“Accurate,” Isabella finished. Her smile didn’t budge; if anything, it strengthened. “Which is exactly why I’m giving you this advice. I’m not suggesting you push him—if he’s not ready to talk, he won’t. But I have a feeling he wants to trust you. He might just need you to let him know that he can.”
Looking across the lobby at Xander, Tara realized two things. One was that she did like him as much as Isabella had noticed. Maybe more.
The other was that she wanted him to trust her with his ghosts. No matter how scary they might be.
Chapter 8
Xander knew he should be focused on whatever Dade was telling him, and in his defense, he’d put his back into the effort. But—also in his defense, thank you very much—Tara was wearing another one of those slim skirts that made his composure want to spontaneously combust, and when she’d locked eyes with him from across the lobby and smiled, the rest of the room, the rest of the city; hell, the rest of the universe didn’t matter.
In that moment, she was the only person in the world.
Also, she was headed directly for him.
“Hey,” Xander said, suddenly wishing he’d done better than the fuck it, good enough route with his hairbrush this morning. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“I had a quick meeting with Isabella and the team. I figured you’d be out on patrol, otherwise I’d have mentioned it last night,” Tara said, smiling at him before turning toward Dade. “It’s nice to see you again, Officer Dade.”
“Glad it’s under better circumstances this time,” Dade replied, her tone strangely devoid of its trademark sarcasm. “You going to throw the book at the son of a bitch who hurt that poor girl?”
“Yes, ma’am, I most certainly am,” Tara promised. “Speaking of which”—she returned her attention to Xander, and yeah, he felt it everywhere—“Isabella and I are going to meet up later to go over some images on the tattoo database with Amour. Do you want to meet me there?”
Xander nodded. “Absolutely. I promised her I’d check in after my shift, anyway.”
“I know she’ll be happy to see you, and if you’re there when she reviews the photo arrays, it saves me from having to get you up to speed later. I’ll text you when I leave the office?”
“Sure, that sounds great.”
“Okay, it’s a date. You two stay safe out there,” she said, giving up one last smile before she turned toward the front door. She’d barely made it out of earshot before Dade pounced.
“You’d better start talking, Matthews. And do not insult me by asking ‘about what?’.”
Ah, hell. Xander should’ve known she wouldn’t have missed the look he and Tara had traded, crowded lobby or no. But his defenses weren’t about to let him get all gabby about it.
Not that Dade was going to let him out from under the microscope unless he played this just right. He tested the water with, “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
One black brow arched. “Well, let’s start with you working this case. The Intelligence Unit doesn’t usually ask patrol officers for a whole lot of assistance after a canvas is done.”
Okaaaay, not the path he’d expected her to take, but… “It was blind luck that Amour trusted me that night in the hospital. She could’ve just as easily shut down, and then Sinclair would have sent me right back here, where I belong.”
“You’ve been a cop for how long, and you’re still over there believing in blind luck? Please.” Dade snorted. “Do you know the last cop Sinclair plucked off patrol for help with ‘just one case’?”
“No,” Xander said.
Of course, Dade did. “It was Hale.”
Okay, whoa. Addison Hale was one of Intelligence’s brightest and most badass. Not that there were any slackers up there, but still. “I’m not that good.”
“Dear Lord in heaven, please give me patience with this one,” Dade muttered, shaking her head as she looked up at the lobby ceiling. “Do you think Sinclair is a dumbass?”
Xander coughed out a laugh that was more surprise than anything else. “God, no.” Around the Thirty-Third, even hinting at it was blasphemy.
“Then it’s safe to say you don’t think he suffers any fools, especially when it comes to the people who work his cases?”
Shit. He’d waltzed right into that one. “I’m telling you, this is a one-time thing.”
“Alright, then,” Dade said, seeming all too happy to switch gears. “What about that?”
Her gesture to the door that Tara had exited through a few minutes prior made feigning innocence impossible.
