To Love a Cop

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Her stunned self thought, I knew he wouldn’t say anything hurtful to Jake. I did. So why—?

  Because even as he’d become her refuge, even though she had no reason to think he’d ever actually shot anyone, he also represented everything she had rejected. Men who carried guns. Who might someday use them. Who tempted Jake to become something she feared.

  He’d found Jake at the gun show and cared enough to bring him home and talk to her. But he’d been at the gun show in the first place.

  I never asked him why.

  Out of consideration for her, he never again carried a weapon into her house—but she knew it was there just outside in his vehicle, available for him to put it back on his hip the minute he left her house. She was always conscious of its existence.

  He’s like Matt.

  But her conscious self knew he wasn’t. They did the same job. That’s where the resemblance ended.

  You think that’s where it ends, whispered the voice in her head that represented all her fears.

  She saw that last expression on his face, shock, disbelief, hurt and bone-deep anger, and knew how bad she’d blown it. And she couldn’t even lie to herself and believe she’d said one hateful thing in a burst of fear for Jake. No. She’d spent the week working herself up to being convinced Ethan wasn’t good for Jake.

  Or me.

  When the truth was, despite all Jake was going through right now, Ethan might be his salvation. No one but Laura had ever been as good to him, and there were things she, a woman and his mother, couldn’t be to a boy on the cusp of adolescence. Ethan had been exactly what Jake needed, at a time he needed him most.

  And I just drove him away.

  The most pathetic part of all was the knowledge that followed: she was curled in a fetal position on the floor not because she’d driven away the man who could be her son’s salvation, but because she’d driven away the man she needed. The man I’m falling in love with.

  Except...he scared her, too, and she’d spent too long attuned to the frightened part of her who could not survive the same kind of agony again. Who thought it was better to hide than to open herself up to life and the risk and possibility of loss that implied.

  She listened to the silence in the house and thought drearily, I ought to go talk to Jake, but didn’t have it in herself, not yet.

  And then she thought, It’s not Jake I need to talk to, but wondered if Ethan would even open his door to her.

  * * *

  ETHAN DID, BUT only because she’d called and begged.

  Goddammit, he didn’t want to see her right now. Not yet, if ever again. He was too raw, more devastated than he’d been by the time he and Erin split up.

  He snorted at the thought, pacing the limited confines of his living room. It wasn’t like what Laura said should have come as a shock. He’d known she was pulling back, seen accusation in her eyes. He was synonymous with all the evil guns represented to her, and, goddamn it, he would never apologize to anyone for what he did for a living.

  “Shit,” he said aloud, knowing she’d be there any minute and wishing he hadn’t answered when she called and asked timidly if she could come over to talk to him.

  He’d succumbed because he so hated hearing that timidity, the diminishment of a voice that was usually confident. He’d have felt like an asshole if he’d said, “Sorry, don’t want to talk to you.” So he’d reluctantly given her his address and said he’d be there. Now he was on edge, his nerves sensitized as he waited.

  The knock, when it came, was timid, too.

  Ethan groaned, scrubbed a hand through his hair and went to let her in.

  She’d showered and changed clothes since he saw her, although at the sight of flecks of paint in her hair he felt a flicker of something that would have been amusement and tenderness if he hadn’t been so mad and hurt.

  She’d missed a spot of white paint just below her ear, too.

  Jaw tight, he stepped back. Her gaze skated over his face, and then she sidled past him.

  Ethan closed the door and faced her, arms crossed and, he suspected, expression hard.

  Laura rushed into her speech. “‘I’m sorry’ may not be good enough, but I have to say it anyway.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not even the point. The truth is you’ve painted me with the same brush as your husband. I get it. I hoped we could get past that, but we can’t. I’m especially sorry for Jake’s sake—”

  “Please!” she cried, her eyes huge and luminous. “Please listen.”

  Ethan huffed out a breath. Why was she putting them through this?

  Wringing her hands, she took whatever sound had come out for assent. “I was getting past it. I was.” She swallowed. “Until...I got scared. That’s all. Do you know what it was like, hearing that gunshot and running into the house thinking it’s got to be okay because nobody screamed or is crying or anything, only that was because Marco was dead and couldn’t scream and Jake was catatonic?”

