Face to Face

by CJ Lyons

  "I love you," he finished in a choked voice.

  Trust him? She did, with all her heart. Because when he left he would be taking the best part of her with him.

  It took all of her strength to meet his gaze. "Please leave me alone," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady although the rest of her body was trembling.

  He stared at her a long moment. "I came here tonight to ask you to marry me." He held the ring box up in the flat of his palm. "Is that your answer?"

  She slapped his arm away. The box went flying into the ashes of her home. Pain seared through her and she felt like she was being torn in two. But it was only a feeling. She knew how to ignore feelings, lock them away until it was safe.

  Drake's glare didn't help. She turned her back to him.

  "Go. Now." The last came out with a force Cassie didn't know she could command. The one syllable stole all her remaining strength. She grabbed the trunk of a sugar maple to keep from turning back to him or collapsing.

  Her breath rattled through her constricted lungs and she almost surrendered, wanted to turn back to him, when she heard his footsteps crackle on the broken glass and he was gone.

  Cassie turned. Drake's shadow was the last she saw of him. She stood alone. Once more.

  Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. She closed her eyes against her silent tears and remembered the last time she woke with Drake in her bed. Remembered that feeling of utter contentment as she lay against him, his heartbeat echoing in her ear, the weight of his arms resting comfortably around her. She etched every detail of that moment into her brain, to cherish it always–the one perfect moment of peace, of release, of contentment–of love. Of knowing her home didn't have to be made of brick or mortar as long as Drake was near.

  And now both were gone.

  Cassie wept alone as ashes swirled around her.

  When she finished sobbing and opened her eyes, she saw the sapphire glinting from the ashes at her knees.

  It looked so hopeful, shining like a beacon. Bright as Drake's eyes, a memory she would cherish for the rest of her life.

  She squeezed the ring in her hand, tears splashing onto ashes, turning them into mud. Her insides felt empty as if they too had burned away to nothing. Except for the memory of Drake, the look in his eyes, the feeling in his voice.

  What had she done?

  <><><>

  Drake stood guard at Hart's garden gate. The sound of her crying was the most painful sound he had ever endured. His legs wanted to propel him back into the garden, he wanted nothing more than to lift her up and carry her away from everything.

  But he knew that would be the worst thing he could do, so he restrained his impulses and listened, motionless.

  He always sensed Hart had a place in her heart bound by grief, a place not even the fiercest love could penetrate. Not quickly, at least. But Drake hoped with time and patience, he could chip away at the stony barrier that separated them.

  Now he knew he had, at least to some degree, been successful in his endeavors. Of course the timing couldn't have been worse.

  The garden grew silent. Hart slowly rose to her feet, moving like an old woman carrying a burden too heavy. Drake looked to see no one was nearby, and quietly moved across the street to where he'd left the minivan.

  CHAPTER 32

  Drake squirmed, stretching his legs out against the dashboard. Something poked into his back; he reached a hand around and withdrew a Matchbox car. Jeff Gordon, courtesy of Bridget. Her brother was strictly a Rusty Wallace man. He ran the small race car up and down his jeans, flipped it off the curve of his knee, crashed it over the dash until the amusement wore thin.

  Yawning, he reached over and changed the radio station once more, craned his head out the window trying for any hint of air not contaminated by his woefully unwashed body. Despite wearing the shirt borrowed from Jimmy and new jeans, the scent of Jack Daniels still surrounded him like a fog. Seeping from his pores, in his sweat. He had a roommate in college like that, would binge all weekend, still smell of Southern Comfort on Wednesday.

  To this day Drake couldn't stand that smell. No wonder Hart wanted nothing to do with him if she thought he'd end up the same as her ex. Drunk, worthless, good for nothing.

  Unable to protect her. Capable only of hurting her.

  He cringed. There was more to it than that. Thus his non-covert surveillance of her motel room. He wasn't undercover here. He was advertising to anyone intending to harm her they'd have to go through him first.

