Deathblow (30 page)

He could see Bing’s car roaring forward, but the black van veered sharply to the right and went up the grassy divider in the back, crushing some bushes as it crossed over to the parking lot of the next business.

Chase and Harper were running from the diner, weapons drawn, but they were too late.

Joe jumped into Wendy’s car and went after Keith, the going slow with what seemed like an entire college track team darting around, dammit. All he could do was beep his horn. Bing had a dash siren in his undercover car and flipped that on.

But by the time they crossed the next parking lot, Keith was out in the Main Street traffic, speeding away.

“Heading south on Main Street toward Route 1,” Joe said into his radio.

“You see him?” the captain asked.

Joe leaned forward. “Not anymore.” He swore between his teeth.

They searched the town up and down. Nothing. The captain put out an APB on the van, but they didn’t even have the license plate number. Keith could be in Delaware or Maryland in half an hour. The chances of catching him tonight were slim.

They didn’t give up, though, not until hours later.

Midnight came and went by the time Joe went home to Wendy, frustrated out of his skin.

He thanked Mike for his help and sent him home, hung his coat and his Kevlar vest in the hall closet, then grabbed a bite quietly so he wouldn’t wake up anyone. He planned on sleeping on the couch so he would hear if someone was moving around outside, but wanted to check on Wendy and Justin first.

But before he could put his foot on the first step, he heard a small noise from above that snapped his attention to the top of the stairs. Wendy stood up there, legs apart, both hands on her weapon.

She stayed completely still, focused, the night-light in the hallway outlining her slim figure, glinting off her long hair that fell softly around her shoulders. She wore pink cotton pajama pants and a matching tank top that was molded to her torso.

Hot liquid desire shot through him. “It’s me.”

He heard the click as she put the safety on. Then she ran down the stairs and flew into his arms without a word.

Her curves and soft warmth pressed against him felt incredible. His entire body buzzed to life. He inhaled the light scent of her shampoo and buried his face in her hair.

“Are you okay?” she whispered into his neck while holding on to him.

“I’m fine. He got away. I’m sorry.” He pulled the gun from her gently and set it on the shelf, then wrapped his arms around her. “How are you?”

“I was worried.”

He held her and pressed a kiss onto her forehead. “I’m here now. You should get some sleep.” But he didn’t move a finger to let her go.

And she snuggled even closer against him.

Her breasts pressed against his chest through his shirt. He could feel her pebbled nipples. He was as hard as a regulation baton. She couldn’t not notice. He tried not to move, not to shift.

She drew a long breath and looked into his eyes. “I can’t afford to make another big mistake.”

He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “This is not a mistake.”

Slowly, she nodded.

He leaned his forehead against hers for a second. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

The trust in her eyes was humbling.

Something hit him in the chest, hard. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Fear. He recognized the emotion the next moment. What they had here scared him.

He liked women. If they came to him and offered, he didn’t see a point in refusing. He knew lust and desire. He’d seen that in more pairs of eyes than he cared to count. But what he saw in Wendy’s eyes now was different, something more, something deeper.

And what he felt was new—the need to take care of her, to protect her, to be with her, not just in the bedroom, but to be with her really. He wanted the trips to the grocery store together and helping her feed Justin and reading books to the boy. More kids.

A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his brow. He had no idea what he was doing here. All around him was unfamiliar territory.

How did you make love to the woman you were in love with?

He kissed her and tried to put everything he felt into that kiss, because sure as hell, he couldn’t say it.

How did anyone ever do this? How did a man love a woman and not be scared to death that he might do something wrong and lose her? He’d never worried about losing a woman before, but now the thought paralyzed him.

His lips fumbled over hers like some teenage boy with his first kiss.

She was so soft and sweet. Perfect. He nibbled her lower lip.

He’d been an idiot. All this time he’d thought he was some hot stud jock, but he’d just been an idiot without her. Everything he’d thought he knew about women was wrong. Nothing from his past could compare with this feeling.

He tasted her upper lip, slowly, softly. Not to show that he could go slow and show off his football player stamina, but because he didn’t want this moment to end, ever.

He kissed the tip of her nose, her eyes, one after the other, her brows, then back to her lips again. He missed them already.

She pressed her lips against his, her hands came down from around his neck and tugged his shirt out of his jeans. Her slim fingers slipped under the material and splayed across his skin, sending more heat through his body.

He didn’t dare touch her tank top, didn’t dare touch her skin to skin, not yet. He kept kissing her, drinking in her sweetness, trying to settle his brain.

Then she opened up for him, and he was lost instantly. He explored her little by little, tongue to tongue, lip to lip, a sweet, slow dance of desire that brought his blood to the boiling point.

Her hands moved up his chest, her fingertips brushing across his nipples and making his cock jerk. He put his hands over hers and held them in place until she looked up to meet his eyes. “I want you. You matter to me.”

She searched his gaze. Then a smile that nearly stopped his heart stretched her lips for half a second before she raised her lips back to his.

The kiss changed tone, gathered steam. When a throaty moan escaped her, he lost some of his hesitancy, and all his need poured into the kiss.

Their lips separated only long enough for him to pull the tank top over her head. She was pushing his shirt off his shoulders. Then they were skin to skin, her pebbled nipples dragging against his chest as she moved against him.

He could lose it, he thought, before he ever got his pants off, an embarrassment that hadn’t happened to him since he’d been fourteen.

He picked her up and carried her to the couch, sat her on the wide arm. He bent to kiss his way down her chin, her neck, kissing, licking, sucking each nipple in turn as she let her head fall back, her hair cascading to her waist.

His fingers fumbled with her pants, pushed them down. He kissed his way down her belly while she kicked those pants away. Then he was on his knees in front of her, eye-to-eye with a lacy scrap of fabric that was so pretty he kissed her right through it.

