Deliver Me from Temptation (8 page)

It shouldn’t matter what she thought of him. That it did meant one of two things. That he was either turning into an egotistical maniac who had no place leading his fellow Paladin or that… shit…
she
mattered too much.

Tell
your
master, no one touches my woman.
It’s what he’d told the demon before he banished it. At the time he hadn’t thought much of what he’d meant by those words other than, of course, the implied stop fucking around with me and mine. But now?

His woman. As if there could be a bond. Which was not possible. She was human. With almost three hundred years under his belt, Logan had taken human lovers before. Some gifted, some not, but none recently. And none of them had drawn out these kinds of visceral and primitive reactions from him. He ached with the need to curl up with her in his arms, feel her warmth sink into him, the beat of her heart, and shift of her ribs assuring him of her health. And they hadn’t done more than flirt over candy bars—and that had ended with an exchange of wary glares.

Logan had had pairings with humans—compatibility pairings, pairings from desire, some that were truly based on love if only in a very simple human form. But a full bond? A true mating where they shared every aspect of their body, heart, and soul?

Only one other Paladin had bonded fully to a human mate. And look what happened to him.

Insanity followed by a betrayal excused as revenge. That man sat by Lucifer’s side now.

Ganelon’s spiral into insanity had started before his mate’s death, though. His unyielding drive to “save” her turned him again and again to the path of darkness. But nothing he did worked. She still died. And though Ganelon seemed to accept it on the surface, deep within laid a barren wasteland of anger, hatred, and greed, those emotions eventually leading to the moment he fully turned his back on both the order and his God.

Ganelon’s betrayal became a lesson to all Paladin: Serve God’s children, but don’t become attached to the point where one could be compromised. And always, always, hold one’s duty to the order first.

Logan sat back on the bed, forcing his hands away from Jessica as he looked up at the stucco ceiling.

“Why? Why would You ask this of me?”

Jessica’s dreams were filled with nightmares. Dark parking garages, men who turned into creatures right out of a horror flick, and a web of evil that smothered both light and reason. She couldn’t fight that sort of thing. Didn’t know how.

And it really pissed her off.

She thrashed out, striking at the dark web that encased her, determined to shred her way out of the paralyzing blanket of terror. Understanding didn’t have to be part of survival.

Hands grabbed her shoulders, hot air branding her face. “—kay. I got you.”

Not
for
long.
She arched up, hands pushing against the massive chest above her, a war cry worthy of Xena erupting from her throat as she tried to get enough room between her and her captor to inflict real damage. The hands on her arms shifted, and like solid bands of iron they clamped around her wrists forcing her arms above her head. A man’s body pressed down on her, entrapping, leaving no room to maneuver. Except for her head.

Unable to pinpoint more than a vague outline of the man in the dimness of the room, Jess went on instinct. She jerked her head forward as hard as she could, pain splitting through her skull and blurring her already compromised vision as her forehead connected with her attacker’s face.

“Fucking hell!” The man swore, and counterattacked by closing that distance more. His mouth clamped down on hers in a punishing kiss, the taste of copper coating the line of her clamped lips.

Good. She hurt him. Split his lip.

She didn’t know what possessed her to open her mouth, perhaps it was the shock of drawing first blood in this warped reality, perhaps it was simply the shock of warm lips against her own in the cold landscape of her nightmare, whatever. She did. And it took her assailant less than a split second to take advantage of her weakness.

The kiss deepened. Liquid heat stroked past her parted lips, branding a path of flame across her tongue that challenged her to deny him. The fact that Jessica found herself unsure she really wanted to was highly alarming, until she realized she could work this to her advantage. She kissed him back, her legs no longer trying to strike but opening to link around his own. Bodies arched, hips twisted as they played for supremacy of the kiss and volleyed for position on the bed. And then just like that, it changed, their battle for dominance turned to something else. Something more about desire than about gaining the advantage.

Of course, perhaps that was just because it was hard to fight someone who’d given over all control.

He rolled, pulling her over him, his hands stroking down over her body, the touch soft, though not tentative. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered, his hands continuing on his trail of worship down her body.

He was worshipping her?

That truly clued her that she was not in a nightmare, but for another glorious ten seconds she ignored that thought. Worse, she moaned as his hand passed over the side of her breast, her body all but crying with need to follow the retreating heat of his palm.

“Ah, fuck.” His hands fisted around her hips. She sucked in a breath as he used his grip to move her to exactly where he wanted her…and exactly where she wanted to be. She arched her back, searching for the angle that would allow her to get the most sensation as she rubbed her aching center along the hard length pressing against her. Damn it had been a long time. And hell if she could remember ever aching like this.

