But he wasn't too dizzy to realize that his hand was still on her chest, his fingers against her delicate collarbone, his wrist between her lace-covered breasts.
She was in his arms, her face inches from his, her shirt torn and stained, her hands and feet still tied.
Nell cleared her throat. "Well, this is quite the little fantasy come true."
Crash moved his hand, but then didn't quite know where to put it. "Are you all right? When I saw you still lying here, I thought..."
"I couldn't get free."
"I purposely used slipknots to tie you."
"I tried," she admitted, "but they just seemed to get tighter."
"You're not supposed to pull at them." He helped her up into a sitting position and swiftly used his knife to cut her hands free. "You're suppose to finesse them. Pulling just tightens them."
"So much for my lifelong dream of becoming an escape artist."
Crash's ribs hurt as he cut her feet free, and he realized that she had made him laugh. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, but she had turned away from him, as if suddenly self-conscious that her torn shirt was hanging open, all its buttons neatly removed.
She rubbed her wrists. "Damn—that tomato juice stings!"
"It's acidic. Come here."
Nell let him help her up and lead her to the set of double sinks right outside the bathroom door. He turned on the water and she held her wrists under the flow as he turned on the light.
"I'm sorry about this." His hands were so gentle as he lifted her hands to look at her rope burns.
She looked up at him. "It worked, didn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Then it's worth it."
His gaze flickered down to the open front of her shirt, "You better take a shower. I'll find you something clean to wear."
He was still touching her, still holding her hands. Nell knew that it was now or never-and she couldn't bear for it to be never. Not without trying one more time.
She reached out and touched the edge of the front pocket of his pants. In his haste to make sure she was all right, he'd knelt in the puddle of tomato juice. "You look like you could use a shower yourself," she said softly. "And I could use a little company."
Crash didn't move. For a minute, she wasn't even sure if he was still breathing. But the sudden rush of heat in his eyes left her little doubt. The sexual tension she'd felt building over the past few days was not a figment of her imagination. He felt it, too. He suffered from it, too. Thank God.
"That was your big cue," she prompted him. "That was where you were supposed to kiss me and pull me with you into the shower."
"Why are you here?" he asked hoarsely. "What do you want? Why did you even come to the jail?"
Nell knew she should break the spell by saying something funny, something flip. But in a flash of clarity, she realized that she used humour to maintain a distance—much in the same way that Crash separated from his emotions. So she didn't make a joke. She told him the truth.
"I want to help you prove your innocence. You once told me that I didn't really know you, but you were wrong." She held his gaze, daring him to look away, to step away, to pull away from her. "I do know you, Billy. My heart knows you. Even though your heart doesn't seem to want to recognize me."
He touched the side of her face, and she closed her eyes, pressing her cheek into his palm, daring to hope that he felt even a fraction of what she did.
"So that's why you're here," he whispered. 'To try to save me."
"I'm here because you need me." Nell opened her eyes and let slip another dangerous truth. "And because I need you."
He was looking at her, and she could see everything he was feeling mirrored in his eyes. For once, he wasn't trying to hide from her. Or from himself.
"I want you," she told him softly. "All these months, and I still haven't stopped wanting you. I dream about your kisses." She smiled crookedly. "I've been sleeping a lot lately."
Crash kissed her then.
It was so different from that night after Daisy's funeral, where one minute he was looking at her and the next he was inhaling her. It was different, because this was a kiss that she actually saw coming.
She saw it in his eyes first, in the way his gaze dropped to her mouth for just a fraction of a second. And she saw it in the way his pupils seemed to expand, just a little. Then he leaned toward her, slowly, as his hand tilted her chin up. And then his mouth met hers, softly, sweetly.
He tasted like tomato juice.
He deepened the kiss, pulling her gently toward him, and Nell felt herself melt, felt her pulse kick into double time, felt her heart damn near burst out of her chest. This was what she'd been waiting for. This was why she had never invited Dex Lancaster inside after a dinner date.
She'd tried to deny it so many different times. It wasn't pure attraction and simple sex. It wasn't friendship, either. It wasn't anything she'd ever felt before.
She loved this man. Completely. Absolutely. Forever.
"Nell." He was breathing hard as he pulled back slightly to look at her. "I want you, too, but..." He took a breath and let it out quickly. "We shouldn't do this. Bottom line—nothing's changed between us." He laughed. "Truth is, it's gotten even more impossible. I can't give you—"
She stopped his words with a kiss. "Honesty's all I need. I know exactly what you can't give me and I'm not asking for that. All I want is another night with you." She knew he didn't love her, but she told herself that she didn't need him to love her. And she didn't need false promises of forever, either. She just wanted this moment. She kissed him again. "I can't think of anything I want more than to spend tonight in your arms."
She watched his eyes, holding her breath, praying he wouldn't turn away, knowing that she was risking so much by telling him this.
He touched her face again, the edges of his mouth twisting up into what could almost be called a smile. "You're looking at me like you don't have a clue what I'm going to do next," he said perceptively. He softly traced her lower lip with his thumb. "You don't really think I'm strong enough to hear you say all that, then walk away, do you?"