“That’s kind of complicated,” Xander hedged.
“But you like her,” Dade pressed.
Xander used all of his energy not to squirm. “Maybe.”
A less than polite noise crossed Dade’s lips. “Do you know how long I’ve been a cop? Can we dispense with the bullshit for the sake of not insulting me, please?”
“Okay, yes, I like her,” he said, and funny, the words felt better than they should coming out of his mouth. “She’s brilliant and fierce and funny…and totally out of my league.”
Dade’s smile was strangely at odds with her sigh. “You know, for a smart man, you are awfully stupid.”
“Okaaaay?” Xander stammered, but Dade just laughed.
“Did you miss the way she spoke to you about the case you’re working on?”
He frowned in confusion. “No.”
“Then you heard her treat you with equality and respect,” Dade led, and okay, so she did have a point.
“I suppose.”
“Mmm hmm. And has she ever given you any indication that she thinks she’s out of your league?”
“Well, no,” Xander said carefully. Not since her office had tried to bring charges against him two years ago, but now that he knew why she was so dedicated? He couldn’t exactly blame her for doing her job, and anyway, he’d earned those charges, fair and fucking square.
“And please do not tell me you didn’t see the way she looked at you like she wants to have you for Sunday supper,” Dade continued, both brows lifted and her hands on her hips, and Xander’s shock left him by way of a strangled exhale.
“Dade,” he managed, but she shook her head.
“Don’t you Dade me when you know I’m right,” she chided. “That moony face you made when you saw that woman makes it damn clear you’ve got it bad for her, and anyone with half a mind can see the feeling is mutual. Now, do yourself a favor, Xander Matthews. Get out of your own way and let her like you.”
Xander wanted to argue—God, it was right there on the tip of his tongue. Yes, the nights he’d spent with Tara, talking and laughing and kissing, had been some of the best he’d had in…well, he didn’t even know how long. But she had an Ivy League law degree that matched her Ivy League life. She deserved more than a former criminal whose only degree was in Advanced Survival from the shittiest part of Remington, even if he had put that part of his life behind him.
Somehow, though, the argument rang hollow in his head. He had put that part of his life behind him, and he’d busted his ass for two years to do it. He wasn’t perfect. He had the literal scars to prove it. But not only did Tara not seem to care, she also seemed to really like him, just as he was. Because of who he was.
So Xander had no choice but to look at Dade and offer up a smile and say what he always did.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, that didn’t go the way I’d hoped.”
Tara sat back on Xander’s couch and tried to find a silver lining from the ninety minutes they’d spent looking through photo after photo with Amour, only to have the poor girl come up apologetically empty.
Nope. There was no way around it. She’d been hoping for a slam-dunk, and the fact that they hadn’t even come close? Flat-out sucked.
As if he’d zeroed in on her thoughts, Xander said, “I know this sucks. But we knew getting a hit off that tattoo was a long shot, and the case against Sansone is still strong. Th
e closer we get to the trial, the more he’ll realize he’s in trouble because he hasn’t scared Amour from testifying. He’ll get desperate and screw up. And when he does, we’ll be there to take him down.”
“And if he doesn’t?” It was a risk, tempting Sansone into brashness—not to mention dangerous. But the Intelligence Unit had Amour under no less than a dozen safeguards, and half the time, Xander was literally down the hall from her on top of that. The chances that Sansone would find her, let alone hurt her and get away with it, were practically nil.
Weren’t they?
Xander scooped up Tara’s hand, his warm, steady presence instantly loosening the tension in her shoulders. “If he doesn’t, then you’ll roast him in court with Amour’s testimony. Either way, he goes to jail for a really long time.”
“How do you do that?” she asked, little shivers moving through her as he skated his thumb over the soft spot where her index finger met her palm.
“Do what?”
“You make it so easy for me to breathe,” Tara said, capping the words with a soft laugh. “That sounded a lot less weird in my head. But you always seem to know exactly what I need.”
