by Leigh, Lora
Most of all, she loved his stubbornness and his determination, and the way he protected her like she was the only thing the world had of value.
She thought of him day and night, and every evening prayed that one day, one day soon, those cool blue eyes that twinkled with humor when he teased her would become hot and dark with desire for her.
He’d looked at her like that before, like he wanted her, when they first met as teens.
His family had just moved in, and Megan had bumped into him as he helped unload their truck.
He had seemed stunned at his first sight of her, and he’d stared for what felt like minutes, all while keeping a big box balanced on his shoulders. Then he’d smiled crookedly and said, “I’m Cody,” while an identical-looking fifteen-year-old with eyes not quite as intense stood looking on. He’d jerked his head toward that boy, too. “He’s Ivan.”
They were identical.
Except, maybe, the way they looked at her. One, with hot, friendly blue eyes. The other … with dull, shuttered ones.
“How can people tell you apart?” She’d surveyed them back then, trying to determine their differences.
But Cody had flashed her such an amazing smile, she felt like he—the one with the box and the gaze that made her toes curl—had just become the center of her universe. “That’s the fun part: They can’t.”
He’d made her laugh that day. But when she introduced herself as their next door neighbor and offered him help unloading boxes, he’d shaken his tousled blond head and said, “Nah, we’ve got it. Thanks though.”
But Megan had wanted to talk to him, could not make herself go home to her boring little room and her boring homework, so she’d grabbed a duffel anyway and helped lug it inside.
That had been the mark of their friendship.
Cody would always deny anything Megan offered, like he was too much of a gentleman to take something from her, but she always seemed to know what he really meant and gave it anyway. Then on that day long ago, they had walked into his house only to find Ivan …
The memory of the grisly scene made her heart stop. It had been surreal, like something out of a Freddy Krueger movie. Megan had been so shocked and appalled she’d just stood there as Cody brought himself to ask, to demand of his sixteen-year-old brother, “What have you done!”
She didn’t cry that day. Not when she saw the motionless bodies, saw Ivan toss the weapon aside and break into a run. She didn’t cry at the funeral of Cody’s parents either.
But Megan Banks cried the day they took Cody away from her.
She kept each and every letter she received from him during the years, and sent back letters of her own that told him how scared she was at night—she was certain that his brother Ivan would do something horrible to her family, too.
For years the police had searched and failed to find him, but Cody vowed to her that he would.
But the years passed, the letters stopped coming, and one accidental day while at the cemetery, Megan found herself staring at the shiny blond head of that somber boy to whom she’d confessed her every fear and weakness. Except now he was a man, and he hardly seemed to remember her.
He didn’t say much when she came over to say hi, but then it’s not like she had much to say, either. Her heart had been fluttering so hard she could barely remember what she’d said, or what he’d said back, she only remembered how fast she’d been back in her car, alone, and brokenhearted.
He also seemed to be haunted by that event, for he appeared on her doorstep and said he had three things to tell her: He’d joined the Phoenix Police Department, he’d captured his parents’ killer, and she didn’t need to be scared anymore—he’d be around if she needed him.
If it’s possible to lose your heart twice to the same person, then that was the second, and last, time, she fell in love with Cody Nordstrom.
But while her nightmares of murders were replaced by unsettling fantasies of her and Cody, the unsuspecting man of her dreams had been treating her like sister, friend, and nun for the past couple of years.
She’d been patiently waiting, wasting away the best years of her life while Cody saved the world from scumbags like his brother. She’d hoped that he would notice she wasn’t a little girl anymore, but he never did, so tonight, she’d put it all out on the table and seduce him.
She nervously glanced down at herself—sexy red heels, sheer leopard thong, matching sheer leopard bra, hair perfectly mussed for that just-got-tumbled look—or in this case, tumble-me-now look—plus lip gloss that matched her stilettos … a total transformation from the usual cardigans and jeans with ballet flats.
Cody might not even realize it was her. Oh, no, please please let him get turned on when he sees me.
Meg backed from the bedroom door when she heard a sound downstairs, her heart pounding in anticipation, her palms sweating. The front door creaked and, just as quickly, slammed shut. She tensed when she heard him below—
“Megan?”
His voice. Deep and lush, even from afar it stroked her insides, the sensual baritone a warm caress to her very soul. Her heart skittered as she realized that parking a couple of houses away in order not to spoil the surprise had been a big mistake—the guy was a detective and he rarely missed a thing. Obviously while he’d been out there, surveying the streets before coming into the house, he’d spotted her Altima by the Ellisons’ home.
Spurring herself into action, Megan quickly rushed across the room and jumped on the bed, assuming a sexy pose.
“Nice tie,” she would say when he appeared at the door, recalling a movie that happened to be a favorite of hers, but no no no, she always admired his ties and she should look for variety.
How about something forthright and sexy and innocent sounding. Something like, “Do you like my new panties, Cody?”
Her pulse skipped as she imagined seeing his eyes, blue as cornflowers, go dark with arousal when he realized she had transformed from the girl next door—literally—into a real woman. Laid out right on his bed for him to feast upon. Would he finally take a bite?
