Wrongfully Accused

by Ana Barrons

  He slid his hands inside the loose armholes of her thin top so he was massaging her skin. The proximity of his hands to her breasts sent lust spearing through her, straight to her already moist pussy. The expression “putty in his hands” popped into her head and pretty well described the increasingly boneless sensation in her limbs. Oh, God, how did he do this to her?

  Without warning he grabbed the hem of her shirt and slid it up over her head. Her arms rose as though by some otherworldly force, and it was gone. She stared at herself in the mirror, sitting there in a plunging, black lacy bra, her chest heaving in arousal, Gabe’s hands moving sensuously up and down her arms. A moan escaped her lips and she knew she was lost.

  “Stand up,” he said, his voice rough with desire. She stood and he turned her toward the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. Her breath hitched at the sight of them—Gabe huge behind her, hands first on her arms then wrapped around her middle. They both watched as he tugged at the drawstring on her loose pants and they slid to the floor. She stood there, wearing only a sheer bra and panties, while Gabe was fully dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt.

  “You’re so beautiful, Kate,” he whispered into her hair as he ran his hands over her belly and tightened them on her waist. His breathing sounded labored, as though he were struggling to control himself. But she didn’t want his control. She wanted his passion, wanted his hands and mouth all over her. When he unclasped her bra and let it slide down her arms she leaned into him completely, hands clutching his arms, desperate to feel his hands on her naked breasts.

  “Even with these,” he said, running his fingers gently over the myriad thin scabs on her back. “And this.” He bent down and placed a tender kiss on her bruised ribs that made her writhe with desire. “I’d like to kill the guy who did this to you.”

  He lifted his head and blew out a breath, followed by a muttered curse. “Into the bath,” he said, and nudged her forward. “Oh, wait.” He disengaged long enough to grab the plastic sleeve off the bed and pull it over her bandaged arm. He stuck a hair tie around the top to keep it in place, then gave her a little shove forward and followed her into the bathroom.

  The water in the claw-foot tub was still running, so Kate bent down to shut off the tap. When she stood, Gabe was right behind her, his hard body pressed against her back, hands clutching her shoulders. They were inches from her breasts, but he made no move to touch her there. He moved his hands to her waist, and slid them slowly down over her hips, the caress so tender, so erotic, she gasped his name. He caught the elastic of her panties and lowered them, his hands staying to the sides of her thighs. His breath was coming as fast and shallow as hers, but he continued his slow trail down until the panties slid to the floor.

  “Jesus Christ,” he rasped as his hands began the trip back up her thighs to her hips and stopped. His fingers were so long the tips curled around to the sensitive spot close to the apex of her thighs. His face was close to her ear, his hot breath on her cheek, warming her neck and chest. Her nipples were so hard they ached. He was breathing open-mouthed, pushing bursts of air through in a way that told her in no uncertain terms that he was intensely aroused and on the edge of control.

  “Gabe,” she moaned, rising on tiptoes and rubbing her ass into his rock hard erection. Her limbs felt tingly, her head light.

  He lowered his head and kissed the curve of her neck, and she was sure he would ease the death grip his hands had on her hips, but instead he backed away. “Get in the tub,” he said in that husky voice. “Don’t turn around.”

  “But—”

  “Do it, Kate.”

  It took more willpower than she knew she had to step into that tub without turning to him. But if she turned around now—naked—they would make love until neither of them could stand up, and God knew where it would end. That knowledge had to be scaring the hell out of Gabe.

  Holding her plastic-wrapped arm out to her side, she lowered herself into the steaming water, which covered her breasts completely. The scent of lavender added to the sensual fog that was rapidly overtaking her senses. But when she turned to see Gabe leaving the room, a frisson of panic penetrated.

  “Gabe?” He stopped, his back to her. “You won’t leave, will you? While I’m in here?”

  “No,” he said. “I won’t leave.”

  She closed her eyes and lay back against the tub. It felt like she was sliding into a warm, delicious dream. Her mouth had trouble forming her next words. “Are you going to go back to hating me again...because of this?”

