by Kylie Brant
She shook her head. One long strand had escaped from the knot she'd pulled her hair into, and it curved along her jaw. Cade wanted, more than was comfortable, to brush it away. To allow it to curl around his finger, and to see for himself if it was as soft as it looked.
"No, not always. Occasionally a patient presents with symptoms that have us spinning our wheels trying to figure them out."
She got up from the floor and he reached out, gave her fingers a friendly tug and pulled her down on the couch. "So then what do you do?"
Although she looked a little surprised at his pressing, she said, "Run some tests. Maybe get another opinion. Start eliminating possibilities."
"Kinda like police work." He nodded, hoping the conversation would distract her from the concern he'd seen on her face moments before. "You narrow down the possibilities until you nail it, then you act."
She made a wry face. "Okay, so I'm looking for a quick end to this. I'm used to running my life to suit myself."
"No kidding" was all he said, and earned himself a pointed look.
"You strike me as a man who likes to arrange things to his own liking, as well."
"Who doesn't? But sometimes fate has a way of barging in and upsetting things, regardless of our plans." He thought of the time he'd spent flat on his back, drifting in and out of consciousness. The long arduous weeks of recovery, pushing himself to heal faster so he could get back on the streets. It had seemed the least he could do, since Brian wouldn't be going back to the job at all.
"I don't want this to go on so long that it ends up affecting someone else in my life," she surprised him by saying. At his look, she smiled wryly. "It's the oath they make us take. First do no harm. I don't want anyone hurt because some crazy is fixated on me."
Not for the first time, he marveled at the contrasts in her. A woman who surrounded herself with a force field of defense, who'd chosen a career of helping others. He'd seen her treat patients. Remembered how frustrated she'd been when one of them had left with her abuser. Although she was an expert at keeping her distance, she wasn't detached. Her complexities were intriguing. "Do you have any other siblings besides … Liam, is it?"
His hope of drawing her out a bit more was doomed with that question. Her face shuttered. "No. It's just the two of us."
Cade knew better than to press further. Instead, he stretched out again, propping his feet on the coffee table. She hadn't kicked him out yet, so that was a good sign. "I've got two brothers," he said, "one older, one younger. And a little sister who was more trouble than the three of us put together."
"I feel compelled to point out that your perception is probably dictated by your gender."
"If that's a polite way of calling me a male chauvinist, I'll deny it. Half the folks in Tangiphoha Parish would agree. And the other half just can't see beyond Ana's blinding smile. Those of us who know her best realize that her cute exterior masks a streak of sheer deviousness. Took all three of us to keep her in line when we were growing up."
"Something tells me she didn't thank you for your efforts."
There was a smile in Shae's voice, although it hadn't made it to her face yet. Encouraged, he went on, "She's always been quite vocal about her lack of appreciation for our … protective tendencies." Though that was the most that was the most polite thing Ana had accused her brothers of, and it had been true enough. "She's married now, so her husband inherited that job, poor slob."
"You don't approve," she observed shrewdly. "Is it marriage in general or her choice of husbands?"
He slanted a surprised glance at her. He was certain there'd been nothing of his mixed feelings in his voice. "Marriage is great for those in the market for it. As a matter of fact, there's a lot of it going around in my family lately. One of my brothers, Sam, is engaged."
"And you like his fiancée," she prodded, humor still evident in her words.
He thought of Juliette, soon to be his sister-in-law. It would be hard to dislike the dark-haired French beauty. And if he suspected there was much more to her than met the eye, well, he'd also long figured Sam was more than just an international lawyer.
"I see where you're going with this." He reached over, snagged the pop from her hand and took a drink. She narrowed her eyes at him. "But it isn't that I don't approve of Ana's husband. He's just not the kind of guy I expected her to end up with."
"Let's see. Someone nice and boring like an insurance salesman? Someone who'd build her a house down the street from the family home with a white picket fence and a dog?"
