“Stop it,” Murphy kept his voice low, his eyes intent, captivating mine as surely as he held my chin in his grip. My giggles stopped and my eyes dried.
“What?” I asked, my consternation coming through loud and clear.
“You’re not a passing fancy.”
I nodded, my heart constricting. “Because I’m old news.”
20
Murphy
I clenched my jaw, wishing the ache in my dick would die now that my heart hurt. Her eyes were shadowed, so sad. Even with her pulling away from me, I wanted Mila more than I’d ever wanted another woman. Not a shocker. I always wanted Mila even as I freaked out about how she could break my heart again.
What was shocking was how quickly her scorching response turned ice cold. My desire didn’t quit burning that quickly, and I didn’t want to stop. Bloody hell. Trying to think with a raging hard-on wasn’t easy.
“What’s wrong, Mila?”
She struggled, trying to climb off my lap. I didn’t let her.
“I told you. I’m not one of your groupies.”
“I know that,” I snapped. “You were the love of my life.”
The green swirls in her eyes dimmed, her face crumpling like a pavlova left out in the heat. “Were. Now I’m nothing more than a dependent. You don’t want my death on your conscience. I understand, Murphy. But I can’t be one of your dick-wicks.” She pulled her small frame up to attention. “If that means you want to leave me to fend for myself, then—”
“Stop right there,” I growled. Black tinged the edges of my vision. I forced my fingers to relax, to let her go. “I’m not leaving you alone whilst Jordan is out there. End of discussion.”
“He shot at you today. Because of me.”
She appeared so lost. Bollocks. Didn’t matter which way I turned, I screwed up and hurt her.
“And he shot at you, too. He’s going to keep coming until he’s caught.”
She dropped her head into her trembling palms. “I want to see my patients, Murphy. I built a life here. My days aren’t what I expected, but they mean something. And my whole life is crumbling, and I hate that you’re here, because you’re just going to leave, and then I’ll . . .” She stopped. Moving to the bathroom, she pulled a robe from the hanger and slid it on.
I sighed, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut and just continued to worship her so we’d both be naked in the bed now. Stifling a groan, I aimed for nonchalance I didn’t feel. Leaning back against the edge of the headboard, I raised my brows.
“You’ll what?”
She didn’t want to answer. But this was one area I wasn’t willing to even entertain the idea of playing the gentleman. I had to have Mila again. She was mine in a way no other woman ever could be.
“Honesty, remember?”
She grimaced. “Fine. I’ll be crushed when you break my heart.”
Better than I thought. Scarier though, too. My heart pounded and my mouth went dry.
“Why’s that, Mila?”
That earned me a full-on glare. She walked toward the bathroom, intent to put another barrier between us.
Not happening. Jordan shot at me today. Wanted me dead. I refused to allow any fake obstacles like pride and fear get in the way—for either of us. I scrambled forward and caught the door with the toe of my boot.
“Come here.”
Her mouth compressed and she shook her head.
“Please, Mila. I want to show you something.”
She sighed. “Fine. But I want to take off my suit first.”
Heat slammed back into my groin. “By all means, go commando.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Mmm, but it does have its merits.” I opened her robe, forcing myself to ignore her creamy flesh. Time for that later. Soon, I hoped. I tugged her suit down her hips, managing to dodge her hands and ignoring her squeal of surprise.
The wet Lycra pooled at her feet and I got my first view and Mila’s nakedness. Before I knew it, I’d pressed a kiss to that slight curve just below her belly button. The skin gave a little. She smelled of chlorine but also desire.
I clenched my jaw and stepped back, pulling the edges of her robe together. Her eyes widened. I loved that look. Like I was a bloody magician, capable of anything.
Not quite, sweetheart. I wasn’t capable of loving you right last time. I brushed a tangle of hair from her forehead but didn’t press the kiss there I wanted to. I had reason to be hurt but so did she. The question was how we moved on—together or apart. I cinched and tied her robe’s belt and took her hand.
She whimpered a little as our palms connected and caressed, its own sensual dance. I pulled Mila from her room and toward the piano. Kevin stood by the door, talking to someone. Mila tugged at my hand, trying to get free. Probably to scurry back to her room and hide again.
Nope. I was intent on this—a gesture to alleviate some of the hurt I’d caused her. I could’ve planned the moment better. Ordered up candles, a bottle of wine. But Mila knew me, which was part of the allure here. She knew I was spontaneous. Unable to control my runaway mouth.
And her heart would break when I left.
Some of my hurt melted away as I eased her down onto the bench next to me. Her brows were pulled tightly together.
Alpie stared at me from her cage, her hot-pink crest rising from her head, but she remained quiet. Maybe she, too, understood the importance of this moment.
“You don’t like to play the piano.”
“Not often. But then, I’ve always compared myself to Hayden.”
I took a breath and settled my fingers on the keys. “Before I do this, I want to tell you something. It’s important.”
“Okay.”
“I haven’t written a new song in over a year. Not because I didn’t want to. Really, it’s the thing I’ve wanted most. But I just couldn’t.”
“Okay,” she said, confusion marking the word and swirling in her eyes.
