by Lissa Ford
The first kiss was combustible, a grapple of urgent hands and open-mouthed hunger. Jude liked the way Rowan tasted, and how Rowan’s sexting bravado gave way to soft needy sounds once Jude made a thorough job of exploring Rowan’s mouth. Jude had Rowan up against the wall, holding him there while Jude nuzzled the overheated skin on his neck as they rutted.
“I usually top,” Rowan gasped as Jude gently bit the tendons surrounding Rowan’s jugular.
“Yeah?” Jude licked away the sting his teeth left behind. Rowan shivered in response. Jude liked that too. He palmed Rowan’s ass while he worked himself between Rowan’s legs. Rowan’s knees dropped obediently apart; Jude draped them on either side of his hips and lifted.
“Maybe next time,” Rowan got out as their dicks slid together.
“Next time,” Jude promised. “But first I made you a promise.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. To lick every inch of your skin. See if you taste as good as you smell.”
Rowan moaned.
Jude captured that little moan with his lips. He kissed Rowan slowly, a soft drag of tongue and lips until he felt the man wilt against him. Under Jude’s insistence, Rowan slowed as well, matching Jude’s leisured meter.
Jude continued to kiss with sure deliberation. Rowan was so responsive to Jude’s touch, Jude found himself becoming addicted to the way he could draw a gasp or a quiver out of the man.
Finally Rowan dragged his mouth from Jude’s. “I’m going to come in my pants if you keep this up.”
“We can’t have that.” Jude peeled Rowan off the wall and let his legs slide down his waist so he could stand. His hands traveled down Rowan’s arms to his hands, tugging toward the bedroom. “Come on.”
Jude made good on his promise to taste every inch of Rowan’s skin by starting with the bridge of Rowan’s nose and working his way down. The tang of the trooper’s cologne on his neck gave way to the soft clean smell of soap on his defined pecs to the delicious musk of his ball sac. Jude took his time until Rowan was taut with anticipation.
“I’ve never—” Rowan bit off the next words.
“What?” Jude asked before swirling his tongue over Rowan’s cockhead.
“Had anyone do this to me before.” Rowan’s hand threaded through Jude’s hair as Jude nuzzled the silky flesh over Rowan’s hipbones.
“Then you’ve been dating assholes.”
A laugh spluttered before it strangled in Rowan’s throat as Jude surged over him and took them both in hand.
Hunger blazed in Rowan’s eyes and he lifted his knees on either side of Jude’s waist as Jude jacked them both with his oversized palm. He cupped Jude’s face and brought his lips to Jude’s, touching softly while below decks, their cocks sparred and fought for release. Rowan shouted first, followed by Jude’s yell.
The next morning Jude woke to Rowan’s hair in his mouth and Rowan’s whuffling snores in his ears while Jude spooned him from behind. Rowan, still asleep, snuggled unconsciously against Jude’s big body.
Jude fell hard, right then and there.
Nine months, eleven days. The end, when it came, was more devastating than Jude could have imagined.
Jude took another swallow of bourbon and fought a groundswell of pain. It had been one long year since the moment he watched Rowan’s face go from shock to grief to blazing anger when Jude ended it. Maybe someday the memory wouldn’t threaten to suffocate him, but not today. And the fact that he was more preoccupied with Rowan Muir’s sudden reappearance in his life rather than Travis’s dead body on his front porch said things about Jude he’d rather not contemplate.
The pounding on his back door startled him into sloshing his drink on his jeans. Holy shit, had he been so sunk in his thoughts that he didn’t hear a car pull up? Shiloh would be going nuts now, savagely barking if she’d been there. Jude hoisted himself off the couch, a little unsteadily. When he was still on active duty he’d have stopped to make sure his firearm was handy; he didn’t have that luxury now, his Sig Sauer locked safely away in the gun safe.
While Jude contemplated taking the time to fetch his sidearm, he put his eye to the peephole. On his back stoop, Rowan Muir’s figure was rendered tiny in its panoptic lens.
Jude drew back sharply.
