by C. J. Miller
He looped his arms around her waist and she turned her body to his, lifting her face. She felt herself drowning in him, wishing bulky coats didn’t separate them and they could be skin to skin, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“I shouldn’t do this. I’ve been thinking about it all day, but I shouldn’t. You’re so beautiful and I can’t stop wanting you.” His mouth settled on hers, his lips cool, his tongue hot as it invaded her mouth. He angled his head to kiss her deeply, to let his tongue parry with hers. The kiss was thoroughly arousing. His hands spread across her back, holding her against him, possessive, safe. Jean-clad thighs brushed, electricity igniting between them. Emotions she had tried to suppress roared to life. Rocking his hips into hers, the friction of denim against her body sent a tremor of excitement through her.
“Tell me your real name,” he said, moving his mouth to her cheek. “Let me say your name. Let me have that part of you.”
She let her head fall back as he loosened the scarf from around her neck and tickled a path along the column of her throat with his lips. The cold night air didn’t bother her with Reilly’s heat melting it away. “You already have me.” Had already had her. Maybe since the moment they’d met, on some level, that connection had always stretched between them.
His lips brushed left to right across the sensitive skin of her neck. “Please. Your real name. You can tell me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as warnings assaulted her, warring with her heart to keep her secret. She tried to think of some way around this, something she could say that wouldn’t make him pull away. He wasn’t playing fair, wasn’t giving her a chance as he continued his pleasurable torment, returning his lips to hers and tightening his hands in her hair.
His mouth was insistent. She could feel the tension heighten in her body. He didn’t pose the question to her again. He didn’t have to. Maybe she was a fool for trusting him, for believing he would be different than the other people in her life who had let her down. But in this moment she tossed care to the wind. She took a leap of faith, praying she wouldn’t live to regret it.
She set her hands on the side of his face and tore her mouth away. “My name is Haley.”
“Haley,” he repeated. He let a note of wonder into his voice.
She waited for his reaction, to see if he would mentally tick through the possibilities of who she could be, but the gentle stroke of his hands took away her worry. “Haley,” he said again. Her name on his tongue shook her to her soul. It had been too long since someone had spoken her name with that level of warmth, that level of reverence.
He returned his mouth to hers and kissed her until the world faded away and it was she and Reilly, panting and breathless, passion searing her to the core.
Reilly held her to him, nipping at her ears with his mouth. “You’re cold. Let’s go home.”
She didn’t protest, though she wasn’t cold. Wrapped in the warm circle of his embrace, the cold and the snow couldn’t diffuse the heat spreading across her chest.
They hiked back to the house, Reilly’s hands never leaving her body. Arousal thrummed in her blood. His kiss burned on her lips. Inside the house, after shedding their snow gear, they again stood at the door to her bedroom. This time Reilly followed her inside. Her heartbeat quickened when he closed the distance between them.
Her skin prickled with simmering awareness and she ached for his touch. His eyes never left her. She unsnapped and unzipped her jeans and wiggled out of them. He knelt on the floor in front of her and pulled them lower, touching her sides lightly.
“How are your bruises?” he asked, concern edging his voice. His hands stroked her skin, evoking an immediate reaction.
“They’re better. They only hurt sometimes,” she said, though she hadn’t completely registered the question. He stood slowly and lifted her sweater over her head.
He reached for the clasp of her bra and waited for her to respond, to give him the green light. She nodded slowly. With practiced fingers he opened the clasp and she let her arms down, sending the bra to the floor.
His eyes lingered on hers for a moment before sweeping down her body. He set his hands on her hips and brought her close to him and kissed her, a scorching kiss, his lips playing with hers. He brought his hands to her breasts, cupping them in his palms. She let out a small moan, a sound he captured with his mouth.
His hands tweaked the hardened peaks of her nipples. “Are you cold?”
“No,” she said, forking her fingers into his hair. She was hot. Ready. Wanting.
He lowered his mouth to her breasts and suckled one at a time as she held his face in her hands.
Walking her toward the bed, he lowered her and moved his body over hers.
“You’re still wearing clothes,” she protested.
“I know.” His mouth moved to her stomach, kissed a path around her navel.
She grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged at it, wanting to feel his bare skin against hers. She didn’t want anything between them. He lifted his arms and tossed the shirt away, lowering himself on top of her. His hot skin brushed against her and she closed her arms around him.
He reached between her thighs, parting them, running his fingers across her oversensitive skin. He growled low in his throat. When he spoke her name, Haley, it tingled in her ears. She closed her eyes and took a slow deep breath, inhaling the scent of him, letting the heat of his body pour over her.
The longer his body was pressed to hers, the hotter she felt, the hungrier she was to have him. She arched her hips against his hand in invitation, opening her legs wider and pulling him between them.
He moved over her, teasing, drawing out the anticipation until his name escaped her lips in a frantic demand.
There was the crinkling of foil and then his body left hers for a moment. When he maneuvered on top of her again, she splayed her legs. His hands went beneath her, lifting her and tilting her hips. Yes, this was what she wanted. An eternity of anticipation raced through her.
