Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte) (16 page)

Her chest was suddenly so tight it hurt. The burning in the back of her eyes told her she was perilously close to tears. Right. Tears would really impress him.

The thought that came to her then almost took her breath away.
Maybe I don’t have to impress him.

“I always make those assumptions with men,” she said, shocked both by the realization and by her willingness to say it out loud, here and now, to
this
man. “I didn’t know I was doing it.
I’m
the one who’s competitive. Who thinks every guy I know resents my success.”

“Because so many of them do? Or did your father belittle you as a girl?”

She shouldn’t have been surprised by his perception, but she was. “Maybe both. Dad was a really unhappy, angry man. Nothing I did ever impressed him.”

“Jane...” He hesitated, then asked quietly, “Did he sexually molest your sister?”

Stunned, she could only stare at him.

Suddenly he was on his feet, torment altering his face. “Or you?”

She closed her eyes. “Not me,” she whispered. “But Lissa...I think he did. Oh, God.” She bent over, holding her stomach. “I tried so hard to keep her away from him.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“H
OW
DID
YOU
KNOW
?” Jane asked him.

The way she’d almost crumpled, the shock and misery on her face now, battered Clay with emotions. The need to protect her was paramount, more powerful than he’d ever felt. The contradictions in this woman—her vulnerability coupled with her strength and competence—had him on a knife-edge. The last thing she’d want was him to promise he’d never let anyone hurt her again, however much he wanted to. How was a man with his core beliefs supposed to deal with a woman like her?

He wished he had a clue.

But a thought jabbed at him. Maybe his core beliefs weren’t the same as they’d always been. Maybe the seismic shift in him wasn’t as shallow as he’d thought; maybe it had gone bedrock deep.

Yeah, he thought, disconcerted. It could be.

Lissa.
That was who they were talking about. Not him.

“I didn’t know.” He had persuaded Jane to move from the table to the big leather sofa. He’d sat beside her, but gave himself enough space to see her as they talked. “It really was a guess.”

“You don’t even know Lissa.” Her expression was almost hostile. Her instincts, he guessed, were to be defensive. This was a secret she’d kept for a very long time.

“In a way, I do,” Clay pointed out. “From what you’ve said about her, what Drew has said. Other people, too. Her relationship with you is classic. She knows you tried to save her and is grateful, but she’s also angry because sometimes you couldn’t. I get the feeling she holds men in contempt, but also glories in her power over them. And maybe in the looks that bring her attention, even though those looks also were the cause of something so bad happening to her.”

“Yes.” Any defensiveness had collapsed. “She was conflicted with Dad. Sometimes creeping around him, scared of him, but sometimes wrapping him around her little finger and spiteful to me because
she
could and I couldn’t. I think—” She took a deep breath that had him tightening his grip on her hand. “I think it started when she wasn’t very old.
I
wasn’t old enough to suspect. It wasn’t until later—”

“But she never told you.”

Jane shook her head. “I...hinted a few times and she would blow up. I’m still not positive.”

“It’s only a suspicion on my part. We may both be wrong.”

“But it would explain things about her. Her need to hold the upper hand.” She paused. “I asked once if she wanted a little boy, and Lissa said she was praying to have only girls. She didn’t know if she could deal with a boy. She was really vehement.”

That was his Jane—clear-sighted even at her most distraught. He was disconcerted again by the pride he felt in her.

“You never got any hint your father looked at you that way?”

“No.” She shrugged. “He talked about how at least he had one beautiful daughter.”

“Damn him,” Clay said with such force her eyes dilated.

“Sometimes I hated him.” She bit her lip. “I wanted to believe it didn’t hurt when he said things like that.” She made a funny sound he thought might be intended as a laugh. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I sound so pathetic.”

“No.” His throat wanted to close, but he kept talking anyway. “I’ve never known a woman as strong as you.”

“Strong.”

He couldn’t tell if that was disbelieving or sad. Had she become strong precisely
because
she believed her father that she’d never be feminine or beautiful in anyone’s eyes and this was her compensation?

“Your father was wrong.” The words came out raw. “You are beautiful. That first time I saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Her eyes, glorious and unblinking, never left his.

“Thank God he was such an idiot. Thank God he never wanted you.”

“Lissa—” Tears overflowed, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I tried so hard to keep her safe.” Her tongue swiped her lips. She must have tasted the salt of her tears, because she lifted a hand in disbelief to find her face wet. “I never—” Her mouth worked. Formed an O of anguish.