  He braced his arm against the doorframe. “I’m done hating you,” he said, and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Gabe went to the French doors in the bedroom, flung one open and stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the swimming pool. He gripped the cast-iron rail and let his head fall forward. His groin throbbed, his pulse was racing and he struggled to get his breathing under control. How he had found the strength to walk away from her he would never know. Now the trick would be to stay out of that bathroom, knowing Kate was aroused and willing. And gloriously naked.

  He shut his eyes and groaned, unable to get the image of her body, the feel of her skin out of his mind. Maybe if he hadn’t pushed her panties down and felt the softness of her thighs and belly he wouldn’t be suffering like this. What had possessed him to undress her? She’d been leery of letting him help her precisely because she didn’t want to make herself vulnerable to him, physically or any other way.

  She didn’t know he was afraid for the same reason.

  He shook his head, then raked his hands through his hair. He had to get this outrageous desire for her under control, which meant not doing stupid things like washing her hair and fucking undressing her. What the hell had he been thinking?

  She’s still a suspect in the bombing, even if you don’t believe she did it.

  He took in a huge breath, let it out and stepped back into the room. While she was in the tub was a perfect time to look around the house. Yeah, what his lieutenant had asked him to do wasn’t exactly ethical, legal or not, but people poked around their friends’ houses all the time. Did that mean he qualified as Kate’s friend?

  As he made his way downstairs to Drew’s study, he tried to think back to a time when he had thought of Kate as just a friend. He opened the study door and flipped the wall switch, then gazed around at the dominion of Kate’s late husband.

  A pain more insidious than jealousy speared into his gut when he remembered his reaction to the news that his sister-in-law was involved with a colleague of Joy Stuart’s six months after Steve’s death. Gabe brought his hand to his solar plexus and tried to rub it away. Christ, he didn’t have time for this.

  “Goddamn it,” he said aloud. He should get out. Now. It wouldn’t be hard. His lieutenant already suspected that he couldn’t be objective, and had considered assigning another detective to the case. He could detach himself from Kate’s life and move on.

  Right.

  He was in too deep.

  He’d spent a lot of years lying to himself, telling himself it was Kate’s fault Steve was dead, telling himself the fact that she had married someone else less than a year later was proof that she had wanted Steve dead so she’d have the millions to herself. But he knew it was all bullshit.

  No. He deceived himself all those years because when Kate married Drew Franklin she had cut Gabe to the quick.

  Never mind that he’d turned away from her months before Steve died—suddenly becoming too busy—when the truth was he couldn’t stand to see the two of them together. After Steve’s death his feelings had vacillated between numbness and self-loathing. Even as he had frozen her out, he’d wanted her, wanted to grab hold of her and let her heal him, bury himself inside of her and hide from the aching loss and guilt. But no sooner had he figured it all out than Joy had informed him Kate was in love with Drew Franklin and would probably marry him.

  In his rage and humiliation, Gabe had crea
ted a reason to despise her that had nothing to do with hurt or jealousy. And the more he convinced himself that it was Kate’s fault Steve had died, sparing himself the crushing burden of guilt, the more he poisoned his family toward her.

  Except Jeremy.

  Gabe lowered himself to the chair behind Drew’s desk, leaned back and closed his eyes. Kate’s love for her godson had never wavered, nor Jeremy’s for her. The bond between those two fascinated him. It bordered on mother/son, or even brother/sister.

  With an effort, he moved his fingers to the keyboard of the computer sitting in front of him. The screensaver was the U.S. Capitol. Figured. Kate’s was probably a woodland scene, or a beach. Maybe a polar bear, or seal cubs. Some endangered species or other. He punched a couple of random keys and wasn’t surprised when he was asked for a password. Only a moron would go off on a business trip and leave his computer unguarded.

