Anything but Mine (10 page)

She nodded and stepped inside, pulling the door closed. Her hair rippled across her shoulders and his fingers itched with the desire to bury themselves in the thick chestnut strands. “I ran into my father when I left the hospital. We went for tea. I…I told him about the baby.”

Her hesitation clenched Stanton’s stomach. She worshipped her father, and if he’d denounced her out of his traditional values, she’d be devastated. “What did he say?”

Arms folded over her midriff, she leaned against the door. “I think he’s looking forward to having another grandbaby. He says he is, anyway.”

“Did you tell him about us?” Stanton flipped the folder closed and pushed away from the desk. His movements tense and short, he walked to the file cabinet and shoved the manila file into place. His back to her, he rifled through the second drawer. God help him, he was afraid to look at her.

Tick was right. He was a damn coward. Scared to death that now her father knew about the pregnancy, she’d leave, seek protection at her family home, and his chance to win her back would be gone.

Her footsteps whispered on the tile. “I did. He’s worried I’m making a mistake.”

He clutched the edge of the file drawer until his fingers hurt. She’d walk away for sure now. He spun to face her. “I want more time.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Our agreement. A month’s not long enough.” He pushed the drawer shut. Under his skin, he felt like his pulse pounded at every nerve. “We need more time.”

She stared at him before shaking her head. “What are we doing?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“This whole agreement. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be between people who are having a baby together.” She motioned between them. Her voice sounded tight and weak, but he didn’t see a trace of tears. “What we’re doing is beyond insane.”

She was scared too. Did she feel like he did, like he was teetering on the edge of an abyss, no clue what would push him off? He skirted the desk to lean against it. Reaching out, he gripped her arms above her elbows, his hands gentle. “Come here.”

She tried to tug free. “Stanton, don’t—”

“Hush and listen.” He drew her between his thighs, the warmth of her curling around him. His thumbs rubbed the soft skin of her arms, and his body hummed at their proximity. “I want this to work for us, Autry, but you can’t build a lasting relationship in a month. We need more time.”

She bit her lip, blue eyes clouded with doubt. He needed some other way to show her what he felt, what he couldn’t articulate yet. He pulled her closer, until her lower abdomen bumped against his groin, until her breasts, swollen and probably sensitive, pressed into his chest, until her mouth met his. He held his breath. God, she felt like home.

“Autry,” he murmured against her lips, desire racing along his nerves. This he was sure of, the way she made him feel, the way she could make him sigh and groan once he was in her arms. She pressed closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, fingers tiptoeing over his spine.

Opening her mouth, she flicked her tongue against his. He stiffened and pulled her tighter. The taste of her, kissing her, was like touching a bare electrical wire, consuming him alive. Exhilaration exploded in him, a wild companion to the desire tingling to life low in his gut. Flexing her fingers, she raked her nails along his back in a light pattern. His kiss deepened, hands slipping to her hips to fit their lower bodies more closely together.

She hummed a sigh into his mouth and rubbed against him. He’d always loved being with her like this. The need to forget everything but her, to ignore the problems, seized him.

Autry caught her breath and pulled her mouth from his. “Wait.”

He stared at her, caught in a haze of desire. “What?”

He tightened his hold at her hips, but she reached for his hand and splayed his palm over her abdomen. “Feel.”

His brow furrowed in intense concentration. Autry watched him, her bottom lip damp and a little swollen from their kiss. Her pulse beat under his palm, but whatever she wanted him to feel simply wasn’t there.

He shook his head. “I don’t feel anything.”

She pressed her hand harder over his. “Nothing?”

He lifted his gaze to hers, disappointment a cold knot in his chest. “No.”

She released his hand, leaving him curiously letdown. The sense of connection drained away as their desire had moments before and he was left empty, bereft.

This is what it would be like when the whole mess fell apart. He’d never be free, not really, and it wasn’t because of the baby. It was her, the way she consumed him with a look, a touch.

She straightened and stepped away, a hand over their baby.

He frowned, watching her. “Autry?”