The observation was close enough to the mark to sit uncomfortably. "Maybe." Instead, she ended up with an ex-CIA agent who'd seen and experienced too much. "What the hell, if I have to entrust my sister's safety to anyone, I'd just as soon it be Jones." There was no question the man was capable of protecting her. And no denying he'd give his life to do it. That kind of devotion went a long way toward overcoming Cade's reservations.
"So your early solicitous tendencies drove you to seek a career with the NOPD, to continue your need to serve and protect." He reached for the pop can again, but she moved it out of his range and toasted him with it before she drank.
He folded his arms over his chest. "Nope. I wanted to be a cop so I could drive fast and carry a gun."
"True hero quality," she affirmed. "I hope you wrote that down on your application. It's very impressive."
He grinned foolishly, enjoying the look of her. Draped against the couch, she was as relaxed as he'd ever seen her. The creamy skin bared by her top glistened, inviting a caress. And because he was tired of fighting the urge to do just that, he said, "Last time I was here you asked me to stay. If you were to ask tonight, my answer would be different."
She studied him, her gray eyes wide and serious. And God help him, he didn't breathe until he heard her say "Stay for a while."
The breath seeped out of him a bit at a time and, he dropped his feet to the floor. Obeying the urge that had ridden him all night, he reached out and lifted the strand of hair that had worked loose from the knot and wound it slowly around his index finger, his knuckle brushing her jaw. Her skin would feel just that soft all over, he thought, like the rose petals in his grandmother's gardens. He had to fight a sudden urge to discover every silky spot on her body. Now. To explore the places that made her sigh and ravage the spots that made her moan. He released her hair to trace his finger over her lips, battling the desire to take her hard and fast and furious. There was satisfaction to be had in taking it slow.
And he was going to do all he could to satisfy them both.
With a quick movement he had her scooped up and on his lap, settling them both comfortably in the corner of the couch. She looked a little startled at his action, and her gaze grew wary as she looped an arm around his neck to steady herself. Distracted by the pulse pounding in her throat, he pressed his mouth to it.
"We'll be more comfortable upstairs." Her words were breathy.
He found the cord in her neck and scored it gently with his teeth. "I'm pretty comfortable right here." He inhaled her perfume, something subtle and inviting, and felt his senses shred. No, he wasn't going to hurry this. Wasn't going to race toward the inevitable conclusion. Hooking his finger in the thin strap of her top, he dragged it over her shoulder, tasting the skin he'd bared with his mouth. He'd thought about this moment much too often to want to rush through it.
"Cade." Both hands were pressing on his shoulders, and when he lifted his head, he'd have sworn he read embarrassment on her face. "It's not that I don't appreciate your seductive techniques, but they're unnecessary. You've got a sure thing here."
A smile played around his mouth. "Still trying to set the rules?" he murmured, dropping a kiss at the corner of her mouth. "Ever wonder what would happen if you just forgot about controlling the situation and let go?" He didn't wait for her answer, didn't need one. He suspected that loss of control was the one thing in the world Shae O'Riley feared.
His hand stroked her back, feeling
the tense set of muscles, the rigidity of her spine. His fingers worked at the tightness there, slow and soothing, as he trailed a lazy path of kisses along her jaw. After a few moments he was rewarded when he heard her issue a faint sound and sag a little against him. Despite her protests, he'd give her romance, because he'd never known a woman more in need of it. And in the seduction, allow himself to be seduced.
She slid her hand into his hair and brought his mouth to hers. Her kiss was direct, much like her personality. He found he liked that about her. Too much. Their breath mingled as he sank into the flavor of her. Mouths mated, tongues tangled, first quick and darting, then slowing to a languid glide. He gathered her closer to him and changed the angle of the kiss, demand edging in, fierce and sharp as a blade.
As if she recognized the change in him, she pulled away, her gaze never leaving his. She grasped the bottom of her tank top with both hands, sliding it up over her head before tossing it aside. He reached up and tugged at the pins holding her hair. One by one, he released thick strands to tumble below her shoulders. Only then did he reach for the front clip of her bra to release it.