  His lieutenant had “suggested” he look through Kate’s computer files. If Kate had records of some conspiracy, it was extremely unlikely that she would keep them on her husband’s computer. Which meant he had to spend some time with her laptop. Jeremy said they emailed back and forth all the time. From this computer or the laptop?

  Could a woman who loved a child as much as Kate loved Jeremy be guilty of conspiracy to murder her husband?

  No way.

  He took his time trying a variety of passwords Mancuso had suggested with no expectation of success. Drew’s date of birth, both parents’ first names, his city of birth, college, and so on. It was amazing how many people used simple passwords so they wouldn’t forget. That’s something Kate would do, he thought. So he tried her maiden name, Callahan, her birth date, Bruno...

  It was Bruno’s whining that finally drew his attention away. When he glanced at his watch and realized an hour had passed, he jumped up.

  Was Kate still in the tub?

  He took the steps two at a time and went into her bedroom, where Bruno sat before the bathroom door whimpering. “Kate?” he called through the door.

  No answer.

  “Kate?” he called louder. “You still in the tub?”

  When she still didn’t answer he opened the door. She was slumped in the tub, head lolled to one side. His heart stopped. Was she just asleep or unconscious? He rushed to her side and moved her head so she faced him. Her skin was cool, but her lips were rosy and she was still breathing. Christ, he was getting paranoid.

  “Kate,” he said. “Wake up, honey.”

  She didn’t respond or open her eyes. The arm wrapped in the plastic sleeve had slid into the tub, which meant he probably needed to change the dressing. Damn, he hoped getting her stitches wet wouldn’t slow down the healing.

  He reached in and pulled the plug. The bath water was barely tepid. He grabbed a large, peach-colored bath towel and waited for the water level to drop so he could lift her out into it and wrap her up. The glimpses of her body through the haze of bubbles made him hard—when the water sank below her breasts, leaving frothy trails, his cock began to throb. Soon he could see all of her, the dark curls between her legs frosted with small white bubbles.

  He eased her body forward, then wrapped the towel around her back and lifted her out of the tub. Her eyes fluttered briefly, but she didn’t wake up. He smiled and carried her out of the bathroom and laid her gently on the bed, then wrapped the towel around her. He grabbed another towel off the rack and dried off her arms and legs, lifted her again and eased the bedclothes back.

  Still holding her, he sat on the edge of the bed and inhaled her scent. She had to be exhausted to be so sound asleep. If he didn’t know better he’d think she’d given in and taken a pain pill after all. She was normally a light sleeper, no matter how tired she was. Or at least she used to be.

  Her body was warming now that she was dry, but he had to get the damp towel off her. He eased it off her and sucked in a breath at the sight of her plump round breasts. His lips ached to taste them. He shifted her around and set her down on the sheet, then pulled the towel away. As though she missed his warmth she curled toward him. He still had to deal with her arm. The bandage wasn’t soaking wet, but it needed to be changed.

  He got what he needed from the bathroom and set to work unraveling the damp bandage, drying off her arm with a small towel and rewrapping it. All the while he was aware of the softness and heat of her body, and imagined his mouth on her breasts, his tongue in her pussy, making her scream and cry out his name. God, how he wanted that.

  It wasn’t until he was finished that he realized she was watching him through narrowed slits. “You fell asleep in the tub,” he said, his voice raspy. “Your bandage got wet so I changed it.”

  She nodded once before her eyes closed again. He reached out and stroked her hair and felt her shudder beneath his touch. All he had to do was pull off his clothes and slide between the sheets with her. He could hold her while she slept, and make slow, gentle love to her when she woke up. He could rid himself of all the tension and frustration and pent-up lust he’d been carrying around since the moment he first touched her again. And she wanted him. It wasn’t like he’d be taking advantage of her.

  As he sat there stroking her hair he heard a soft snore. She had fallen back asleep. Huh. He blew out a breath, tucked the bedclothes around her and left the room.

