Searching for Disaster (2 page)

“Did you always want to become a cop?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Always.”

How lovely to know exactly what you wanted. Like her family. It seemed she hadn't received that lucky gene. “It must be nice to never question your path,” she said softly. “To always know your direction.”

“Sometimes. But I worry that, by being focused on one way, I missed all the interesting side roads that make life worth living.”

His words hit her gut. She jerked slightly, and then the current was back, surging more intensely between them. Their gazes locked together, and for the first time, the raw intensity touched her so deep, her soul shuddered along with her body.

Then he moved.

It was like watching a graceful dance as he crossed the room to her. He owned his body and his intentions, reaching out to tug her up from the bed so she stood before him. Her head topped out midway up his chest. The subtle scents of cinnamon and mint clung to him, clean and sharp, and without thinking, she rose to her tiptoes and his head came down and he was kissing her.

His lips sipped, moving softly over her mouth as if feasting on an appetizer before the main course. His hands held her hips in a firm grip, his mouth moving over hers with a precision and control that was oh so sexy and real. She clung to his shoulders, digging her nails into the hard muscles, asking for more.

And he gave it.

Tongue plunging between the seam of her lips, he claimed her mouth without apology. Thrilling to his demands, she opened to him, swept away by the blistering heat of need between them.

Clothes fell off. He eased her onto the bed, cupping her bare breasts and tweaking her nipples, still not breaking the kiss. Every move was accented by the thrust of his tongue, coordinated with the smooth, exploring motions of fingers touching her everywhere, learning her texture and sensitive parts, until her thighs opened wider and wetness met his strokes, dampening his fingers.

One-night stands were usually drunken, intense, a bit clumsy. The race to an orgasm with a touch of savage fucking and the rippling, exciting cocktail of the unknown.

This was different. He touched her like they'd known each other before. Each hard muscle of his magnificent body fit to her curves. She arched and begged and gave more than she thought she had. The raging need for him grew and burned, twisting the knot inside of her tighter and tighter. When he finally broke the kiss, staring into her eyes with his wild, hungry blue ones, she clutched his shoulders in sudden panic.

“Too much,” she whispered frantically. “Too—”

“I know.” His voice was a growl of sound. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Golden hair fell across his brow in burnished glory. Those lush lips curled in fierce demand. “Don't stop me. Don't stop this.”

“Liam.”

He bent his head, sliding down her body. Eased her legs wider apart. And covered her throbbing center with his warm, wet mouth.

He took her higher and higher. She curled her toes into the mattress, helpless to fight the waves of the climax building inside, until the tension was drawn so fine, her body stiffened with agony. His tongue swept over her hardened clit again. Soft lips suckled. Fingers curled and worked her, and then she hovered on the precipice, craving to go over and too afraid to take the plunge.

“Come for me, Isabella.”

His command propelled her forward, the climax seizing every muscle as she bucked and cried out, his hands holding her tightly to the mattress in a delicious bond of restraint.

The sound of a ripping wrapper hit the air. He reared up, looking into her face, pausing at her dripping entrance.

“Again.”

He surged forward, inch by inch, filling her completely. The stretching of interior muscles, the burning heat of him, the bruises on her hips as he held her tight for his invasion—all of it blew through her mind and scattered to the wind under the sheer intensity of his claiming.

Izzy studied his gorgeous face. Jaw tight with tension, biceps flexed, skin damp with sweat, he fucked her with a merciless beauty she knew she'd never forget. He owned her in that moment like no man before, and Izzy had a stream of startling thoughts right before the second climax exploded through her.

Rightness.

Belonging.

Silence.

Then she closed her eyes and let go.

IZZY HAD SEX
in order to stop the chaos.

But sex with Liam was different.

She was used to parting quickly afterward. Rarely did she stay the night to sleep or spend too long cuddling. She lacked a part of intimacy most women seemed to be built with and preferred to go off on her own after her satisfaction, usually falling into a deep, pleasant slumber.

This time she found herself wrapped around him. Head on chest. Leg squeezed between his thighs. Arm draped over his shoulder. How long had passed in comfortable silence? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? She didn't know. Instead of inane conversation or comments about how good it had been or a speedy exit, they just lay together, not speaking.

“Whose room is this?”

His voice was a whisper in her ear. She smiled in the dark. “A girl named Tammy. I just met her, but she let me use her room.”

“So there are no crazy boyfriends stalking you, ready to beat my ass?”

Izzy didn't do boyfriends.

Until now.

Not that she was getting caught up in the great sex or anything. It was more of a feeling inside than a physical urge. Something had shifted. Liam seemed able to quiet all those messy tendrils of unsettlement.

“No. I move around too much to drag a man with me.”

“What's next on your itinerary?”

She loved the way he spoke—elegant and cultured, as if he weren't naked in bed with her and hadn't done dirty, delicious things to make her scream. “Not sure. Probably get a job for a while. Save some money.”

“Manhattan has tons of opportunity for work.”

She stiffened but kept her voice casual. “Manhattan, huh?”

“Yep. I'm heading there next week for the academy. Lined up a decent place. There's plenty of culture, and restaurants, and . . . dancing opportunities.”

She couldn't help it. She laughed, then twisted around to meet his gaze. “We just met, screwed, and now you're asking me to follow you to the city while you train to be a cop?”

He winced. “I don't like the word
screw
.”

“Where did you come from, Liam?”

He sighed. “That's what my brother asks me a lot.”

“Inviting a strange woman into your life can be dangerous.”

