by Mallory Kane
“What did Dr. Evans find?” She pushed his hand away and stood unsteadily. “What?” she demanded.
He grabbed her by her upper arms. “Annie, come on. Take a deep breath. Calm down.”
Panic tried to steal the last of her breath, but Zane’s soothing voice pulled her away from the edge. She nodded shakily. “What’s happened? It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Jon got the results of Sarah’s autopsy. Annie—she was pregnant. Only a few weeks.”
Chapter Nine
She was pregnant. Zane’s voice echoed in her ears— over and over. Pregnant. Pregnant.
“Sarah—?” That shard in her breast cut so deeply it nearly doubled her over. “Sarah was going to have a baby? Oh—”
The pain was too much. Too sharp. Too dreadful. She felt herself falling. Her vision went black. Her ears rang.
Then strong arms caught her and she was hauled up against a hard-planed chest and held gently as a low, sweet voice rumbled through her.
Zane. It was Zane. Somehow he’d rescued her from the abyss. She let herself be held, protected, as her brain slowly processed the awful truth.
Her sister had wanted to start over—start fresh. She’d said so in her note. And now Anna understood. She’d done it for her baby. And for Anna, just like she’d said on the phone. I’ve missed you, Anna-banana. I want to be a family again.
“Oh, Sarah,” she whispered. “I should have known.”
“Hey, Annie.” Zane’s low voice hummed in her head again. “How’re you doing?” He leaned back a little to look down at her. “You going to faint on me again?”
She shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes. “Did he say—about the baby. Could they tell—?”
“Jon said he was a little boy.”
Anguish clogged her throat. The empty place inside her grew. “If I’d been nicer to her on the phone, she’d have told me. We could have…we could have buried him, too.”
“You did,” he whispered. “He’s there with his mother. Annie, you did everything you could.”
She shook her head, dislodging tears that made dark circles on Zane’s coat lapel. She touched one with her finger. “I’m ruining your coat—” Her breath caught in a sob.
Tenderly and quickly, Zane lay her down on the bed and took her shoes off.
Anna rolled onto her side and curled up into a fetal position. Tears trickled across the bridge of her nose and onto the pillow.
Zane cleared his throat. “Annie, I need to get back to the police station. I’m expecting a call any minute.”
She nodded without opening her eyes. “Go ahead,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”
She was so far from fine. Zane could see that in the tight curve of her body in on itself and the way she’d clung to him. His arms felt empty, useless, now that she was no longer in them.
Her arms were scrunched against her chest, her fists clenched. She’d been through so much in her life. Losing both her mother and sister to a murderer. And now, finding out she’d lost a nephew who’d only existed for a few brief weeks. The child had been murdered, too. Now she truly was alone.
“Zane?”
He barely heard her. Her voice was slurred with drowsiness and muffled by the pillow.
“Can I go with you? I just don’t want to be alone now.”
He slid a finger under a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. Like silk. He smoothed it back, away from her face.
Her heavy-lidded gaze pleaded with him.
“Tell you what, Annie. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”
“Don’t want to sleep. I want to be with you.”
A surge of unexpected desire surprised him. Her quivering lips, the vulnerable curve of her back and shoulders, the slight shadow that was barely visible between her breasts—all called to his most primal instincts. To protect her. To shield her. To claim her as his in the most intimate way he knew how.
What a heel he was thinking about sex. Especially right now. Her fragility, her vulnerability, radiated from her in waves as hot as a midsummer highway. They called to him.
Protect. That was his job. To protect her. And he knew he couldn’t leave her alone.
He crossed to the other side of the bed and slipped off his shoes and jacket. Then carefully and silently, he lowered himself onto the bed. Scooting over, he lay behind her, spoon-fashion, close enough to drape his arm across hers and rest his chin on top of her head. Not close enough that she’d know how aroused he was.
They lay like that for a long time. Zane couldn’t believe how relaxed he felt, lying with her. He’d be mortified if she discovered how his body was betraying him. Worse, she’d hate him for lusting after her while she grieved.
He dozed off a couple of times. His arousal still throbbed, but it was a sleepy, manageable desire. At least, although he still ached with want, he wasn’t experiencing the painful burning lust that had engulfed him earlier.
Then she moved. He came fully awake as he realized she was turning to face him.
He pulled away and composed his face.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. Her eyes were puffy from crying. Her scarf was askew, revealing the dark bruises on her delicate neck.
“Thank you for holding me,” she said as her lashes swept down then back up. Her voice was husky, raw with the emotion she was trying so hard to hide. “I apologize for being such a wimp.” A wry smile curved her lips as dampness glittered in her eyes again.
He brushed his knuckles along her petal-soft cheek. “Don’t. You’ve been through a lot. Everybody has a breaking point. You reached yours, and nobody can blame you for grieving over your sister and her baby.”
“Do you?” she whispered, trailing her fingers lightly over the inside of his wrist.
His pulse quickened. “Blame you? No, of course not.”
She shook her head. “Have a breaking point.”
