Nerves of Steel

by CJ Lyons

  His form appeared over top of her, and she smiled in anticipation. He reached above her head and pulled a pillow out, sliding it under her hips as she spread her legs around his waist.

  "Now," she told him, rewarded by the flash of his grin. When he waited, she leaned forward, reaching for him, guiding him. Still, he held back. She felt him throbbing inside her. Her muscles clenched, pelvis rocked, drawing him in further. He allowed her to work, entwined his fingers in hers, gripping them with an intensity that told her what his restraint cost him.

  Finally when neither could bear it another second, his hips arched up to meet hers, and he began to thrust, long slow strokes that increased in speed and intensity. Her mouth was open, but no sounds able to escape as her throat tightened with pleasure. His lips found hers. He climaxed with a last, long shuddering thrust, his mouth on hers, sharing her breath.

  She felt the vibrations tremble through his body, into hers, and she joined him. Then he collapsed on top of her, their heartbeats racing in synchrony.

  Drake reached a finger up, wiped the tears from her face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked in a quiet, concerned whisper.

  Cassie's mind was still reeling. For one precious moment she'd abandoned her barriers, and Drake touched her soul, set it chiming like fine crystal, a vibration echoed in every cell of her body. She wanted to savor that feeling, that pure tone of unity, the promise that she was not alone, that for one brief moment in time the universe stood in perfect balance.

  Had he hurt her? "No."

  CHAPTER 26

  Drake pushed himself up onto his elbows, surprised he had enough energy to do that. He felt both drained and energized at the same time. How was that possible? He smiled down at Hart. Who the hell cared?

  "I've been wanting to do that ever since I first laid eyes on you."

  She flushed at his words, her cheeks glowing in the faint light.

  "I feel like we exorcized some demons," he continued in the same low voice. The words sounded strange, unable to encompass the feelings swirling through him, but they were the best he had to offer.

  "Demons?" Her eyes popped open, startled.

  "I mean, I haven't let anyone, any woman..." He trailed off when she frowned. Guess this wasn't the right time to tell her about last summer. But he needed to. He owed her that.

  Hart raised a finger to his lips. "No talking."

  She pulled his face down to meet hers. He slipped his lips down her neck until he rested his cheek against her chest, the rhythm of her heartbeat mesmerizing him, banishing all thoughts of Pamela and last summer.

  All he could think about was the woman in his arms tonight.

  Had to have some Irish the way she colored so easily, he thought, rolling onto his side to watch her. Italian too. And those high cheekbones--Indian? Eastern European? Maybe Greek or Armenian. Didn't matter, the whole was greater than the sum.

  And all that hair. He lifted a fistful and held it to his cheek. Soft as lambswool. He inhaled deeply. "I love the way you smell."

  She gave him a mock frown. "Excuse me?"

  This was so unlike him--why couldn't he just shut up? He never talked this much in bed—and spouting off nonsense at that. Jeezit, what the hell was wrong with him? Drake grinned, he couldn't help himself. "Like a fresh apple when you slice it, and there's this faint blush of color on the inside." His eyes closed as he sniffed deeply of the handful of hair. "Lace curtains dancing in a summer breeze, that's what you smell like."

  She let out a short laugh. "Really? I think you're mistaking me for a shampoo commercial."

  He shook his head. Leaning forward to nuzzle her neck, he buried his face in her hair. "No, it's you," he whispered. "All you."

  Waves of freezing rain splashed over Cassie as she ran. She was late, so late, she'd never make it in time. Dread and panic seized her lungs so that each breath was a struggle. She looked around wildly, searching for a familiar face. There was no one there to help her.

  She gasped for breath, forced her legs to keep moving, keep running. The night closed in on her, smothering her, confounding her as she raced through the darkness. Her head pounded in time with her heart, a driving beat so intense it drowned out the sound of her footsteps.

  Faster. Faster. Late, she was too late.

  Icy fingers of fear squeezed her heart tight, and she collapsed onto the wet pavement, gasping for breath. She looked down at her hands. They were covered with blood.

