Heart Stealers

by Patricia McLinn

  “You can’t hurt me that easily.”

  His eyes on hers, he smoothed his hands down her arms, then rubbed his knuckles up and down in the opening of the sweater. They scraped the skin of her stomach and chest.

  “So soft, yet so tough. You are a study in contradictions.”

  Her hands gripped his shoulders, and she closed her eyes to savor his touch and his words. Dizzying currents of pleasure shot through her at the simple caress. “I love it when you touch me.”

  His hand clenched on her waist. “Cass, don’t say that kind of thing. I’m trying to control myself.”

  On her tiptoes, she breathed into his ear, “I want your uncensored response.”

  He held her even tighter. “You don’t. I can be an animal.”

  “I don’t care. All of it makes you the special man you are. I want all of you, Mitch.”

  His arms banded around her with stunning force. He dragged the sweater off her shoulders. Drawing back, looking down at the black, demi-cup bra she wore, he said, “Oh, God.”

  She looked down too. His big hands closing over her breasts made her breath catch in her throat.

  “Hurt?”

  “No. It feels wonderful.”

  Slowly, she inched her hand down to his waist. His breath hitched. “These chinos look so sexy on you.” She pressed her palm against his fly. “I want to feel you, see you. I want you inside me.”

  Suddenly, he closed his eyes. “Oh, damn. I don’t have anything with me. Any protection.”

  She chuckled. “Forty-six-year-old men don’t carry rubbers in their wallets or their glove compartments?”

  “Not this forty-six-year-old man,” he said against her hair. She could smell the outdoors mixed with his clean male scent. “There are other ways, of course, but I wanted...” His hand stroking up and down her back almost robbed her of thought.

  “It’s okay,” she finally said. She slipped out of his arms, darted across the room, down the hall, into the bathroom. She returned with a box of condoms.

  He scowled. “I’m not sure I like your having these on hand.”

  She chuckled again. “Zoe bought them for me.”

  “Zoe?”

  “She teaches a health class to the At-Risk kids. She’s vigilant about taking precautions—she watches over me.” Feeling suddenly shy, she dropped the box onto the floor and burrowed back into his arms. “I haven’t used that many, Mitch. I haven’t needed them.”

  His heartbeat picked up speed. “I haven’t needed many, either. And I’m sorry about jumping to conclusions. I’m feeling so raw right now, I’m not thinking straight.”

  “If it helps, I’m feeling pretty raw myself.”

  He planted a wet kiss on her shoulder. “It helps.”

  He fondled her backside through her jeans, then gripped her tightly. Tension came into his body— but it was tension of another kind. “No more talk,” he said, caressing her. He slid his hands around and pulled hard at the snap on her pants. As he brushed them down her legs, he bent on one knee, disposing of her jeans and her socks. He stayed down and buried his face in her stomach, just above the lacy top of her panties. He outlined their black band with little kisses. When he finished, he pulled the panties off with more haste. Giving her bare middle one last kiss, he stood and fumbled with her bra, his hands unsteady. She laid her face against his chest. His heart thrummed. Reaching down, she pulled at the hem of his sweater and drew it over his head. Her own heartbeat quickening, she yanked at the buttons on his shirt. He helped her with shaky hands. She licked the hair-roughened skin of his chest, his nipples, ran her palms—somewhat frantically—all over him. His breathing became very fast. When she slid her fingertips inside the waistband of his pants, his body jolted forward.

  “Take them off,” he said harshly.

  Cassie smiled against his chest and caressed his buttocks.

  He drew back. Blazing eyes watched her as he tore at the snap and kicked off his socks, pants and underwear. He pulled her close before she got to look her fill, then dragged her down to the floor and covered her body with his. “I won’t be able to wait long,” he said in between kisses on her neck and shoulder. His mouth moved down to cover an aching nipple. Cassie sucked in her breath and arched into him. He slid his hand between their bodies, tangling his fingers in her wet curls. “Mmm, Cass...”