Then, finally, he sank into her. She nearly vaulted off the bed from the sensations exploding from her core throughout her body. They fit perfectly.
He stilled for a long moment before withdrawing almost completely. She grasped his hips, pulling him hard and deep inside her, setting the pace she liked, showing him what she loved.
Pleasure rippled through her with every thrust. The connection to another, the intimacy blossoming between them, the exquisite tenderness of the moment making her feel more alive than she had in years.
She held nothing back, taking him deep, melting into the moment. His mouth found hers, capturing her lips in a kiss that moved in harmony with the rest of his body.
She lost herself, tumbled and fell, her body finding the ultimate release. Moments later he crashed with her in a tangle of arms and legs, breathless pants, and ripples of pleasure.
As their breathing returned to normal, Reilly eased away from her.
He kissed her cheek. “Give me a minute.”
When he returned, he slid beneath the sheets. With a sigh of contentment, Carey gave him her back and nestled her hips against his hard, hot body. He slung his arm around her waist and held her close. His breath tickled her neck and his heart beat against her back.
She closed her eyes and gave in to sleep, feeling warm and protected in Reilly’s arms.
* * *
Taking Carey to one of the most beautiful spots in the county and then making love to her hadn’t been his best-laid plan.
And the further he sank into his attraction for her, the less he thought about the consequences. He needed to put his job first and his personal feelings second. She believed they had only now. Wasn’t he a better cop than that? He’d find a way to give them a later.
As soon as they touched, they both went up in flames. Surrender was inevitable, his defenses in shambles.
Reilly awoke when the sun peeked over the horizon line. Cuddled against him was a sleeping Carey, her brown h
air half-covering her face and her body tucked into his. She was warm, her skin was soft, and it was hell extracting himself from her bed. He climbed over her and tiptoed to his room, getting into the bottom bunk, careful to avoid Harris’s leg that had fallen over the side of the bed.
He couldn’t allow her to wake next to him. Those intimacies would give her the wrong impression. He’d planned to come here and talk to her. Get her to agree erecting some fences between them was a good idea. Instead he’d seen her and lost the ability to construct a logical argument as to why building fences was a good idea.
“Did you at least tell her you were leaving?” Harris asked.
Reilly should have known better than to think Harris wouldn’t have noticed him slipping into the room. “No. She’ll understand.”
“Or you’ll hurt her more than she already is.”
“Don’t try that psychobabble on me.”
“It’s not psychobabble. It’s women. They don’t like it when you lie, hide things or do something without an explanation.”
“I can handle this,” Reilly said, though he wasn’t sure he could.
Harris shifted on the bed above him, causing the springs to squeak. “I like her. We all like her. Mom will be pissed if you hurt her.”
It was the last thing he wanted, as well. But she had to understand it was his job to protect her. They needed some boundaries. “I’m not going to hurt her. I’m doing everything I can to see she isn’t hurt.”
Harris scoffed. “Physically, sure. Any one of us would take a bullet for her. But what about how she feels? Who’s taking care of that?”
Sometimes he hated that his family was this close and that his brother loved to dig into his family’s psyches. Reilly preferred when they didn’t talk about feelings, but in that regard, his training was turning Harris into the sister he’d never had. “I’ve never felt like I had a sister before this morning,” Reilly said, trying to deflect some of the guilt he felt by ragging on Harris.
“I’m trying to help you out. I see how you look at her and how she looks at you. At the very least give her the respect she deserves.”
Reilly wasn’t trying to be a weasel who didn’t bother saying goodbye. He needed to have some boundaries to avoid a fallout that would destroy the Vagabond Killer’s court case or force an awkward situation neither of them could diffuse and, therefore, one of them would have to leave. Carey would have to move out and get protection from another member of the squad and no one would be more careful with her than he would. No one else would see to it she had everything she needed.
If only he knew more about the man Carey was running from. Keeping her away from the media was one thing. Keeping her out of the hands of an abusive ex-boyfriend was another.
“I’ll talk to her,” Reilly said and closed his eyes, trying to catch a little more sleep. His mind wouldn’t settle and an hour passed before he drifted into a light slumber.
He woke when he heard Carey moving around in his room. Reilly got out of bed and instead of entering through the bathroom door as he had in the past, he knocked on the door to the hallway. Carey opened it a quarter of the way.
“Morning,” he said.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “That was going to be my line.”
“How’d you sleep?”
A long moment passed, thick and palpable. They spoke at the same time. “When did you leave?” she asked.
“Last night shouldn’t have happened,” he said.
She retreated a step and hurt flickered across her face. “I see. Well then. I need to take a shower. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
With that, she closed the door in his face.
Harris chose that moment to walk by and clap Reilly on the shoulder. “Nice job. Maybe next time you could get it done faster and shoot her.”
Chapter 8
Reilly’s cell phone vibrated on his hip. Lifting it from the cradle, he watched Carey and his mom in the kitchen making bread. Carey hadn’t spoken to him since that morning and it had become a silent punishment—watching her in all her graceful beauty and not talking to her or touching her. Though he’d caused the lingering awkwardness, he didn’t know how to fix it.
He glanced at the phone. Vanessa’s name lit on the display and he answered.