He caught her as she collapsed. Held her tight as she sobbed. Clay wondered if she’d ever let herself cry like this when she was a girl, trying so hard to be the adult, the protector, even though she must have known deep inside she was bound to fail.

He rocked her, his hands moving ceaselessly in an effort to comfort. Cheek pressed to her head, Clay had a bad feeling he was crying, too. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. Not since he was a young boy. His father would have been scathing if he’d ever seen his son shed a tear.

Had Jane’s wounds healed as scars that barely twinged, or had they only scabbed over? He imagined them breaking open every time she saw her sister. No wonder she had given so much to her nieces, even though they already had two parents. She saw it as a chance to keep them, at least, safe. Irrational though it would be, she must feel now as if she’d failed Bree. Mostly she’d held herself together, but guessing how she was torturing herself with guilt tore something open in Clay.

“Oh, Jane,” he murmured. “Sweetheart. You’ve had to hold so much in. Let it out. It’s okay.”

She didn’t cry as long as she should have. Of course she didn’t. She must hate losing control as much as he did. More, maybe. Jane had been trying to save not only her sister, but herself. Her scumbag of a father, Clay couldn’t let himself forget, might not have sexually molested her, but he had hit her.

His own need for self-control felt petty in comparison. An ego thing.

A memory swept over him, stunningly real. He knew exactly how he’d felt at that moment, trying not to quail from his father.

“You gonna let me goad you, boy?” Dad, right in his face, stabbing Clay’s chest with a forefinger. “Are you?” He sneered. “Sure you are. You don’t have the guts to stare me down, do you? Huh? Do you?”

He shut down the memory. There were a thousand like it lurking inside him somewhere. Not abusive—Dad would have said he was toughening his kid up—but suggesting he’d felt a need to dominate Clay from early on. Seen him as a threat, maybe, only because he was male?

Clay shook his head. He wasn’t going to let his father impact his psyche anymore, not if he could help it.

Jane pulled away from him, swiping furiously at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I need—” Breaking off midsentence, she fled for his bathroom.

Clay carefully wiped beneath his eyes to be sure no moisture lingered, then stacked his feet on the coffee table and laid his arms along the back of the sofa, staying firmly planted on the middle cushion. Maybe he should clear the table or start cleaning the kitchen—but he intended to be right here when Jane reappeared.

When she did, her face was puffy and splotched with red. Any trace of makeup was long gone. She looked painfully self-conscious as she hovered in the middle of the main room.

“I really ought to be going. Drew might want to go back to the hospital.”

“Don’t go yet.” Clay held out a hand, tenderness and desire tangling into a huge knot beneath his breastbone. “Come sit with me.”

Longing and wariness did visible battle on her face. He waited to see which would win. After a moment, she took a small step toward him, then another, a doe approaching a waterhole despite the fear of predators. He didn’t want to pressure her, so he didn’t urge her, just smiled wryly. At last she came and perched at the end of the sofa, her back straight and her hands clasped on her lap like the prim, good girl he suspected she’d been growing up. When she wasn’t warrior woman defending her sister, that was.

He gave passing thought to asking what had killed her father, who’d likely only been—what, in his forties when he died? But then Clay decided he didn’t want to know. His life was spent upholding the law, but if one of the son of a bitch’s daughters had figured out a way to off him without getting caught, he had a feeling he’d be applauding.

“You okay?” he said finally.

Even though she hadn’t let her back touch the sofa, her mane of hair brushed his hand behind her. “I’m fine. Really. I guess everything is just getting to me.”

He didn’t have to move his hand very much to stroke her hair, at first lightly, then letting his fingers search for the curve of her head. He crushed a handful of curls and watched them rebound the moment he loosened his fist. Jane had stiffened slightly, but didn’t move.

“You’re entitled.” He smiled, noticing how her few pale freckles stood out along with the blotches. “You have a redhead’s skin.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I sunburn easily.”

He tugged gently on her hair. “Come here.”

She gave him a look that was somehow desperate before relaxing with a sigh against him. “I shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, you should.” He nuzzled her cheek and nibbled on her earlobe.

“I swore I was never going to trust you again.”

“You can.”

She tilted her head so she could see his face. “You keep saying that.”

“Because I mean it.” Really a promise, the words had a weight.
To have and to hold.
Damn, he thought, without as much shock as there should have been.