Rowan lifted a fist and pounded again. “Open the fucking door, Jude,” he yelled from the other side. “We need to talk. Now.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Jude took a deep, steadying breath before opening the door. “Rowan? You shouldn’t be here—”
Rowan angrily pushed past Jude to enter the cabin. “I know I shouldn’t fucking be here,” he snarled, jabbing a finger at Jude. “But I’m violating protocol because I want to know what you’re hiding. So start talking.”
Jude blinked. Rowan stood in the middle of Jude’s living room in a glory of anger—eyes flashing, skin flushed, hair springing all over the place like he’d run his hand through a few times in frustration. Clad in a plain white tee molding to his defined chest and biceps, and worn jeans slung low on narrow hips, he also looked delicious and Jude had been on a starvation diet for over a year.
Briefly, Jude closed his eyes to hide whatever could be seen in them. Thank God Jude had never told Rowan how deeply he’d felt about him or Jude wouldn’t have had the strength to stand there and calmly wait for incoming artillery while Rowan prepared his assault. At least the snarling was better than Rowan’s emotionless control of earlier today. The anger seemed more genuine, even if it hurt more.
Jude spread his hands, the international sign of I’ve got nothing to hide. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Were you bullshitting when you said you picked up Travis Gruber at Eight Ball for a one night stand?”
Jude stared at him, bewildered. “No, I wasn’t. I told you and Natsios. You don’t believe me?”
“I know you don’t always share what you think isn’t important information, especially when it gets personal.”
The fuck? “I wouldn’t do that in an investigation. I know the difference.” Jude’s answer was clipped.
“Was the meeting with you and the victim the only meeting?”
“Yeah. And once was enough.”
“Why? Wasn’t it a good enough fuck?”
Jude felt his eyes narrowing as anger ignited. “It was adequate, if that’s what you really want to know.”
“So Travis Gruber actually was some random guy in a bar? I thought you didn’t do one night stands, as you were fond of telling me once.”
“People change,” Jude bit out.
“They sure do.”
Jude’s anger slid into livid. “What do you care what I do or who I see? I told you, Travis Gruber was a hookup, no more, no less. We didn’t have a relationship, I didn’t give him my phone number, and I didn’t want to see him again. End of story. Why are you so hell-bent on picking it apart?”
“You are mistaking questions for interest. I don’t care who you fuck anymore. Like you, I’ve moved on. This is about the case. Murder, if you need reminding.”
“Really? Because it sounds more personal than that.”
“Does it? Okay, let’s go there and revisit ancient history by reminding you who ended it.”
“You wanna dredge this shit up now? Fine by me.” Jude squared off with Rowan. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was about to punch a hole in his chest. He took a hard grip on his words, fearful he’d blurt out the real reason he initiated the split. “I ended it because you didn’t give me much choice. You were barely there, and when you were there, it was like I didn’t exist.”
“Oh yes, it was all my fault,” Rowan sneered sarcastically. “Evil workaholic Rowan.”
“The extra shifts, the long silences between phone calls, emails on your cellphone that had to be answered night and day? Am I missing anything?”
“I was being promoted to detective; I had to work my ass off—”
“Don’t give me that. I’m not a fucking moron. You were pu
lling away. I just made it easier for you to go.”
Rowan didn’t answer. He just stood there glaring at Jude, hands on his hips, chest heaving with emotion, anger coming off him in heated waves. Jude felt scorched, outside and in. Rowan’s silence corroborated what Jude had known in his heart during those last awful, disintegrating days of their relationship.
The pain of having Jude’s realizations confirmed stole his breath. Was it possible for a heart to keep breaking over and over? Since that’s what it felt like, yeah, Jude guessed that it was.
Jude limped over to a chair and dropped into it. “You didn’t even come to the trial, Ro,” he said softly. “Not once.”
Rowan bowed his head, the fight gone out of him. “By then, I wasn’t sure you wanted me to,” he said quietly.
“It sure is convenient for you to think so.”
Like a switch flipped, Rowan’s head snapped up and his anger blazed forth again. “Well, since you were barely speaking to me by then, I used my powers of deduction to figure it out!”
Jude snorted in disgust.