“I thought about you this morning. About how I’d planned to play you a different song that night. I’ve never performed that one, by the way.”
Her lips parted, forming a little O.
“I’m not playing that song now either. One day, maybe, and just for you. But now isn’t the time.”
“What is the time, then?”
“I want to play this instead.”
I closed my eyes and started on the melody Hayden and I worked out earlier today. Mila shifted on the bench next to me, giving me space to work the keys. And I did. I sang the lyrics that flowed effortlessly.
“Pride ain’t that mighty, not when yours is the best love
I cannot lose,
So baby, I’m here, needing you—
If you stay,
Let me hold you close and keep you warm.”
I stopped playing. “It’s not finished yet, but I wanted you to hear it.” I dropped my fingers from the keys and wrapped them around her waist, hauling her closer. “I needed you back in my life to be able to write again.” I let my forehead rest against hers. “Know why?”
She shook her head, just a little, her eyes never leaving mine.
I took a deep breath, the fear of losing her, of Jordan hurting her, a bitter taste in my mouth. I focused on her deep brown eyes, those rich swirls of color. I might be out of practice, but I knew how to say this.
My hand moved to the back of her neck, cupping her head in my hand. Cradling it. “I thought about it before, but when you asked me if that’s how I dealt with everything, I realized I hadn’t. I mean, I’ve known for a while I should see you, try to understand why you broke my heart.”
“I didn’t mean—”
I placed my fingertips on her soft lips, and she inhaled sharply, eyes on mine.
“It never healed. I did stupid shit, then more stupid shit because I didn’t know how to fix it and I didn’t want to hurt anymore.”
I removed my fingertips, scooting closer to her on the bench. Her breathing escalated. My heart tried to thump o
ut of my chest.
“Murphy,” Kevin said. “The police want to talk to you.”
“Later.”
“They’re here now, and—”
“Blood fucking hell.” I stared hard into her eyes. “We’re finishing this.”
21
Mila
I nodded, shoving my tousled hair back from my cheeks. “Yes, please.”
He stood as he removed his hand out from behind my knees and my body slid down the length of his. We both hissed out a breath.
“Ms. Trask, Mr. Etsam,” Detective Davenport said with a nod. Murphy shook his hand, so I did the same. Once we were all settled again, this time with water I grabbed for us, Detective Davenport leaned forward. “I wanted to let you know where we are with the investigation.” He raised his eyebrows. “Especially since you seem busy.”
I stiffened and Murphy wrapped his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re here pretty late,” I said.
Davenport sat back and cleared his throat. “Full day. First free minutes I’ve had to stop by.”
“Have you eaten?” I asked. “We can order you something.”
Davenport smiled, a full one of appreciation, but shook his head. “So . . . we have warrants out on Jordan Jones, both for assault with a deadly weapon against Noelle Markham, and for attempted battery and aggravated stalking of you, Ms. Trask.”
“Does that mean you’re going to arrest him?”
Davenport’s lips puckered for a moment. “We want to. But we have to find him first.”
“The hell?” Murphy growled. “Do your jobs and get the bloke!”
Kevin cleared his throat and Murphy turned to glare at him, too. “Not that easy,” he said, his voice calm. “Seattle proper has over six hundred thousand people in it. Then there’re the surrounding areas. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack. Especially since he hasn’t used any of his credit cards, and he’s finding ways to get past security. He wore a disguise to get in through the delivery entrance of the hotel.”
“What about burning down Mila’s house? You going to charge him for that, too?”
“As soon as I can prove it was him,” the detective said, his voice more clipped. Because Murphy was questioning him or because the situation angered him as well?
“What do you need to prove he torched my house?” I asked.
Davenport rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Arson’s tricky. The house flamed really hot, so we know lots of accelerant was used. Gasoline,” he clarified. “But Jordan’s been smart. Once he was in the country, he hasn’t flashed his passport and has paid for everything in cash. And now the disguises. He’s sliding under the radar.”
“Can you track his mobile? You know, with that find a friend feature.” Murphy waved his hand.
Davenport’s lip kicked up in sardonic approval. “If I knew his number, sure. Do you happen to have the phone number of the device he’s using here? Because the cell phone in his name is sitting in Rosemary Jones’ house, back in Sydney.”
I tensed again, not liking the mention of my mother still spending time with Jordan.
“Right. So. To clarify . . .” Murphy said. “You have lots of warrants and probable cause. You’re actively searching for the wanker but just haven’t found him. When you do, you plan to put him in jail for the rest of his ruddy life.”
“As soon as we catch him,” Davenport averred.
“When will that be?” I asked. I twisted my left fist around my right pointer finger, in an effort to relieve my building anxiety and my burgeoning need for another dose of Xanax. Alpie cooed from her cage, and I considered letting her out to comfort me because Murphy wouldn’t give me the pill until tomorrow, and I needed to come up with new coping skills to deal with all this tension.
I licked my lips thinking of the best relaxation method. What was it my psychiatrist said? Skills before pills. Well, Murphy had mad skills in the bedroom, and I’d bet they’d improved this past year. Not that I wanted to think about why that was . . . and I was back to being concerned about why Murphy wanted to have sex with me.