“You’ve been...really nice.”

A week ago—a few days ago—he’d have been stupid enough to say something caustic like “You mean I’m as nice as your brother-in-law?” At least he’d learned something.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he said huskily.

She blinked hard a couple of times, as if she was about to cry again, but then she gave a wobbly smile. “Okay.”

He framed her face with his hands. “What’s that mean? Okay?”

She was trying hard to see down deep inside him, to those places he rarely even acknowledged to himself. His skin prickled, as if nerves were exposed, but he held still and let her look.

Finally she slipped her arms around his neck. “It means I want you to kiss me.”

“Aah.” God, he wanted her. “I can do that.”

He kept it gentle at first, as searching as her gaze had been, but with more give and take. He tempted her with his tongue and waited for hers to chase his down. When she sucked on his lower lip, he groaned, his patience abandoning him.

Lifting and turning her, he set her on his lap so she straddled him. Her splotches were fading, he saw. Her lips were damp and a little swollen now. Wrapping the back of her neck with one hand, he pulled her close for a kiss that got a whole lot more serious. It was deep and hungry. His hips lifted, and she adjusted so she rubbed the hard length of his erection. Her knees tightened on him.

He pulled the combs from her hair so it cascaded free, then fumbled for the buttons on her blouse. She tugged his T-shirt up and he paused in his task enough to let her pull the shirt over his head. It was hard to concentrate when she immediately splayed her hands on his chest, tracing the contours of muscle and bone, testing the response of his nipples. He hadn’t known they were so sensitive.

At last her blouse fell open, exposing a rather sturdy white bra. Her hands went still and she looked down. “If I’d known,” she said, sounding embarrassed, “I would have worn something prettier for you.”

He tried to laugh. “I think this is sexier. It’s a Jane bra.”

“I could take offense—” But she lost interest in doing so, because he’d unhooked the back and was drawing the bra down her arms.

Her breasts were the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, a bounty, the swell of female flesh so generous he doubted his hands would encompass them. The skin was close enough to translucent, he could see a faint tracery of blue veins. Her nipples, more pink than brown, were drawn into tight peaks. He bent her back over his arm and licked first one, then the other.

Jane whimpered.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and drew one nipple into his mouth and suckled.

Her hips rocked. The fingers of one hand formed a fist in his hair. Her back arched to thrust her breasts at him. He was so damn hard it was painful. He wasn’t sure he could make it upstairs. He transferred his attention to her other breast, and she made more sounds, ones that intensified his arousal.

With a raw sound of his own, he lifted her off him and groped for the button at her waistband. He was long past finesse, but he managed, and stripped her of slacks and panties until they caught on her shoes. By that time, she was trying to work down the zipper of his trousers at the same time. The light touch of her fingers was better than anything he’d ever felt.

Too good. Once he had her clothes dealt with, he took over yanking off his own, grabbing his wallet on the way, finding the thin packet.

Only then did he see the flash of what might be hurt. “Lucky you keep one handy, I guess.” Her tone was flip.

“I put it in here when you let me kiss you. When you kissed me. Jane.”

Her eyes lifted to his.

“I haven’t been carrying condoms. There hasn’t been anyone else since I met you,” he said.

Shock widened her eyes, and then he saw such vulnerability it damn near stopped his heart. “You’re serious,” she whispered.

“I’m serious.” He couldn’t help sounding guttural, but wasn’t sure he wanted her to know yet quite how serious he was. For her it would seem too fast. Him, he’d been waiting for her.

She quivered. “You keep making me cry. I never cry!”

“Don’t. Not now.” He sought her mouth desperately. “That’s the last thing I want.”

He should take his time, savor her richly feminine body, but he couldn’t. He’d waited too long.

Clay bore her back onto the sofa, kneading a breast, then sliding his hand down over her belly to the tangle of curls the same shade of chestnut as those on her head. Finding her slick heat, stroking until she was moaning and trying to pull him over her.

He managed then to get the condom on, although he wasn’t sure how. He tried to come down on her carefully. For all her lush curves, she was still a small woman, even dainty, and he was a big man. She pressed one knee against the back of the sofa, and he hooked an arm beneath her other leg, lifting it and spreading her. He pushed inside, gritting his teeth at the mind-blowing pleasure of the tight fit, trying to give her time to adjust even though all he wanted was to plunge hard and deep. He lifted his head to look at her, finding her head tipped back, her eyes closed, her lips parted.