Bulletproof Hearts

by Brenda Harlen

  But there was no point in bringing that up now. At least now that she was aware of it, she could prepare for it. “Did you know Hawkins is representing Todd?”

  He nodded. “Todd started asking for him as soon as we brought him in.”

  “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? That Hawkins would defend the man accused of killing Merrick?”

  “Conroy keeps him on retainer. Hawkins goes wherever Conroy sends him.”

  “Still, I would think that representing the man who murdered a former client would be, if not unethical, at least immoral?”

  “Hawkins doesn’t concern himself with morals or ethics.”

  She frowned. There was so much she still didn’t know about the players in this drama, and she knew that could be a disadvantage in court. But for tonight, she’d uncovered enough.

  It had obviously been difficult for Dylan to talk about his wife’s murder, but she was glad he’d told her. He was a man who’d suffered a devastating loss, yet he’d endured. Which made her feel like a coward for clinging so steadfastly to a pain that couldn’t compare to his own.

  Maybe it was time to let go of those ghosts. Or at least learn to live with them. “Are you hungry?”

  “What?” He looked at her blankly.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked again. “Because I’m starving. And I thought maybe, if you didn’t have any plans for dinner, you might want to grab a bite with me.”

  He managed a smile. “No plans.”

  “I know a great place that does veggie burgers with alfalfa sprouts and—”

  “How about chili?” he countered.

  “Chili sounds great.”

  Dylan didn’t know why she’d invited him to share dinner with her, but he was glad. Talking about Beth, replaying the events of that horrific night, had been difficult. He didn’t think he’d ever remember his wife without feeling guilt and regret. But what he’d realized, as he’d told Natalie about the circumstances of her death, was that it was starting to hurt a little less. He was beginning to heal.

  And he knew that Natalie was a part of that process. Before she’d come into his life, he hadn’t wanted anything more than his simple, solitary existence. He did now.

  “Who makes the best chili in town?” She was standing beside her car, waiting for his directions.

  “It’s a small place downtown with limited parking. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll bring you back here later to pick up your car?”

  She shrugged. “All right. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “It’s no problem,” he assured her. And this way, when she figured out where he was taking her, she couldn’t back out.

  She figured it out quickly. “This is a very residential area. And vaguely familiar.”

  “My house is just around the corner.”

  “I thought we were going for chili.”

  “We are.”

  She looked skeptical, but made no further protest.

  He parked his car and led her through the side door, directly into the kitchen. She stopped, inhaled deeply. “Oh. Wow. It smells wonderful.”

  “I put everything in the slow cooker this morning. It tastes better if it has several hours for the flavors to mingle.”

  She went over to the pot, lifted the lid to examine the contents. “You really made this?”

  “I did.”

  He took a spoon from the drawer, offered her a sample. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  She blew gently, then opened her mouth for a taste. “Mmm.” She swallowed. “I hate to admit it, but this is the best chili I’ve ever had. You really do know your way around a kitchen, don’t you?”

  “What did you think—my invitation to make you dinner was a ploy to get you to my bedroom?”

  She shifted guiltily. “Maybe.”

  He grinned. “And maybe it was, but I would have cooked for you first.”

  She laughed. “I’ll set the table.”

  He sliced a loaf of crusty bread and poured red wine into two glasses. “The bottle was open,” he explained. “It’s the secret ingredient in my chili.”

  “Not anymore.”

  He shrugged. “But you don’t know what else is in here,” he told her, scooping generous amounts of chili into two bowls.

  She carried the bowls to the table and they ate in companionable silence. She was only halfway through hers before she pushed it away in defeat.

  “I’d almost forgotten what a home-cooked meal tastes like,” she told him. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  She smiled. “I’d better warn you—now that I’ve tasted your cooking, I might take you up on that offer.”

  He refilled her glass. “I wouldn’t have made the offer if I hadn’t meant it.”

  “You’re a very nice man, Lieutenant.”

  “No, I’m just trying to get you into my bed.”

  She picked up her wine, sipped. “I don’t know whether or not you’re joking.”

  “I’m not.”

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Not tonight,” he agreed. “If you slept with me tonight, I’d wonder if it was just because you felt sorry for me.”

  She smiled. “Does that happen often—women having sex with you because they feel sorry for you?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” he said dryly. “But I did wonder if that was why you offered to have dinner with me.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  It was the simplicity of her response that convinced him it was true.

  “I didn’t want to tell you about Beth,” he admitted. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me with pity.

  “It was horrible after she died—not just dealing with the fact that she wasn’t around anymore, but the way everyone tiptoed around me as if I might suddenly fall apart.” He thought back, smiled wryly. “For a time, maybe it was true. But I got past that. I wish everyone else would.”

  Natalie pushed away from the table, carried their bowls to the sink. “I don’t feel sorry for you.” She turned back to face him. “I feel sad for you, for everything you’ve been through. And I admire you, for having survived.”

  He didn’t deserve her admiration, but he wasn’t inclined to disillusion her. He liked that she could look at him and see someone worthy. It made him want to be worthy.

