Task Force Bride

by Julie Miller

  His fingertips stroked up and down her arm. “No one’s going to get to you tonight. My brother Alex is on one of the KCPD SWAT teams. He’s perched on the roof of your friend Robin’s flower shop, keeping an eye on things so we can get some sleep tonight.”

  “Is Hans here?” she asked.

  “On the rug in your living room.”

  “And your brother’s across the street?”

  “Yes.”

  Hope braced her hand against Pike’s chest and pushed herself up. “So we’re well protected. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “I thought you wanted to talk.”

  She remembered how warm her hand had been, clasped inside his in that chilly hospital room. “You were at the hospital all last night, weren’t you? You need your rest.”

  His eyes hooded as he dropped his gaze to her chest and traced his fingertip across her collarbone. “How’d you get these?” The scars. With the slack neckline of her sleeveless gown, a man didn’t need twenty/twenty vision to see them when they were this close, even in the semidarkness. “I knew you had them on your wrist, but when you were wearing that hospital gown, I saw...Some of these are skin grafts, aren’t they?”

  If she hadn’t been snugged in the cocooning heat of the bed and his body, Hope might have frozen up. If his arm hadn’t locked her against his side, she might have rolled away. If those handsome blue eyes weren’t shadowed with pain, she might have closed her mouth and retreated to that quiet, lonely place inside where she normally hid from the world.

  But she did none of those things. She could feel the sudden tension in him, saw the self-deprecating grin that never reached his eyes. “Asked the wrong question, didn’t I?”

  “It’s okay.” She cupped the side of his face and pressed a kiss to the corner of that false smile. He deserved to know why she was such a screwed-up woman, why he’d had to fight so hard to get her comfortable around Hans, why she had so little experience with trusting relationships. If Pike Taylor would put his life on the line for her, then the very least she could do was tell him the truth.

  But it wouldn’t be easy. She settled back down against him, clutching her arms between them. “My mother died in childbirth with Harry,” she began. “I wasn’t even two yet. I suppose Hank tried to keep us together as a family for a while. But he was never the same man after losing Mom. He blamed Harry, and I was a nonentity taking up space in the house. He started to drink and...never seemed to stop after that.”

  Pike groaned in lieu of a curse or condolence, and turned onto his side, throwing one of his legs over hers and drawing her more snugly into the hug of his body.

  She breathed in his clean, musky smell that was simple, unadorned man, finding strength in his patience. “I became useful when I got old enough to take care of Harry and the house.”

  “How old were you?” His lips brushed against the crown of her hair.

  “Six? Seven?” She relaxed her clenched fists and let her hands settle against the planes of his chest. “Hank drank a lot of the grocery money. He drank the mortgage payments until we were booted out of our home and went to live out in a cabin he had on one of the lakes near Branson. I kept it clean, fixed meals when I could—I was a stellar microwaver and sandwich maker.”

  Instead of laughing, Pike grunted a curse. “Didn’t you have any family to help? Where were the social workers? My grandmother was sick with cancer for a long time, but I never doubted that she was doing her best to take care of me. Until she just couldn’t any longer. I went into foster care when she went into hospice.”

  “She must have loved you very much.”

  “It was mutual. I lucked out twice in the family department with Grandma Pike and the Taylors.” He went quiet for a few minutes, and Hope sneaked her right arm around his waist, holding on while he worked through his remembered grief. But then his fingers were sifting through her hair again, urging her to continue. “Did someone help you?”

  Hope nodded. “My second-grade teacher reported us to DFS when I ran out of clothes that fit me. Things got better for a while. Harry and I got regular meals at school. Hank kept a part-time job with a rock-and-gravel company.”

  “What about the scars? Did Hank...?”

  She felt the tension vibrating through every clenched muscle of Pike’s body.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Not directly.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” The massage on her scalp stilled and Pike pulled back far enough to tilt his head down to meet her gaze. “Hope?”