Nell's breath caught in her throat. "I think you're the most remarkable man I've ever met, and you're right. I never have a clue what you're going to do next."
"Tonight I'm going to be selfish," he said quietly.
He kissed her slowly, completely. It was a kiss that promised her all of the passion of their first joining and even more. She clung to him, breathless and dizzy and giddy with desire, barely aware as he pulled her with him into the tiny bathroom.
They'd stood right here just hours ago.
Nothing had changed, Crash had said. But everything had changed. Two hours ago she'd had her hands in her pockets to keep from touching him. Now those same hands were unfastening the buckle of his belt, even as his hands helped her out of her own clothes.
She was covered with tomato juice and he stepped into the tub, pulling her with him, and turned on the water, rinsing her clean.
He washed her so slowly, so carefully, stopping to give her deliciously long, exquisitely sweet kisses that made her weak-kneed with desire. She could feel his arousal, hot and hard against her, and she opened herself to him, winding one leg around him in an attempt to pull him even closer.
He'd taken a foil-wrapped condom from his vest and tossed it into the soap-holder as they'd stepped into the shower. He opened it now, covering himself.
She kissed him again and he groaned, pulling her up, lifting her, pressing her back against the cool tile wall as he filled her.
It was heaven. The water raining down from the shower seemed to caress her sensitized body as he kissed her, touched her, claimed her so completely.
She was moments from release when he pulled back, breaking their kiss to gaze down at her. His gaze was hot, his breathing ragged. "I want to make love to you in a bed," he told her. "I want to look at you and touch you and taste every inch of you. I want to take my time and be absolutely ce
rtain that you're satisfied."
She pushed herself more deeply on top of him. "I'm satisfied," she told him. She was already more satisfied than she'd thought she'd be ever again. "Although the bed thing sounds really nice. Maybe we can do that later."
"We don't have time. We have to leave," he told her.
Nell opened her eyes. "Now?"
"Soon." He kissed her. "I'm sorry. I should have told you right when I came in."
She tightened and released her legs around him, setting a rhythm that he soon obligingly matched. "You were too busy tearing off my shirt."
"I was." He held her gaze as he drove himself deeply inside of her again and again and again.
His beautiful eyes were half-closed and he was smiling very, very slightly—for him it was the equivalent of an all-out grin. He knew damn well what he was doing to her. He knew damn well that she was seconds away from total sensual meltdown.
But she could feel his heart pounding and she could read the heat in his eyes. She knew that when she exploded, she would take him with her. He was that close, too.
"Can we pretend tonight doesn't end when the sun comes up?" he asked softly. "I want to drive as far from here as possible before we stop again and… Nell, I need to make love to you in a bed."
He needed her. Dear God, he was actually admitting that he needed her.
"I would like that, too." She laughed. "Understatement of the year."
Hope filled her. The tiny seed that she'd tried to crush for so long burst to life inside her. He needed her. He didn't want tonight to end. She never dreamed he'd ever confess to either of those things.
At that moment, anything was possible. At that moment, she didn't need wings to fly. She left the ground in an explosion of sensation and emotion that was deliriously intense. She felt herself cry out, heard an echo of her voice shouting his name. She felt him kiss her, possessing her mouth as completely as he possessed her body, felt him shake from his own cataclysmic release.
It was wonderful.
And it was even more wonderful knowing this time that she was going to get a chance—soon—to make love to him like this again.
Nell slept in the front seat of the car, her head resting in Crash's lap.
She'd folded up her jacket to use as padding over the lump from the parking brake. She was wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his pants, the cuffs rolled up about six times and the waistband cinched with a belt.
Her golden hair gleamed in the dim light of dawn. He ran his fingers through its baby-fine softness, loving the sensation.
She slept so ferociously, her eyes tightly shut and her fists clenched.
What on earth had he done?
Crash felt sick to his stomach. It could have been from fatigue, but he suspected it was, instead, a result of that look he'd seen in Nell's eyes while they were making love.
He'd made a mistake and admitted that he wanted more—more than quick, emotionless sex in the shower.
He'd opened his mouth, and now she was no doubt dreaming of their wedding.
He glanced down at her again and had to smile. She looked so fragile and tiny, nearly lost in his too-large clothes. And yet even in sleep she looked like she was ready at any given moment to hold her own in a boxing match.
No, she wasn't dreaming of their wedding. She was probably dreaming about getting her hands on Senator Mark Garvin and tearing him limb from limb.
He was the one who was dreaming about their wedding.
God help him, he was in love with this woman.
Crash wasn't sure exactly when he'd realized it. Maybe it was when he walked into that motel room and thought for one god-awful moment that he'd actually shot and killed her. Or maybe it didn't sink in until she looked him in the eye and bared her soul, telling him that she needed him, that she wanted him, that she ached for him. Or maybe it was when they made love in the shower, and she held his gaze while he moved inside her. Maybe it was the realization that mere sex had never felt remotely like what he was feeling at that moment.
