by Brenda Novak
He cursed the target her light made. She had to turn it off, run, hide….
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to clear his muddled brain. Had he blacked out when he hit the ground? “Allie, get out of here,” he said. The words were a mere croak, but at least this time he heard his own voice and, when he redoubled his efforts, he was able to yell louder. “Get out of here! Do you hear? Go!”
“Clay!” she cried, breaking into a run.
“Not this way!” he yelled. Slowly, his faculties were returning. He clambered into a sitting position and used the tree to pull himself to his feet. Dizziness nearly overwhelmed him, but he fought it back. She wasn’t listening, dammit. She was hurrying toward him.
“Allie—” he started. But then she was there, helping to support his weight while she shone her flashlight, examining him closely.
“Are you hurt?”
He wanted to shield her, in case another bullet came from the same direction. But he didn’t have his accustomed mobility. He wasn’t even sure he’d still be standing without her. “My arm.”
The beam of her flashlight rose, and he heard her gasp. She’d spotted the warm, sticky blood he’d felt soaking into his clothes. But when she spoke, her cop instincts seemed to take control because she sounded quite calm. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
He knew she was saying it for his benefit, but he had bigger concerns on his mind right now. Like getting shot again. Or seeing Allie shot. “Whoever did it could still be out there—”
“No, I heard him go. We’ve got to get you to the cabin,” she said urgently.
“The cabin?” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“We can’t,” she told him. “We don’t have a vehicle.”
As soon as Allie got Clay out of the rain, she helped him strip off his wet clothes. She was afraid he’d go into shock if she didn’t get him warm. He was soaked clear through, and his pupils were dilated.
“Do you have a cell phone?” she asked.
“No.”
Great. “That’s okay. You’re going to be fine,” she said over and over. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, him or herself; she didn’t feel nearly as confident as she tried to appear. Before she joined the cold case unit in Chicago, she’d responded to calls that involved some serious wounds, but she’d never come across a victim she couldn’t immediately rush—or have rushed—to the hospital.
In any event, it didn’t matter if she sounded a little panicked, because Clay didn’t seem to be listening, anyway. Allie got the impression he had to concentrate just to remain conscious.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
She could tell by the grim set of his jaw that he was lying, but decided to play along. “That’s good.” She pulled the blankets over his naked body then rummaged through the cupboards, searching for anything that might help them.
She located a first-aid kit that was at least fifteen years old. Thankfully, the bottle of ibuprofen she found right afterward was almost new. “Here, have some of these,” she said, dropping four pills into his palm. “They might take the edge off.”
He swallowed the pills without water and without argument.
“Doesn’t look like a big deal,” he said, gazing down at his arm.
Bits of dirt and grass clung to the blood smeared on his bicep, and a fresh trickle flowed from a tiny hole in his deltoid.
Was the bullet still inside?
That thought made Allie nauseous, which surprised her. She’d dealt with some gruesome murders, considered herself to have a strong stomach. But this was different. Clay wasn’t a stranger.
Allie wiped away the blood with a dish towel, because it was all she had. More blood surged out, so she applied pressure until the bleeding slowed. She could see where the bullet had gone in and—she leaned forward, then sagged onto the bed in relief—where it had come out. It had passed straight through the muscle.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to faint,” he murmured.
“No, I’m just glad we don’t have to perform any kind of crude surgery. There’s a lovely exit wound on the back of your arm. If it didn’t hurt so badly, you could probably turn it far enough to see for yourself.”
He winced. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’m getting the bleeding under control.”
“Glad to hear it,” he muttered.
She tied the dish towel around his arm to keep pressure on the wound. “I’ll be right back.”
He reached out to stop her, but she stood up too fast. “Where are you going?”
“To the river for water.”
“No, I don’t want you out there. Get under these blankets before you catch pneumonia.”
Allie immediately pictured the body beneath the covers, the body she’d helped undress. She knew Clay was only being practical. They were almost out of dry wood and had to stay warm somehow. The shock to his system was probably making it difficult for him to bring his body temperature up, even though he was dry and covered with blankets. But she should clean his wound first. There was no telling how much bacteria he’d encountered when he fell in the mud.
Besides, she couldn’t climb into bed wearing wet clothes and, although she had more worrisome issues to deal with at the moment, she felt self-conscious about getting naked. She was too attracted to Clay. Had he been a stranger, she could’ve reacted to the necessity of the situation without feeling so nervous and aroused.
“I will once I clean it,” she said.
“Isn’t there some antiseptic?”
“No. It’s long gone. I need some water.”
He scowled. “Morning will be soon enough for that.”
Allie was so cold she could scarcely feel her fingers or toes. But she knew it was important to do all she could for Clay’s injuries. “Hang on. I’m already wet, so now’s the best time.”
“Just come here,” he said stubbornly, but she got his truck keys out of the pocket of his jeans. She wanted to see if he had anything in his vehicle that might prove useful. Then she grabbed a pan and hurried out.