Her breasts were soft perfect cones and fit his hands as if made for them. And with the bra tossed aside, her hair draped over her bare shoulders, she looked like a marble goddess come to life. Except she wasn't a cold statue, nor was she the frosty doctor he'd first met. She was a fallen angel, tempting him to join her descent into wicked pleasure. It was a journey he was anxious to share.
He shifted position to press her shoulders against the arm of the couch and drew one of her tightly beaded nipples between his lips. He laved it with his tongue, quick teasing strokes, before sucking more fiercely on it. She gave a little gasp and pressed closer to him, forcing a deeper contact. He complied, covering her other breast with his hand, kneading lightly, and felt all his other senses dim.
There was the taste of her, exquisitely feminine, and the feel, curves layered with heat. Everything inside him was focused on her. On diving into those flames and allowing desire to scorch them both.
He lifted his mouth, rubbed his unshaven jaw against the wet swollen nipple he'd released, then swallowed her cry of pleasure. Her hands tugged at his shirt, but he wasn't in the mood at the moment to help her. There was something too gut-wrenchingly sexy about holding her half-naked body on his lap. About savoring first one breast, then the other, and feel her twisting against him.
It was both heaven and hell, he discovered, to take things slow, especially with a woman who'd been a fever in his system for too long. He hadn't had sex since before the shooting, but he didn't fool himself into thinking abstinence was the reason for his rapidly eroding control. The reason was the woman herself. She cleared his mind of all that had come before her and filled it with thoughts only of her. Of this moment.
She struggled to an upright position and then straddled him, dragging his shirt from the waistband of his pants. Her hands slid beneath, trailing fire in their wake. Her fingers stroked his sides, slid to his back, flexed against the muscles. Her touch torched his blood. He could feel it surging through his veins like a Thoroughbred straining toward the finish line. And thought began to recede.
He undid the buttons of the shirt with quick savage movements, and when it was open, he splayed his hand against her back and brought her against him. Flesh to flesh. Curves to angles. Heat to heat. Her breasts flattened against his chest, he went in search of her mouth, kissing her with a measure of the hunger that was welling up inside him.
Her hands pressed between them and reluctantly he released her mouth. Her palms skated over his torso, slowing when she found the injury that had nearly ended his life. He didn't want to think about that now. Not when he felt more alive than he had in years. Not when every breath he took had to be battled out of clogged lungs. When every one of his senses was awash in her.
She leaned forward, dragging the tips of her breasts across his chest, and with every sensual stroke a corresponding bolt of lust tightened low in his belly. She nipped at his shoulder, the tiny sting of pain honing his desire to a sharper edge.
His hands settled on her hips, pressed her more closely against his aching length. He wanted to be buried inside her to the hilt. Wanted to plunge into her velvety softness until the need exploded for them both, leaving only pleasure in its wake. And he wanted, quite desperately, for that to be enough.
An alarm sounded at the back of his mind warning him that one taste of her wasn't going to be enough to quench the fever in his blood. That one night, however pleasurable, was never going to sate a desire that simmered whenever he was near her.
He rose, hands gripping her bottom, urging her legs around him to clasp his hips, and made his way to the staircase. When he got to the bottom of it, she twisted against him until he released her, and with one arm wrapped around his waist, she ascended the stairs with him. Each step notched the anticipation up even higher. The longing even stronger. And when they got to the top, she stepped into his arms once more.
The bed lay behind her, the rumpled covers dappled in the moon glow slanting in through the skylight. He remembered the first time he'd been up here, that time without her permission. His focus hadn't been on the bed, but he'd carried the picture of it in his mind long after, nonetheless. Had had a mental image of her spread out in the middle of it, nude and painted with starlight. With his body stretched out atop her, buried in her.