Davenport took a long drink of water. After setting the glass back on the table, he held first Murphy’s gaze then my own. “I want this guy. I want him behind bars. Now. Not because the Seattle PD appears incompetent—that’s the chief’s PR problem. Jordan Jones is a bad man doing bad things. I don’t want another fire or another person harmed. I don’t want to have to come back here and tell you we’ve failed again.”
I cleared my throat, thankful for the ability to focus on something besides the rabbit trail of Murphy’s sexcapades. I leaned forward, away from Murphy’s drugging scent and warmth. “I don’t think you’ve failed. And you’re the first police personnel to believe me. Thank you for that.”
“We just want him in custody,” Murphy added. “Unable to terrorize Mila any further.”
“We all do,” Kevin said. “Would make my life a lot easier if I didn’t have to worry not only about a gunman but also about your reaction to him.” He raised his eyebrows, still irritated about Murphy’s stunt in the garage. Murphy shrugged, clearly not willing to apologize for his concern over my safety. Oh, how I wished I really was Murphy’s top priority.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“We keep searching and hope we get a good lead,” Davenport said. “Something to break the case.”
Murphy ended the interviews with a speed that bordered on terseness. If I didn’t know him well, I’d think he was being a rock star diva dickhead. But he kept tugging at his eyebrow ring, flicking his lip piercing, fidgeting with his hands. Murphy was nervous about our conversation, and the fear of being shot at still coursed through us. As soon as Detective Davenport shuffled his papers, Murphy stood and practically hauled me from the room.
I would have been embarrassed if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with what Murphy had begun to tell me earlier. I’d broken his heart and it hadn’t healed. Did that mean he still loved me? Could I believe him if he told me that now?
The situation we’d been thrust in was dangerous. It escalated emotions and physical reactions. I knew that—I was a doctor. Yet, here I stood, my body practically begging for Murphy to touch me, make me forget my fears and anxieties.
He fumbled with the door. “It’s locked,” he muttered. “Mila, I—” Instead of finishing that thought, he leaned down and kissed me. This meeting of lips, teeth, tongue was slow, soft, banked with more hunger than I’d ever felt from him before. I kissed him back, trying to make up for lost time.
He ripped his lips from mine, his eyes dark with lust. “I want to make love to you, Mila.”
I cupped his cheeks. Ignoring my pounding heart, I said, “Because of the adrenaline? To feel more alive?”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “No. Because nearly losing you today, worrying you were hurt or dead, made my heart pound and my hands sweaty and my soul ache.”
I blinked up at him. Not the declaration of love I wanted, but the words, their starkness, melted my heart. And . . . to be honest, I wanted Murphy, too. Just as much—maybe more—than he wanted me.
“I can’t have sex with you,” I said, sighing. Stepping back was hard.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I’ll want to be in a relationship. An exclusive one.”
His frown cleared. “But we are.”
“Since when?” I asked.
“Since I saw you again.”
“You were so angry at the Tractor Tavern.”
He shook his head. “I was hurt. Part of me still is. I’m also angry you didn’t trust me with the situation with Jordan then.”
And here we were. Back to the lack of trust, to the bitterness we’d both created over the last year. If I asked him how we got past this, I might never have another chance to feel Murphy’s arms around me, his skin sliding over mine. Was I ready to throw away our chemistry—whatever this second chance was?—because our relationship hadn’t aligned perfectly? I was still in love with him, w
ould be for the rest of my life. So if this was all I could get, these few stolen days punctuated by the fear of Jordan’s stalking, I’d be a fool to not live them to the fullest.
I stepped back, my limbs shaking. I opened my robe and let it fall from my shoulders. “Make love to me, Murphy.”
Meeting his gaze and the emotion there caused me to step back in. Closer. I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to pleasure and be pleasured.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I snorted. He placed his hands on my hips, cupping my bum. “I mean it. No one compares to you, Mila.”
“Enough sweet talking. Kiss me already.”
He did. And it was hot, wet, glorious. His tongue stroked mine, relearning the textures of my mouth. I moaned, pressing my body fully against his, my hands in his hair.
“I’ve got to feel you against my skin.”
He disentangled our arms, and I whimpered. His smirk disappeared behind his T-shirt. And then his chest was bare. I touched his collar bones, slid my hands down his pecs and traced his puckered nipples. His breath hissed out and he moaned when my fingers drifted lower, over his abs to the button of his jeans.
He cupped my shoulder blade with one hand, the other covering my breast. I leaned into his palm, needing the friction. Right . . . there. I gasped as my nipples hardened.
“Please.”
“What do you want, Mila?”
“You. I need you.”
I undid the fastening on his jeans. Reaching inside, I cupped his erection. He was so hard, so warm in my hand through his underwear.
“Don’t stop,” he groaned.
“Don’t plan to.”
With my free hand, I managed to shove his jeans over his hips. They puddled over his boots. He dipped his head and I tilted mine, knowing he wanted to kiss my jawline. I jumped when his lips, then his tongue, touched the upper swell of my breast. Not what I expected but good. So good.
He quivered as I cupped him harder, pressing him into my palm.
Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five Page 67