The wind and the rain lashed at Allie’s clothes and hair. She hunched against it, grimacing when she saw Clay’s truck sitting at an awkward angle because of the two flat tires. She’d get the son of a bitch who’d shot him, she promised herself. Another foot to the right and Clay might’ve been dead when she reached him.
Rage roiled inside her, tempting her to dash off to look for tracks—before they were completely obliterated by the storm. But she couldn’t. Clay needed her.
Planning to comb every inch of the area come morning, she searched his truck. She could smell Clay’s cologne, but he kept his truck as utilitarian and clean as his house. In the glove compartment, she found only a tire gauge, some napkins, his registration, proof of insurance, a seven-inch knife and a box of condoms.
Obviously, he was prepared. He just wasn’t prepared for getting shot.
She considered trying to drive them out of there despite the ruined tires, but she couldn’t risk getting stuck in the mud in the middle of nowhere. And she couldn’t lose valuable time running around, looking for other cabins. She had no idea if she’d even find an occupied one. At least for the moment they had a warm place and a bed.
Worried that she was leaving Clay for too long, she ran down to the river and filled her pan. When she returned, she found him curled up, shaking, struggling to get warm. The fact that he might be slipping into shock scared her so badly she abandoned the water, stripped off her clothes, and dried herself off as well as she could.
The mattress creaked slightly beneath her weight. Allie knew Clay had to be aware of her. But he didn’t seek her body, as she’d expected. And that scared her even more.
“Clay?”
“Hmm?”
She wanted to pull him to her that very second, to reassure herself that he was as strong as ever. But until she got warmer, she’d only leech what little heat he
’d managed to generate away from him. “Are you okay?” she asked, briskly rubbing her arms and legs to hurry the process.
“Umm.”
His response sounded like an affirmative answer, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. As soon as she dared touch him, she fixed the dish towel as a field bandage. Then she slid over and wrapped her body around his. She no longer cared about nudity or propriety or anything else. She didn’t even care if he figured out how deeply he affected her. She only wanted to make him better.
“Feels good,” he mumbled a few minutes later.
“Can you sleep?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. She worried that the pain might be too much for him. But after a few minutes, he seemed somewhat improved. She could feel a steady, strong heartbeat, and his chest began to rise and fall in a regular rhythm.
“Thank God,” she whispered and prayed he’d remain safe through the night.
The pain in his arm dragged Clay out of a deep sleep while it was still dark. He couldn’t immediately remember why he hurt, but he knew he wasn’t alone. A woman was hugging him from behind. Her small firm breasts were pressed against his back, her legs were tucked under his buttocks and her warm breath moved his hair, tickling his neck. But it was her hand that distracted him the most. She’d looped her arm around his waist as if she’d been holding him tightly to her. But now that her body had relaxed in sleep, her hand dangled very close to—
He shifted, wondering what the hell was going on.
“You okay?” she muttered sleepily.
Allie McCormick. At the sound of her voice, it all came back to him. The broken window. Tramping through the woods. Gnawing fear for her safety. The crack of gunfire. But, strangely enough, the fact that she was lying next to him seemed the most pertinent. They were in bed at her father’s isolated cabin. Naked and alone. And he wanted to touch her….
“I’m fine.” Easing out of her arms, he turned to face her. Embers still glowed in the fireplace, but he could make out only a few rough shapes. His other senses took in more. The warmth emanating from her body. The feel of her soft legs entwined with his. The scent of her on his pillow.
“Clay?” she whispered, reaching for him.
Her hand encountered his stomach. At that point, he thought she might recoil and find some excuse to get out of bed.
But she didn’t. Her fingers moved toward his injured arm, but he deflected her questioning touch.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked.
“Positive.” He was sure about a few other things, as well—like the testosterone suddenly pounding through him.
“I’m glad.” The hand that had touched him a moment earlier touched him again, moving slowly over his chest as if she was eager to explore every groove and contour.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he told himself not to react. She was just reassuring herself that he was okay. Or she was half-asleep and didn’t know what she was doing. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be touching him so…erotically. She had to realize that the closer she got to him, the more she alienated herself from her family and friends.
Her hand traveled up to his neck and eventually cupped his cheek in a movement so tender it made Clay’s stomach twist with longing. But he couldn’t respond. One eager kiss or receptive moan on her part, and he’d be on fire.
Drawing a deep breath, he fought to hang on to his self-control. But then her thumb brushed his bottom lip and he couldn’t help tracing the edges with his tongue.
Her sigh made his muscles bunch with desire, and he took her thumb all the way into his mouth.
The bed moved as she inched closer.
“You really had me worried,” she said.
He felt the tips of her breasts against him and nearly let his good arm encircle her, pull her to him.
No. Think of her father. Think what it would do to her.
But she didn’t stop. She was threading her fingers through his hair, and he could feel her breath on his neck.