Then that was no longer enough, so he tugged her panties off, needing to have his lips on her skin. His hands moved up to cup her from behind and settle her against his mouth. As he kissed his way up and down her seam, she braced herself on his shoulders.

“Joe.” Her single whispered word dripped with urgent desire.

He drew back a couple of inches and blew on her damp curls to further fan the flames.

* * *

He was mad at her for her calling him a jock all those times, so he was going to torture her to death. There was no other explanation for why he was going so agonizingly slowly.

Wendy dug her fingers into his skin as he licked her agonizing inch by inch. Her knees trembled.

“Lean back,” he said.

She braced herself on the couch cushion behind her, her feet coming off the ground. He was reaching for her ankles already, hooking her legs over his shoulders as he knelt in front of her.

The whole move took maybe three seconds, then his lips were back on her, his hot tongue parting her folds.

He explored her as thoroughly as if he were conducting a police investigation. He used his left hand to hold her open to him while he tortured her with his tongue. She was ready to explode into pieces even before he inserted two long fingers inside her and started to massage the back side of her clit from the inside.

She called his name as her body convulsed with pleasure, sweet fulfillment spreading through her.

He picked her up, laid her down on the couch, then stripped naked and took care of protection before stretching out next to her. They lay side by side, facing each other. He reached down and hooked her leg over his hip, opening her to him. Then, with endless gentleness, he eased inside her a fraction of an inch at a time, kissing and caressing her.

She thought she’d die of pleasure by the time he fully filled her. Then he shifted her, rose over her. He made love to her with such care and gentleness, it completely disarmed her. But when she felt her body reaching toward the peak again, he shifted their position once more, putting her on top.

“Ride me.”

The urgent whisper, raspy with undisguised need, was her undoing.

He held her hips in his large hands and positioned her over his hard cock, the swollen head just touching her wet opening. She lowered herself a sliver, just to take that head in. Dark fires burned in his gaze.

“More.” He wasn’t ordering. He was begging.

He was letting her have control. All control. That couldn’t be easy for him. He was a cop, used to being in charge. But somehow he knew this was what she needed to feel completely safe.

Experimentally, she pulled up until they were barely touching.

He groaned, but he didn’t force her back down, he didn’t shove up to surge into her. He waited, letting her decide what she was and wasn’t willing to give.

And she discovered that she was willing to give pretty much everything.

Slowly, slowly she lowered herself, letting him fill her, stretch her, inch by hard inch. And when she thought she couldn’t take more, she ground herself against him.

His back arched. His long fingers tightened on her hips. She was in control and she liked it.

He responded to her every move, caressed her hips, her buttocks, then reached up to her breasts as she leaned forward. His fingers worked miracles, teasing her nipples into aching, throbbing buds.

Then his hand moved back lower, parted her flesh again. He touched her so gently, so reverently, as if she were likely to break. That tenderness reached her as nothing else could have.

His caressing hands never left her for a second as she began moving faster, her back arching, her head falling back. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she flew into a million little pieces, at the same time as he pushed deeper yet and groaned his release, pulsating inside her.

When they could both breathe again, he tugged her down on top of him and embraced her, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. Their hearts beat next to each other, their breathing synchronizing.

“Shower?” he asked a while later when their bodies began to cool.

“When I can move.”

He carried her to the downstairs bathroom that had a shower unit tucked into the corner, turned on the water, and didn’t set her down until they were under the spray.

They soaped and washed each other, each movement filled with intimacy and caring. She could no longer deny the connection between them, or the fact that he’d gotten to her somehow, had breached all her defenses.

After they dried and dressed, he took her by the hand. “Stay down here with me?”

She nodded.

They settled on the sofa, her head on his shoulder, his arms around her. He pulled a blanket over them, enclosing them in a cocoon of warmth. She felt content and safe with him.

Which he ruined by saying, “Marry me.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Marry me.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head, bewildered.

“Why?”

Because she didn’t want to give herself into a man’s control. She didn’t want to be so-and-so’s wife. She didn’t want a husband making decisions for her, controlling her finances, deciding what she could and couldn’t do. She didn’t think she could ever trust anyone that much. “I just can’t.”

He didn’t get angry at the rejection.

“I’m not going to marry you, Joe,” she repeated, to make sure he understood.

“That’s what you said about sleeping with me,” he said, and took her lips in a soft kiss.

While Wendy scheduled a sweet sixteen birthday party photo assignment the next morning, Joe was following up on leads. The shootout in the diner’s parking lot was all over the news, Keith’s photo and a picture of the van he drove plastered next to every newscaster. Calls were pouring in, people reporting when and where they might have seen him. Ninety-nine percent of those calls wouldn’t amount to anything, but Joe was determined to find something that would lead him to Keith.

He stayed home, working from his kitchen table through the morning while Wendy worked on her new business and took care of Justin. They had lunch together, then Justin went down for a nap.

Joe waited for her at the bottom of the stairs and pulled her into his arms. “I’ve wanted to do this all morning.”

He kissed her.

Okay, he wanted to do
more
than this all morning. But if a hot kiss was all they could have at the moment, he would take it. He kissed her until her arms went around his neck, until she clung to him, before he let her go.

She gave him a dreamy smile. “I’m still not going to marry you.”

“But you’ll move in with me permanently?”

“I’m my own person. I have my own place.”

“You could think of this place as your own. We’ll put your name on a couple of rooms.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, the kitchen and the laundry room?”

“If you want to be the boss in the bedroom, just say it.” He coughed. “Dominatrix.” Coughed again.

That got her laughing. Which was good. He wanted to give her some lightness in the middle of all this mess.