“You stopped communicating with me, Jude. Let’s get that straight in this little revisionist fantasy you have going, okay?”
“Maybe the fact that you stopped returning my calls after the evals came back declaring me unfit for duty made me think twice about picking up the phone.”
“Because when I did call you back, you bit my fucking head off every goddamned time!”
“I’m sorry, was my emotional turmoil too much for you? I’d just lost my job. I nearly lost my leg. Then the wrongful death trial demonizing me in the press, colleagues shunning me. My shitty mood wasn’t understandable AT ALL!”
“You had no idea what a fucking thick wall you built up, do you? I couldn’t get past it. I couldn’t get over it, or under it, or through it. Then it finally dawned on me that you didn’t want me to. And I was right, wasn’t I? Because you were the one who called it quits, Jude. Not me.”
“I didn’t see the point of bringing you down with me,” Jude muttered.
Rowan stalked over to Jude and drove his finger into Jude’s chest. “You can shove your noble attitude right up your ass!” he shouted.
The poke was tinder to Jude’s banked anger. He knocked Rowan’s finger away. “Noble attitude? Fuck you, Rowan, you ungrateful shit. You didn’t fight the breakup because you’re the guy who needed to stay in the closet so you could keep your promotion on track. Your loser boyfriend being all up in the press as a baby-slash-cop killer could have outed you.”
“That’s a really great opinion you have of me there. How about you go fuck yourself and admit you broke it off because you were afraid I’d get sick of you wallowing in your self-pity and walk out first.”
Rowan didn’t move when Jude rose like a black tide out of the chair to loom over him. On the contrary, he settled his feet even more firmly where he stood, like he was getting ready for a fistfight. They were right up in each other’s personal space but neither man was willing to give a millimeter. Rowan’s hot breath gusted against Jude’s cheek and took him right back to when they’d spend all night kissing until their lips were swollen, Rowan riding Jude with languid grace. The memory made Jude even angrier, causing him to put a hand on each of Rowan’s shoulders to shove him back out of Jude’s zone.
Rowan didn’t budge. “Get your fucking hands off me,” he snarled.
“Step off my grill,” Jude snarled back.
They both glared at each other, panting with anger. To his horror, Jude felt an unwelcome spar of lust arrow through his gut. Rowan, he realized, was actually leaning into Jude, breathing deeply, eyes at half-mast as they slid over Jude’s lips to the stubble on his cheeks before he snatched himself back with a low sound in his throat.
Confused, Jude took a shambling step backward to break the unbearable tension. He drew a shuddering breath, searching for calm. “Fighting about this shit is pointless,” he got out. “It’s not going to change anything.”
Jude’s movement seemed to release Rowan. He too stepped back and made a sound of disgust. “Sure, whatever. Same old Jude, shutting down when things get too emotional.”
Because if I don’t, I’ll fall apart. “Do me a favor and stuff the Dr. Phil bullshit, okay?”
“Just calling it like I see it.”
“Why are you here, Rowan?” Jude asked wearily. “For real.”
Rowan ran a distracted hand through his hair, setting it on end again. Rowan had beautiful hands, Jude mused, long fingered, strong. Soft when they dragged over Jude’s naked flesh and Jude would arch into his touch like a cat in the sun … Stop it, Jude.
“I want to know why you blew off the Tully line of questioning so easily,” Rowan said.
Jude blinked. “Because it’s stupid?”
“You can stop being an asshole now. I’m trying to solve a murder.”
“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a viable lead. I’ve had no contact with anyone connected to the Tully clan. No threatening drive-bys, emails, letters. No surveillance. Nothing that could be termed suspicious.”
“What about Morelli’s family? They were pretty devastated when the wrongful death suit was thrown out.”
“I can’t imagine murdering an innocent bystander and dumping him on my property would satisfy their need for justice.”
“Putting you in jail on a murder rap might.”
Jude shook his head. It was too farfetched and complicated. Murder, in Jude’s experience, was usually a simple affair.
Rowan seemed to vibe into Jude’s unspoken thought. “We’re looking into the victim’s life right now. Habits, dealings with known scumbags. Was he killed on your porch or was he dumped. Time of death, weapon used. The usual.”
