Not Without Risk (18 page)

In his years as a homicide detective, today’s was not the first murder/suicide he’d
worked. Not the first time he’d felt the sadness wash over him as he studied the outcome
of domestic violence, the frustration of being too late to save the life of the innocent
child caught in the middle.

It was, however, the first time he couldn’t seem to let it go. He’d remained away
from his house for as long as he felt he dared. Yet even now, hours after leaving
the scene, his emotions ran too close to the surface. His hands fisted at his sides
and his blood churned over the senseless destruction of human life.

Unbidden, the images returned. The tricycle in the driveway, wedged beneath the front
bumper of the family sedan. The blood trail that led through the living room, into
the baby’s room—to the young mother sprawled on the floor in front of the crib. Gut
shot and bleeding to death, her only thought had been to protect her child from the
monster unleashed in their home.

The child’s father.

Her husband.

Ruthlessly pushing the memory away, Justin could only be thankful that Paige had turned
in early and wasn’t around to witness his state of mind. She wouldn’t want to be with
him now, when he had nothing to share with her but this driving need to purge his
mind of the images burned into the backs of his eyelids. To forget, just for a moment,
the horror one human being could inflict upon another. And did, with what lately seemed
to be increased frequency.

He dragged in a slow breath, acknowledging it wasn’t just the homicide he’d worked
that had his stomach churning with anxiety and frustration, but the ache in his side
and the numbness in his left hand. Since his return to active duty and the murder
of a Boston narcotics officer, his pain had become progressively worse. Twice this
week his side had gone into spasms severe enough he’d sought solace in his brown bottle
of pills. He wanted those pills now, their sweet oblivion. Especially after turning
to his physical therapist for help, only to be told that he pushed himself too hard.

Pushed too hard? Damn his pain and his fragility. He had no other choice but to keep
pushing himself. Not if he meant to keep the woman, who at this very moment lay asleep
in his bed, safe. And he would. No matter what it took, no matter how long, he would
keep her safe.

He had to, for over the past week she had become very important to him. He’d never
wanted a woman so much in his life. Not the way he wanted Paige. What he wanted from
her was on a far different level than what he’d wanted from any other woman before
her. Frankly, that scared the hell out of him. He knew nothing of relationships past
the pain of being left behind when someone walked away from one.

Suddenly weary, Justin pressed his fingers against his closed eyelids. What had she
said about relationships?

“You enjoy someone’s company—spend time with them. Talk.”

He could do that. Right now, he wanted to talk to Paige almost as much as he wanted
to catch the sweet scent of her skin as he slid inside her warmth and lost himself
in mind-numbing sex. Only, faced with the choice, he was fairly certain he would opt
for the sex. And with anger still coursing through his veins, boiling his stomach
acid, he couldn’t take the risk. If he hurt her, in his race to escape the images
still tickling his retinas, he would never forgive himself.

No, he couldn’t turn to her now, when he wasn’t one hundred percent. When the stench
of death still clung to him, a testament to the violent end of one young family’s
future. He couldn’t turn to Paige, or move to his desk and swallow one of those damnable
pills.

A vicious case of frustration had him balling his hands into fists. When an answering
stab of pain shot down his left side, Justin cursed under his breath.

He was in for a long night.

Alone.

With nothing more than his thoughts to keep him company.

None of them pleasant.

Paige hadn’t known sorrow had a scent. That it could pulse off a person like perfume
and emanate throughout a room. Be drawn into her lungs and set off an answering ache
inside her. She hadn’t known, until she stepped into the living room and discovered
Justin before his front window.