The honesty of it hit her right in the chest, turning those shivers into pure want, and she slid closer to him. “In fact, I’ll bet you know what I need right now.”
Xander’s pupils flared, turning his stare dark. “Tara.”
“It’s you,” she said, because she knew he’d need the words. “You said you wanted to do this right. And this”—Tara leaned in to brush her mouth over his, lingering just long enough to capture his exhale with her smile—“you and me, right now? Doesn’t just feel right. It feels perfect. So, please, Xander. Give me what I need. Let me have you.”
They tangled together in an instant, his hands in her hair and her arms around the beautiful bulk of his shoulders. Xander didn’t kiss her gently, and she didn’t want him to. One slide of his tongue had her opening readily, giving him full access. They shared control, though, with her answering every taste and every stroke, building the intensity of the kiss. Tara sent up a prayer of thanks that she’d stopped by her apartment to change into a pair of jeans and a tank top, and she used the much easier maneuverability to her advantage as she pressed forward, hooking one knee around Xander’s hip and pushing his shoulder blades against the center of the couch.
“There,” she murmured against his mouth. “That’s better.”
Xander gripped her hips, settling her directly over his lap. There was no missing the distinct and—ohhh, God, yes—rather sizeable length of his cock notched against the seam of her jeans, and they both moaned in unison at the contact.
“Fuck, Tara.” His mouth found her neck, stringing hot, greedy kisses there that made her pulse trip. Vaguely, Tara realized she should probably try for at least some decorum. But then Xander lifted one hand to skim his knuckles over her nipple, and screw decorum.
She wanted his fingers. His mouth. His cock, pressing deep inside of her, filling her up and making her scream.
She wanted fucking everything from this man.
Tara arched into Xander’s touch, one hand on his shoulder, the other lower, over his opposite bicep.
A wicked glint moved through his eyes as he pulled back to look at her, and oh, the dark and dirty look only made her want him more. “You like that?”
“Yes,” she said on a breath that turned into a gasp when he grazed her nipple again.
The glint intensified. “You want more, though. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” Tara thrust against him, her knees locked over either side of his hips. The friction sent need throbbing through her that doubled in intensity when his knuckles made one more pass over her nipple, now clearly visible against the thin cotton of both her bra and her tank top.
“You want me to take this off you,” he said, his certainty keeping the words from becoming a question as he hooked his fingers beneath the hem of her tank top. Not trusting her voice, Tara nodded.
The tank top hit the floor less than a second later. Her nipples were hard points against the pale pink cotton, and Xander bit out a curse that sounded like a benediction.
“Christ. You’re so goddamn pretty.” He looked nearly awestruck, his gaze on her practically reverent, and Tara’s heart raced even harder.
“I want to show you more.” Sliding from his lap, she took only enough time to unbutton her jeans and lower them over her hips, then her thighs, then finally kick free of them. She returned to Xander’s lap, giving him a full view despite the closeness of their bodies.
His hands circled her rib cage, guiding her into a motion she wanted desperately to find. “You want me to touch you.” One thumb edged higher, to the front closure of her bra. Yes. Yes. She rocked harder against his cock, warmth filling the spot between her legs.
“You want me to suck your perfect tits.” His mouth was so close to her nipple that Tara could feel the heat of his breath, and holy shit, she was going to explode if he didn’t touch her.
One palm coasted lower, fingers splayed over her hip as his thumb slipped just beneath the edge of her panties. “You want me to make you come, just like I promised you I would that first night.”
It hit her in that moment that he wasn’t just talking dirty for the sake of turning her on, even though, sweet Jesus, it was working. No, even though he’d been able to read her like a billboard from the minute they’d met, and she’d given him every indication with her body language that she wanted everything he’d promised and more, Xander was still asking for permission. To touch her. To taste her. To make her come so hard, she forgot everything she knew but his name.