  Fran's pale face stared back at her. Blood gurgled from her mouth and throat, a fountain of death. Her lips moved. "Cassie."

  Fran's eyes opened wide, staring into Cassie's even as life faded from them.

  Cassie reached out to her friend, her hands dripping blood. But she was too late.

  She jerked upright, fleeing the realms of nightmares and memory. Her vision was choked with tears. Cassie covered her face with her hands, muffled her sobs until her breathing quieted. Sweat soaked sheets tangled around her legs. She looked over at Drake. He slept peacefully, his face unlined with worry or fear.

  She slipped silently from the bed, grabbed one of Drake's shirts and walked barefoot into the living room.

  What was she doing? Fran was dead, and here she was, making love to a man she barely knew. Had she gone crazy?

  But being with Drake felt good, felt so right. And she wanted more. Much more.

  She moved to the dark windows. Vulnerable. Because of Drake, the way he made her feel, she was vulnerable, weak. Out of control.

  Cassie saw her reflection floating in the glass. Pale as a wraith. She reached a hand out, placed her palm against the cold glass, absorbed the chill into her body. The glass was black, a scrying pool. She gazed into it, allowed herself to fall into the darkness of the winter night.

  Fran's bloody image floated in the glass, and Cassie was overwhelmed. She was so sorry. Sorry for everything, everybody. Her father's image appeared beside Fran. I need you to be strong, Cassie.

  Then her mother's dark shadow joined them. The worst of all because Cassie could conjure no image, no memory, just a stab of emptiness that threatened to devour her soul. The woman had given everything for Cassie, how could she ever live up to that? Ever repay it?

  Grief shuddered through her body and she collapsed, her hand sliding down the length of the window as her body sagged to the floor.

  Drake tried to wake up, tried to stop the dream, at least he prayed it was only a dream. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but no sound came. He watched helplessly while Hart screamed. Then her screams were silenced to a croaking gasp, and her mouth filled with blood. He tried to move, to see who had done this to her, but he was powerless to control anything. Helpless to save her, her blood gushing out, covering her face, Drake shuddered and turned away.

  To see Pamela. God, why did it always have to come back to her? The one face he never wanted to see again, but the one he saw every night. He sat up in bed. Pamela turned to him, his off duty Baretta in her hand. She raised the gun to her head and, this was the most horrible thing, the thing he had never told anyone about that night, she smiled at him. Just before she pulled the trigger, she smiled.

  The scene played out in slow motion. He leapt toward her. The sound of the shot reverberated through the room, deafening him. He fell down beside her, grabbed her arm, tried to find a pulse. He held her head in his lap, her blood covering him, saturating him with the smell of copper and salt, a rank smell that turned his stomach.

  He looked down on her face. It no longer was Pamela, it was Hart.

  That was when he woke.

  Drake sat up, tried to control his breathing. Looked around, disoriented for a moment, reaching for his gun, then remembering he had left it on the foyer table. Where was Hart? He was afraid to look beyond the foot of the bed, his nightmare still clouding his thoughts.

  He shook his head, freeing himself from Pamela's image, and ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn't imagined tonight--could he have? Then he heard a small sound coming from the
living room. A woman sobbing.

  Drake unraveled himself from the sheets and grabbed a pair of sweat pants. He moved into the other room. Hart was crumbled against the window, her body shaking with grief. Drake watched the pain overwhelm her--but still she did not cry. Something wrenched inside him. He knew she needed to grieve, expel all those churning emotions before they consumed her from within, but it was impossible for him to see her in such pain.

  He joined her on the floor, cradled her in his arms, held her frozen hand safe inside his own. Rocking her like a baby, he crooned a melody from a distant memory, made up nonsense syllables when he could not remember the words.

  Never before had he had such an overpowering need to care for someone. He hoped she wouldn't realize that he was the one weeping as he buried his face deep in her hair. Seeing her like this had undone him completely. He wanted to be her champion, to slay her dragons, to heal her body and soul.