  An invitation to try some target practice. With him as the target.

  His eyes constantly scanned the mirrors and the terrain of the almost empty parking lot. No sign of anyone taking him up on his invitation. Despite the Slipknot screaming from the radio, his eyelids began to droop. He was half-tempted to play another volume of Jungle Jams—at least the children's stories kept him awake.

  He tensed, the Matchbox abandoned and his gun in his hand, as the door to Hart's room opened. She emerged, dressed in tank top and shorts and walked directly to the minivan.

  "You wear down the battery," she said, leaning in the driver's window, her tone casual, "and Denise is gonna kill you."

  He reached a hand across to the ignition and turned it off. "Wouldn't want that." He was half-tempted to slide across, back into the driver's seat in order to be closer to her. Which was ridiculous, of course. The entire point of this exercise was to get her out of the range of fire, not in the middle of the kill zone. "Happy? Why don't you go back inside?"

  "I know what you're doing. It's not going to work—"

  "You thought it a good enough plan to send me away earlier tonight," he countered.

  To his surprise, she looked down. "Yeah, but I was wrong."

  He inched closer to her, afraid he'd scare her off.

  "We've both been fools, Drake. Pushing each other away to try to keep each other safe. Exactly what whoever is behind this wants. Time to regroup."

  She arched an eyebrow at him. "Besides, I've got air conditioning and," she wrinkled her nose, "a shower inside."

  She pivoted and strode back toward the room. Drake watched her, his gaze locked on the sinuous muscles of her naked legs. He'd have to be an idiot to refuse an invitation like that.

  He grabbed the keys and ran to join her as she reached the door. She paused, looked up at him. The yellow light beside the door etched her face in shadows as if the events of the past few days had sucked the life from her. He remembered last night, how close he'd come to losing her and couldn't resist.

  He took her by her shoulders, pinned her against the still-closed door and kissed her deeply, trying to breathe life back into her, to share his energy. What little he had left, he offered to her. She responded immediately, her hands reaching up to his shoulders, pulling her up into his embrace.

  They were sitting targets, but for a few seconds the rest of the world vanished for Drake. There was only the woman before him. The woman he needed so desperately, the thought of forsaking all others seemed a tiny sacrifice. Not if he had Hart by his side.

  They broke long enough to catch their breaths. Hart leaned her weight against his chest. He reached behind her to open the door, swept her into his arms and carried her inside the dark room, kicking the door shut behind them.

  The bang echoed through the room, then there was silence except for the friendly hum of the air conditioner and the sound of their breathing. Cool air brushed over his sweat-covered body with a tingle. Hart made no protest as he cradled her against him, standing still, absorbing every sensation.

  She felt light; she'd lost weight these past few days. The thought angered him. He should have been here to look after her, should have taken better care of her. From now on he would.

  He crushed her to his chest, lips brushing against the brittle remnants of her once luxurious hair. A small gasp escaped her and he immediately relaxed his hold on her, lowered her back to the ground.

  "I'm sorry," his voice emerged a hoarse whi
sper. "Did I hurt you?"

  In answer, she took his hand and led him into the bathroom. He blinked against the glare of the light. He caught his breath when he saw her, for the first time in light bright enough that he could begin to catalogue the changes in her appearance.

  She seemed oblivious to the scrapes and cuts that covered her arms and legs, the peeling skin of superficial burns, the haphazard appearance of her hair, chunks of it broken off. Instead, she raised his shirt, tracing her fingers along his ribs, the bruises from the few blows Spanos had landed.

  Christ, she was worried about him? He pushed her hands aside, turned her so he could continue to evaluate her injuries, cursing himself again when he raised her top and she flinched as the fabric brushed against a large patch of angry red, peeling skin. Her back to him, she raised her head and watched him in the mirror.

  "Guess neither of us are a pretty sight," she said, a wry smile twisting her face.