He stood with his back to her, his spine rigid, body held perfectly still as if he
had a board strapped between his shoulder blades, making it impossible for him to
relax his stance. Like so many times in the past few days, he had his left hand securely
tucked in his pocket, while his right clenched and unclenched against his thigh.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, wishing she had grabbed something more substantial
to put on than one of his T-shirts when she heard his key in the door. She was suddenly
cold all over, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

As one hour alone shifted into two, then two into three, she’d begun to suspect the
worst about what had called him out on a Saturday afternoon. His stiff, unyielding
posture and troubled expression as he stood across the room and watched the night
confirmed her suspicions. It had been bad, the scene he worked today. Bad enough to
follow him home, to haunt him all these hours later.

The need to staunch his pain grabbed her by the throat. How could she have ever mistaken
this man for the hardened, unaffected cop Rick Preston had been? Both men might define
themselves the same, by their job, but that’s where all similarities came to an end.

Drawn by the iron set to his shoulders, she walked toward him, laying her hands upon
the tensed muscles of his back. “Justin?”

“Go back to bed, Paige.” His gaze locked with hers in the window’s reflection. “You
don’t want to be around me right now.”

“Are you okay?”

He stepped away from her touch and turned to face her. “Fine.”

But he wasn’t. His words were clipped, his stance even more severe and in his eyes,
she could clearly see both pain and burning anger.

“You can talk to me, you know.”

“No.”

That hurt. More than she wanted to admit. “You don’t think I would understand?”

He shook his head. His eyes closed and then opened quickly as if something he didn’t
wish to remember remained behind his lids. “There are some things you are better off
not knowing about.”

She reached up and cupped her hand to his face, smoothing the fingers of her left
hand to his cheek. His pain was tangible. Her heart bled for him. “You have to let
it go. There’s nothing more you can do tonight.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Justin—”

“I’ve seen things that would make you sick. I know, because they make me sick. But
it’s what I do, Paige, what I am. I’m a cop.”

A tiny shiver ran down her spine. She moved marginally closer to him. “Is it me you
feel the need to remind? Or yourself?”

“I know what I am.”

“So do I. You’re a man, with feelings that are eating you up inside. Tell me how I
can help you.”

Anything, she’d do anything to help him.

“Go back to bed.”

Except that.

“If you want to rage, I’ll rage with you. If you need to break down, I’ll hold you.
Whatever it is, I can take it. I’m here for you.”

His nostrils flared. The intensity in his brown eyes shifted. Sorrow vanished like
a wisp of smoke, leaving behind fire and devastating need.

“Whatever I need?”

No one had ever looked at her quite like that before. A burst of heat snapped along
her nerves. She leaned into him, breathed in his spicy scent and placed a soft kiss
against his throat. “Whatever you need.”

His hand came up then fell back to his side without touching her. “I don’t want to
hurt you.”

“You won’t.” A tiny shiver rippled through her as she splayed her palms against his
shoulders and pushed his shirt down his arms to fall to the floor at his feet. “You
won’t hurt me, Justin.”

Her fingertips grazed the skin along his collarbone before sliding lower to circle
his nipples. She turned her hands over, used the back of her fingers to follow the
trail of hair down to the quivering muscles of his stomach, memorizing his body inch
by inch. She skimmed her lips slowly across his shoulder, to the curve of his throat,
pressed them against the steady beat of his heart. Her fingers splayed, slipped up
his sides.

She stood too closely to see, but she could feel. The tight knot of muscle. The tic
in his left side, just below the raised flesh of a long, jagged scar. Her fingers
traversed the length of the scar once, twice and then again. Beneath them, his body
tightened like a bow.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Later she would ask him about his injury, how he got it, how bad it had been—still
was, by the way his arm twitched ever so slightly. Now, she had other things to focus
her thoughts on—the need to feel his hands upon her body, the heady male taste of
him on her tongue.

God! Just the thought had her turning her body and pressing her chest against his
until no space separated them. A soft grunt of arousal escaped him yet he kept his
hands at his sides as if he didn’t trust himself to do anything with them. Beneath
her palms, his body vibrated from the effort of holding himself back.