“Jessica.” Her name was accompanied by another caress, this one more firm, more solid as he slid a hand back up her tank top to cup one of her breasts that were all but begging for his attention. It felt good, too good. And okay, whoa, dream lover knew her name. How the hell did he know her name?

Jessica gasped, blinking as reality intruded. The change of position had also allowed for a change in illumination, her captor no longer a hovering shadow above her, but a very real man beneath her. A man she knew.

“Logan?” she gasped, staring back into his heated gaze. And wasn’t this a total WTF moment rolled up into one hell of an
awwwkwaaard
as the reality of their position hit home. They both breathed heavily, his one hand cupping her breast, the other snugged against her buttocks, holding her tight against his pelvis. Her own hands held tight to his biceps as if she’d guided said hands there.

He didn’t respond—though he did release her breast.

“Crap!” She thrust herself off him and landed with an inelegant plop on the mattress beside him. Trying to scramble farther away, she bumped her back into the headboard.

Whoa, they’d really traveled on that bed.

She pulled her legs back. “I’m not going to ask how…”

He stood abruptly, bouncing her a bit on the bed as his weight shifted and then left the mattress. She barely noticed as her eyes were stuck on his chest. Ripped. There was no other word. There was not an ounce of body fat on the man. And his abs? They rippled and dipped enticingly, drawing her attention to how his low-slung jeans seemed to hug not only the tight contours of his trim hips but, something else. Something that obviously had enjoyed their make-out session as much as—she closed her eyes, banging her head against the headboard a couple times. Yeah, no reason to complete that sentence. It was easy to see how this had happened. Deprived woman plus hot man equaled…

“Fuck.” She banged her head one more time then took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It was time to face reality, whatever the hell it was.

“Sorry…I didn’t mean.” He fisted his hand, dropping it back to his side. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, unsure whether it was even true. She certainly wasn’t thinking clearly, not if she was plastering herself against a near stranger. A nearly naked stranger. Who also happened to be tied to her case—however remote that tie might be.

Um, can you say compromised, Jess?

An awkward pall of silence descended upon the room as she tried really hard to keep her mind on why the best kiss she ever had was not something she dare repeat, but damn if he didn’t keep distracting her.

He moved across the carpet, grabbing a T-shirt that had been folded in half and draped over the back of a desk chair. Even after he pulled it on she had a hard time dragging her thoughts back, the image of his muscular torso burned into the back of her retinas.

Did they really make men like him?

Guess so. If proof was seeing, that is. Of course maybe this was just a dream. Maybe she’d left reality when she lost that chunk of time after the alley. Maybe she was actually home in bed right now, her imagination taking things to places that only her well buried, and long deprived, sex-crazed subconscious wanted.

She pinched her arm, not exactly relieved by the sharp sting. Nope. Really here. And those
really
were some nice-fitting jeans.

He cleared his throat. The sound allowed her to finally drag her gaze up, looking where she should have been—at his face. His eyes were a cold, steely, gray now. Had she imagined the stormy look of heat?

“I um…” she took stock of the room. No doubt this was his place and his room. Not just because the navy and gray color palate screamed bachelor, but because it had neat and orderly stamped all over it, not a pile of clothes in sight. Which confirmed that her subconscious was a horny slut. Theirs was definitely not a match made in Heaven.

“How did I get here?” That’s right. Concentrate on the important things and not what her body wanted to go back to doing with the really hot guy in the room.

“You don’t remember what happened?” he asked, his gray eyes scrutinizing her uncomfortably.

She lifted her chin. Meeting those cold gray eyes stare for stare even as she grasped for memories that seemed just out of reach. “I remember talking with you outside the station. I remember you going all Hamlet with your Heaven and Hell crap.”

He arched his brow, giving her a silent is-this-really-what-you-want-to-talk-about look.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She knew why she was being snippy. She was scared. She hated having holes in her memory. It made her feel helpless. Out of control. She didn’t deal well with being out of control. It reminded her too much of that day when nothing she said or did could change the fact that her world had fallen apart.

“Do you remember what you did after we talked, Jessica?” Logan prompted, sitting back down on the bed. He didn’t touch her, but for some reason his simple nearness calmed her frazzled nerves, allowing her to think.

“Yeah. My partner and I went out, trying to track down a lead.”

“A new one?”

“No, an old dead one.” She didn’t share that she thought it might be one with new life to it. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but for it to have been long enough for her to have turned up here with him, then she feared it was probably enough time for the unhelpful concierge to have realized Tom wasn’t going to be coming to get his car out of that garage.