  She shook her head and burrowed back beneath his chin. She couldn’t share the rest of it, looking into those suspicious, caring eyes. His arms stayed around her until the doubting moment passed and Hope knew she would never, ever find another man who could make her feel the trust and, yes, the hope and love that this man’s blunt honesty and endless patience had nurtured in her heart.

  With that stark admission of the feelings blooming inside her distracting her from the nightmarish pain this story usually invoked, Hope dug her fingertips into the reassuring warmth of his chest and finished it. “The summer I turned ten, Hank got fired for drinking on the job. Whoever his latest girlfriend was dumped him and he went on bender after bender. He’d leave the house for days sometimes. But...we had these two dogs he called the babysitters. Jack and Jilly. Doberman/heeler mixes. I suppose they were pets once, but he didn’t take any better care of them than he did us.”

  “That son of a bitch.” Pike’s arms jerked around her and she laid a placating hand against the restless thump of his heart. “Babysitters?”

  “Hank didn’t want to lose his welfare benefits, or get in trouble with the police, so he didn’t want anyone wandering onto the property or us leaving the cabin to let someone know how bad things were.” For the first time tonight, tears stung her eyes, and her throat felt gritty. “Harry was so hungry that day. He was crying, and there was nothing in the house.” The tears spilled over onto Pike’s chest. His muscles flinched with every drop, but he said nothing. “I’d hidden a few dollars from Hank—from cleaning the neighbor’s cabin—and I thought it might be enough for some milk and bread, maybe a jar of peanut butter if I could get to the store.”

  “But you had to get past the dogs?”

  She nodded. His breathing quickened to match her own. “I fished an old, rotten meat bone out of the trash and tossed it into the yard. The dogs were starving, too. I thought I could sneak past.”

  “Ah, hell. Ah, hell, baby.” He knew what was coming as surely as Hope.

  “The dogs were doing their job. They were hungry. I smelled like garbage from the trash. And Hank came home.”

  “Get her!”

  Footsteps pounding on the hard-packed dirt.

  Tearing flesh.

  “Harry was nine years old. He got Hank’s gun and shot Jilly. A nine-year-old had to defend me. And I...” She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think beyond curling into a ball to protect her neck, beyond grabbing a rock and swinging it at Jack’s head. “The neighbor lady heard the shot and I—”

  Suddenly Hope was pulled from the nightmare by the demanding pressure of Pike’s mouth against hers. “I knew you were a fighter.” His body pressed her into the bed and he threaded his fingers into her hair as he kissed away the evidence of her tears. “If I had known what all you’ve been through, I’d never agree to this charade to draw out the Rose Red Rapist. It’s too much, honey. It’s too much.”

  Hope’s hands went to his chest, instinctively bracing against his heavier weight. Then his mouth opened over hers and her fingers latched onto skin and muscle as her tongue darted out to meet his.

  Fear turned to excitement. Despair turned to anticipation. Pike Taylor’s fierce brand of caring chased away the nightmare and drew her back to the here and now.

  Hope arched her neck as his lips skidded along the pulse at her throat, cooling the path abraded by his beard. “I’d have done it anyway,” she gasped, startled by the heat pooling inside her with
each rough caress. “When Detective Montgomery said I had the power to help put away that madman, I’d have volunteered, anyway.”

  “I know.” His lips grazed her collarbone, finding nerve endings among the scarring there. Or maybe there was something in her brain that was responding to the needy tug at the strap of her nightgown, pulling it away from her shoulder so the trail of his beard and lips and tongue could continue there. The tips of her breasts beaded and rubbed against his chest, making them ache for a stronger, more insistent touch. Something sweet and hot coiled at the juncture of her thighs as his words and kisses and body caressed her skin. “You’re kind of stubborn that way. You’re the toughest fighter I know.” He lifted his head and looked her in the eye. Even without her glasses, he was close enough to see the dilation of his pupils against the cobalt and sky-azure of his eyes. “If anyone can survive this mess, it’s you.”

