Deadly Dreams (44 page)

“You killed him. Martin Volk was dead, the article said.”

“So was Ryder Kremer. So were two detectives.” The other two had survived their attack, barely. “I never even knew he had another boy down there.”

“No one did, apparently.” Nate looked like he wanted to take a step toward her. Didn’t. His hands clenched involuntarily. “You can’t blame that on yourself. You all had the same intelligence.”

Feeling suddenly ancient, she leaned more heavily against the counter. She didn’t trust her legs to hold her. Because she should have known. The same way she’d known to zero in on Volk. The same way she’d known where to find him and Tyler Temple.

But the dreams, the damned dreams, hadn’t held a clue of Ryder Kremer.

“My hesitation probably cost him his life,” she said flatly. Knowing that—accepting it—had made it almost impossible to touch her weapon since.

“You can’t know that.” There was a thread of anger in Nate’s voice. “It’s like you said, he’d probably have been dead either way. The knee shot didn’t necessarily mean Volk would just give up.”

“We’ll never know.” Her voice was bleak.

“When things go that wrong . . .” His tone softened. Turned gentle. “We’re harder on ourselves than anyone else would think of being. The press made you out as a hero. The whole team. We have to celebrate the good stuff because all too often in our work there are no happy endings. One boy went home to his parents. Hold on to that.”

“And one boy didn’t. Somehow that’s easier to recall.”

As if galvanized into action, he closed the distance between them. Placed his hands on the counter on either side of her. And leaned in.

His kiss was whisper soft. Meant to comfort rather than to arouse. She stood stock still, shocked at the contact. Shocked even further at its effect on her.

She released a long, shuddering sigh that she hadn’t realized had been trapped in her chest. His lips parted, as if to inhale it. Their breath mingled. And he was careful, very careful not to touch her anywhere else.

The press of his mouth became a bit harder and the firmness was as welcome as his earlier gentleness had been. She wasn’t a woman to need a man for comfort. To depend on one in any way. And maybe that, too, had led to the failure of her marriage. It was hard to grow closer to someone when one was determined to stay a little distant.

Risa indulged herself by returning the kiss, sinking into it in a way that had nothing to do with dependence and everything to do with need. She’d learned a few things about the man over the course of the time they’d known each other. But she didn’t know the important things. Didn’t know his taste, his flavor. The feel of his muscled chest against her curves or the hard angles where sinew met bone. It seemed imperative to learn those things now. In the dead of night, when it seemed no one else in the world was awake but the two of them. In a time when two people could banish ghosts and make memories that had to be easier to bear than the ones that haunted her.

Her tongue touched his lips and his body jerked, grazing hers for an instant before he eased back. He would have ended the contact there. She knew that instinctively. Which was why she closed the space between them and slipped her arms around his waist.

He was motionless against her. In another time, with another man, she might have been mortified, thinking she’d misjudged the situation. Mistaken his interest or intent. But she recognized what his inaction cost him. Felt the tremble of his body against hers and heard the sharply indrawn breath against her lips.

“This isn’t why I brought you . . .” His words trailed off when she scored his bottom lip with her teeth. And thought it sweet that he felt the need to assure her of something she already knew.

“I don’t need protecting,” she whispered against his mouth before cruising her lips along his jawline. “Not from the past. Or the present. But I do appreciate the sentiment.” She nipped lightly, right where the muscle would clench in his jaw sometimes and was rewarded when it jumped. “I know what I want. The question is, do you?”

He tilted his head back far enough to look at her through slitted eyes. “I want it all. Whatever you’ll give me. And then more.”

Panic flared briefly. The demand had been made boldly. Leaving no room for denial. But his hands came up to cradle her face and his lips met hers again. His tongue swept into her mouth, a frankly carnal invasion. And she knew intuitively that he wouldn’t offer her another chance to retreat.

She didn’t want one. Risa welcomed the hot hunger in the kiss. Returned it. Palms itching to explore, she saw no reason to deny herself the feel of him. Smooth skin covered the ridges along his sides. And when she moved one hand to skate across his belly, the muscles beneath her fingers jumped.

