by Arlene Webb
“What else aren’t you telling me?”
“Sorry. I’ve been ordered to keep my mouth shut, but so you’re not blindsided, I am thinking about telling you everything I know.” He gathered up both pillows and shoved them under his head.
“Okay. Talk.”
He opened his arm. “Ahh…it’d be best if you’d let me hold you.”
“Hold me?” She frowned. He did expect her to freak. Or he thought she’d make a run for it.
That large hand settled on her arm again. “Just rest against me, that’s all.”
She stiffened. “I’m fine. Tell me.”
He released her and eased back. “Unless I feel your head on my chest, I won’t say anything until a pair of Feds with a rep for being pricks, and my boss, a nice and professional lady, knock on that door.” He arched his brows. “I won’t bite, promise.”
“But you are a liar,” she muttered.
“Excuse me? I’ve never lied to you, other than pretending to be a guy on the prowl and hey, the hope you’d share a bed with me wasn’t a pretense.” He patted the bed. “See, sometimes wishes do come true. Cassi, your color is off and you look faint. Stop being a hardass. Please.”
“You said you’d not say anything else unless I let you hold me.”
“Oh. Yep, I’m a liar and my patience is gone.” He lurched forward and seized her.
A gullible fool, she folded into his arms like she belonged there.
He pulled her back, used his leg to knock hers flat, and forced her head under his chin. He held her one-handed and gathered up the water she’d dropped.
“Neanderthal.”
“How’d you know my middle name?” he murmured.
She shifted away, but conceded to the arm clamped around her by leaving her head snuggled into his chest. He lifted her with him to crack open the bottle, propped it against her and his hip, and settled back.
“Fine. You’re holding me. What else happened other than some gun runners using my name?”
“Shh. All in good time.” He jiggled his leg at the water bottle. “You don’t have to drink that, but you should rest while you have a chance. In fact, little girl, listen while I make up a bedtime story just for you.”
She grabbed the bottle of water before he tipped it. He reached around and firm fingers caressed over her eyes, and dammit if she didn’t close them. She sighed, the weight slowly slipping off her shoulders as he began speaking in that low, sexy voice.
“Once upon a time, a mighty hero trying to rescue a damsel got tossed from a Jeep, out into the Lut Desert of Iraq. One hundred fifty-nine point three degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, making it the hottest place on the planet. Fifty miles of intense running through dry, sweltering, sticky, itchy, gross, blistering, smoking sand, sweat pouring from every pore to crackle and burn up in the hot-hot-hot air, he closed in on the dastardly abductors.
“Being a powerful stud, it took a while but headache, dry skin, dizziness, and sleeplessness set in after he’d sweated out a mere two percent of the water level he should have maintained within his hot-hot-hot body. He knew drastic measures were needed if he wanted to take down a thousand terrorists and save the hot-hot-hot girl.
“He decided the beautiful, smart, obedient, and very thirsty woman, who had nothing to do with assault rifles or cult-oriented mass murder, was worth any risk. He stopped running, closed his eyes, and gulped without thinking the bottle of cool, clear water that was FDA-approved to be the next best thing to…Reyka from Iceland.”
She snorted as he went on to use every adjective he could think of to describe refreshing water. Yet, wow. He’d remembered the brand of vodka she’d asked for. Paid attention to everything about her and—she fought the tightness in her chest—he hadn’t laughed. Not even a grunt of ‘hello, crazy lady’ when she’d admitted her deal concerning pair of hydrogen atoms bound to an oxygen one, and most important of all, he hadn’t commanded her to drink. Instead, he’d tried charm and reasoning. She swallowed against her suddenly very dry throat. No question, seduction was something he did well, and a wonder popped into her head. What had happened after she’d left the bar? She fluttered her eyelids up.
“The hero was revitalized by the first sip. Muscles burst with fluidity and strength—”
“Ray….”
“Yep?”
“Did you hook up with Lindy?”
“Who? Is she the villainous mastermind in my story?”
She rolled her eyes. “My friend at the bar.”