“We got him. Last night. Coming out of a convenience store.”
Adrenaline surged in his veins. “How cliché.”
Vanessa chuckled. “You’re telling me. You need to get the witness back here pronto. He has a lawyer and if he’s sprung, he’ll be gone. We won’t get a second chance at him.”
“I know you, Van. You’ll find a way to hold him until we get there.”
“I’m not taking chances with this. The other victim is awake, but he doesn’t remember anything about the attack. Get the witness here. Now.”
They had the Vagabond Killer in custody. But the guy Carey was running from was still out there. “We’re going to need cover. I don’t want the media crawling all over our witness.” At the word witness, Carey looked up from the bowl she was mixing.
“She needs to do the lineup and I might not be able to keep the hounds off her back completely.”
Reilly stifled an argument. Vanessa knew what she was doing and his concerns for Carey shouldn’t supersede ensuring the Vagabond Killer stayed behind bars. How much of this case fell on Carey’s shoulders? The Vagabond Killer had left DNA evidence at one of the crime scenes, but Vanessa had the burden of proof. She wouldn’t want to risk the killer’s lawyer drumming up reasons for how his client’s DNA ended up at the scene, throwing reasonable doubt over the case. They needed a positive ID. “I’ll get her safely to the lineup if you make sure the lineup stays out of the media.”
He couldn’t have a repeat of the past, couldn’t allow a killer to go free. The Vagabond Killer had to stay behind bars where he belonged. Lives were at stake if he was released on bail.
He and Carey were taking a chance going into the city, possibly getting caught in the media storm. Reporters and photographers would be looking for her. It was a careful balancing act. He wanted justice for the Vagabond Killer’s victims, but he also wanted justice for Carey.
“Reilly, you there?” Vanessa asked.
Realizing he’d been staring at Carey, he looked away. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Don’t get distracted. Tell you what. Plan to be somewhere near Denver, but we’ll keep the specifics as last-minute as possible. I’ll go for the middle of the night, 2:00 a.m., for the lineup and text you the location.”
“You think you can get the suspect’s lawyer to agree to that?” Reilly asked.
Vanessa snorted. “I’ve got the mayor and the D.A. desperate to put this guy away. They’ll make sure I get what I need to wrap this up before Christmas.”
If Vanessa said she could pull it off, Reilly wasn’t complaining. “Not a problem. I’ll take care of things on my end.” Reilly snapped closed his phone and turned to the anxious eyes of his mother and Carey. His mother waited for him to speak. Carey drummed her fingers on the counter.
“They caught the Vagabond Killer. They need you in the city for a lineup,” Reilly said. He hated speaking the words, hated knowing they’d scare her.
Carey went still. “I guess there’s no way around this.” At least she was speaking to him again.
“I’m sorry, Carey. We need you. A sketch isn’t as reliable in court as an ID.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Court? Who said anything about going to court?”
Reilly winced. So much for tact. “You’ll need to testify at some point.” She knew this. She might have been denying it, hoping something would change, but she knew it.
She shook her head and went to the sink. “No. The lineup is it. I can’t stay through a trial. He’ll find me. He’ll kill me.”
Guilt hammered him. This was difficult for her. “We’ll do everything in our power to ensure you’re safe.”
Carey glared at him, her blue eyes impassioned. �
��Even that might not be enough.”
A slap at his pride. “Have we done something to make you feel unsafe?”
Carey washed her hands and dried them roughly with a paper towel. “You can’t watch me around the clock in Denver like you can here. You can’t follow me around and stay while I’m at work. And no way would I expect that. You have a life of your own. But without you, I don’t feel safe.”
The impact of her words hit him low and hard. She had trusted him and he had shaken that trust with his behavior earlier that morning. “It can be the same as it is now. We’ll find a safe place to live and I’ll watch over you.”
Carey braced her hands on the counter. “For how long? A trial could drag on for months, maybe years. You don’t know who this Vagabond Killer is or how much money he has. He could appeal and add months to the process. In that time, do you really believe you’ll keep the media away from the courthouse? Do you think Mark won’t find me? He’s already looking for me.”
She sucked in her breath, obviously realizing she’d said too much. Jane set her hand on Carey’s back, rubbing it consolingly. Reilly wanted to console her, too, but he also wanted blood. Mark. The man who had terrorized her was named Mark. Fury sizzled in his veins. There had to be thousands of Marks in America, but it was a start. Reilly would find him. Mark would not hurt Carey.
“He won’t find you. We’ll keep you hidden.”
Carey threw up her hands. “How? I’ve tried to hide. I changed my hair, my clothes, my city, my job, my name. I don’t talk to people in my old life. I don’t use credit cards or keep any of the same habits. He’s a criminal with powerful connections. He’ll find me.”
Jane touched Carey’s hair. “You look much different with your hair dark. Most people will have remembered the red from the picture. I’ve gotten in and out of places by dressing and acting a certain way. I saw that picture of you on the news. You’re a new woman now.”
Yes, she was. Last night he’d seen a new side of Carey. Sensual Carey. Amazingly tempting. His body tightened as the memories replayed in his mind.