She didn’t want restraint. She wanted the fierce, mindless passion his eyes promised.
Heat emanated off him in waves, chased away her chill. Greed began to grow inside
her, set off a soft, wet pulse between her legs.

Her mouth skimmed across his chest, while the warm, salty taste of him seeped through
her system. His breathing grew shallow, and still he didn’t touch her. In desperation
she used her teeth to nip his flesh and was rewarded when her name passed his lips
on a throaty moan.

“Touch me.” Her words were a hoarse whisper against his chest. “I want your hands
on me.”

His arms came around her suddenly, crushing her against his hard chest. His hands
trailed down her back, cupping her bottom, lifting her off her feet. Cursing, he staggered
a few steps until the cool, glass-covered desk pressed against the back of her thighs.
He settled her there, his hand shifting to cup her nape as he laid her atop the desk.

His mouth took hers in a hard, angry kiss. She drank in the flavor of him as she wrapped
her legs around his hips, tilting her pelvis, seeking. The coarse scrape of his denim-covered
erection nudged at her. Pleasure arrowed through her system.

His impatient hands tugged at the hem of her shirt, then pulled it swiftly over her
head to expose all of her. His hard gaze swept over her bare breasts, lingered on
her tightly puckered nipples. Anticipation tightened her stomach. Panting, eager to
feel more of him, all of him, she reached for the top button of his jeans.

To her surprise, his hands swung down, gripping both her wrists. “Not yet.”

Desperate, she pulled against her manacled wrists, only to have him tighten his grip
and stretch her arms over her head. “Keep them there.”

The dangerous edge in his voice heightened her excitement. Her gaze skimmed downward,
over the broad expanse of his chest covered with softly curling dark hair that veed
down, drawing her eyes to where his button-fly jeans lovingly cupped his crotch. At
the sight of her pubic curls pressed so intimately against that part of his anatomy,
she shuddered.

His name tumbled from her lips.

He bent his dark head and settled his mouth on her breast, drew in her nipple and
pressed it against the roof of his mouth. Her breathing grew shallow, irregular. Electricity
arced through her, connecting her breasts to her loins as he used his teeth, his tongue,
his lips.

Her heartbeat quickened. Her body trembled when he slid his hand down her side, across
her hip before slipping it between her legs. Her vision grayed as he slid his fingers,
one at first, then two, inside her. He filled her, pushing deep, deeper before withdrawing
with her next breath, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful as he stroked
her with those skilled fingers. The tremors vibrated from her center out, expanding
and multiplying until she exploded. She arched and bucked beneath him as sensation
after sensation tore through her, causing her inner muscles to contract and peak,
then slowly begin to ebb.

His hoarse whisper broke the silence. “Do that again.”

Limp with satisfaction, she lay boneless beneath his weight, her heartbeat throbbing
in her ears. “I’m not certain I can.”

“You can.”

His knuckles brushed between her legs as he hurriedly unfastened his jeans and stepped
out of them. Her heart tripped against her ribs at the sight of his magnificent male
body. The glorious lassitude began to fade, letting her know he may be right, she
could do that again. Only this time, she wanted him along for the ride.

She dug her nails into his hips and caught her breath. With no barrier between them,
skin brushed skin, heat pressed against heat. He swore softly, under his breath, and
grasping her behind her knees, dragged her to the edge of the desk and positioned
himself between her thighs. She barely had time to catch her breath before he pushed
inside her in one deep, welcoming stroke.

He held her legs wide, a growl of raw, animal pleasure vibrating in his throat as
he thrust deeply and repeatedly inside her, all control gone. The longing inside her
grew, became hunger. She met each stroke eagerly, every cell in her body focused on
the feel of his flesh against hers.

The sensation was electric. Every stroke of his body inside hers pushed her closer
to the edge. He hitched her legs higher, increased the depth of his penetration and
she cried out with the pleasure of it. An answering growl rumbled in his throat again.
He flexed his hips, pressed his face into her neck and came in a series of hard, fast,
deep thrusts that completely undid her, catapulting her over the edge with him.