  Oh, hell. Yes. He’d seen enough trauma in his years on the job to be able to imagine that scene all too vividly. The dead little boy, and the shocked one standing over him, his hands sagging as he held on to a huge heavy weapon that he hadn’t understood.

  Ethan took a step closer to her.

  “And then—” She faltered, bit her lip. “And then Matt.”

  In her brief pause, all Ethan’s anger evaporated.

  “I was so angry, so hurt, so lost.” All the pain she’d felt was in a voice that was too soft, as if she had rolled over to expose her underbelly. “How could I do it all by myself? Only I did.” She let out something like a sob, although her eyes remained dry. “I thought we were all right, except that day you showed up with Jake, I had to face the fact that we weren’t. That I’d failed.”

  “Laura.” Her name was all he could force through a throat that had closed.

  “You gave me hope. Not just for Jake’s sake. For mine. I have trusted you. I have. Except...getting past my fears is hard.” Tears that still hadn’t fallen filled her voice. “You can’t know what it’s like. I need you...I need you to understand that sometimes my doubts get to me. I haven’t seen Jake’s face look like that since he was a little boy, and everything rushed over me. And...and...”

  “Damn it, Laura.” He took the last step needed to close the distance between them, and gathered her into his arms. For a long moment, she stayed stiff. “You don’t have to do this,” he said hoarsely. “I do understand. You don’t have to grovel. I got my feelings hurt, and I lashed out. I was the jackass.”

  “No.” She tipped her head back and searched his face with desperate eyes. “No, it was me.”

  He gave a ragged laugh. “You sound like Jake.”

  “He told me you said none of it was his fault. He could tell you meant it.” She sounded shaken. “I think...he almost believes it’s true, because you said it.”

  “Does that bother you? Because you’ve said the same thing and he didn’t believe you?”

  “Of course not! Do you know what a miracle it would be if he could really, deep down, convince himself he wasn’t to blame for any of it?”

  He gently squeezed her nape, and felt her body start to soften. This close, he could see every shadow in eyes darkened to navy right now, every quiver of her mouth.

  “Do you know he thinks it’s his fault Matt killed himself?” he asked.

  Her throat worked convulsively. “Yes. At least, I guessed. I didn’t want to destroy Matt in his eyes. You know? A boy ought to be able to believe his father was strong, but what Matt did—”

  “Was inexcusable.” Ethan knew he sounded harsh and didn’t like seeing the shock on her face, but this had to be said as many times as necessary, to her and Jake. “You were right to be angry. When life got hard, he opted out. He abandoned the two of you in the worst possible way. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a great guy in a lot of ways, and that Jake shouldn’t be encouraged to remember what was good about his father. And maybe this wasn’t my call,
but I think it’s a hell of a lot better for Jake to understand that his father screwed up big-time—and let him down big-time—than for him to blame himself.”

  For a minute he thought she’d argue. Her eyes revealed everything she felt, and, at that moment, it was too much.

  But finally she said, “Yes,” and tucked her head under his chin, letting herself lean against him, as if she’d lost the strength to stand independently. Maybe only for a minute—but right now, she needed him.

  Ethan laid his cheek on her head and closed his eyes, but there was something else he had to know before this went any further.

  He drew back a little, until she raised her head enough to meet his eyes.

  “Laura, is that why you’re here?” His voice was a little rough, a little deeper than usual. “Because you’ve decided maybe I’m good for Jake after all?”

  “Well...partly. I mean, of course—” Color stained her cheeks, and for a moment her gaze fell. But then she was courageous enough to let him see everything. “No. I’m here because of me.”

  Ethan made a ragged sound and kissed her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FOR AN INSTANT she was passive, feeling a rush of gratitude as much as anything. He’d forgiven her. She could hardly believe it. But the urgency of his touch was like a swig of whiskey chasing a sip of cool water. Heat licked through her, liquid fire. She rose on tiptoe and flung her arms around Ethan’s neck, parting her lips to let him in.