  “I don’t want to wait, either.”

  He fumbled on the blanket, drawing back to rip open a packet and roll on the condom. Then he covered her again and reclaimed her mouth. “You feel so good, too good.”

  “Mitch...” He suckled her again, placed his hand between her thighs and palmed her. “Mitch...”

  “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Blindly, she did as he instructed.

  He positioned himself and tried to ease into her. Her hips bucked and his restraint broke. His thrust was hard and strong and forceful.

  “Oh, Cass, you feel so...oh, God.”

  “Mitch.”

  He stroked her, grazed her all over inside, then thrust mindlessly, recklessly. It started fast for her and was upon her in an instant. Lights burst beneath her closed lids. Every muscle strained toward him, her heart hammering in her chest. She came up slightly off the floor and clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into him, “Oh...oh...” She moaned, groaned into his skin. Then she was flooded with sensation and pleasure and feeling that increased and burst, then increased again and finally exploded. She couldn’t breathe in enough air as she cried out his name, over and over and over.

  Cassie’s explosion snapped the last vestige of Mitch’s control. She was so tight and wet. He wanted to prolong the sensation, but he felt himself going over, and he couldn’t stop it. Rockets went off in his head, and his body quivered as she spasmed around him. All sensation focused on that one spot where their bodies joined. He felt himself grow harder, bigger, and he pushed and pushed and pushed until he was so deep inside her he couldn’t stand it. Then everything went black, except for the burst of lightning-like pleasure that shot to every part of his body at once. He was electrified by her, heedlessly seeking the currents that jolted between them.

  Unable to stop himself, he collapsed on her. He knew he outweighed her by more than fifty pounds, but an earthquake couldn’t have made him move at that point. Slowly, he became aware of several things about her: her breathing was ragged, her body slick against his. Eventually, when he finally could, he raised himself up on his elbows. Her eyes were closed, her hair wet around her face, which was sheened with sweat. He watched her chest heave. And for one primitive moment, he was overcome with pure masculine power: that he had destroyed this strong, vibrant woman’s control, that he had shattered every defense she had. He couldn’t remember all of it, but he did know she’d come apart completely and splintered around him.

  Then the tenderness came, at odds with the sense of victory he’d felt. With stunning intensity, he wanted to protect her forever, keep all harm from her, shield her from any hurt. The juxtaposition of the two equally potent feelings made his head spin.

  He felt her hands in his hair. “Mitch.” Her voice was hoarse.

  It took courage to look into her eyes. They were shining with unabashed surrender. “I never felt like that before. It’s such a cliché, but I never realized how I’d held back in everything.”

  “Not with me,” he said harshly, feeling displeasure at the implication that any other man had had her.

  “No, not with you.” She swallowed hard. “It’s scary.”

  Did she realize what she was doing, what power she was giving him over her? Where had all her armor gone? He wanted to warn her not to give him so much, and at the same time he wanted to get down on his knees and thank her for it. He smiled grimly at the paradox.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because I feel so gentle and tender toward you one minute, then I want ravish you the next.” He scowled. “I feel more comfortable with the ravishing part.”

  “I know
what you mean. Me, too.”

  He kissed her nose. “We’re a pair.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  Easing off her, he rolled to his side and tugged her close, snapping up half of the quilt to cover them.

  “Want to sleep?” she asked, nestling into his chest.

  “No, just stay close for a minute.”

  She did. Then she said, “Want to talk?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “How about eating?”

  “Yeah, I am hungry.”

  “I’ve got food all ready.”

  He tightened his grip on her. “Thanks, Cass. For being here. For luring me here. For this. I feel better.”

  She kissed his breastbone. “I feel wonderful.”

  They snuggled for a few minutes, then untangled themselves from each other and stood. Cassie bent down and picked up the green plaid shirt he’d worn underneath the sweater. She put it on and he felt his heart constrict. There was something about her, standing there in the firelight—her hair mussed from his hands, her mouth swollen from his lips, wearing his shirt—that elevated the moment from one of raw passion to one of deep intimacy. He stared at her.