Or maybe it was when he hadn't been able to keep his fool mouth shut. Maybe it was when he'd told her that he wanted more, and she just lit up from within, her eyes shining with hope. His initial reaction hadn't been instant regret. No, he was double the pathetic fool. He'd actually been glad. That light in her eyes had made him feel happy.
That was when he knew he loved her. When he'd found himself happy at the thought that maybe she loved him, too.
The really stupid thing was that he'd been in love with her for years. Years. Probably since the very first time they'd met. Certainly during the previous year, while they'd lived together in Jake and Daisy's house, their beds separated only by one thin wall.
He'd loved her, but he'd refused to acknowledge it, refused to believe that she would want the kind of life she'd have with him.
She was the real reason he'd spent most of last year out of the country.
Somehow he knew that if he'd seen her again, if he'd so much as run into her on the street, he wouldn't have been able to keep away from her. Somehow he knew that he had no control at all when it came to Nell.
The sky lightened behind him as he drove relentlessly west.
The morning sky was pewter-grey and dull, promising rain or maybe even more sleet or snow.
His future was just as bleak. As hard as he tried, Crash couldn't see any kind of happy ending for him and Nell.
What he could see was heartbreakingly tragic.
Unless he was able to hunt down and destroy Commander Garvin, USN Retired, the woman he loved was a target. Unless Crash could win, Nell would die.
But Crash would win.
His career might be over. His name and his reputation were definitely ruined. He was wanted by every law-enforcement agency in the country, and probably some that were outside of the country as well. He had no kind of life left and what he did have, he didn't deserve—not after the way he'd let Jake die.
First Daisy, then Jake. There was no way in hell he was going to let Nell die, too.
He was willing to give up everything he had left to save her—and all he had left was his life.
Nell awoke to find herself alone in the bed.
They'd stopped shortly after crossing the border into New Mexico, and she had fallen asleep with Crash's arms around her.
But first, they'd made the most incredible love.
Crash had delivered everything he'd promised and then some. He'd made love to her so thoroughly, so sweetly, Nell had almost let herself believe that he loved her.
Almost.
Now he was sitting, half-naked, in front of a powerful-looking laptop computer that he'd hooked up to the room's phone system. His hair stood up, as if he'd frequently run his fingers through it, and the screen lit his bare chest with a golden glow.
He pushed his chair back with a sigh and stood up, stretching his long legs and twisting a kink from his back. He turned, as if he felt her watching, and froze. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
Nell shook her head, suddenly uncertain, suddenly wondering if their night together had officially come to an end. "Have you slept at all?"
"Not yet." He looked exhausted. His eyes were rimmed with red and he reached up to rub the back of his neck with one hand. "I've been trying to find the connection between Garvin and Sherman. But I need to sleep. I'm starting to go in circles."
He sat down on the second of the two double beds in the room, and Nell thought for a second that he was sending her a message. Their night was over. He was going to sleep alone. But when he looked at her, she realized that he was feeling as uncertain as she was.
"You look like you could use a back rub," she said softly.
He met her eyes. "What I really want is to make love to you again."
Nell's mouth was suddenly dry. She tried to moisten her lips, tried to smile. "The odds of that actually happening will increase enormously if you sit on this bed instead of over there on that one."
He smiled tiredly at
that. "Yeah. I just didn't want to..." He shook his head, running his hand down his face. "I don't want to take advantage of you."
"Come here. Please?"
He stood up, crossing the short distance between the two beds. Nell sat forward, pulling him down so that he was sitting, facing slightly away from her. The covers fell away from her as she knelt behind him, gently massaging the tight muscles in his shoulders and neck.
He closed his eyes. "God, that's good."
"Did you find anything about Garvin at all?"
"He was definitely in 'Nam in '71 and '72—the same time as John Sherman served with the Green Berets."
Nell gently pushed him down, so that he was lying on the bed, on his stomach, arms up underneath his head. She straddled his back to get real leverage as she tried to loosen the muscles in his shoulders.
"I hacked my way into Garvin's tax records. He inherited a substantial sum of money in 1972—money his first wife used to buy a house while he was still in Vietnam. I searched the tax records of the elderly relative he claims the inheritance came from, but there's no record of income from the interest for a sum of money that large. Unless the old guy kept a quarter of a million dollars under his mattress."
"So what are we going to do?"
"I sent him a coded message that should be easy enough for him to break. I told him I had proof that his so-called inheritance was really the money he'd made dealing in the black market with John Sherman."
"But you don't have proof."
"He doesn't know that. I need to talk to him, face-to-face, record the conversation, and hope that he slips and says something that incriminates him."
Nell paused. "Face-to-face? This is a man who wants to kill you."
"That makes two of us."
"Billy—"
"I could just go after him. Take him out. An eye for an eye. A commander for an admiral. It wouldn't be the first time I've played the part of the avenging angel."
Nell took a deep breath. "But—"
"But if I do it that way, no one will know what he did. He killed Jake, he killed all those people in that war he started, and I want the world to know it. God, you're beautiful."
It Came Upon A Midnight Clear Page 17