She shook her head, but didn’t quite manage a smile. “It’s nothing. Just someone walking over my grave.”

Frustration gripped his throat. Damn it, he wasn’t any good at this. “You look—”

The phone buzzed behind him. “Sheriff Reed?” Lydia’s voice filled the small room. “Tick’s on line three.”

“Thanks.” Stanton gazed at her a moment before twisting to pick up the receiver. “Tick? What’s up?”

“Just left the motel in Tallahassee. The clerk couldn’t pick Schaefer out of a new photo array.”

“Great.” Stanton ran a hand over his nape and blew out a breath. She’d turned away to gather her things, to give him a semblance of privacy, he guessed. The line of her shoulders looked tired, dejected.

Exactly the way he felt.

“Cait and I are going to dinner at Wutherby’s. She’s been looking at Autry’s notes. Thought you two might want to join us. About seven?”

Dinner out would probably be great for Autry, might even give him a chance to get his feelings together where she was concerned. For that, he’d even tolerate Caitlin Falconetti.

“Sounds good. See you there.” He dropped the receiver back in the cradle. “How do you feel about meeting Tick and Falconetti for dinner?”

Autry eyed him over her shoulder. “You
want
to go to dinner with them? You, spending an entire evening in Cait’s presence?”

He grimaced. “I’m not that bad where she’s concerned and you know it.”

“You were pretty verbal when she arrived last June. Not exactly a happy camper, you know?”

His mouth quirked. “You did a damned good job of taking my mind off it.”

Her cheeks flushed and she darted a glance at his desk chair. Late one night during that weekend before Schaefer had been arrested, they’d dropped by the department for him to pick up some papers. He’d already been bitching about Falconetti’s presence. His belly clenched as Autry bit her lip. She had to be remembering too. Telling him to shut up about it, she’d pushed him into that leather chair and straddled him. She’d kissed him, one caress leading to another touch, until they’d been partially naked and straining together, and he’d whispered a laughing “shhh” against her lips.

She shook back her hair. “Dinner out sounds good.”

A warm breeze, rare for late October, blew across the deck at Wutherby’s. Lights, strung between the pecan trees nestling the restaurant, cast globes of colored lights on the tables and seventies-retro disco music pulsed from speakers placed at strategic spots. A handful of couples occupied the tiny dance floor at one end of the deck.

Stanton laid his fork down on his half-full plate. Lingering desire, coupled with an odd sense of loss, smothered his appetite. Next to him, Autry pushed a piece of grilled chicken around her own plate. Throughout dinner, the mood at their table had been subdued, a direct contrast to the happy laughter and chatter surrounding them.

The early notes of a Gloria Gaynor hit filtered through the speakers. Tick glanced toward the door and brightened. “Hey, Buckshot, there’s Casey and Irene Roberts.”

Autry lifted her head, a smile flirting around her mouth. “Wow, she looks great.” She met Stanton’s gaze. “Irene is my third cousin, once removed. She and Casey just got married last month.”

“He and I are somehow distantly related on Mama’s side.” Tick eased back his chair and stood, extending a hand. “Come on. Let’s go speak to them.”

Autry laughed and let him lead her away. A smile tilted the corners of Falconetti’s mouth. “I think that’s his subtle way of leaving us alone so we can talk about those notes.”

“Probably.” Stanton lifted his iced water and sipped. “So what did you come up with?”

Falconetti eyed him. “Well, for starters, you’re a perfect suspect.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.” She gave him a look of pure innocence, but Stanton refused to be taken in. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. She lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. “The most common type of stalker is the simple obsessional. Usually known to the victim, many times a former intimate acquaintance. Often the desire to reconcile serves as the motive.”

“Cut it out, Falconetti.”

She waved a hand at the other side of the deck, where Autry laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, leaning down to admire the pretty little blonde’s diamond ring. “You two are reconciled, right?”

“Cut the shit and tell me what you have, all right?” God, how did Tick live with her?

“Or you have a vengeful-resentful stalker. In his head, she’s done something wrong, and he wants revenge.”