Evidence. Garage. She rubbed her head.

“Don’t worry about whatever you’re worrying about now. Just tell me what you did after. Did you go back to the station?”

“Yeah. To drop Mike off.”

“And do you remember what you did after you dropped him off?” he asked carefully, his voice low, even soothing.

If he knew it was the same tone police officers had been trained to use with the victims of traumatizing events, and that, having once been on the receiving end of that training, it had a tendency to set her off rather than calm her, perhaps he wouldn’t have tread so carefully. But he didn’t know. And Jess could feel the clenching bands of pain in her chest.

“Jessica, it’s okay.” A hand touched her back, rubbing up and down soothingly. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

And of course he’d misinterpret what was wrong. She took ten deep, even breaths, fighting back the urge to punch something. It was somewhat surprising to realize that Logan’s steady presence, the rhythmic rub of his hand, the repetitive assurance that she was okay, actually fended off the shakes. No, more than that. His touch, simple, soothing, had her aching to turn into it, turn the tender comfort into something else, something she shouldn’t want from a near stranger.

She cleared her throat, shifting away. His hand dropped to the bed giving her space.

“You okay now?” he asked.

She nodded, taking a deep calming breath. Safe from what? What was it that had happened after she’d dropped Mike off? She tried to remember but all she came up with was a jumble of nightmares. None of which could actually be true.

She rubbed her temples, aware of her pounding headache. Belatedly, she realized she’d had it since before she’d smashed her face into Logan’s…though it had become more pronounced. The more she tried to remember what happened after she’d waved good-bye to Mike, the more it felt like her head was splitting in two.

What had happened? If she’d followed her typical pattern, she’d have either headed back to her place for a bite to eat as she pored over the case files, hoping that eventually sheer boredom would send her to bed, or perhaps, if she was feeling really antsy, or unsettled over their findings that day, she would grab something from the diner to take with her before she went out again.

She hadn’t gone home. She’d felt a pressing need to get something done. To track down a lead. What was it?

“Tom’s car,” she murmured. Her rejuvenated lead. Of course. She’d gone back to check it out.

Logan ducked his head, watching her intently as he waited for her to go on, but he didn’t press. All of a sudden, the rest of the memories flowed free. Sneaking into the garage. Finding the red Mustang in C-15. She didn’t want to have any evidence she collected thrown out, and had been about to canvass the apartment building to see if she could get anyone to say they’d seen Tom on the premises or at least the car so as to get a warrant. But she’d left the pictures of Tom and the Mustang in her car and gone back to grab them. She hadn’t been paying much attention to her surroundings. Her thoughts were on other things. Besides, there were plenty of other late commuters out on the streets but then…

She sat up straighter, meeting Logan’s gaze. “Two men, they followed me. I remember thinking I was just tired and being paranoid, but when I stepped off the elevator they came up behind me and…”

She looked down at her hands. The palms were scraped up and stung when she opened and closed them, like she had really bad rug burn or, in this case, pavement burn.

“Jessica?”

She looked back to Logan, and was immediately sucked into his gaze. His eyes weren’t gray anymore. More shimmery, like polished silver. How did he do that? She didn’t think she’d ever met someone whose eyes were so changeable. Logically, she knew that different lights or colored shirts could change someone’s eye color, but his seemed to do so without any external influences.

“Do you remember what happened after they followed you into the garage?” he asked.

She closed her hand into a fist, laying it on her leg as she gathered her scattered thoughts. “I tried to draw my gun but they were too close and disarmed me. Damn, the one guy was fast, hardly blinked and he was on me and I was…down.”

She took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. She didn’t think she’d ever felt so helpless. At least not since her sister died. The impotent feeling she’d had after being told her sister had been murdered eclipsed even this. If Jessica had gone with Julia to that party like she had wanted. Or if she’d insisted that she pick Julia up. But Jessica hadn’t and Julia had gotten drunk and had willingly gotten into that car.

After that, Jessica had decided she would never be helpless again. She’d learn to protect herself and others. She’d get her badge and use her skills to put assholes who preyed on the Julias of the world behind bars. She’d uphold justice and sleep at night knowing she’d helped make the world safer for others.

She’d done all that. But obviously not well enough.

In that garage she’d been helpless. She’d almost become another statistic. Would have, if not for Logan.

“Thank you for helping me.” There was no hiding the choked quality of her voice, though she honestly didn’t know if it was residual terror from the near miss or anger that she had to say the words at all. She was a cop, not a damsel in need of a white knight.