“Oh. The low-cut black…red…can’t remember, who wanted to give me a lap dance and didn’t insist on seeing her obviously upset friend home. Yeah. I hooked up with her elbow. Long enough to propel her to a table, sit her down, and go off to take a leak but took a wrong turn out the door on the scent of a damsel about to be kidnapped by evil desert dwellers. Now, can I continue with my tale of sizzling heat? I don’t mind. I’ve been known to torture a suspect for hours with just my mouth.”
I bet you have. And not by talking.
“I’d get up and turn on the faucet in the bathroom, a steady drip, but I’m too comfortable. Now, where was I in this hot, thirsty, parched story?”
She lifted the bottle a couple of inches and halted. “You are so silly. I….” Can I do this?
“You’re dehydrated. Just try a sip, sweetheart.” He shifted his arm from her.
“Fine. If it’ll make you stop nagging.” She pushed off his chest, jerked the water to her mouth, and drank without pause until the sixteen-ounce bottle was empty.
She dropped the bottle, didn’t even wipe her mouth, and felt her stomach cramp. “Ohh….”
“There now,” he murmured. “You’re okay.” He eased her back down, his arm tight around her, and laid his palm flat on her belly. “Let things settle while I finish. Brace yourself for a tragedy. Someone has to die or the tale’s lame, but I’ll make it quick.”
She found her lips twitching as he didn’t even pause or crow over the fact he’d won the battle of wills over to drink or not to drink.
“The all-powerful hero was raring to get the girl. He ran and fell face first into what he thought was an oasis, but it was a mirage, and he died. He’d waited too long to drink and he needed cheap beer, wasn’t good enough to drink pure water. He went straight to fiery hell, punishment for pretending to be a horny guy when he really was an underpaid civil servant.”
A soft, undulating current of warmth spread from his hand through her shirt, dissolving the need to vomit. She closed her eyes. She felt like she’d been enclosed in a bubble wrap of safety where nothing, not even flashbacks from the past, could penetrate.
“They buried the failed hero at sea, where all sorts of fish did wild and dirty things, and the girl killed the thousands of terrorists by herself. She stole a camel, saddled up with a case of crappy bottled water, and headed for the glacier paradise of Alaska, or Iceland, or that lake where some lady pulled out a sword for a would-be king, and lived happily ever after. The end.”
He patted her stomach and then slid his hand higher, beneath her breasts. “Give me a moment and I’ll launch into my muffin story. First, are you okay?”
She blinked her eyes open. “You think I’m weird?”
“You always answer a question with one?”
“Do you?”
“Do I what? I forgot the question.”
“Think I’m weird,” she mumbled.
“Yep.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Yep.”
“You think I can?” She pushed against his arm.
“Not my call. Relax.” He refused to loosen his hold. “Define weird. What happened to turn you away from beer, soda, and all that civilized cultures have done to water?”
Tell him. Do it. Just spit it out. “My baby brother…died when I was five. My fault.”
“Oh. Sad. You have the right to remain silent. Please don’t. You do know there’s no statute of limitations on murder, but five-year-olds generally aren’t held acc
ountable?”
She thought about punching him, but it was too much effort.
“Something happened in the water other than the girl bending in front of the hero for the soap…oh, sorry. This is your story. Tell you what, I’ll offer you a bribe you can’t refuse. If you talk, I won’t.”
“Starting now?”
He pushed her chin up with his finger, gave her a sweet smile that curled her toes, and drew his fingers in front of his lips as if zipping them.
She laid her head down on his chest, closed her eyes, and took a shallow breath. “We’d left Dad at home and gone on an overnight trip to visit Grandma who’d not seen my brother yet. Next morning, Mom had a headache and Grandma always slept late. Mom told me to watch him and come get her if he woke up. I was so proud she left me responsible.”
She’d never confessed this to anyone. Not a single soul, and the words began cascading out. A dirty, tumbling waterfall fed by a toxic dumpsite.