Clay lay suspended between what he knew he should do and what he wanted to do. He had to warn her at least. There was a condom in his wallet from the box he’d bought at the gas station. But if they made love, he didn’t want her to be sorry about it later, didn’t want to feel responsible for her regret.
“Allie?”
“What?”
“I—” Her nipples grazed his chest again, causing a reaction powerful enough to silence him. His determination to restrain himself kept him from reaching out, from taking what she offered. But he couldn’t push her away. Especially since she seemed a bit tentative, as if she imagined he might not be interested.
“Can you go back to sleep?” she asked.
Not a chance. “No.”
“Am I…disturbing you?”
“Hell, no.”
She seemed relieved, but that didn’t help his situation. He couldn’t think of anything except the softness of her skin. He wanted to bend his head and take one nipple in his mouth while his hands wandered elsewhere, eliciting the responses he craved from her…
Don’t think about it. He didn’t want her to be ostracized later just because she’d been with him.
But he couldn’t help thinking about it. Remove her hand. The command came with authority, but the pleasure of her touch was too intense. And then her tongue slid invitingly over his bottom lip and every cell in his body rose up against him. He longed to move decisively, aggressively. To roll her onto her back and kiss her as he buried himself inside her—and to forget all the reasons he shouldn’t. But he merely parted his lips and met the tip of her tongue with his.
She made a sound that told him she liked it and arched into him. What they were doing couldn’t possibly be good for her, though. He wasn’t husband or father material. And she had a child.
“Clay?” she said. The quaver in her voice meant that his earlier response hadn’t completely squelched her insecurities.
He didn’t answer. If he explained what he knew to be true, he’d have to act on it. But he wasn’t sure how long he could hover between yes and no.
Finally, he pulled away.
He could sense her embarrassment and confusion. He hated that, but what could he do? Rejecting her advances was the lesser of two evils. Especially since it would encourage her to keep her distance from him in the future.
They lay in silence for minutes that felt like hours.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I know you’re in a lot of pain.”
He was too aroused to care about the wound in his arm. He’d have to be unconscious not to want her. “It’s not the pain.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I don’t want the people you know and love to look at you the way they look at me,” he explained, because he couldn’t take her thinking that she’d made a fool of herself by approaching him.
His heart beat several times before she responded. “You’ve slept with other women in Stillwater.”
“No one like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re different. You know that. You’re a cop, one of them.”
“I’m also a woman.”
“Expectations are different for you.”
“So you’re doing me a favor?”
“I’m trying.”
There was a slight pause. Then she said, “I’m not sure I’m able to appreciate that right now. When you were shot, I—” She didn’t finish, but he could hear the huskiness in her voice, the worry and concern. The shooting had really shaken her, made her want to reassure herself in the most primitive way possible.
He let go of a long breath. “It’s not easy for me to say no,” he admitted. “It’s…harder than you know.”
Her finger began tracing a line through his pectorals and down his stomach. “How hard?”
He guessed she wasn’t talking about the difficulty of the situation. “Hard enough,” he told her gruffly, but he didn’t move. He held perfectly still.
�
��Maybe I should decide about that.” Her finger had reached his navel. She was moving slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t wait until she touched him. His heartbeat radiated throughout his entire body as she drew closer and closer—and then her hand curled tightly around him, and he knew trying to resist would be hopeless.
With his good arm, he brought her into full contact with him. “You’re making a mistake,” he said, taking her mouth in a harsh, hungry kiss.
“Good thing you’re worth it,” she said and buried her face in his neck as he used his hand to make her tremble.
13
It’d been more than a year since Allie had made love. She missed the physical intimacy of having a man in her life. But being with Clay was nothing like what she’d experienced in the past. Clay’s lovemaking was full of an urgency she’d never known, as if it wasn’t enough for him to claim her body—he wanted her soul. The crazy thing was, she knew better than to give it to him, yet she did so eagerly. With every kiss, with every touch, with every thrust of his hips, she gave up a little more of herself. He was alive, and somehow that was all that mattered in this cloistered cabin. The rest of the world could not intrude.
She was making a mistake, she dimly realized. She was letting him spoil her for anyone else. But she was too caught up to care. With one hand he angled her hips so she could take more of him.
Euphoria, combined with raw, desperate need, caused every muscle to quiver. Allie moaned as Clay’s mouth closed over her breast, suckling her just hard enough. He knew how to amplify every sensation, how to take it to the extreme.
“What are you feeling?” he murmured, his voice ragged, breathless, as he kissed her mouth, her ear, her neck.
“You. I feel you. You’re in me, around me, everywhere.”
“Then let go. Give me what I want, okay? Trust me.”
Worry lingered in some distant corner of her mind. “Be careful of your wound,” she said. But he didn’t act as if he had an injury. Pinning her hands over her head, he nuzzled her neck. Then his mouth trailed back down to her breasts.