  Unaware of what he was feeling, she chatted. “I’ll get the soup reheated. You might want to...” She looked up. “What?”

  He grabbed her and crushed her to his naked body. “I want to stay tonight all night.”

  Against his chest, she said, “I want you to.”

  When the storm of feeling passed, he drew back. “Is there something I can do with my car? I wouldn’t want the neighborhood or the kids to see it here in the morning.”

  She reached up and smoothed her hand down his face with heart-rending tenderness. “Thanks for thinking of that. This is a small town. You can put it in the garage.”

  Mitch’s car stayed in Cassie’s garage until Monday morning.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I don’t like surprises, Cassie.” Mitch sat across from Cassie, sipping coffee in the teacher’s lounge on his last morning at the high school.

  Innocent gray-blue eyes peered up at him over her own mug. In the week since they’d first made love, he’d seen that look several times. It meant trouble. “All right,” she said. “I’ll remember that.”

  “What’s going on? You met me at the door and ushered me down here before I could even take my coat off.” He glanced at his watch. “We were supposed to be in class fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I told you. The guidance counselors are with the kids talking about the Scholastic Aptitude Test results for college entrance.”

  “On my last day? How convenient.”

  “What do you think is going on?”

  He wanted to kiss that smug look off her face. “I’m afraid the kids have planned something to say goodbye to me.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Yes. I...” He stopped as his heart gave the funny little lurch that it did every time he realized he wouldn’t see the dirty dozen every day. “I’m going to miss them.”

  “You’ve been a wonderful influence on them, Mitch. They’ll miss you, too.” She reached over for his hand and gave it a brief squeeze. “I’ll miss seeing you every day.”

  He arched an insolent brow. “You don’t plan to see me every day? I got the definite impression last weekend, and almost every night this week, that you liked seeing...a lot of me.”

  Cassie’s eyes turned smoky. “Oh, I like seeing a lot of you, all right.”

  Her husky retort reminded him of intimacies they’d shared—slow, sensuous massages, the way her nails felt digging into his back, waking up with her wrapped around him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Good. Because you’re gonna see me, sweetheart.”

  She nodded toward his suit. “Decided to go out like you came in?”

  Instead of laughing at her joke, he said somberly, “I want you to know I’ll never be the same as I was before I stepped into your classroom, Cassie.”

  She asked, “Are you glad?”

  “Very.” The kids had taught him as much as he’d taught them. They’d also come to mean a lot to him.

  Too much.

  The woman sitting across from him meant too much, too. And Mitch had never been happier in his life. Cassie had brought him complete sexual fulfillment. Even more important, they grew closer every day—emotionally and, hell, even spiritually. He frowned, wondering what he’d do if he had to let her go.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  She looked skeptical but glanced at the clock. “Well, we should get back.”

  “Oh, guidance gave you a time frame.”

  “Yep. Come on, let’s go.”

  As they walked through the corridor, Mitch marveled at how much at home he was at Bayview Heights High School. He thought about the fear he’d experienced the first time he entered this building. As teachers and staff stopped him to say goodbye and tell him what a good job he’d done, he felt a warmth and sense of belonging. The only comparable relationships he’d had were in Nam with his buddies. Four weeks ago he wouldn’t have let himself make that comparison.

  At the door to the classroom, which was closed for a change, Cassie insisted he go in first. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Surprise!”

  As he expected, the kids had planned a party. He donned his best stern-cop look and said, “Aren’t parties against school rules?”

  “Not if Mr. T. okays them.” The remark came from Johnny, who stood in the front of the eleven kids lined up around a table.

  “He okayed this?”

  “Yes, I did.” Mitch hadn’t seen Seth in the back of the room.

  Mitch faced Cassie. “You knew about this?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll remember that, Ms. Smith.” His eyes promised retribution.

  He saw Cassie bite her lip and try to keep from blushing.

