by Sarah Grimm
“What?”
“That he was looking into Rick’s murder. What did he find, Justin?”
“I wish I knew.”
“But you’re fairly certain Leroy was killed because of his re-interest in Rick’s murder?”
“Yes. The trouble is, I can’t prove it one way or another. If St. John uncovered something new, he didn’t share it with anybody. We’ve found no notes, no link between his trip here and Preston’s murder. No link, that is, except you.”
“The person he came all the way from Boston to see.”
“The last person to speak with him. The woman who knew Rick Preston best.”
Paige rose and began to pace. “He didn’t tell me anything.”
“St. John or Preston?”
“Neither.”
“Preston’s service record made him out to be some kind of superhuman.”
“Superman,” she said quietly. “Some days I think he believed it to be true.”
“What happened eight months before his death?”
She stopped before him. “What do you mean?”
Justin stared into Paige’s waiting face and considered telling her his growing suspicions about Rick Preston. That the absence of motive in the St. John homicide was not the only thing his late night had produced. In fact, his complete absorption in Preston’s service record left him with more questions than answers and a growing feeling that Rick Preston was a cop gone bad.
He clenched his jaw. Would it solve anything? Help the case in any way? He didn’t believe it would. “Are you aware of Preston having any problems?”
“What kind of problems? Problems at work?”
“There or in his personal life that might have affected his work.”
Paige began to pace once more, down the length of the couch and back again. “Rick didn’t talk to me about work. Not ever. His job meant everything to him, yet remained something he never shared with me.”
“That must have been difficult for you.”
“I accepted it. I accepted a lot back then. He shaped me into the type of woman he wanted, one who didn’t question when his cell phone would ring and he’d just stand up and leave. Who didn’t wonder about the large areas of himself he didn’t share with me or the increasing number of nights he wouldn’t come home.”
Anger tightened the knots in his side and sent a shaft of pain down his arm. He leaned back and swore under his breath. “Another woman?”
She stopped pacing and pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. A minute passed before she replied, “I honestly don’t know. Maybe.” She closed her eyes for the space of a heartbeat. “Probably.”
“When did this happen?”
“About six months before his murder.” Her intense, unwavering gaze locked with his. “What did you find in his service record?”
He stared up at her. He knew nothing short of the truth would appease her. “Nothing definitive, just a feeling that something’s missing. More questions than answers, really.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
He remained silent, studying the way the morning sunlight danced like fire through her thick, dark hair. Absorbing the appealing lines of her profile, the elegant curve of her throat. After a moment, she raised her hand and tucked an errant curl behind her ear, looking frustrated and defeated.
He narrowed his gaze. The days of stress must be making him soft, for suddenly he wanted more than anything else, to chase the shadows from her green eyes, bring a warm, radiant smile to her lips and know it was all for him. To experience just once what it felt like to have a woman look at him the way Suzanne looked at Allan. The way his mother looked at Nicholas Parsons.
He couldn’t. He didn’t even know where to start.
“Justin, how old are you?”
Justin blinked, more bemused than stunned by her sudden and abrupt change of topic. “Where did that come from?”
She shrugged dismissively before tilting him farther off axis by settling herself on the coffee table directly before him, her knees sandwiched between, though not touching, his. “Here we are, digging through the ghosts of my past and I know very little about you. Tell me everything about you that I don’t know.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Have you been a cop long?”
“Going on thirteen years.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
Her innocent question made him more uncomfortable than he liked. The job was all he had. It defined him. For thirteen years he’d lived it, breathed it and been happy. Only recently had he begun to wonder if it was enough. “I’m good at it.”
“Thirteen years, huh? That would make you about thirty-four?”
“Thirty-five,” he corrected.
“Have you ever been engaged?”
“No.”
“Married?”
“No. And before you ask, no, I don’t have any children.” His mouth lifted into a wry curve. “However, I am about to become a godfather.”
She gave him a bright smile. “Really?”
“Allan and his wife, Suzanne, are expecting their first. They’ve asked me to be the child’s godfather.”
Her smile grew. Her voice went soft and serious. “You and he are close.”