“Something wrong.” Stanton passed a hand over his jaw. “Like defending Schaefer.”

“Maybe. Or it could be something as small as he smiled at her in the post office and she didn’t respond.”

He watched Autry bestow a hug on the new groom. “Think she knows him?”

“At this point, I couldn’t say. There’s nothing to indicate that in the notes, and often vengeful-resentful stalkers aren’t known to their victims. But it could just as easily be someone she has daily contact with.” Falconetti’s smile appeared again. “Like you.”

Stanton regarded her coolly. “Tell me again what Tick sees in you?”

“My winning personality and really hot sex.” Sobering, Falconetti reached for her glass. Ice tinkled against the sides. “There is another possibility.”

He glanced heavenwards. “I can’t wait.”

“About two percent of all stalking cases involve false victims.”

Anger licked at his gut. “Don’t go there, Falconetti.”

“You have to consider the possibility, Reed. She might not be the victim here.” Falconetti brushed a strand of black hair behind her ear. “It might be you.”

“You broke things off with her and now she’s living in your house. Tick says she was working out of your office today. Looks like your life has been wrapped around her since the night of the break-in at her place. If her goal was to get to you, I’d say she succeeded.”

He wasn’t even going to let the insidious idea into his head. Bending closer, he held Falconetti’s icy gaze. “Listen to me and listen good. It’s not her.”

She didn’t flinch. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because she’s pregnant with my child. That’s why she’s in my house, in my office. Because I’m trying to keep her safe.”

“Tick didn’t tell me about that. Well, that could change things.” A cool smile lifted one corner of Falconetti’s mouth. “If she really is pregnant.”

The memory of Autry’s body pressed against his, the hard little bulge of her belly, the swollen softness of her breasts, filtered through his brain. No way she could fake the changes in her body. And no way he was actually considering Falconetti’s crazy theory. “She is.”

Falconetti leaned back, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “Your offender is probably a white male, twenties, high school educated, average intelligence, maybe below average.”

Stanton frowned, as much at the description as the sudden turn in the conversation. He should have known she was only pushing his buttons. “Below average?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Smart stalkers don’t send notes and provide you with handwriting samples.”

“Describes half the guys in the county, though.”

“He won’t be able to stay away from her. He’ll want to see the reaction to the notes—he feeds off of it. And be forewarned—having you around her, a barrier, could piss him off. If you’re not with her, she needs to be especially careful.”

Stanton nodded. Fear unfurled in him. He knew Autry well enough to realize she wasn’t going to let him babysit forever. Sooner or later, she’d want her life back.

He can’t stop me.

The words from the last note flashed in his head. He swallowed hard. She could have her life back but it would involve a twenty-four-hour guard if he had anything to say about it.

Gloria Gaynor trailed away, replaced with a slower Bee Gees number. Tick escorted Autry back to the table, but instead of sliding into his chair, he leaned over Falconetti, an arm around her neck, mouth close to her ear. “Dance with me, precious.”

With a sultry smile, Falconetti pulled him to the dance floor and went into his arms, his hands linked at the small of her back, hers on his biceps. Autry watched them, her expression wistful. “He’s crazy about her.”

“Crazy would be the word,” he said and could have bitten his tongue off when she turned cold blue eyes in his direction. He held up his hands. “All right, I know. Lay off.”

Lips pursed in a narrow line, she shook her head. “He’s your best friend and he’s in love with her. You could try harder to accept her.”

“In love or in lust?”

With an exasperated sigh, she gripped his chin and turned his attention to Tick and Falconetti on the dance floor. “Look at them. Really look. What do you see?”

His skin tingled beneath her touch, but he obeyed and surveyed them. They swayed with the unique, unmistakable rhythm of an intimate couple. Falconetti’s lips moved, and Tick grinned and lowered his head.

“What do you see?”

Stanton shrugged. “He wants her. Big surprise, he always has. They’ll go home and go to bed—”

“Absolutely clueless. That’s what you are. He adores her, and to her, he’s everything. She focuses him and he softens her.”