Her ears strained to hear his footsteps on the stairs, but seconds passed, and they didn’t come.
Frowning, Megan stumbled out of bed as she heard puttering in the kitchen. She peered through the door, and saw lights from below. She also thought she heard the microwave. Great. Just perfect. She’d have to either go down there in her underwear, or put on her coat and get cooked in it while he stuffed himself, or just wait by the bed. As planned.
She went back to the bed, wondering if he’d sounded tired and not necessarily happy when he’d said her name. This was the first hour of his first day of a long-deserved vacation.
Should she have waited until tomorrow?
Or maybe never?
Maybe he’s not happy, genius. Invasion of personal space and all that.
She frowned. Well, had he not left the door practically open? A hardass detective like him, always leaving home on the rush, never locking up—was that even logical? Protect-the-others-while-I-happily-get-myself-killed was probably Cody Nordstrom’s motto.
She sighed drearily and then readjusted herself along the length of the mattress, plumped up his pillow behind her head and tried to relax.
Cody was far from perfect—under every joke lay a troubled man.
But her troubled little body just adored her troubled man, and she’d like to think that she understood him better than most.
He felt responsible for what his brother did all those years ago, and because of that, Cody didn’t know that he was a higher caliber man than most.
He was one of the best homicide detectives the force had ever seen, but when it came to his personal life, he could stare at something and just not see what stood before him. Now, Megan would do anything to finally be seen. Even strip.
Be sexy, she thought as she stretched out over the bed in a way she hoped would flatter what she considered her plain, none-too-curvy figure.
She was dying for him to get up here and let her put his rough-hewn, pretty-boy, Armani-ad face between her hands and kiss those lips she dreamed about for the first time, when she heard squeeeeeach from the closet door.
Frowning, Megan raised her head and sat up straighter, when a flash of movement in the shadowed interior caught her eye.
Her heart stopped. The fear was so overwhelming that it paralyzed her. Ice started to build, chilling her skin, her hands, her feet, her brain. Once again, she became statuesque as a shockingly familiar face materialized.
Lungs burning for air that could not make it past her throat, Megan stared into the darkness, a part of her numbed mind screaming at her to move, do something, because someone was staring back at her.
She had been so wound up in her plan, she had not realized she was not alone. Something was inside Cody’s room. Something, some monster, seemed to have been waiting, had been watching her, intent on doing—what?
An image of fifteen years ago, of Cody’s brother standing over his parents’ dead bodies, assailed her, and like she had back then, she remained frozen with fear as the figure stepped out of the shadows.
Panic gripped her by the throat, blocking out the commands of her mind for her to run run run, overpowering her so that she could do nothing, think nothing, only see him coming …
“No,” she croaked helplessly, starting to scramble back against the headboard.
“Shhhhh,” he said, and the fact that he was speaking to her only alarmed her further.
She’d never been so scared in her life. Not even that time long ago, because that time she’d been a girl, and at first she’d thought that what she’d witnessed was a dream. Now she knew for a fact that some little boys did kill their parents.
She knew that the man she had grown to love spent his days hunting down the scum of the earth, all of whom had taken someone’s life, just like his brother.
Life was not pink anymore in her eyes, and it had not been pink for a long, long time … this shadow … this criminal … coming toward her was REAL. He was real and he was closer and he was talking to her!
Her every nightmare, her nightmare of being murdered, of dying a stupid virgin, was real.
Suddenly fear kicked instinct into action. She opened her mouth wide, panic and fear tangling together for a voice, tumbling to form a big, loud “HEELP MEEE!!!” that the entire world would be able to hear, or at the very least, Cody, her hero, but a black rag came over her nose, and she had no time to scream.
TWO
“Meg?”
Cody rubbed the tension in the back of his neck as he waited for the microwave to ping, then he scanned the staircase, expecting Megan to appear, her clover-green eyes bright and excited as she came up with an explanation—and it had to be a good one—for breaking and entering into his home.
He knew himself well enough to know that he’d glower at her only for a minute—or perhaps a couple of minutes more because, dammit, she could’ve gotten hurt! Plus where the hell did she learn how to pick locks? Especially his state-of-the-art locks?
Then again, Megan Banks was the kind of woman who always surprised a man, and he knew that even if he glowered for a whole damned hour, as soon as she flashed one of those pearly white smiles, he’d be done for.
Heck, he might as well just give her a key so she could come in and make herself at home whenever she’d like to. You wish, don’t you, asshole? Come home to her for a nice warm meal, a long, wet kiss, and then it’s upstairs together to make a couple of babies.
His treacherous blood began to boil at the thought. Yeah, Megan was the kind of girl any man would kill for. Would travel worlds just to be able to come home to. The kind of girl for whom any man would spend a lifetime doing hero work, putting scumbags in jail, just so a girl like her could sleep at night.
The kind of girl Cody would never, ever, touch with his callused, bloodied hands.
Since the night of his parents’ murder, Cody knew that he would never get married. He would never get the girl, the kids, the dog, or the happily ever after.
He would get the killers.
There were always casualties in a story, and his personal life would be one of them.