“Allan’s more than my partner, he’s my family. He’s like a brother to me.”
“How long have you been partnered?”
“Ten years.”
“You don’t have any family?”
“My mother. A few aunts and uncles.”
“But no siblings.”
“No. Maybe that’s part of what brought us so close.”
She gave him an odd little grin. “Sort of an odd pair.”
“Allan and I? Why do you say that?”
“You seem very outgoing and he’s so quiet.”
“He’s got a lot on his mind right now.” Like worrying about his partner’s ability to do the job he’d only just returned to. “Our caseload is pretty hefty and Suzanne is having a problem with her blood pressure all of a sudden.”
“Pre-eclampsia?”
“Pre-what?”
“Her blood pressure problems, do they think it’s preeclampsia?”
“I have no idea. The point is, in another couple of weeks, Allan will be back to talking your ear off.”
“Will I still be around in a few weeks?”
Paige watched as the warmth of his smile chilled by ten degrees. Justin dropped his stare and curled the fingers of his right hand around his left. “I don’t do relationships, Paige.”
“You mentioned that before.”
“I told you I wasn’t looking for a relationship. Now I’m telling you I’m never looking for a relationship. I don’t do relationships.”
Feigning indifference, she took a sip of coffee and studied him over the rim. “What’s there to do? You enjoy someone’s company, spend time with them. Talk.”
Silence locked in.
Just when she thought they were at the end of their conversation, he spoke up. “My mother is getting married, again.”
The slight emphasis he placed on the word ‘again’ spoke volumes.
“This will make husband number four. It’s been a while for her. My father left us when I was five. By the time I turned sixteen she was going through her third divorce.” He wore his cop face—a mask as cool and emotionless as his voice. “I thought she was through with it, her relentless pursuit of happily-ever-after. You’d think she’d have figured it out by now.”
“What?”
He sighed and returned his gorgeous brown eyes to hers.
Paige set her mug aside. She grazed his knuckles in a light caress. “Figured what out, Justin?” A muscle in his jaw ticked. His throat began to work, but no explanation came. She didn’t need one. “You don’t believe in happily-ever-after.”
He stared at her, his expression intense. “I don’t believe in love.”
Her heart knotted in her chest. Ignoring the alarm blari
ng in the back of her mind, she shifted closer. He didn’t bother breaking the intimate contact, just closed his thighs around hers. Her skin heated beneath her jeans. Her mind clouded with desire at this smallest of contact.
Paige had lost count of the times she’d told herself to stay away from him. She couldn’t stay away from him. Even as his words confirmed without a doubt they had no future together, the vulnerability in his eyes called out to her. She removed her fingers from his and slid her left hand up his chest to cup his jaw. His gaze warmed, the color of his eyes deepened as she dragged her fingers back and forth across the scruff of his beard stubble.
He would never love her.
She shifted her hand again, this time boldly smoothing her fingers across his lips. What should have been the catalyst that pushed her across the room drew her closer.
Justin reached up and curled his fingers around her wrist. “Be sure you want this,” he warned in a low growl. “I can’t make you any promises.”
She didn’t want any promises. She wasn’t looking to the future or worrying about the intelligence of her decision. For once, she wanted to live in the moment. To let reason slip and need take its place. “I want this,” she whispered, her thumb exploring his bottom lip. “I want you.”
The hand he held curled around her wrist flexed once, otherwise he did not move. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and stood, straddled his legs and settled atop his lap, her knees hugging his hips. The hard press of his erection shot white hot desire through her body like lightning bolts and drove a little growl of pleasure from the back of her throat.
He pulled her even closer, plowed his fingers into her hair and arched her head back. They were inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes, breathing the same air. His eyes weren’t cool now, they simmered with life, with greed and desire. His mouth hovered over hers for what seemed like an eternity then settled.
He was gentle at first, then, as she surrendered, his mouth explored hers with greater intent. He kissed her almost roughly, completely on fire, sweeping his tongue possessively into her mouth. His hands settled on her hips, gliding upward beneath her shirt until his palms closed over her naked breasts. His moan of approval, so raw and husky, vibrated into her mouth and made her heart pound even harder. The sensation of bare flesh against bare flesh sent waves of heat spiraling from her head to her toes. Her nipples hardened. Her belly quivered.