Her fingers danced along the top of his jeans, teasing, knuckles brushing his belly. Hooking his thumbs in the sides of her pants, he dragged them down over her hips, baring the tiny scrap of panties she wore beneath. She wiggled her hips to aid him, distracting him for a moment, before the pants slid down her long slender thighs.
Kicking them aside, she swayed toward him, her gaze direct, her eyes smoky, as her hands worked to release the button on his jeans. He splayed one hand over her bottom and brought her closer, dragging his lips over the side of her throat before taking the lobe of her ear in his teeth to worry it gently.
"Do you have protection?" He'd never put her at risk, and if she didn't have something, he did.
But she nodded as she worked his zipper over the bulge in his fly. "In the nightstand."
He released a shaky breath and filled his hands with her bottom, squeezing gently. He traced the edge of the elastic where it met the tops of her thighs, the back of his knuckles grazing her silk-clad mound. Finding her mouth with his, he kissed her deeply, his tongue stroking hers in rhythm with the brushing movements of his fingers. He could feel the damp heat of her behind the thin barrier of silk. Could imagine that slick wet softness opening for him, surrounding him.
Then her hands were freeing him, cupping him, her firm strokes sending restraint careening away. He withstood her teasing as long as he could, until the breath was strangling his lungs and his vision began to turn hazy. Then he stepped back, kicked out of his remaining clothes and reached for her again.
He tumbled her down onto the bed, pausing to appreciate the way the moonlight gave her skin an alabaster sheen. Her hands were greedy, her mouth demanding, as she drew him down to her. But he wasn't ready for this to be over. Not yet. Not until he'd tasted every inch of her. Explored all the curves and hollows where her scent lingered, her pulse throbbed.
The skin on her stomach was like satin. He moved his mouth over it, pausing to dip his tongue in the delicate swirls of her navel. He felt her muscles quiver as she guessed his intent. Felt the bite of her nails on his shoulders a moment before he pushed her panties over her hips and down her legs. He slid his hand up her satiny thighs and parted them.
"No, Cade." Her whisper was slightly panicked as he traced the seam where her leg met her hip with his tongue. "I don't want…" The rest of her words were lost as his mouth found her sensitive flesh and feasted.
He relished the low moan she released, the feel of her fingers sliding into his hair, tightening. The taste of her was liquid fire, and it called to something primal within him. He couldn't get en
ough of her. Couldn't taste enough. Touch enough. His tongue found the cluster of sensitive nerves hidden in her folds and her hips arched off the bed.
Yes, he thought savagely, as he heard the cries she made. This was what he'd wanted. The feel of her pressing closer to his mouth. The scent of her in his blood. Her flavor intoxicating his senses. He'd wanted to strip away every vestige of control she might cling to. To shred every defense until she was a mass of sensation, a creature driven by need.
He entered her with one finger, exploring her inner softness, as she twisted against him. His name on her lips fulfilled one need, summoned a hundred more. His hunger for her was ravenous, spiked with each tortured cry she gave, by the involuntary clenching and unclenching of her fingers. Her body bucked more and more rapidly beneath him, tightening, signaling her imminent release. And when it came, ripping a shattered cry from her throat, need slashed through him like a blade.
Lifting his head from her sated body, he reached blindly for the drawer on the table beside him. His movements were clumsy with pent-up hunger. It took longer than it should have to rip open the package.
Then Shae's hands were pushing his aside to roll the latex over his shaft. Cade closed his eyes as just that touch alone was nearly enough to send him hurtling over the edge.
It was too late to think of finesse. He pressed her back on the bed, made a place for himself between her thighs. When he paused there for a moment, desperately reaching for a control that seemed suddenly elusive, her hips arched, urging him on. He focused on her face as he entered her in tortuously slow increments. Her eyes went wide, then slid to half-mast, and she reached up, curled her hand around his nape, as her legs climbed his hips.
The position opened her to him in an invitation he was helpless to resist. He sank into her, burying himself as deeply as he was able, and fought to get air into his lungs.