* * * * *

Eyes closed, Justin lay unmoving while their bodies cooled. He didn’t speak, couldn’t,
past the rush of emotion flooding him. Had he ever felt like this? So satisfied, so
perfectly matched?

“Hmm,” Paige murmured, her breath tickling his neck. “I guess I could.”

He laughed softly, amazed he could find humor while their bodies remained so intimately
linked. With some effort, he extracted his hand where it remained tangled in her hair.

Her eyes drifted partially open and focused on the ceiling. Her mouth curved into
a contented smile. “Only, maybe we could make it to the bed before the next time.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, gently brushing her hair away from her temple. He wanted
to say more, but he didn’t know how to put to words what he was feeling. His chest
ached, his eyes burned, and for the first time in his life he felt complete.

She arched up, caught his lower lip between her teeth. “I’m not,” she murmured against
his mouth.

Inside him, need flared back to life. He sealed his mouth with hers, lifted her off
the desk and would have gathered her to him and carried her to his bed had a white
blaze of pain not sliced down his side. Justin bit back a groan before it could slip
past his lips. He ground his molars together and drew in a shallow breath. The last
thing he wanted just then was for Paige to discover his discomfort.

Wordlessly, she locked her fingers with his and led him into his bedroom to stand
at the side of his bed. He blinked, momentarily blinded, as the lamp atop the nightstand
flared to life beneath her touch. Slowly, his eyes adjusted. Then, he got his first
good look at her.

She was beautiful—small, firm breasts, slender waist and endlessly long legs. He stroked
his knuckles along the swell of her breast, admired its dusky pink nipple. She was
pale and smooth everywhere he touched. He hadn’t taken the time for a slow, thorough
exploration of her body. He wanted to now.

He shifted his hand, cupped it at the front of her throat. His thumb caressed the
soft underside of her jaw. Justin angled his head and kissed her once, twice, a light
touching of the lips. Beneath his fingers, her pulse tripped.

“Justin.” Her lips met his in a lingering kiss. Her fingers, cool against his skin,
ran the length of his arms, across his shoulders and down his bare back. “Lie down
on the bed, Justin.”

Silently, he lowered his frame to the mattress and stretched out on his side, propping
himself up with his elbow. He’d been too rough with her, careless. This time he’d
show her tenderness. Reaching out he stroked his palm down the curve of her hip and
urged her closer to the side of the bed. As she shifted, he caught sight of a square,
flesh-toned patch attached to her lower abdomen. Intrigued, he ran his fingers over
it. “Are you trying to quit smoking?”

“It’s not a nicotine patch, it’s birth control.”

Birth control.

“Oh, hell.” He’d forgotten to use a condom. “Paige.”

“On your back.”

He opened his mouth, but her gaze cut him off. Her eyes were bright and inscrutable
in the shaft of light. He rolled onto his back.

A minute later, he felt his first inkling of uncertainty as her fingers circled the
round puckered mark near his shoulder before moving on to the larger, angrier red
gash at his side. He tensed when she knelt at his hip and with gentle strokes, began
to work the knot of muscle under his arm.

“Paige, I need to tell you something.”

“Relax,” she coaxed. “You can tell me later.”

She was right. The deed was already done. “What are you doing?”

“You’re hurting.”

He didn’t argue with her. How could he when beneath her fingers his side continued
to twitch? Instinctively, she seemed to know not to apply direct pressure to the hyper-sensitized
flesh of his scars. Choosing instead to work her way around them, firmly pushing and
prodding the tightened muscles, forcing them to loosen.

Unable to resist, he lifted his arm over his head, granting her better access to the
source of his discomfort. Her cool hands quickly warmed as they moved over his skin,
easing away the tension. He sighed with satisfaction as her thumbs moved deeply along
his side, easing away the worst of his pain. His eyes drifted shut.