Arching her back, she pressed herself firmly into his palms and invited his hands to explore her more fully. He did, rolling her straining nipples between his fingers then worrying them with the friction of his palms. Her body shuddered. Wet heat flooded her core.
“Paige,” he breathed, as his mouth plundered her throat, fastened on that incredibly sensitive spot beneath her ear, then continued down to fasten on one of her breasts. He drew in the rigid tip of her nipple and sucked.
Her lips parted on a quiet moan. She wrapped her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers into his hair as pleasure arrowed through her system. The hot wet feel of his mouth on her was almost more than she could handle. And yet, it wasn’t enough. His hands smoothed down her sides to settle on her hips. His fingers curled into her flesh as he used his teeth, his tongue, his lips.
A gasp escaped her when he lifted her, sealing his torso to hers as he settled her along the length of the couch in one smooth motion. Bracing himself with his arms to keep his weight from crushing her, he came down on top of her, shifting his hips and pressing his erection more fully against her. His mouth returned to hers in a dizzying kiss.
She wanted to touch him. It took her breath away, the wanting. It made her shake. With trembling hands, she tugged the shirt from his waistband, desperate to explore the muscled planes of his chest. But then she froze.
“Justin!”
The sound of a woman’s voice carried into the room from the kitchen along with the steady tap of shoes on the tiled floor. With his mouth pressed against the hollow of her throat, she heard Justin’s mumbled curse clearly. She wiggled, attempting to shift his weight enough for her to slide out from under him, but he ignored her efforts.
“Shh, maybe she’ll go away.”
“Justin, are you home?” The voice moved closer. “Justin?”
Her shirt was snagged somewhere above her naked breasts. Paige disengaged her hands from Justin’s body, pulling her shirt down and covering herself just as a woman’s face appeared above them.
“Oh, my!”
One look at the stunned expression on the woman’s face and Paige began to squirm. She pushed her palms firmly against Justin’s chest, eager to untangle their bodies and assume a position a whole lot less compromising. He didn’t budge. When she hazarded a quick glance toward him, her plea for release died before it passed her lips.
Pleasure darkened his eyes as he stared at her. He used the back of his fingers to ever so gently brush the hair away from her temples and out of her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t realize.”
Justin sat up slowly, draped his left arm over the back of the couch. “Hey, Mom. What brings you around today?”
Mom? Paige pushed herself into the opposite corner of the couch and blinked. She struggled to clear the fog from her mind and concentrate. No way had she heard him correctly. This stunning woman who stood before her couldn’t be his mother. Tall and blonde, she was perfectly dressed, hair and makeup in place. Thanks to remarkable bone structure, she had the look of someone too young to have a son Justin’s age.
“I can’t believe it,” his mother replied.
Neither could Paige. Quickly, she scanned her gaze over herself, making certain she was properly covered.
Justin smiled at his mother, totally unapologetic while Paige felt a heated blush warm her cheeks.
“You have a woman here.” Her tone was more wonder than accusation. “To say I am surprised would be an understatement.”
Before Paige had a split second to process his mom’s words, Justin made introductions. “Yes, I do. This is Paige Conroy. Paige is…a friend of mine.”
Her dark eyes, so like her son’s, calmly took in the scene. “So I see.” A knowing smile lit her face, brought out the dimple in her left cheek. “I certainly didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Justin cocked his head. “If I pointed out you did just that, would you leave?”
Smirking, she swatted his arm. “No. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“She tried. They didn’t stick.”
“Obviously.” As she spoke, her gaze settled once again on Paige. She extended her hand. “Since my rude son isn’t going to do this, I will. Thelma Kincaid.”
“Nice to meet you,” Paige said, returning Thelma’s handshake.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Thelma stated as she tugged at the crease on her slim navy slacks and slid a hip onto the back of the couch near Justin’s outstretched arm. “I never stopped to think that I might be, for you see, Justin has never brought a woman into his home before.”