  Stubborn. Tough. A survivor.

  It was as beautiful a compliment as Hope had ever received.

  “Pike?” She pulled her hair off her feverish face and tucked it behind her ear. “Would you...? Can we...?”

  “One of us had to ask.” With a laugh, he reclaimed her mouth and rolled her onto the bed beside him.

  For several minutes, there were no more words. He worked at the buttons of her gown, pressing a kiss deeper and deeper between her breasts until he groaned. Unsure whether that was frustration or arousal, she opened her mouth to ask. He held up one finger, warning her not to speak, then reached down to grab the hem of the gown and push the whole thing off over her head.

  The gown flew away into the blurry darkness. The swift need of his actions startled her, excited her. But she had little time to savor each discovery of the tension building between them and inside her.

  “If these aren’t the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.” Pike’s hands and mouth were quickly on her breasts, squeezing, tasting, exploring the tender skin the material had hidden from him. She cried out with delight when his hot mouth closed over one aching peak and pulled it gently between his teeth. “Damn pretty.”

  Hope tried to keep up with every brush of his lips, every tease of his fingertips, every demand of his body. She skimmed her palms down his flanks, swirled her tongue around his taut male nipple, teasing it with her teeth the way he had her. When he bucked in response, she kissed the delicate spot and moved across his chest to see if the other was just as responsive.

  Hope felt more and more feminine, more and more powerful with each sharp intake of breath, every quiver of responsive skin beneath her hands. Soon she became aware of his sturdy thigh pushing between hers. She moaned when he rubbed against her. The pressure inside her womb was sudden and intense, as if every blood cell in her body was racing to the spot to see what these new, overwhelming sensations were all about.

  She was equally aware of the bulge in Pike’s jeans, pressing against her hip. She was squeezing her thighs around his leg, instinctively seeking some kind of release, when he propped himself up on his elbows above her. Pike was breathing as hard as she was, so their chests kept meeting, retreating, touching again and robbing her of sense each time. His voice was husky and raw and as potently sexy as the rest of him. “Have you ever had a man in your bed, Miss Lockhart?”

  Slowly, feeling the blush creep into her cheeks, she shook her head.

  Pike leaned down to kiss her hard and quick as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Well, get used to it. ’Cause I’m not leaving.”

  Taking her cue from the hands stripping her panties down her legs, Hope unzipped Pike’s jeans and helped him shuck them and his boxer-briefs before they, too, sailed away into the night. Accidental, purposeful, gentle, urgent touches and whispered words filled the next few moments until Hope lay beneath him. His fingers stroked her hair, his eyes reassured, as he gave her the time she needed to get used to the feel of his hips cradled against hers, his thick, hot shaft pulsing against that most sensitive part of her.

  “I’ll try to be gentle,” he promised. “But if anything hurts, if anything scares you, you tell me.”

  Hope looked up with all the love filling her heart. This was right. He was right. She slipped her arms around him and boldly reached down to palm his butt. “It’s time to stop talking, Pike.”

  And then he was spreading her knees apart, nudging at her entrance, sliding inside, slowly, deeply, perfectly.

  Hope gasped at how tightly he fit, how completely he filled her up, how close she could feel to one special person. Once the initial pain eased and she stroked the line of his jaw, he started moving inside her. Hope’s breathing quickened. Pike’s mouth was on her lips, her neck, her breasts. She gripped his back and found a rhythm that matched his. The pressure between her thighs grew almost unbearable. She wanted...she needed... “Pike?”

  “That’s it, honey. Let it happen.”

  He reached down to press the sensitive nub where they were joined and she cried out with the force of her release. While she crested the hill and marveled at the waves of tiny aftershocks pulsing inside her, Pike moved. Trusting her instincts, wanting him to know the same rapture she felt, she hooked her heels behind his thighs and opened herself to the driving force of his need. Seconds later, his arms tightened around her and he groaned against her neck. With one last thrust he tumbled over the edge inside her.