It would be easy to get used to determining the pace. The speed. The depth. But she’d known intuitively she’d battle him for control. He wouldn’t be a man to give it up easily. They were well matched.

Because neither would she.

Her resolve suffered a jolt when his hand slid up her thigh, branding her with heat. The edge of her T-shirt didn’t stop him. He halted only at the elastic and lace panties that she wore beneath it. And she knew his hesitation wouldn’t last for long.

His mouth found a spot beneath her ear that she hadn’t known was sensitive. And when he teased it with tongue and teeth, the floor rocked a bit beneath her feet. A strange sort of lethargy was creeping into her limbs. Weighting her down while reaction skipped along nerve endings, firing an answering response.

In sensual retribution, she hooked a finger in the elastic waistband of his shorts. Traced the boundary where fabric met flesh across his abdomen. Then abruptly lost her concentration when she felt his hand slip inside her panties to cup her butt.

Tearing her mouth away from his, she pressed it blindly to his chest. To trace with lips and teeth every hard angle and hollow found there. Nate smoothed his palm over one cheek and squeezed lightly, before his palm reversed its path, moving to the front to trap the moist heat between her legs.

A slight moan escaped her as his fingers stroked her damp flesh. And suddenly it was important to wrest control of the pace. Because she didn’t want slow and wouldn’t last through languorous. Which meant she needed to drive him a little bit crazy as well.

She drew her leg up to rub against his, losing herself for a moment in the sensation of hair-roughened skin against her flesh. She traced a finger over the straining length of him, once. Again. Was rewarded by the sound he made, something between a curse and a groan. And reveled for an instant in his response.

Without warning, he swept her T-shirt over her head and paused to enjoy the sight of her breasts, peaked and waiting. Leaning forward, he caught a nipple between his lips and sucked strongly from her. And her senses began to fragment.

Distantly his words echoed across her mind.
I want it all. Whatever you’ll give me. And then more.
She knew the demand should frighten her. It would have, if she didn’t reciprocate it fully.

Risa wanted everything he had to give. Everything he’d seek to hold back. And somehow, she’d managed to still those inner alarms that he might just manage to elicit the same unbridled response from her.

With more haste than finesse, she pushed the shorts over his hips. Freed him from their confines and shoved the fabric down his thighs. With short, swift movements, he divested himself of them before scooping her up in his arms and walking with her back toward the darkened hallway. And into his bedroom.

She would have liked a chance to look at the area, to see what she could learn of the man from the space he slept in. But desire was twisting through her, clawing for release. He dropped to the bed without releasing her and rolled to stretch out atop her. And this time when his mouth found hers, there was an edge of desperation in his kiss.

Recognizing it would have been more satisfying if it didn’t whip up an answering frenzy of need. She clutched his hard biceps. Tested the shoulders layered with muscles. The sleek expanse of his back. The tight, curved butt. And every nerve inside her stretched as taut as a bow.

There was a ferocious hunger in the sweep of his hands over her breasts. Raw unvarnished passion in his touch, just shy of rough. He left her for a moment, and her eyelids dragged open uncomprehendingly before his weight settled again and his mouth went between her thighs.

It took only the first stabbing movement of his tongue against the hypersensitive cluster of nerves to have the orgasm slamming into her. Eddies spiraled endlessly. She struggled for breath. Twisted away from that demanding mouth.

But he held her legs in place, knees bent and splayed outward, leaving her vulnerable. Sensitive. And lavished stroke after sensual stroke with lips and tongue until need—so recently satiated—began climbing again.

Risa withstood the sensual assault as long as she could. But the next time she pushed at his shoulders, he relented. Raised his head. And she sat up, pressed him back on the bed and straddled his thighs.

There was a purely masculine smile of satisfaction on his lips. One that would have bothered her if she weren’t so certain he’d be losing it within moments. His hand reached out, pulled open the drawer of the bedside table, and fumbled for something. Handed it to her.