“Johnny woke crying, these soft, mewling whines. His face was all red. He felt like I imagined a tiny burning star would, and I had what I thought was a brilliant plan so Mom could rest. It was hard, the nozzle was rusty and wouldn’t turn easily, but I got the shower on. Not hot, but not too cold and I gathered him up. I worried when the water came out brownish, but I stood under it with him anyway for what seemed like ten minutes, but they guessed to be well over a half hour. Mom found us and I was so happy to show her how he’d gone back to sleep. But he wasn’t sleeping, and they couldn’t revive him.
“I knew I hadn’t let him drown or suffocated him. Years later, I learned the autopsy thought he’d had a bad reaction from the shots they give infants, and his heart just stopped. That same morning I killed him, itchy red dots broke out all over me. My head hurt, stomach hurt, and I didn’t tell anyone, and I hid my arms and legs. I cried pretty much constantly, so my face didn’t matter. I didn’t want them to worry I’d die too, and I thought maybe I should die for killing a baby.
“Dad blamed Mom. Mom blamed herself. They were both so busy grieving they didn’t pay attention to anything else or tell me anything. Years later, I understood the coincidence of me getting chicken pox when all of this happened, and cheap plumbing in a broken-down home. That was long after I’d accepted the only logical conclusion I could come to by myself. That bad water made me sick and killed my brother. Drops must have fallen into his open mouth and he’d gotten poisoned. I felt unhealthy, unclean inside for years. As I grew older, I started drinking nothing but clear water. It progressed to only bottled water and so forth.”
She swallowed hard. “You’d think a sane person would move on instead of being stuck in a guilt trip, right?” She felt his chest rise and fall.
“Hard to say. I haven’t dealt with what you have. I do know not everyone can go with the flow like I do. I’m the type of guy who’d eat roadkill if it was cooked, but I’d also live on turnips and dandelions if they’re handy. I drink from the milk carton, and I’m rarely sick. But I do brush my teeth and floss all the time. And I can’t wait any longer to ask you something that’s extremely relevant to survival in this moment.”
“Survival? Whose?”
“Mine. I’m in serious need and…well, Charles Darwin can put things into perspective. He said, and I’m paraphrasing, that it’s not the strongest or the most intelligent that survives, but those most adaptable to change.”
She bristled. “I drank the damn water. I’m lying here listening to you rattle on about anything but what that phone call was about. What more do you want from me?” She pushed up to look at him. “Did they find a suitcase of money under my bed? A billion-dollar deposit in the Cayman Islands?”
“No.” He stared at her, his expression wary. “And I’m thrilled you’re so into evolution, variation, and moving toward different things. I…er…just wondered, do you have a problem with saliva?”
“Saliva? What the hell are you talking about?”
He smiled. Not slow and lazy, not sweet and gentle, but the wolf smile she’d seen at the bar. “You admitted a thing with water right away. So what I’m hearing is no, I love saliva. Go ahead and slap me, and…maybe I’ll stop.” He grabbed her, yanked her up, and took her lips with his.
Ray tried for gentle and slow, but the moment his lips locked onto hers it felt like he had to make this the kiss of a lifetime or she’d slip through his fingers and disappear. She’d either run screaming from yet another bully who took advantage of a vulnerable state, or she’d fall through the cracks of the justice system and out of his reach.
From his mouth to hers, he yearned to dive in fast and hard, plundering with his tongue until she opened more than her heart to him by confiding an intense trauma. He wanted the supple and beautiful body rolled over him as well.
He deepened the kiss, his cock already long past aching and into deadly throbbing, and his heartbeat pounded faster and faster as the tension left her shoulders. She melted into him, soft and sweetly yielding to his aggressive hardness, and she began kissing him back.
His careful exploration, the tip of tongue easing along the seams of her mouth, forced his lust into an easy, steady climb as lips meshed, escalating on the roller coaster scale to maybe a five, a first-time kiss like when a boy walks a girl to her door.
Forget that. It was no-hold-back time. He was too into the taste and feel of this woman to strive for less, and he had to bring her over the edge with him. Plunge down and down into the world-is-about-to-end type kiss. A kiss that’d stay with her, marking her as his own.