  * * *

  There was a knock on the door and Tyrell cursed and swung the telescope away from the balcony of the Franklin house. If he had his way he would slit the old lady’s throat and get her the fuck out of his life. This undercover shit was for the birds. He could never be a cop. Fucking cops weren’t supposed to hurt anybody. He liked to hurt people. He liked it a lot. But he had to admit that posing as an undercover detective to keep an eye on Kate Franklin was fucking brilliant. Just the right mix of truth and fantasy.

  Old people were so fucking gullible.

  “Detective?” the voice trilled through the attic door. “Would you like some coffee cake? It’s fresh out of the oven. I could bring it up with some coffee.”

  “Sure,” he called back, careful to keep the scorn from his voice. “That would be nice. Just, uh...leave it outside the door.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said in that conspiratorial tone he was coming to hate. He had no patience for sweet old ladies. Any old ladies, for that matter, but sweet ones—ugh. ’Course, her rich bitch neighbor wouldn’t think she was so sweet if she knew the old lady was helping him spy on her.

  He touched the long cut on his cheek where the Franklin bitch had cut him with glass, and swung the telescope back toward the bedroom. She had to be out of it by now. He bet her pussy tasted like fucking honey. When he got his hands on her he was gonna take everything he didn’t get last time. And take it and take it and take it—before he messed her up permanently. He wondered if the cop was fucking her while she slept.

  “You wait till he leaves, cunt,” he promised.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gabe was heading back up to check on Kate when her doorbell rang. Ben Stuart stood on the stoop. “Jeez, do you have another facial expression besides a frown?” Gabe asked, moving aside to let the other man in.

  Ben’s frown deepened. “Why are you here? And where’s Kate?”

  “She’s napping.” Gabe glanced up at the second floor balcony. “Very deeply. I’m going up to check on her again.”

  “For a second there you almost looked worried about her,” Ben said. “She’s probably exhausted. Or depressed. Grieving people sleep a lot. And you still haven’t—”

  Gabe was climbing the steps. “Kate doesn’t sleep that hard. She crashed in the bathtub and I had a hell of a time waking her up.” He paused and fear curled in his gut. “She didn’t wake up all the way, come to think of it.”

  Ben was right on his heels. “What the hell’s going on, Gabe? If you’re taking advantage of her I swear to God, I’ll—”

  Gabe spun on him. “What? You’ll what? Kick my ass?”

  Ben’s jaw tightened. “If I h
ave to.”

  For a long moment they stared each other down. “I’m not taking advantage of her,” Gabe said finally, although it galled him to answer to another man. “We have unfinished police business.”

  They went into Kate’s bedroom and Gabe flipped on the light. She didn’t as much as flinch. “See what I mean?” Gabe said. “She’s been out like a light since about four o’clock. Did you ever know her to sleep like this?”

  Ben approached the bed. “Well, she’s on pain medicine, right?”

  “Wrong. She refuses to take it. I gave her four Advil when I got here and that’s all the pain medicine she’d had since Alison left yesterday.”

  Ben’s sat beside Kate on the edge of the bed, pressed two fingers to her wrist and studied his watch for several seconds. The furrow between his brows deepened, and he lifted one of Kate’s eyelids, then the other. “Shit,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Her pupils are dilated.” He looked up at Gabe. “Call an ambulance.”

  Gabe fumbled his cell out of his pocket and made the call, panic tearing at his gut. “Is she in any danger? Shit, I should have called earlier.”

  “And she’s naked,” Ben said.

  “Well, don’t look,” Gabe shot back, and pulled a robe out of her closet. “Move and let me put this on her.”

  “What are you doing with her, you bastard? And don’t give me that crap about police business. Last I heard you wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole, and now you have exclusive rights to her body? If she were awake what would she say about that?”

  “Not now,” Gabe ground out. “I’ll explain later. But you won’t like it.”

  Ben pressed his lips together. “No, I’m sure I won’t. Just tell me you’re not setting her up to go to prison.”

  “She’ll go to prison over my dead body,” Gabe said. “That good enough to get you off the fucking bed so I can cover her before the medics get here?”