It seemed a small sacrifice at the time, in exchange for justice and capturing his parents’ murderer. Now, the criminal—his brother—was behind bars, and although he hadn’t gotten the death penalty due to his being a minor at the time of the crime, the bastard had gotten life. Which was mighty fine with Cody.
And yet Cody’s thirst for justice was still not appeased. He needed new cases, tougher cases, meaner criminals, all to keep his head buried so deep in work, he wouldn’t think of what he’d lost in the blink of an eye. With one bad call. One bad day.
He heard footsteps up in his bedroom, and he cocked his head as he pictured Megan coming down the stairs, doing that hip-swing thing she did that drove him crazy. His eyebrows furrowed when she took her goddamned time. What in the hell was she doing up there? Wrestling?
“Megan?” he growled, annoyed.
Ding.
He ignored the microwave when a thump was followed by an eerie silence, and a chilling premonition slid up the back of his neck. His hackles rose. Legs tensing as his blood began to pump faster through his veins, he yanked his Glock out of its hip holster and climbed the stairs, two at a time, silent as death.
All was quiet upstairs—unnaturally quiet. Not natural, when Megan was around, for things to be still for more than a second. If she gets hurt … He pushed the thought aside, narrowed his eyes and scanned the hallway, dark at this time of night.
A window screeched from the guest bedroom, but it had been the master bedroom where he’d heard the noise, and it was from that direction that he heard a soft moan.
He parted the door and peered into the darkness, gun carefully doing a one-eighty-degree turn. “Megan?”
Again, that damned tickle in the back of his neck. It had happened far too many times to ignore. Something was wrong. Megan wasn’t answering.
The moan became louder, as if pained. He hit the light switch and he saw, sprawled over his duvet and pillows, a little bundle of flawless white skin and loose honey-wheat hair.
“Megan?”
He froze one step into his bedroom, and his cock shot up like steel. Holy Mother of God, I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.
But he was.
Megan. With skin that looked air-brushed and sweet. Hair you could wrap yourself in. Sweet little Megan was in his bed—wearing the cutest, sexiest, out-of-this-world outfit.
His heart pounded as his mouth watered, and for this moment, this one moment, he didn’t wonder what she was doing there. It felt like she belonged there, like every time he had dreamed her there had summoned her to do it for real. Make his every wet dream come true.
He pulled his eyes away, off her chest—a chest he wanted to taste with his tongue—no, he didn’t just think that, fuck, this was Megan! Meg, dammit, not some bimbo, and he glanced up, swallowing thickly.
His voice came out raspy, and what he said made not one lick of sense. “That’s my bed you’re in.”
She stared at him with those big, wide, green eyes, and he stared back. No, he wasn’t staring, he was gawking like a stupid idiot, like a complete moronic idiot with his gun still in his hand, but he couldn’t stop. He had worked on his discipline, for twenty years he had worked like a dog to one day be able to forget what the monster inside him was capable of doing, but damned if this girl didn’t tempt him.
She moved, a sinewy undulation like a ribbon being made into a twist, and when she kicked her legs, more of her perfect, nearly-nude body became exposed.
His gun trembled in his hand as he slowly put it back in its holster, but he could not tear his eyes away from that shadowed valley between her legs, a V of curls glistening dark under the sheer leopard print of her panties.
Greedily, he took in the length of her toned thighs, down
to her slim, creamy white ankles, and his blood rushed through his veins as he imagined … imagined what it would be like with her. With the one woman he’d sworn to himself to never touch.
And the only one you’ve ever wanted.
She moaned, softly, the sound sexy and making a growl get trapped in his throat as he fisted his hands at his sides and reined himself back, locked his legs in place. And then it finally registered that she did not seem happy, that the moisture shining in her eyes wasn’t desire, but tears.
Another muffled sound came, and he noticed her mouth was not moving as she spoke, and she was … struggling in her binds? Binds?
“What the hell?” He took a step closer and his heart sputtered when he saw the words scrawled on dark red marker on her navel. A name. His name all over her perfect skin. One for every year he’d served in jail …
IVAN IVAN IVAN IVAN IVAN IVAN IVAN.
But Ivan was locked up.
Cody had locked up his own brother.
The kid he’d protected when he was young.
Against his every raging instinct to protect his own kin, he had trained like a mad man. He’d chased him for years, in his dreams and fantasies, and later, for real, so that he could have the pleasure of finding him, catching him, and locking him in.
And he had.
He had come back to Phoenix, hell on Earth, if you asked him, and he had the bastard convicted for their parents’ murder—even though evidence had been scarce, he’d still managed to prove him guilty. And yet now … his name was written on Megan’s body. How the fuck was that even possible?
Never, in his life, had he ever felt this all-consuming frustration, except the time he’d seen his parents lying sightless in a pool of their own blood.
His eyes flew up to Megan’s tear-filled ones, while an icy rage hardened his veins until the cold of Antarctica would’ve seemed like a warm summer. “Who did this?” he demanded, pulling—there was no easy way of doing this—at the clear packing tape that covered her mouth.
She gasped for air and Cody yanked out his knife and cut her binds with two swift moves, listening for any strange sounds other than the wild pounding of his own heartbeat and Megan struggling for words.