Tara didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she said. Covering his hand with hers, she moved it to the clasp of her bra. “Yes. I want all of that. I want all of you. And I don’t want to wait.”
One turn of his wrist had her bra open, another sweep had the thing off her shoulders entirely. Replacing one hand over her hip, he cupped her breast with his opposite hand, holding her steady as his lips closed over her nipple.
“Oh my God,” Tara cried, sensation ricocheting through her. Using his hand on her hip, Xander guided her back into motion, and even through his jeans, his cock felt like heaven and sin all wrapped up together.
His fingers inched farther beneath her panties, making her pussy clench with need. She lifted up slightly, just enough to give him both space and permission.
He took both.
With one deft movement, he found her center, two fingers sliding home.
“So tight,” Xander grated, his face flushed with uncut lust. “Jesus, Tara. You feel so fucking good.”
Need sparked in her belly, demanding and hot, and she chased it with a thrust. Xander returned his attention to her nipple, his lips creating just enough pressure to make her breath go tight in her throat. Between the firm pull of his mouth above and the steady push of his fingers below, her need became a full-on scream. In time with her thrusts, he flipped his hand, burying his thumb over her aching clit. Release built like a hurricane inside of her, far from slow or sweet. Xander dared her closer with every wicked touch, and Tara gripped his shoulder, her breath spilling out in needful bursts.
“Take it, baby.” He stilled his thumb over her clit, letting her movements against his hand dictate the movement and pressure, and there, there, oh fuck, right…there. “Let me be what you need.”
Her orgasm pulsed through her, greedy and bright. She rode out every wave, weightless with pure pleasure, until her body and breath began to reset. Xander eased his touches, scaling back and eventually shifting his arms around her rib cage. The desire in his eyes still held a question, and Tara nodded, as sure as she’d ever been of anything.
He shifted his weight, keeping her close as he found his feet and walked them both down the hallway. Placing her on his neatly made bed, he stepped back, tugging his shirt over his head and his jeans over the lean muscles of his hips and legs, leaving only his boxer briefs in place before joining
her on the bed.
“Wait,” Tara said. Immediately, he stilled, but she shook her head to reassure him. “I’m just going to need a minute with all of”—she gestured to his seriously beautiful body and grinned—“this, please.”
“You can take whatever you want,” Xander said, turning toward her so she could do exactly that. Setting her hands on his shoulders, she mapped his body with her fingers. Lean muscles. Hard planes. Warm skin. Tara took it all in, half hypnotized and fully turned on.
Only when she got to the scar on his forearm did he flinch ever so slightly. She looked at him in the soft light spilling in from the hallway, her voice as steady as her touch as she said, “I want all of you, Xander. No matter what.”
For a second, he didn’t speak or move, his expression unreadable in the shadows. But then he nodded, allowing Tara to continue. She stroked her fingers over the scar, smooth in some places, puckered in others. But she never faltered, letting her hands roam over his arms, his chest, down the muscled plane of his abs. The trail of dark hair leading down from his navel rasped against the pads of her fingers, the need in her belly jolting back to life as she slid past the waistband of his boxer briefs to wrap her hand around his cock.
Xander sent her name through his teeth with a hiss. Using her free hand, she undressed him completely, using the freedom of motion to find a steady rhythm. A moan tore from his throat, and he thrust into the circle of her fingers to meet every stroke. Wetness bloomed between her legs at the sight of his pleasure, and she widened her knees to try and offset the emptiness she felt there.
Watching her, he pulled back with a curse. “I need to be inside you,” he said. “Right now.”
Yes. She must’ve said the word out loud—or, God, maybe he was just that in sync with her—because he moved to his bedside table to (hallelujah) grab a condom and put it on as quickly as he could while still getting the job done properly. Tara used the opportunity to slip out of her panties, letting her knees fall open so Xander could fit between them as she eased all the way back over his bed. He filled her with one long thrust, their bodies completely joined before they both went still.
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