  He groaned and lifted her, turning in a slow circle as he took her mouth with devastating gentleness. His tongue stroked and teased and asked.

  She answered wordlessly: yes, yes, yes. It was like a fever, snatching her between one breath and the next. Fear that she’d lost him transformed into passion. She’d never felt this astonishing need to rub against a man, to touch him, to try to climb under his skin. Self-consciousness, any sense of shame, were lost as she plastered herself as close as she could get, whimpered and rocked.

  He wrenched his mouth away. “Laura.”

  She cried out in protest.

  “Laura, can you stay?”

  Stay? She struggled to understand. All night? It was only afternoon. Of course not. Oh.

  “I left Jake at my sister’s.”

  His arms tightened convulsively around you. “I want you.”

  “Yes” was all she could manage.

  He hustled her to his bedroom. All she really saw was the enormous bed. King-size, she realized, but of course a man his height needed the length. It had been untidily made, she saw, as in a duvet yanked up to partially cover the pillows.

  The bed made what they were about to do real, cooling her fever ever so slightly. She had a cramp of unease. Did she even remember how to make love?

  But suddenly she didn’t care. He knew. She wanted him so desperately. Maybe remembering wouldn’t help anyway. Making love with Ethan wouldn’t be the same as anything she’d done before.

  She bit her lip and turned her head to see that he was watching her. Holding himself completely still, waiting for her.

  “Cold feet?” His voice was husky, the tension in his body language telling her he thought she’d chickened out.

  Didn’t he know she was way too far gone for that? Needy and aching, she skimmed her fingertips along his rough jaw. “Nerves, but no second thoughts.”

  He snatched her up and fell with her onto the bed. She thought she heard a “Thank God” on the way down, but didn’t process it. How could she, when, his weight only partially caught on his elbows, he pressed her into the depths of the duvet and mattress? His big hands framed her face and he took her mouth in biting kisses, as if he was as starving for her as she was for him.

  Now his hips were rocking, and he’d positioned himself where it felt the best. Her thighs separated and she pushed up in an instinctive effort to take him inside her. She slid her hands under his shirt, too, and explored his broad back. Muscles bunched beneath her hands, and she traced the pads of muscle that bordered his spine. His skin was smooth and hot, and she kneaded as she went, wringing some groans from him.

  At last he rolled, even as she tried to hold on to him until she saw him sit up and yank his shirt over his head. The next second, he had hers off as fast.

  His eyes went darker. “So pretty,” he said hoarsely. He touched the simple front clasp of her bra with one fingertip, making her shiver with anticipation, and then slid that finger between her breasts instead. Teasing. Then he laid both hands over her breasts and gently lifted and squeezed, before making a rough sound as if he’d lost patience and opening her bra so that her breasts spilled out.

  She hardly saw him move, it was so fast. He closed his mouth over one breast and suckled, giving her a stab of astonishing pleasure as she looked helplessly at his dark head. She lifted a hand and slipped her fingers into his hair, the coarse silk sliding between her fingers as she pressed his head closer.

  He moved to the other breast, circling her nipple with his tongue, nipping lightly, sucking in a way that had her hips rising and falling.

  “Please. I want— Ooh,” she moaned.

  He looked up, eyes almost black, his mouth damp and a little swollen. “Do you know how beautiful you are? I’ve wanted you since the minute I set eyes on you.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered, and then remembered the first glimpse, when she’d been so scared for Jake, when the big gun riding at Ethan’s hip had loomed so frighteningly. “Maybe the second time.”

  He laughed, and unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. He made a sound of appreciation at the skimpy peach-colored panties he found beneath, but peeled them off with the jeans. She’d already lost one shoe; the other dropped when he reached her feet. She was left wearing socks and a bra that was spread wantonly open. His gaze drifted over her, the heat in his eyes erasing her momentary self-consciousness.

  “Your skin is so white.” His big hand spanned her rib cage as he explored. “So soft.”