He laughed, although frustration filtered through him. Why didn’t he see what she did? “Whatever, hon. Looks like good old sexual attraction to me.”

“Maybe because you only see what you want to.” She grabbed her purse and pushed away from the table. Stanton stared after her as she threaded through the crowded tables.

Oh, shit. He’d screwed that all to hell. Snatching up their bill, he followed. She had the keys to his truck and he wouldn’t put it past her to leave his ass here, stalker or no. At the hostess station, he handed off his bill and cash then headed for the door at a near jog.

“Autry!” She stood in the anteroom before the door, her shoulders hunched. “Autry, I—”

“He’s changed everything.” She stared at the door, a forlorn expression making her seem lost and vulnerable. “Before I wouldn’t have thought twice about walking out there. Now…I can’t go out alone. God, he’s changed
me
.”

Her voice quavered and the constriction in his chest loosened. Ignoring the curious glances of a couple entering the restaurant, he pulled her close, enfolding her against him. He rubbed a hand over her hair. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. It’s going to be all right—”

“Don’t say that.” She tugged away and he glimpsed a glitter of tears along her lashes. “It’s not all right, and even if you catch him, I’m not sure it ever will be. Look what he’s done to me. I’m afraid all the time, I’m letting you make decisions for me, I question everything and everybody…I’m not me anymore.”

“Yes, you are.” He cupped her face, wanting to soothe the fear and the anguish away.

Her lashes fell and she turned into his hand. “I want to go home,” she whispered. “I just want to go to bed and forget all of this.”

After that kiss earlier, he wanted to take her there so bad he could taste it, but that wasn’t what she needed from him right now. He brushed his mouth over her cheek. “Let’s go then.”

This had to stop.

Autry put her lotion away and wrapped a towel around her body. Irritation and unfulfilled desire had her nerves jumping and the worst part was she had herself to blame even more than Stanton. Sure, he was clueless about other people’s emotions, let alone his own. She’d known that going in. Now suddenly, she wanted him to change into Mr. Perfectly-in-touch-with-his-feelings? So being pregnant had made her emotional and now completely irrational. Instead of sitting around whining about how blind he was, maybe she needed to show him where to go.

He’d asked for more time. That had to mean something.

They were having a baby together. She wanted to forge a relationship with him. He said the same thing.

What was she accomplishing by holding him away?

Sleeping in the spare room wasn’t getting her any closer to him, wasn’t in any way binding him to her.

So what are you going to do?

Taking a deep breath, she knotted the towel at her breasts. Before her spurt of courage and resolution could desert her, she marched into the bedroom and gathered her things. Her hands full, she slipped down the hall to Stanton’s bedroom. The door stood slightly ajar and the fresh smell of his soap hung in the air.

Her stomach turning slow rolls, she nudged the door open with her knee. The bedside lamp shed soft light in the room. Stanton lay on the bed, arms under his head, clad only in his khaki slacks. At her entrance, he glanced her way, his eyes dark and shuttered.

Her simmering level of irritation, with him and herself, flashed into anger. She tossed her overnight bag on the floor. “Just tell me one thing. What the hell is your problem?”

Surprise flared on his face and he levered up to lean on his elbows. “Which problem are we talking about?”

“What do you really want? Is this all about the baby and your so-called duty? Or do you want me at all?”

He moved to a sitting position, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He kept his gaze trained on hers. “Of course I want you.”

She clutched the knot between her breasts. “If there were no baby, would we be together?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard enough his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know.”

Irrationally hurt, she laughed. “What am I saying? The only reason we’re together now is because I got pregnant.”

“Autry…”

“It doesn’t really matter how much time I give you.” How could this hurt so much? “Nothing changes the fact that you didn’t really want
me
.”

His head jerked up. “That’s not true.”

“You dumped me. If that doesn’t say ‘I don’t want you’, I don’t know what does.” Why was she doing this? Hell, why was she even here? What she should do was march back to her room, get dressed and demand he take her to her parents’ house.

Shaking her head, she spun and stalked to the door.