Yeah. And he was about there. His erection pressed painfully against the inseam of his slacks. He needed to get up, get away from her. Go find the professional detachment that he lost when he was around her.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Everybody does,” he said tightly. Her fingers were driving him nuts. She’d abandoned his wrist and was caressing his thumb and the sensitive skin of his palm. He pulled his hand away from her cheek.
“So you have? When?” She slid her hand up his forearm, past his elbow and on to trace his bicep.
“Annie—” His erection throbbed. His pulse hammered in his ears. Her mother destroyed his family. His dad might have murdered hers. Not even those awful truths could distract him.
She moved closer. Her hand left his bicep and traced the line of his shoulder and neck. Then slowly, tentatively, she lifted her head and reached for his mouth.
Cursing himself for being an idiot, he met her halfway. Her lips were soft under his. And parted. He kissed her with a gentleness he had to dredge up from the core of determination deep inside his breast. Restraint did nothing to calm his racing pulse or to temper his raging desire.
Annie’s fingers tightened in his hair as she raised up. He let her take the lead. As she moved above him, he lay back and allowed her to lower her mouth onto his, abandoning his effort at gentleness.
Her leg moved between his thighs and his last chance of stopping this really bad idea skittered away as she rubbed her thigh along his tight, hot arousal.
She gasped and whispered something against his lips. He took her breath and her words, and gave her his in return.
Wrapping his fingers around her waist, he lifted her atop him. At the same time he kissed her more deeply, opening up to her, reveling in her need, acknowledging his own.
Running his palms down her sides past her hips, he found the hem of her dress and slid it up, past her bottom, her waist, her little bra. She raised her arms as he pulled it over her head and off.
She shook her hair back and fumbled with the scarf’s knot until she got it loose. A surge of anger tempered his desire for an instan
t as he gingerly traced her discolored skin.
Then he met her gaze as he slid his fingers down over the swell of her breasts and slipped them under the edge of her bra and around, searching for the clasp. He quickly undid it.
She tossed the scarf and the bra to the floor. Her cheeks turned pink as she met his eyes. He lifted her and shifted until she straddled him.
His mouth watered as he looked at her lovely body. Her breasts were small yet full and beautifully formed, their dark pink nipples distended with arousal. Her waist was slender above the lush swell of her hips. His gaze slid down to the apex of her thighs, where a minus cule scrap of lace did nothing to hide the golden-brown patch of hair.
His arousal jerked, becoming harder and throbbing with exquisite pain. Anna’s eyes widened as he tightened his buttocks and strained upward, brushing against her, torturing himself.
She reached for his shirt buttons and quickly, jerkily, undid them. He let her concentrate on undressing him. He had other things to do. He slid his hands down to the tops of her thighs and farther, until his thumbs met at the tiny vee of lace. It was already damp. His breath hitched. He pushed the scrap of material aside.
Releasing his breath sharply, he slid his thumbs along her soft, slick flesh that was no longer covered by anything.
Anna moaned and shuddered, his shirt buttons forgotten.
He smiled in triumph as he watched her lips part and her eyes glisten with arousal. There was nothing in the world more beautiful than a woman aroused. Nothing more satisfying than giving her pleasure.
His thumbs never stopped their exploration—first one, then the other. He was relentless, his touch tender yet probing.
Anna’s thighs tightened around his hips. “Zane—” she gasped. “Please. Don’t—”
“Too late,” he muttered as he found her rhythm and brought her to explosive climax.
Her body spasmed, arched, again and again. A guttural moan escaped her throat.
Clenching his teeth, he undulated against her bottom as she came. He held himself in check by sheer force of will as she crumpled, boneless, onto his chest. Then he wrapped his arms around her and turned them both, until he loomed above her. He searched her face.
She slipped her hands under his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. Then she reached for the waistband of his pants, brushing against his arousal.
Sitting up, he undid his pants and pushed them down, along with his boxers. His arousal sprang to rigid, pulsing hardness.
She drew in a long breath as she tentatively touched him.
“Careful,” he whispered. “I’m right on the edge.”
She opened herself to him. He knew she was slick and ready. Carefully, so carefully, he pushed into her. Her gasp and her exquisite tightness told him she wasn’t used to this. For her, it was special.
If he could have spoken, he’d have told her how special it was for him. But all his energy was concentrating on taking it slow.
Her hands grasped his buttocks and she arched, taking him deeper, breathing in short, shallow bursts.
“Are you okay?” he breathed, relieved when she nodded.
“Please,” she mouthed. “Kiss me.”
And he did.
Wrapped in her, seared by her smooth firm flesh, heat began to build inside him. Her lips moved as she murmured something against his mouth. Her hands still clutched his buttocks, her fingernails dug into his flesh.
He was past the point of no return. His entire being was consumed by her. He kissed her mouth and throat, and whispered her name as he thrust again and again.
Then he felt it, the arching of her body toward him, the straining, the small, sharp breaths. As he exploded into climax, his last rational thought was that she was coming, too.
Anna lay surrounded by Zane, her insides still thrumming with tiny aftershocks as her breathing began to return to normal.
He was still inside her, his waning pulses echoing her own. She trailed her fingertips along his back and spine, silently thanking him for distracting her from death and loss.