“Travis knew a lot of people,” Jude offered.
“In the biblical sense?”
“Maybe. Bartenders tend to have a wide circle of acquaintances”
“Because they like to sleep around?”
“Because bars fester with the criminal element.”
“You pick up dudes in the nicest places.”
“Well, I picked you up once, didn’t I?” Jude snapped, exasperated.
Rowan didn’t bother to rise to the bait. His face was solemn. Worried, even, if Jude allowed the bourbon in his veins to color his evaluation. “Jude, I’m serious. Watch your back. Someone has it out for you. A dead body is a hell of a calling card.”
“I’m not worried,” Jude said quietly, hotter emotions draining out to leave behind a hollow ache. They used to do this a lot—talk about cases, bounce ideas off of each other, Jude, the investigative deputy sheriff and Rowan, the NYS Bureau of Criminal Investigation detective. Jude realized now that he missed it. “You’ll solve the case.”
Rowan blinked at him, mouth parted slightly with surprise. “Damn straight,” he shot back after a slight head shake. “Then we’ll get back to the way our relationship works best. With you and me far apart.”
Jude acknowledged the truth of Rowan’s words with a terse nod. “Agreed.”
CHAPTER SIX
The courtroom was stifling. Every person in the gallery seemed to be a slack-jawed mouthbreather sucking up the oxygen, eyes voraciously devouring Jude in his misery. Except for the jury. They sat like stone sentinels in the jury box, impassively judging Jude while he tried to maintain his dignity, despite the armpit sweat staining patches into his best dress shirt.
It was so goddamn hot. He sat next to his attorney, a competent shark of a woman, and struggled to keep his expression composed. His leg hurt like hell, throbbing like a live coal, and when he lifted his eyes to the gallery, seeking, all he found were well-dressed Morelli family members. Every one of them shared Logan’s eyes: deep brown, staring at Jude with total hatred. When his gaze landed on Logan’s mother, she mouthed: cop-killer.
Maybe she was right. He’d hesitated a fatal moment. Logan was dead.
He swung his gaze to the other side of the gallery. This side was filled with thugs and lowlif
es. One skinny dude who bore an extreme resemblance to the fleeing male suspect stared at Jude with hatred in his eyes. E.J. Tully, he remembered now. Billy Tully’s cousin. E.J. held up a newspaper for Jude to see. The headline: Deputy Kills Pregnant Girl in Shootout.
Jude’s chest started to hurt. Twin emotions of guilt and sadness threatened to drown him. But that didn’t stop him from searching each unfriendly face for the one that mattered. It was so fucking hot in there. He couldn’t seem to get air in his lungs.
“All rise,” intoned the marshal.
The room rose. Except for Jude because his wounded leg lay on the floor beside him.
Jude’s chest was burning painfully now. He felt a nudge on his shoulder urging him to rise, but he couldn’t. His goddamn useless leg had chosen that moment to fall off, and besides, Rowan hadn’t arrived yet. Jude struggled to suck air past his constricted lungs. His heart pounded against his chest, and his vision started to cloud. Now he was gasping like a landed fish, deep sucking breaths that were like trying to breathe through a straw while his head was underwater. He was gonna die of asphyxiation, right there, in the courtroom—
Someone screaming woke Jude. It took him several blinks before he realized he was sitting up, sheets tangled around his waist. Wildly he looked around his room, the gray murk of dawn revealing his sparse furniture and softly plastered walls. His throat burned, which made him realize that the screams he’d heard had powered out of him. Sweat beaded his skin as he struggled to breathe. His chest felt like it housed a fucking furnace.
He pressed a hand to his aching chest and willed himself to breathe through his diaphragm, not his lungs. Eventually his air intake stabilized and his heart rate slowed. “Holy shit,” he muttered when the vise eventually eased. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and leaned over them. He hadn’t had a dream like that in months. Well, yesterday had been spectacularly stressful. No coincidence that dredging up the past would trigger a nightmare about the trial. The dream must have spiked adrenaline into his bloodstream and triggered a panic attack. At least his body waited until Rowan was long gone before it decided to flip the switch.
