probably certifiable for wanting this man to fall in love with her. But she wanted it. And she was damned if she was going to sit back and just give up, just settle for his here and now.

  At the very least, she was going to give him something to remember her by—and quite vividly—for the rest of his life.

  The rays of light streaming in through the windows gave Felipe a golden glow. He looked otherworldly with his long, dark hair curling around his broad shoulders, his muscular chest gleaming and smooth. Carrie wondered if that same light accentuated her pale hair and lightly tanned skin. She wondered if she looked even half as exotic, half as sexy as he did. She sure felt sexy as he watched her, desire churning in his eyes.

  But if she was going to seduce him, if she was going to try to loosen the hold he had on his emotions, she had to move fast before she chickened out.

  With one swift movement, she pulled her shirt over her head.

  His quick smile and quiet laugh told her he hadn’t been expecting her to do that. That was good. She wanted to keep him off-balance.

  He gazed at her silently but his eyes spoke volumes as they caressed her breasts and the curve of her smooth, tanned shoulders. She truly felt beautiful when he looked at her that way. Beautiful and sexy and powerful and capable of damn near anything. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d chicken out now. She’d set the wheels in motion, and now she’d see it through.

  But he didn’t reach for her. Instead, he jammed his hands hard into the front pockets of his shorts as if not touching her was a difficult task. She knew, suddenly, what he was doing. She knew why he wasn’t touching her.

  No regrets.

  This time, he was making damn sure that it was clear she initiated their lovemaking. Of course, she could still regret it afterward, but this way, his own sense of guilt would be much lighter.

  She could smell his clean, fresh, masculine scent. His nostrils flared, and she knew he could smell her, too. He could surely smell the faint, herbal scent of the shampoo she’d used to wash her hair, the tangy sweetness of the sun lotion she’d found in the bathroom and used in place of a moisturizer, and the fresh mint toothpaste she’d used to clean her teeth.

  Felipe’s eyes followed her fingers to the button of her shorts. She undid it slowly. Very slowly. Then she pulled the zipper down slowly. Very slowly. The look on his face was incredible. Every muscle in his body was tight with tension as he waited. Carrie knew he was keeping himself from reaching out and speeding the process along.

  Watching him, she pushed the shorts off her hips and they fell to the floor with a soft rustle. He inhaled sharply, a reaction to her lack of underwear. She stepped out of the shorts totally naked. Except, of course, for the slight blush that heated her cheeks. Damn her fair skin anyway.

  Still, she held her chin high, steadily meeting his gaze. The heat in his eyes was fast approaching a nuclear meltdown. Still, he kept his hands in his pockets. Still, he didn’t move.

  “We could have lunch first,” she whispered, unable to hide her smile. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

  He wet his lips. “Not for rice,” he countered. His gaze dropped to the golden brown curls between her legs, then back to her face.

  His message couldn’t have been more clear.

  The sudden rush of heat that shot through her caught her off guard. She swayed toward him, and at that same moment, she saw his control snap.

  He reached for her, lunged for her, taking her into his arms and carrying her over to that huge, wooden table.

  His hands and his mouth were everywhere, touching, kissing, suckling, licking. The sensation of his tongue in her belly button made her cry out, her voice echoing through the quiet of the house. She tried to sit up, but he held her firmly in place, using his tongue to try to drive her as deliriously insane as she’d driven him.

  She writhed in pleasure, and her arm knocked a sugar bowl onto the kitchen floor with a crash. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything except that she was making love to this man whom she adored.

  She tried to reach for the button that fastened his shorts. He obliged by moving closer. Her hand fumbled with the button, and he reached down, wrapping her fingers tightly around him.

  He undid the button himself, and the zipper, and then his shorts were sliding off. From somewhere, maybe out of thin air—and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he were capable of such magic—maybe from the depths of his wallet, he procured a condom.

  And then he was on top of her, inside her, filling her completely with each urgent thrust. He groaned as he kissed her, and she moved with him, in a rhythm of love as old as time.

  You’re going to love me, Carrie told him with her eyes, her hands, her body. I’m going to make you love me.

  But she couldn’t talk, couldn’t form words let alone sentences. She could only grip his shoulders more tightly and moan her pleasure.

  Felipe pulled back to look at her. His eyes were wild and tinged with shock. He spoke to her. His words were in Spanish, but his meaning was clear. Now. Now.

  Now, like this morning, he was unable to hold back. Now, like this morning, she had driven him to a place of wild abandonment, a place where he had absolutely no control.

  That knowledge sent her soaring, rockets of pleasure bursting through her as her body tightened and clenched in a culmination too intense to be real. But it was real. Waves of hot and cold rushed through her, colors exploded in her head as she wrapped her legs around Felipe and tried to draw him closer, even closer to her.

  She heard him cry out her name, and then something else in Spanish as he exploded, thrusting harder and deeper inside her.

  And then it was over. Carrie closed her eyes as Felipe let his head fall forward next to hers. He rolled off her so as not to squash her, but then quickly gathered her into his arms in a tender embrace. Oh, how she loved him.

  Together they lay there on the kitchen table.

  Carrie started to laugh.

  They were lying on the kitchen table. They’d just made love on the kitchen table. Heaven help them if they were ever invited back to this beach house for dinner. Carrie would never make it through the meal without breaking into hysterical laughter.

  “You must be thinking what I’m thinking,” Felipe said, kissing the top of her head.

  “Dinner here,” Carrie said. “With the Marshalls.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” he said with a laugh.

  “I wonder if they’ll know,” Carrie mused. “Just f
rom…I don’t know, the aura, the cosmic waves of sex that will ripple forth from this table from now on.”

  “Hmm,” Felipe said, cupping her breast with his hand.

  “Or maybe,” Carrie said, “the Marshalls do exactly what we just did on this table all the time.”

  Felipe laughed, tipping her face up so he could kiss her on the mouth. “Maybe not,” he said.

  Carrie gazed up into his eyes. “That was great sex,” she said. “Are we in agreement?”

  He didn’t answer—not right away. Finally, he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We’re in agreement.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GREAT SEX.

  Caroline’s words echoed in Felipe’s head.

  Great sex. Was that all it really was to her?

  She was curled up on the other end of the long couch, her head resting on a throw pillow, her eyes tightly closed. She looked like an angel as she slept, with her lips slightly parted, her long eyelashes fanned out against her smooth cheeks, her hair a tangle of unearthly gold around her face. She was enveloped in what was probably Jim Keegan’s old white terry-cloth robe. If she stood up with it on, it would trail behind her like the train of a wedding gown.

  A wedding gown. Now that would be a vision to behold: Caroline, resplendent in a white gown, her long, blond hair elegantly arranged up off her shoulders, a whisper-thin veil covering but not hiding her beautiful smile.

  The groom would be a lucky man, his destiny a life of laughter and love, sweet kisses and sleepy blue-green eyes smiling up at him after wonderful, endless, sinfully delicious nights of loving.

  Felipe’s destiny, on the other hand, promised a procession of cold and lonely nights, stakeouts and time spent under cover with another identity, another name and no real future. Of course, he’d still have Caroline’s blue-green eyes smiling at him—they’d haunt his dreams for the rest of his days.

  Suddenly chilled and feeling desperately alone, Felipe stretched his leg down the couch toward Carrie, wanting their connection to remain unbroken for as long as it possibly could.