  How could she joke at a time like this? His hands fisted at his sides and adrenalin roared through him with the need to find whoever had done this to her, to pummel them into the ground, to make them pay for every second of pain they had caused her.

  She turned within his arms, her hands feathering to his, slowly forcing his fists open with their gentle insistence. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt when you came to my house Saturday night?"

  He stiffened. Spanos hadn't hurt him. A few lucky punches, that was all.

  "Should've seen the other guy," he muttered. Damn, if only he hadn't had so much to drink, started the fight with Spanos, she might not have been angry with him and they might've been together last night, he might have been able to save her house. Instead of being trapped in an interrogation room half way across the city while she lost everything. While he almost lost her.

  His breath tore through him in a ragged gasp and he pulled her to him once more. "Christ, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

  She held him for a few minutes while he pretended that those weren't really tears burning his eyes. She smelled of smoke, felt hot, as if the fire she had escaped still smoldered inside her. Her arms wrapped around his chest, softly stroking his pain away. Finally he could breathe again, his anger banished until he could confront the person responsible for all this. Then nothing would stop him.

  He stepped back. He relaxed his death grip on her shoulders and gave her space. She looked up at him and he saw the remnants of tears on her cheeks. But she was smiling.

  "There are three things I want," she said.

  Ahh, he knew that devilish smile, could guess what one of those things was. "Three?"

  "You smell. I want you to take a shower."

  "No problem." He tugged her shirt over her head. "If you join me."

  She returned the favor by shimmying out of her shorts, standing naked before him. One of the things he loved about her. She was never inhibited about nudity, in fact somehow she seemed to appear more regal naked than when cloaked by clothing. Even now, with her disheveled hair and ravaged skin.

  "The second thing?"

  Her fingers tugged the belt from his pants, then feathered their way down, teasing him. Her smile widened as he sucked in his breath. "No condoms. Nothing between us anymore. You've paid enough for Pamela. We aren't going to let her come between us again."

  She removed her hand, looked up at him, waiting his answer. He closed his eyes for a second, searching for any remnants of Pamela's ghost. And found none. He gazed down at her, brushed a kiss against her forehead, relishing the sense of freedom that filled him. "Done. And the last?"

  She sighed, giving him the shy and wistful look of a child. "Would you hold me tonight? I know it's crazy, but I can't sleep without you...."

  Good God, had things deteriorated so far that she had to ask? He yearned to give her such simple comfort, the thought of cradling her to sleep was more arousing than any erotic images of the sex that might come before.

  He raised her hand to his lips. "Your wish is my command."

  <><><>

  Drake kept the water temperature lukewarm. Worried about her burns, no doubt. His concern both touched and irritated Cassie and she realized she was still upset about what happened Saturday night. If he hadn't been such a jerk, getting drunk at the first sign of trouble...

  Reaching a hand past Drake's glistening body, she cranked the temperature up higher. It stung against her tender skin, but somehow the pain felt good. A reminder that despite everything, she was still alive.

  She had to admit it, she was angry at herself for not recognizing his deteriorating moods were because of Pamela. She'd purposely not researched the issue, too painful to think about, but that denial left her in the dark. Stupid. If she'd at least found out the date, maybe she could have stopped all of this, whisked him away from here before things got this far.

  "It wouldn't have done any good," she said, her words echoing in time with the water as his fingers massaged shampoo ever so gently over her sore scalp.

  He paused for a moment, shielding her eyes with one hand as he tilted her face up with the other.

  "Even if you'd known Monica was Pamela's sister," she continued, "even if I'd left with you Friday night, even if you'd been with me last night—it wouldn't have done any good."

  He frowned at her words then eased her eyes closed as he rinsed her hair. "Why do you say that?"

  "Because it's not you they're after—whoever they are," she told him, the realization making her gut clench. "It's me."

  She felt his body stiffen against hers. His fingers stroked down her hair, then along her cheekbones, over her shoulders, drawing her close for a long moment.