  If she would only let him.

  Cassie took a deep breath, swallowed her grief. Unshed tears threatened to choke her, but she gulped them back. She didn't want Drake to see her like this. She slid from his lap and stood once more. He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes, then looked up at her.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  She couldn't talk, not without risking an explosion of pain. She turned away, faced the window and bowed her head, resting it against the dark glass. He joined her, standing behind her, his arms encircling her waist, fitting just right.

  Cassie leaned back, enjoying the warmth of his bare chest against her body. The city lights spread out before them like luminous jewels cast on a black velvet blanket. Jewels she had been blinded to until he joined her.

  She placed a hand on the window, connecting with her reflection there. Drake reached his own hand forward and covered hers. He eased her hand from the glass and raised it to his mouth, his lips sending a wave of heat through her body.

  Cassie turned within his embrace, slid her hand away from his mouth and behind his neck. She reached up to kiss him. He lifted her, pressing her back against the glass. She tugged the shirt over her head. His mouth eagerly searched for hers after the momentarily break in contact.

  Her body was flushed with heat on one side and growing numb with cold on other. The window rattled with the winter wind, its vibration echoing through her. Cassie left the cold world behind as Drake carried her back into the bedroom.

  CHAPTER 27

  Cassie lurched from sleep, fleeing another nightmare. She opened her eyes, disoriented, startled by the sound of a man's breathing beside her. Richard? She steadied her own breathing, fearful of waking him.

  No. Memory slowly returned. Not Richard.

  Drake. She rolled over and watched him. Pale dawn light picked out glistening strands of silver woven through the thick, black hair spread over his pillow. Cassie liked the idea that, although he seemed to live life like one long beer commercial, Drake already had a few gray hairs. She smiled, traced a finger over the v-shaped scar on his chin, wondered where he'd gotten it.

  She might never know.

  Cassie slipped from beneath his arm and walked naked through the open door into the bathroom. After using the toilet and washing her face, she grimaced in the mirror. Puffy circles cradled her eyes. It would be a long time before she would sleep soundly again. She couldn't count on Drake always being there when the nightmares hit. Maybe never again.

  She dabbed some toothpaste on her finger, scrubbed her teeth, then gargled with mouthwash. Looking with yearning at the old fashioned, oversized clawfoot tub, she decided against taking the chance on waking him before she left. Best just to slip away. They both knew this was impossible. Better to end it now, before it became painful for either of them.

  Although she would miss the man, the feeling of wholeness, of contentment he had given her last night.

  She crept out to the living room and slipped into her clothes. All those crazy things Drake told her--no other man had ever treated her like that. But finding Fran's killer took priority. She couldn't become involved with Drake, not if it might jeopardize the investigation.

  It wasn't only the investigation. Part of the queasiness that stirred in the pit of Cassie's gut was good old-fashioned fear. Why should she trust Drake, especially now that she knew how easily he could stir her emotions, make her lose control? What proof did she have Drake would not reveal a secret side akin to Richard's?

  Richard had been handsome, talented, and treated her like a princess. Look how that had turned out. Banishing the ghost of Richard and the pain he'd caused would take more than one night of passionate escape.

  She took a few minutes to appreciate Drake's place in the rose tinted early morning light. He had the entire top floor, which explained the many windows that climbed from just above knee level to elaborate cornices in the ceiling twelve feet overhead. The windows themselves were large, comprised of leaded panels joined by intricate carved mullions. The extensive woodwork continued past the cornice, crisscrossing over the plaster ceiling above.

  How did he afford this on a cop's salary? The building was old, probably dating from the twenties or thirties judging from the elaborate ornamentation and solid construction. The leather sofa, love seat and overstuffed chair that circled a thick oriental rug all must have cost a good bit. The dining room table, a spare Shaker style crafted from a light cherry sat on a similar rug. The little wall space free of windows was covered with artwork.

  Maybe there was more to Drake than the shallow he-man her imagination had conjured. Too bad she wouldn't have the chance to know him better. At least not until after Fran's killer was caught.