“I was afraid, all right?” The words emerged in a near-hiss, as though he pushed them out between clenched teeth. “What I felt for you scared the hell out of me, and I got as far away as fast as I could. Happy now?”

“Afraid.” She couldn’t quite catch her breath, couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. Holding her breath, she turned.

“Yeah.” He ran both hands through his hair, leaving the short brown strands disheveled.

“Why?” she whispered, still clutching at her towel.

He shook his head. “I’d already failed with Renee, hell, to the point she had an affair. I was scared of screwing everything up with you too, and it just seemed easier to get out, let you find somebody who could be what you needed.”

Renee had cheated on him? He’d never revealed that before, and as badly as she wanted to explore that, see how it related to their relationship, she needed more to make him understand what was most important.

She took a step forward. “I needed you.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m a real prize. An emotionally unavailable ass, as Renee says.”

Unavailable? She wouldn’t say that. Reserved, yes, until she’d managed to get under the layers of professionalism and seriousness. Then she’d glimpsed the real man underneath—honest, compassionate, intuitive, blessed with a wry sense of humor.

She took another step toward him. “I think I’d say more confused than unavailable. Whenever I’ve needed you, you’ve always been there.”

“Autry, you don’t get it.” The words were rough, torn from him. “If I failed again and lost you…”

She closed her eyes, his words thrumming through her. He did care; there was hope. She simply had to reach out and take it, show him the way. They could have so much more than she’d dared dream. If only one of them took the first step.

Opening her eyes, she caught his ravenous gaze. Those eyes whispered of starvation, of a wanting that went far beyond the physical.

She reached for the knot and let the towel fall to the floor.

Cool air rushed over her bare skin. She stood before Stanton’s hungry eyes, nervous, exposed, titillated. He gripped his knees, staring at her.

Resisting the urge to cover herself, she stepped closer. “You can’t lose me, Stanton. I’m yours.” She reached for his hand, splaying his fingers across her naked abdomen. “We both are.”

With a muffled groan, he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her. “God help me, Autry, I’ve been lost without you.”

His mouth caressed the skin above her navel. Strong fingers stroked her back. The titillation slid into full-blown desire, painful pleasure pricking low in her belly. The ache spread lower, unfurling between her thighs.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses down her stomach and she buried her hands in his hair. The contrast of his skin against hers, the strength of his arms about her, weakened her knees. She could fall, though, and be assured he’d catch her. With his size—tall and broad and just big all over—he made her feel dainty, feminine, ultimately desirable.

“Our baby,” he murmured against her belly, sliding his hands lower to cup her buttocks. “My baby.”

“Take me to bed, Stan.” She ran her fingers over his nape and shoulders, loving the warmth and texture of his skin. Loving him. “I want you.”

“Oh, I’ll take you.” His chuckle vibrated on her skin. He nipped at the jut of her hipbone and a shiver raced over her. Strong fingers dipped between her thighs, a tantalizing sweep of sensation. The muscles in her legs quivered.

He eased to the floor, kneeling before her, his mouth dancing along her thigh. The intimate ache intensified, her body feeling loose and open. He swept his hands up her sides, palms warm and a little rough. He cupped her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her hardened nipples.

“Like that?” he murmured, nuzzling the curls at her mons.

“Oh, yes.” She arched into his touch, breasts tingling and aching.

He nudged her legs apart, kissing the inside of her thigh. Anticipation sizzled through her.

The first touch of his tongue almost sent her over the edge. She moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, as he laved and caressed, tortured and soothed. While his mouth pushed her higher, his hands kneaded and teased her sensitized breasts. He was everywhere, his lips on her, fingers pressing into her flesh, male scent invading her senses. Pressure and pleasure radiated within, building between her legs, flowing into her belly, surging through her whole body. Her legs trembled and she tugged at his hair, seeking to assuage the unbearable tension.

“Stanton…please…”

The orgasm burst within, a strangled cry escaping her lips. She tightened her hold on his hair and waited for him to pull away. Instead, he increased his ministrations, pushing her higher until the intensity peaked again, until she was gasping his name over and over.