Taking her time, she tore open the foil packet and took inordinate care in sheathing him. A fraction of an inch at a time. Stripping off her panties she straddled him again, taking his hardness in her hand and guiding him inside her.

His hands went to her hips and he gave a quick upward lunge to seat himself fully. And for a moment, for one dizzying instant, she doubted her ability to carry out her vow. To control the pace until he was aware of nothing else. Until his senses were steeped in her.

When he would have moved again, taken over the tempo and set a pace that would drive them both to madness, she pushed his hands away from her hips. Laced their fingers instead. And watched him in the darkness as she finally moved. Keeping her movements slow and shallow. Saw the moment the smile faded from his lips and his jaw clenched.

She could feel his urgency in the taut muscles beneath her palms. The way they quivered beneath her touch. His hands, when they rose to cup her breasts, trembled slightly.

But he didn’t take control of the speed or the act. Not even when his thighs went tense beneath her hips. His breathing sounded harsh and ragged. And she wanted, needed, to see that control unleashed.

Quickening the pace, she rode him faster. Harder. Deeper. Reached between them to touch his heavy masculinity and felt his restraint snap. Nate’s hands went to her hips as he surged inside her. She met him stroke for stroke, the edge of her vision graying. This was what she wanted. The primal unharnessed need given full rein. She’d known it would be starkly satisfying to watch him lose control.

She hadn’t realized his loss would fuel her own. Heat, quick stabbing spears of it, arrowed up her spine. The shadows enveloped them in a tight black cocoon of sensuality. There were only the two of them racing each other to climax. The sound of flesh against flesh. The rasp of their breathing. The creak of the bed.

Her blood beat a rapid tattoo in her veins. In her ears. Their hips pounded together in a frantic tempo. Nate gave one last violent surge and colors shattered behind her eyelids. Sanity fractured.

But as they both hurtled over the edge of passion, his name was on her lips.

Risa opened her eyes, disoriented in the unfamiliar surroundings. It took a moment to remember she was in Nate’s house. Another to recall that she was in his bed.

And another to set aside a bit of pique to find herself alone in it.

Shoving aside the emotion, she rolled to the side of the mattress, stood. Her muscles felt pleasantly lax. It was hard to set aside the sense of well-being, she acknowledged as she searched for her T-shirt, after a night of good sex.

And impossible to set it aside after a night of
superb
sex.

She found her shirt neatly folded at the base of the bed, which saved her having to do a nude search for it. Not that she would have managed that with aplomb, but she wasn’t quite up to parading in front of the man naked.

Pulling the tee over her head, she finger combed her hair and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She’d promised him breakfast. And since it was difficult to recall the last time she’d eaten, she might just match him, appetite for appetite. Much as she had a few hours earlier.

Strolling in a languid manner to the kitchen, it took only the sight of him to have tension shooting into her limbs. Ice filtering through her veins.

With a slight frown on his face, Nate was studying the sketches she’d made last night. The drawings she should have taken back to her room. Tucked in her bag, away from prying eyes.

But she hadn’t gone back to her room, she recalled sickly. And her mind definitely hadn’t been on the drawings.

He looked up then, saw her standing there, and raked her figure with his heated midnight gaze. “You look good all sleepy and rumpled.” Satisfied memory sounded in his voice. And something else. Something that promised to make them both late to work if she gave him half a chance.

She found it exceedingly difficult to match his even tone. Heading toward the fridge, she swung the door open, anxious for an excuse to avoid watching his attention shift back to the sketches.

“I didn’t know you were artistic.”

Making a production of gathering up eggs, cheese, and milk to set on the counter, she didn’t answer.

“These are good. A bit . . . macabre.”

“I have dreams sometimes. It helps to sketch out the images. Where do you keep the bagels?” She hoped to distract him. “And the frying pan?”

He crossed to find both for her and set them on the stove. Again clad in the shorts from last night, he appeared in no particular hurry to get ready for work. When she snuck a glance at the clock, she realized it wasn’t even six thirty.