His full lips parted in a smile as she used his own words against him. “Maybe I'm a dangerous type of guy. Maybe I'm ready for my own adventure.” His finger traced the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. His blue eyes filled with a tenderness she hadn't seen in a very long time. This man had a heart and soul to give some lucky woman. He didn't realize how broken she was. How trouble stuck to her very aura like static cling.

But oh, how her heart suddenly leaped in her chest. To be with him for as long as it lasted. Or at least a little while longer. “I'm not good at commitments.”

“Not asking for one.”

“What are you asking for, then?”

“Time.”

Yes. Time. What a perfect answer to satisfy both of them. Time to explore, grow closer, grow apart. She'd talk to Raven. Her friend had been getting itchy herself lately—looking to settle down into a more permanent job. Maybe this would be a good opportunity. “I've been wanting to spend some time working on my comedy routines. They have tons of clubs there ripe for a new stint.”

He blinked. “Are you funny?”

She sighed. “Not really. But it's been on my bucket list.”

His smile reminded her of sunshine and rainbows after a hard rain. “Then I'll sit in the audience of the improv and arrest anyone who tries to throw rotten apples at you.”

She giggled. Izzy hadn't known she had any giggles left from her childhood. Somehow he'd wrested one out of her. His eyes blazed blue flames and he lowered his head to kiss her again.

A loud banging filled the air. “Izzy! Open up; it's Rick. Got something for you.”

“Hang on a sec.” She looked around for something to cover herself with, finally grabbing a ratty blue blanket and wrapping it tightly around her body. She opened the door a few inches and peeked out.

Rick grinned. His ginger hair, pale skin, and black-framed glasses made him look more like a professor than a student. “Hey, Izzy. Bunch of people been looking for you.”

“Sorry, I'm tied up. Does Tammy need me? Or Raven?”

His gaze probed the empty space, then he gave a knowing laugh. “Ah, got it. When you're done being tied up, come to room 3A. Tammy wants to hang with you. For now, here's a start-up. Consider it a freebie.”

He shoved the brown paper bag at her.

She grabbed it.

Then trembled. Her fingers clutched it with sheer possessiveness but she tried to fight the impulse. “Umm, I don't need this right now. Thanks anyway.”

The knowledge in his eyes held no mockery or judgment. “Sure you don't. Like I said, it's just a gift. For now.”

“But—”

He turned and walked away, leaving the bag behind.

Izzy shut the door and dropped the package on the table. Stared at it for a moment. She didn't have to open it. It wasn't a big deal that she happened to like some weed now and then like most of the population. Sure, she'd done some coke, too, but she had things under control. Wasn't like she was a meth head, and hell knows she didn't shoot anything up. Needles were a deal breaker.

Freebie.

Her fingers shook slightly as she removed the contents and registered what she held. The small vial of pure-white powder beckoned. Not now, of course. She'd wait till the bad stuff crept in her head again, and a simple sniff would push it all away for a long time. Was it so terrible to need a bit of help to cope?

And afterward, she not only coped. She excelled. She was smarter and clearer and happy. People used drugs all the time, whether it be antidepressants, or weed, or over-the-counter cold meds. Some drank. She took a bit of cocaine now and then. No big deal.

“Isabella? Are you okay?”

She shoved the vial back and turned with a smile. “Sorry, just some friends checking on me.”

“What's in the bag?”

She tossed it toward the back of the table and dropped the blanket. “Not important. I'm sorry we got interrupted.” Knowing she had a wonderful secret that was waiting for her, she was hungry for more of him. Hungry for his mouth and skin, to tumble back to the mattress and embrace the way he filled her up. She dropped one knee on the bed.

Instead of pulling her close, he sat up with a frown. His mussed hair gave bed head a sexy new image. “You look different. What's in the bag?”

She paused. Studied him. What was he doing? Why was he obsessing over her personal business? Her voice became edged with razor sharpness. “It's nothing, Liam. Forget it. Why are you making such a big deal out of a bag?”

“If it's not a big deal, why don't you tell me what's in it?”

The world narrowed. Resentment slithered like snakes within her. She hated people ordering her around and telling her what was good and what wasn't. She'd earned a right to do what she wanted without answering questions. Izzy backed away from the bed and rewrapped the blanket around her. Warning bells clanged loudly in her head. “Because it's not your business. We may have had sex, but you haven't earned the right to pry. What's really going on?”

His stare shredded her barriers and buried deep. Her heart beat as loudly as the warning bells. How did this man seem to know her so well when they had just met? As if he sensed she was nearing a precipice and he'd decided to yank her back.

“Are there drugs in the bag?”

She raised her chin, blood chilling in her veins. “Back off, Liam.”

“I don't do drugs, and I don't surround myself with people who do. I've seen firsthand how that stuff ruins lives and turns people into monsters.”

Izzy forced a laugh but her throat was bone-dry, and it came out a bit rattled. “‘Monsters'? Don't you think you're taking this law enforcement thing a bit too far? You're telling me you never did a bit of weed in high school or college? Drank underage? Stolen a cig before you were eighteen? Must be nice to be perfect.”

His jaw tightened. “I wouldn't know; I'm not perfect. I'm also not about to gamble with my life either. Listen, just get rid of the bag. You don't need it.”

“You don't have the right to tell me what to do.”

His gaze burned. “Maybe not, but I'm asking. Something happened between us tonight. I'm not into magic and bullshit, but there's a connection I feel with you I want to explore. I can't do that if the stuff in that bag is more important than me. Toss it, Izzy. I'm asking.”