He curved his hand around her hip, easing his fingers under her shirt. He stopped messing with tasting nooks and crannies and went for an intense slide of tongue, in and out, in and out, as he made love to her mouth.
She moaned, and he forgot how to breathe through his nose. The world spun away, his cock jerking steadily against his zipper because his tongue and hands got all the fun. He swallowed hard, eating away at her mouth and dipping his fingertips into the waistband of her jeans. He loved the tremble of soft flesh beneath his fingers. He debated moving his arm, allowing his stomach to press into hers but the desperate state of his cock would clue her in to the fact that this kiss had long gone past a five to rocket off the charts.
Maybe she was a terrorist with an agenda, maybe she was a sociopath who did anything for fistfuls of cash, maybe he should cuff the criminal to the bed and whack off safely in the bathroom, or maybe he should ease his lips free before he killed her. She, too, had not taken a breath since they’d connected.
He pulled his head aside, panting. “Can…I try that again? I’ll do better. Make you love my saliva forever. Okay?”
“Forever?” She gulped, her chest heaving.
Oh yeah. He kissed her mouth again. He curved his hand around her leg, cupping her thigh and rubbing his hand against the edge of her panties. She whimpered into his mouth, shifting her butt the wrong direction, and he withdrew his hand to settle on her lower back. He softened his kiss, evolving from eager teenager to experienced lover and showing her they could take it as slow as she wanted.
Not like the fists of the justice system were about to knock on the door within the next half hour.
Not like the battering ram of an aroused male was about to break out of the jeans and pound between legs in the next half a second, regardless of which direction she moved those legs.
And not like he could do much other than grope her anyway. Condoms were in the glove box, all the way out in the parking lot. A parking lot under surveillance for assassins, escaping beautiful women, and idiotic detectives getting it on with suspect. By the time he’d gotten past the watchdogs and shoved little foil packets in his front pocket beside a hard reason to arrest him for public indecency, the haze would have left his head enough for him to admit this was such a bad idea.
Most important, she really was vulnerable. He steadied his tongue into gentle sweeps, caressing her mouth with simmering heat instead of full-throttle demand. He had a feeling she’d never told an
yone how a tragedy had taken over her life, made her what she was today, and he hadn’t even commented. Done nothing but give in to the lust gripping him the moment this tight little ass—the one his hand now explored—had poked into the air.
He broke the kiss and stared down at her flushed face, her closed eyes. Damn, he hadn’t been as gentle as he’d thought. Her lips were plump, bruised, and so red.
He brushed his fingers along her cheek. “Sorry. You taste so good. I got carried away. You all right?”
She swallowed and opened her eyes. Deep pools of quiet brown, sparkling with a glistening sheen, told him she’d felt the fireworks as well. “You’re dangerous. Deadly. Lethal. I keep forgetting there’s boxes stacked over there, your colleagues are on the way, and you’re hiding something from me, other than what we both know. With one kiss, I’m wide open. With two, I’m never coming back. Ray—what’s happening here?”
He sighed and made sure his hand stayed steady against the hollow of her back. “I’m not sure. I want you. Badly. You’re so irresistible. I don’t kiss every woman I take custody of. In fact, I never have. My job was to check you out, see if I could learn anything about gun and drug trafficking a snitch claimed a C. Smith was involved in. Out of all the C. Smiths who popped up around Denver, the computer tagged you as most likely, based on some controversial articles you wrote and chat rooms you’ve been to. Then things got sticky. The moment I saw you, I’ve been too infatuated. I’m losing a grip on the fact I’m on a job. Not a good thing for either of us.”
He drew his arm up around her shoulder. “Less than an hour and two of the best kisses of my life ago, the officers who went to your apartment to take your boyfriend in for questioning found him. Pete Deming is dead. Shot in the head.”
Chapter Four
Cassie’s head felt like all neurons had shorted out, as if she had a bullet slammed into her brain as well. She lay in the arms of a guy she’d just met, a cop intent on learning if she was guilty not only of purchasing illegal weapons without permits, but premeditated murder as well.