Was that what he’d been doing? Offering a few moments pleasure as a substitute for crippling grief? She had no idea. Still, he’d wanted her. She knew that. She also knew he’d fought it.
There had been a desperate urgency to his lovemaking. It made her feel special—loved.
Loved? The word sent doubt slicing through her with its razor-sharp edge. Was his gift of lovemaking another service he provided? Just part of the job?
Suddenly his weight was oppressive, his breaths seared her flesh, and there was no trace of the tenderness with which he’d guided her to exquisite pleasure.
She pushed at his shoulder.
He carefully rolled off her and leaned against the burled wood headboard, holding out his arm in invitation.
Reluctantly, she let him pull her against his side.
His embrace tightened and he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “How’re you doing, Annie?”
Scared, thank you. “I’m fine,” she lied. Zane McKinney had spoiled her for other men. She’d only known him for a couple of days. Yet he’d imprinted himself on her like a tattoo. This—the sex—was only part of it. He’d already won her heart with his integrity, his honor, his focused intensity.
How could she walk away now? How could she go back to her lonely life? Even if he was just doing his job, she’d been forever changed by his gentle touch and fierce tenderness.
ANNA WOKE WHEN ZANE turned over. She opened one sleepy eye. His lean buttocks and long powerful thighs flexed as he stood. Sleek golden skin accented the muscles in his back and shoulders as he pulled on his slacks. A shiver of remembered pleasure tingled deep inside her as he reached for his shirt. The light filtering through the drapes planed his muscles in ripples of light and shadow.
She sat up. He turned, shrugging into his shirt.
The harsh line of his jaw was as sculpted as flint. His eyes were hooded and stormy. The unflappable Texas Ranger was back.
Anna raked her teeth over her bottom lip and bunched the sheet in her fist. No. The man standing before her was anything but unflappable. He was pissed.
“Zane? Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. He quickly tucked his shirt into his slacks and zipped them. He raked a hand through his hair as he stuck his feet into his shoes.
“Where—are you going?”
“I need to get to work,” he said flatly. “I’ve wasted too much time.”
Wasted. The word hurt her. Stop it, she scolded herself. It was just sex. And she, too, needed something to do to fill her mind and keep her from dwelling on the pleasure he’d given her.
She bit her lip and met his gaze. “Are you going to the police station? May I go with you? I don’t really want to sit in this room by myself.”
His expression darkened, and he opened his mouth. He was going to say no. Instead, he clamped his jaw and assessed her for an instant. With a seemingly careless shrug he walked around the bed and into the bathroom.
Anna jumped up and grabbed her jeans and a little blue T-shirt. She knew better than to make him wait.
ZANE STALKED across the short expanse of sidewalk that separated the Matheson Inn from the police station, moving just fast enough that Anna couldn’t keep up. Which was his intention. He couldn’t bear to look at her face and see her beautiful, pink-tinged cheeks and sparkling eyes. She glowed.
A few pairs of eyes followed them, darkening Zane’s mood even more. Could they tell? To him, Annie looked like she’d just been well and thoroughly loved. Was it his imagination, or did others see it, as well?
And what about him? He’d barely glanced into the mirror in her bathroom as he’d washed up. He hadn’t looked any different, but now his cheeks burned and it was all he could do to keep from smiling. Which irritated him even more.
The station door was locked, which meant there was no one inside. Quickly, automatically, he ticked off the deputies and their assignments. Burns and Enis had been at the
funeral service and at the gravesite. He’d assigned Spinoza to watch Annie’s room and car during the funeral, in case anyone tried to break in. The transcriptionist wasn’t due back until the next day.
As he unlocked the door, Annie caught up to him. He could smell her evocative scent. Inside, he used another key to unlock Carley’s office. He had to move Lou Ann and Justin Hendricks’s case files from the side chair to give Annie a place to sit. He could only hope she hadn’t noticed the labels.
“What are those?”
Zane winced. Fat chance. She was a reporter. Her job was to notice things. “File boxes.”
“‘Hendricks. Unsolved.’ They’re my mother’s and Justin’s case files, aren’t they?”
There was no reason for him to answer.
“I want to see them.”
“Anna, I have something I need to do. You can stay here, but I’ve got work to do.”
His fingers itched to retrieve the note he’d plucked off the bouquet of dead roses and read it. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be distracted by her. What an idiot he was. Not only had his concern for her overridden his professional detachment, but he’d let it get out of hand.
What was it about her? He’d never felt so completely out of control, not even when he was a hormone-ridden teenager. Whatever had possessed him to give in to his desire, it had to stop—now. He had a murder to solve, and a woman, especially this woman, was not going to annihilate the focused detachment he’d spent years perfecting.
“Let me help.”
He sighed and sent her a level glance. “No.”
She stiffened and stuck her chin out. “I’m a good reporter. I have a stake in this. And I need something to do.”
His gaze slid over her stubborn chin and vulnerable mouth. He cursed silently. Maybe it would keep her busy and out of his hair. She was way too much a distraction.
“I haven’t had a chance to go through the boxes,” he said resignedly. “Why don’t you look at Justin’s file?”
“Why don’t I look at my mother’s first?”