  Once outside, Cassie jammed her hands in her pockets. She wasn't dressed for the blustery weather, she didn't even have any socks on. Shuffling toward the front of the building, she refused to look up, in case Drake was watching.

  She glanced down the street, trying to get her bearings. There was no traffic, and the street dead-ended at his building. Damn it, where was she? She knew she was somewhere in East Liberty, they had driven around Penn Circle last night, hadn't they? Her mind wasn't exactly on the landscape at the time.

  Fool. How could she let this happen? Surrender control to a man who was a virtual stranger. Let him get so close.

  Cassie shook her head. Last thing she wanted to think about was Drake.

  She looked back at his building. It was brick with large, wide windows ringing each floor. Signs in the windows advertised commercial space available on the first and second floors. He must be the only residential tenant, she realized. She was tempted to go back in and borrow a phone, but there was no way she could face him again.

  As the sky gradually lightened, she jogged down to the corner. Ravenna Way—never heard of it. The cross street was wider, lined with brick rowhouses, several that appeared abandoned. Pierce Street. That rang a bell. And there was the busway. At least she knew where she was, about two miles from home.

  She turned the corner and began to run.

  Drake got to the living room window in time to watch Hart run down the outside steps, her hair streaming behind her. He wanted to race after her, told himself it was pride that held him back, but knew that to be a lie. What would he say when he caught up with her? His palm pressed against the chilly glass, he watched her run away.

  He'd never felt like this before. An unsettling mixture of fear, excitement and anticipation twisted in his gut. Along with the knowledge that whatever this feeling was, he wanted more.

  Why had she run from him? Did he scare her?

  She hadn't seemed frightened last night. But she'd been in shock then. He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. Was there something more going on?

  The phone rang. "Drake here," he answered, glad of any diversion from his thoughts.

  "Remy." His mother used her pet name for him. "I know you're probably headed out to work, but I wanted to see how everything was going."

  Drake smiled. Typical Murie
l, her ESP working overtime. "Fine, Mom. Sorry I haven't called, my hours have been pretty crazy."

  "Still that drug thing?" she asked, disapproval in her voice. Muriel Drake couldn't wait for her son to return to Major Crimes and the more structured and less dangerous world of murder and mayhem.

  "Yes, Mom."

  "Well, be careful. It's 74 degrees and sunny down here, why don't you come for a visit?" Muriel had retired to Ft. Myers, Florida.

  "I can't leave this case." Drake listened to the silence on the line and imagined the frown on her face. "Maybe once it's wrapped up."

  "The Weather Channel says you'll have snow today or tomorrow. Make certain you dress warmly. Do me a favor and leave the Mustang. That car is a deathtrap on icy roads."

  "Sorry, it's part of my cover." He could have heard her sigh of resignation even without the help of Verizon.

  "Just be careful."

  "I will," he assured her, ready to hang up.

  "Remy, is something going on? You sound different. Did something happen?"

  He almost choked on his laughter. Yes, Mrs. Drake, your son had his world rocked by a beautiful woman last night. Aloud he just made a noncommittal noise. "Everything's fine, I'll talk to you later."

  "I love you," she said and hung up.

  Drake replaced the phone in its cradle and started the coffee. He returned to the bedroom, began to get ready for work. He had just enough time to make it to the morning task force briefing.

  In the shower he found himself humming as he imagined Hart's exquisite hands, soap sliding from her fingers, moving over his body.

  He jabbed a hand out to the temperature control and was immediately jarred by freezing water. He forced himself to endure it. He needed to be especially sharp, make certain Miller never found out about him and Hart. Had to close down the FX ring and find Weaver's killer.

  Then he could figure out what to do about Hart.

  The phone rang just as Cassie was climbing into bed. She grabbed the receiver, her pulse jumping as she wondered if it might be Drake, then immediately chided herself for her adolescent thoughts. Drake wasn't going to call. He knew as well as she did that they had no future together. She wasn't even certain if she wanted him to call.