  "But you already figured that out, didn't you?" She drew back from his warm comfort, gave him a searching stare.

  That was Drake, so much better at seeing the big picture than she was. She was always too busy rushing in to act on a problem, to solve things before they escalated. Another reason why they needed to stay together. Why she'd been so very wrong to send him away earlier tonight. "That's why you followed me here."

  He nodded. "Too many coincidences: the Brickner trial, the stalking, even your malpractice case. Everything designed to separate us. At first I thought it was to target me, thought staying away was for the best, a way to keep you safe."

  "But all it did was keep us from seeing there's a puppet master out there, orchestrating all of this for his own private amusement."

  He lifted a handful of charred hair, his eyes darkening with anger. "I'm not finding any of this funny."

  She shivered at the tone of his voice. Drake pivoted so she could share more of the warmth of the water and reached for conditioner, turning her so she couldn't see his expression. But she felt his fury in the tension of his fingers, the way he held his body rigid as if expecting an attack.

  He was intent on placing himself between her and danger. Damn it, wasn't that what had gotten them into this in the first place?

  "I'm sorry about earlier," she said. "In the garden."

  "Wrong time, wrong place." His voice was light, but his fingers hitched in their rhythm.

  He rinsed the conditioner from her hair, and she turned back to him. His fingers kept stroking her hair as if he couldn't bear the idea of not touching her.

  "That was part of it. But I can't stand you thinking I need you to protect me. That I can't take care of myself."

  His brow furrowed in irritation. He dropped his hands, spread them wide as if to emphasize how poorly she'd done taking care of herself.

  Cassie stood her ground. She hadn't done so bad. She was still alive and ready to kick butt, wasn't she? Or at least she would be after a good night's rest.

  "Drake, either we're in this together or—"

  "Or what?" he demanded, ignoring the stream of water sluicing down into his face as he leaned forward. "I love you. It's my job to protect you, to keep you safe."

  She shook her head. Couldn't he see? That's exactly what Richard had promised her, how he had seduced her to relinquish
control. Drake wasn't Richard, but she still couldn't enter a relationship based on his need to place himself between her and the dangers of the world beyond.

  "That's not love, that's a bodyguard," she snapped.

  His hands returned to her shoulders, holding her in place as his mouth ravished hers. He plunged into the kiss, leaving her breathless, yearning for more. A small sound caught in her throat, and she circled her leg around his, arching her pelvis closer to his.

  "Would a bodyguard know how to do this?" he growled, his voice low and throaty. His sexy voice, rough as gravel and capable of arousing her with a mere whisper.

  He abandoned her mouth, left her gasping. His lips trailed down her exposed throat to capture her breast. Once more a wave of pleasure swamped her, leaving her trembling in his grasp. He pivoted them both so that her back was to the wall. She dug her fingers into the strong muscles of his arms, urging him to not stop, never stop. His hand slid down to her hip, then moved between her legs, knowing exactly where to touch her to bring her to instant climax.

  Cassie banged her head against the tile as she arched back and cried out. She eased her leg higher, stroking against the back of his in encouragement. But he stopped. She looked up. His eyes were narrowed in concern.

  "What's wrong?"

  "We can't," he said, leaning away from her. "I don't want to hurt you."

  "That's what I'm talking about. I'm not a baby. I know what I'm doing. And I accept the consequences of my actions." She feathered her hand down his chest, stroked his erection until it was his turn to utter a moan. "All of my actions."

  He inched closer, but not close enough. She hooked her ankle behind his once more and pulled him to her, her flesh skimming, taunting his. She rubbed her pelvis against him until a small, feral noise escaped from his clenched jaws. They were both breathing hard, saying nothing as their gazes locked. She felt him against her belly and wanted him inside her, now. She needed to feel him. To feel alive. Was desperate for him to touch that place that only he could find, the place where she was free and safe and beyond the reach of the ordinary world.