  He stood up, moved toward her. “I’m glad you’re here, Natalie.”

  She swallowed. “Me, too.”

  He wanted to kiss her. In that moment, he wanted nothing more. He’d sampled the softness of her lips, tasted her intoxicating flavor, enjoyed a hint of the passion he knew burned inside her.

  If he kissed her now, she’d kiss him back. Maybe that kiss would lead to something more. But he knew that if he pushed her too far, too fast, he’d scare her away, and that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you back to your car.”

  Friday night came and for the first time since she’d taken the A.D.A. position in Fairweather, Natalie wasn’t on a plane to Chicago. The Ellis Todd prelim was scheduled to begin on Monday and she had to focus her time and attention on that. The knowledge didn’t stop her from missing Jack.

  She reminded herself again that she’d taken this job for her son. Everything she’d done in the past seven years, every decision she’d made, had been for Jack. The reminder didn’t make the emptiness inside any more bearable.

  She still believed that this move to Fairweather would ultimately be best for him. For both of them. But the separation was almost more than she could handle. She would give anything to hold him right now, to feel the slight weight of his slender arms wrapped tight around her, to breathe in the unique scent of her child. She closed her eyes, pictured his smiling face, the handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. She blinked away the tears that sprang to her eyes. If she gave in now, she wouldn’t be able to stop crying.

  She might not be able to wrap her arms around him long
distance, but she could at least hear his voice. She picked up the phone and dialed her sister’s number. Shannon answered on the second ring.

  “Can I talk to Jack?” she asked, after she’d chatted with her sister a few minutes.

  “Actually, he isn’t here right now,” Shannon told her.

  Natalie’s heart sank a little further. “What do you mean? Where is he?”

  “Connor’s dad had tickets to the White Sox game tonight, and he asked if Jack wanted to go along.”

  “Oh.” She knew her son would have been thrilled with the invitation, but understanding his excitement failed to lessen her disappointment.

  “He’s been miserable all week because he knew you weren’t coming home this weekend. I thought the ball game might take his mind off of missing you for a few hours.”

  Although she was sure it wasn’t intended, she felt the censure in her sister’s words. As if it was Natalie’s fault that Jack was unhappy. “I’ve been miserable without him, too,” she pointed out.

  “I know,” Shannon said gently. “I can have him call you when he gets home.”

  “No,” she said. “He’ll be more than ready for bed by then. Just give him a big hug and a kiss from me, and tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  “I will,” Shannon promised.

  Natalie hung up the phone, feeling more lost and alone than ever. When the tears came this time, she couldn’t blink them away.

  Another Friday night. Another weekend on the horizon. And Dylan was, as usual, alone. He left the police station, glanced across the parking lot at Natalie’s office. It was in darkness.

  Of course—Friday night, he reminded himself. She was in the habit of spending her weekends in Chicago, although he didn’t know why. There were still far too many things he didn’t know about the woman who preoccupied his thoughts, and it wasn’t for lack of trying.

  He’d made some inquiries—tactful and discreet, of course—through a friend of a friend who worked with the Chicago P.D. He’d learned that despite her work as a criminal defense attorney, even the local prosecutors and police spoke positively about her. She worked hard and played fair, and she was generally liked and well-respected.

  Which would have been helpful if he was interviewing her for a job. But he’d hoped for something more, something that would provide insight into her reasons for leaving Chicago. Something that might shed light on the mystery of her appearance in Fairweather and finally end his preoccupation with her. Nothing had.

  He went home, changed his clothes, rifled through his cupboards and tried not to think about her. He grabbed his jacket and his keys and headed over to the Sizzling Wok for some take-out Kung Pao chicken, and he thought of Natalie again. The restaurant was just a few blocks away from the Courtland Hotel, and as he was driving by, he noticed her car was there. Apparently she hadn’t gone to Chicago this weekend.

  So, twenty minutes later, he was standing in the brightly lit corridor of the hotel, take-out bag in hand. He knocked, waited. At last he heard the click of the lock being released, then the door was open and Natalie was standing in front of him.

  He allowed himself a quick survey, from the work socks bunched around her ankles, past shapely calves, to faded red sweatpants that had been hacked off at the knees. Her gray T-shirt was oversized and untucked, her hair pulled away from her face in a haphazard ponytail. But it was her eyes, puffy and red-rimmed and still swimming with tears, that startled him even more than her careless attire.

  “Obviously I’ve come at a bad time,” he heard himself say inanely.

  She offered a weak smile. “I’ve had better days.”

  Growing up with three sisters, Dylan had plenty of experience dealing with crying women, but Natalie’s tears struck something inside him. He wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her and promise to make everything better, but he wasn’t sure she would welcome his support. “Do you want to be alone?”

  “Actually, I could really use some company right now.”

  She stepped away from the door so he could enter.

  “I thought you might be working on the Merrick case,” he told her, offering a convenient excuse for his appearance on her doorstep. “And I thought maybe I’d give you a hand.”