  Laura looked her fill, too, at a powerful chest dusted with brown hair that arrowed down to the waist of his jeans. She touched him, too, but he backed off so that he could take off her socks. The way he encompassed each foot in turn in his hands made her toes curl in pleasure that grew in power as he moved up her legs, squeezing, stroking, until he reached her ultrasensitive inner thighs and she heard herself making small sounds that ought to embarrass her but somehow didn’t.

  And then, oh, finally, he was touching her where she needed to be touched. She responded helplessly, but she wanted—

  “Not by myself,” she begged. “Take your pants off.”

  “Yeah.” His voice was almost unrecognizable, his face taut. “God.” He pushed himself off the bed and shucked his jeans and gray knit boxers, staying bent for a moment.

  Shoes, she thought, hearing a thump, then a softer one.

  But he had something in his hand when he stood.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, thank goodness. I didn’t think—” She forgot the condom as she took in the sight of him, tall, built long but powerful, his erection...impressive.

  His movements were jerky as he ripped the packet open and sheathed himself before coming down beside her, tugging her half atop him and kissing her. Her momentary alarm vanished, lost in the exquisite sensations his mouth and roving hands brought. He was almost...leisurely now, as if he wanted to savor instead of taking greedily.

  She was the one who got greedy and straddled him, rising above him and trying awkwardly to cant her hips so that he’d fit inside her.

  Ethan said something, she didn’t know what, and flipped her, pushing inside by the time her back came down on the bed. It was almost uncomfortable, just for a minute, but so good, too. She told him, breathlessly, and he said, “Yes.” That was all, but his face was cast in lines of torment and lust and tenderness as he began to move. Deep, slow, then faster, harder.

  He set a rhythm that felt so perfectly right, her body tightened, tightened until she didn’t think she could bear it—and then imploded. Holdin
g on tight, she called his name, felt the vibration of a groan and then he went rigid as he buried himself deep one last time, throbbing inside her.

  He came down with some of his weight on one shoulder, but she reveled in the feel of him, heavy on top of her. The hammer of his heartbeat, the musky scent of man, the connection. Never move, she begged silently, keeping her arms tight around him.

  * * *

  HE SAID THE right things. He thought he had anyway. Laura looked grateful, which Ethan hated.

  They had made love a second time then showered together. She’d set off to pick up Jake, and he had met them at the house, after which he took them out to dinner.

  They’d all been subdued, presumably each for a different reason. Ethan suspected Jake was embarrassed about his breakdown. He was a boy; he’d likely absorbed the macho message that boys don’t cry. Then there was the aftermath: Ethan had no idea what he and Laura had said to each other, either after he’d stomped out or when she picked him up to bring him home.

  Laura...well, he wasn’t sure what she was thinking, either. She’d gone back to being shy with him. Could she be embarrassed by her passionate response to him? God, he hoped not. Knowing she wanted him desperately enough to shed her inhibitions was a major ego boost. He’d never had sex that good. He wanted to keep having it.

  How they’d manage, given that she had a kid, he had no idea. It wouldn’t be happening as often as he’d like, that was for sure. Not unless—

  But he wasn’t ready to go there. And that was what had him staying quiet, a little wary. Because understanding and forgiveness was one thing, confidence another. He wanted to think Laura could overcome her fears enough to truly accept who he was and what he did for a living, but he wasn’t sure he believed it would happen. She had a lot to overcome. He’d try to be patient. But the way he’d felt when she turned on him... He didn’t know how many times he could come back from that.

  He’d also discovered something about himself that shouldn’t have been a surprise, but still was. On the job, he took the risks he had to. He’d never had a problem with it. Off the job—a high adrenaline lifestyle wasn’t for him. He was competitive, or he wouldn’t have been the athlete he had been; he still enjoyed being active. But he didn’t jump out of airplanes or do any kind of extreme sports, and relationships fraught with tension weren’t for him. Passionate highs, he could go for; passionate fights or icy silences, no. That last year with Erin had been miserable beyond belief. Every day, he’d had to brace himself before he went home, never knowing what her mood would be, what new accusations she’d throw at him, whether she’d be sulking, or vivacious and expecting him to respond as if yesterday she hadn’t been sulking.