  Nikki Parelli crossed to Mitch and took his hand. He remembered when he first came here how touching a student had bothered him. Today, it was natural to clasp her hand in his. “Come look at the cake,” the young girl said.

  On the table was a sheet cake big enough to feed an army. In its center was his profile, outlined in black frosting. In one corner was a picture of the book Fallen Angels. In another, a badge with BVHPD emblazoned on it, and in the bottom left corner, an outline of the school. To the left of his profile was a quote that read, “To teach is to touch lives.” Then the kids had added, “You’ve touched ours.” To the right, they’d written, “Cop of the Year.”

  Moved by the sentiment, Mitch had to struggle for composure. “This is a work of art. Where did you get it?”

  Peterson said, “Amy made it.”

  Mitch turned to the shy teenage mother. “It’s beautiful, Amy. You have a lot of talent.”

  Amy reddened, but said in a timid voice, “Ms. Smith got the home and careers teacher to help me, but I did most of it myself.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the effort.”

  “I made the punch,” Youngblood said.

  “Yeah, and he didn’t even try and spike it,” Arga teased.

  Again Mitch assumed the mock-stern look. “He’d better not.”

  The kids decided to have cake and punch right away. They all crowded around Mitch and chattered at once.

  After ten minutes, Seth got him alone and reached out to shake his hand. “Before I leave for a meeting, I want to thank you for all you’ve done here, Mitch. I can’t express how pleased I am that it worked out.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And,” Seth said to Cassie as she joined them, “I’d like to hear Ms. Smith say it.”

  “Say what?” Cassie asked.

  “That I was right about this facet of the Resiliency Program. Come on, let’s hear it.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. Today she wore jeans and the school T-shirt over a turtleneck sweater; her hair was pulled off her face with a headband. Her outfit and the gesture made her look lik
e one of the kids. “All right, all right. I guess it worked out.”

  “Say the words, Cassie,” Seth demanded. “Mr. Taylor was right.”

  “Mr. Taylor was right.”

  “Ah, that sounds so good.” He turned to Mitch. “I understand I’ll see you at the Winter Ball tonight.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes this time. “Cassie coerced us all into going. Something about class camaraderie and bonding.”

  “Not all of us will be there,” Cassie told him after Seth left. “Joe DeFazio can’t attend because he hasn’t been in school for a week. And Mike isn’t coming, either.”

  “Youngblood? Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mitch scowled. “I’ll talk to him before I leave.”

  “Time for presents,” Arga yelled. “Everybody find a seat.”

  Mitch took a beanbag chair, while most of the kids dropped to the floor around him. Cassie perched on a desk behind the group. When he threw her a questioning look, she shrugged, indicating she didn’t know about the presents.

  “This one was my idea,” Jones said as he gave Mitch a long, thin box and watched him unwrap it. Inside was a tasteful paisley tie. “It’s to go with those cool suits,” Jones told him.

  Mitch held it up to his neck, as if to model it, and Jen Diaz snapped his picture.

  “Mine’s next.” Nikki held out a rectangular package. Mitch shook it next to his ear, pretending to guess what it was. Inside, he found a cloth-bound journal. “It’s from all of us. We thought you might want to keep writing after you left.”

  “Yeah, and you won’t have to worry about sharing it with anyone,” Tara teased.

  “Watch it, guys,” Cassie warned, but she was smiling broadly when she said it.

  Mitch smiled, too. “I’d like to keep writing.”

  “Open it,” Nikki told him.

  In the front of the book, Mitch found all the kids’ signatures.

  “So you won’t forget us,” Tara said.

  Mitch felt his throat close up. “I won’t forget you.”

  “I picked this one out,” Arga said, defusing the charged moment.

  Mitch unwrapped an extra-extra large red T-shirt like the ones most of the kids wore today. He laughed heartily, stood and shrugged off his suit jacket. He tugged on the shirt and Jen took another picture of him and Arga, arm and arm.