  “You don’t have anything better to do on a Friday night?”

  “Not really,” he admitted.

  “I was working earlier,” she told him. “I was just thinking about taking a break for dinner.”

  He held up the paper sack. “Kung Pao chicken.”

  She managed another smile. “An offer I can’t refuse.”

  He followed her into the kitchenette, set the bag of food on the counter. He took the plates from her hands and put them down, then took her hands. Her fingers were cold, and they trembled slightly.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Her blue-green eyes filled again, but she shook her head. “No.”

  “Sometimes it helps to vent your feelings.”

  A hint of her usual fire flickered in her eyes. “I don’t need a confidant, Lieutenant, just a distraction.”

  She wanted a distraction?

  His mouth crushed down on hers.

  Chapter 8

  He expected she would protest his domineering behavior. Maybe he wanted her to. But she didn’t try to pull away. She didn’t push him away. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back for all she was worth.

  Mouths melded, tongues clashed, desires warred. It was primitive, almost violent, and unrestrained.

  Dylan had thought he was taking control. From the minute his lips met hers, he realized his mistake. Neither one of them was in command. Once released, passions too long buried couldn’t be subdued.

  Her response was as raw as his demand; her desire as impatient as his own. It wasn’t just about sex, though his body was aching to join with hers. He hadn’t thought of another woman since he’d met Natalie. And with each day that had passed since then, he wanted her more.

  No, it wasn’t just sex, it was intimacy he craved. He’d been alone—and lonely—for so long. Without even trying, Natalie had changed that. From the moment their hands had clasped in formal introduction, he’d felt alive. More alive than he’d felt in years.

  He’d fought it, for a lot of reasons. Because he felt disloyal to his wife, because he felt guilty that he could find joy in life when hers had been taken away from her, but mostly because he didn’t want the feeling of vulnerability that inevitably came with opening up one’s heart to another. He couldn’t fight it any longer. He wasn’t going to pretend any longer. He wanted Natalie, only Natalie.

  He wanted to touch not just her body, but her heart and her soul. At the moment, however, he was pretty damn distracted by the soft, slender body pressed against his. He slid his hands beneath the hem of her T-shirt and encountered silky flesh. She was so incredibly soft, so perfect. His hands moved higher, to cup her breasts. Even through the satin barrier of her bra, she responded immediately to his touch. Her nipples pebbled, strained against the fabric. He stroked his thumbs over the tips, teasing, caressing.

  He broke the kiss only long enough to tug the T-shirt over her head and toss it aside. The contrast of emerald-green satin against her pale creamy skin distracted his attention—just for a moment. He would never have guessed that the proper Natalie Vaughn wore such seductive lingerie. And although he might fully appreciate her choice of attire at another time, right now he wanted her naked.

  He found the clasp at the front, slipped it open.

  He could hear her breathing, quick, panting gasps that assured him she was as aroused as he. But she put her hands on his, as if to halt his progress. “Dylan, I don’t think—”

  He wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but he was certain he didn’t want to hear it. Anything that contained the word don’t didn’t bode well for his immediate plans.

  “Don’t think,” he interrupted, and silenced any further protest with his lips on hers. “Jus
t feel.”

  He skimmed his lips down the slender curve of her throat, and her head fell back in surrender. Her hands dropped away, leaving his to explore freely. He pushed the cups of her bra aside to cradle the fullness of her breasts in his palms. She quivered in response to his touch, and Dylan felt his erection throb painfully inside his jeans. But he ignored his own discomfort and concentrated on Natalie.

  Natalie—so soft and fragrant and so incredibly responsive. Her instinctive movements and whimpers of pleasure were driving him to the brink. He lowered his head and circled the peak of one nipple with his tongue. Her fingers were in his hair, holding him against her breast, encouraging his continued ministrations. He was determined not to disappoint her. He took the tip of her breast in his mouth and suckled deeply.

  She gasped. “Oh—Dylan—no—please.”

  He could spend hours kissing her, caressing her. He loved the way she moaned and writhed. Her responses were so natural and uninhibited. And although he was quickly approaching the point of no return, he needed to know exactly what it was that she wanted. He raised his head reluctantly until his face was level with hers.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes clouded with passion. But he wasn’t going to let there be any misunderstandings about what was happening. Not at this point in the game. “Which is it, Natalie? No…or please?”

  “Please.” There was no hesitation in her response.

  He slid a hand over the gentle curve of her belly, slipped it inside the waistband of her sweatpants, into her panties, and found her slick and hot and ready.

  This time it was Dylan who groaned.

  Scooping her into his arms, he carried her the short distance across the room to the bed. He laid her down on top of the covers and knelt astride her partially naked body, then tugged her sweatpants over her hips, slowly sliding them down her legs. She had incredible legs, slender but toned and miles long. Her panties did, indeed, match the bra he’d already disposed of. They dipped low in the front and were cut high on the hips. They were sexy and provocative, and right now, they were in the way of what he wanted.