  Pike collapsed on top of her and, for a moment, Hope hugged him tight around the neck, sensing that his weight and scent and the slick heat between them were the only things that could ease the sharp sensations still firing inside her. But then Pike pushed himself up, gave her a quick kiss and plopped down onto the bed beside her. He was struggling to even out his breathing, too, as he reached for her hand. “Thank you, Hope. Thank you for letting me be your first.”

  A few minutes later, after Pike had excused himself to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and come back with a washcloth to clean them both, Hope was still lying in the same spot on the bed. Her thoughts were floaty and the air in the room was cooling her skin. “I’m completely spent. And so relaxed. Is that normal?”

  Pike laughed in the darkness and climbed back into the bed. He gathered her into his arms and pulled the cover up over them both. “That just means we did it right.”

  Feeling content, weary, alive and safer than she’d ever been, Hope turned her cheek into Pike’s shoulder and let her eyes drift shut. There was no pretend about her feelings for Pike. This was a man she could trust. This was a man she could love.

  And she did.

  But the feelings were too new, too unfamiliar for her to put into words. She could barely make sense in her own head how she could, in the span of a week, lower the emotional barriers that had guarded her through so much of her life. For now, she would simply be grateful that he was kind and she was safe.

  With her hand resting against the steady beat of Pike’s heart, Hope fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

  * * *

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER, revived by the most solid sleep he’d had in a week, Pike awoke to the brightness of the streetlamp outside the frilly curtains at the window. He slipped on his jeans for a quick check around the apartment, verifying that everything was locked and secure. He went to the front window and saluted the thumbs-up from his brother Alex on the roof across the street. He exchanged some words and licks from Hans before letting the dog settle back onto his favorite rug and returned to Hope’s bedroom.

  He stood in the doorway, inhaling deeply as he watched her sleep. Her hair fanned like a glorious silky mane across her pillow and the exposed curve of one beautiful breast. The cool air in the room smelled of vanilla and sex, stirring something possessive and provocative inside him.

  He’d had no idea when he was stuck with this assignment a week ago that things would get personal, complicated. He wasn’t a complicated kind of guy. He’d had sex before, but not like this. He’d tried relationships before, but never with anyone with so many layers and secrets and hang-ups and curiosity and courage as Ho
pe. He’d dated prettier women, more experienced women, women who actually talked to him the first time they’d met.

  But he couldn’t remember any woman getting under his skin and getting inside his head the way Hope Lockhart did.

  “So what are you going to do about it, Taylor?” he whispered into the shadows.

  This was supposed to be a job. He had a mission to complete. The safety of his beat, maybe of the entire city, rested on his shoulders. If he was smart, he’d grab his gun and badge, take a cold shower, brew a pot of coffee and sit up with the dog in the living room, keeping watch.

  Instead, he unsnapped his jeans and dropped them on the floor before crawling under the covers with Hope again.

  She stirred when he brushed that decadent fall of hair away from her porcelain skin. Those big lake-gray eyes opened like shadowy pools in the darkness and she reached for him. “Hey. I was thinking...”

  “Uh-oh.” He shouldn’t get this kind of rush watching a blush stain her cheeks and creep down her neck. He shouldn’t be this curious to see just how far down that blush could go. “What is it?”

  “I know that some people do it more than once. Could we? I may never get this chance again.”

  The tips of those lush breasts were already teasing pebbles against his chest, waking his body. “I doubt that, honey.”

  “Please?” She was doing that ticklish thing with her toes again. “If you have another condom, that is. If you want.”

  Yeah. He wanted.

  It was swifter, needier, this time as he pulled Hope on top of him and taught her a couple of new things about making love. He made it as good as he knew how, driving her to the edge of her release as she took him right to the brink with her.

  And when he drove himself home inside her, pouring out the essence of everything in him, Pike knew something had changed. Terribly. Irrevocably.

  This woman wasn’t just his to protect.

  She was his.

  Chapter Eleven