Facing It (17 page)

Fingernails dug into his bare ass.

“Damn it, Harrell, move,” she hissed near his ear, and he breathed a laugh, regaining some sense of self-control.

“God, you’re bossy,” he mumbled around her tight nipple, teal lace scratching his chin. He half-withdrew and thrust again, setting up a hard, driving rhythm. She damn well purred in satisfaction, flexing her fingers on his buttocks, pulling him even deeper. His back ached, protesting the angle of their position, but hell if he’d move, with her sighing and moaning beneath him, arching her hips up into his.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off a looming climax. He needed this to be good for her, needed to—

“Stop thinking so damn much.” Her gasp shivered over him, a wave of tiny convulsions rippling through her body, tightening the wet hold around his erection. She bowed on a sharp cry, fingernails digging deeper into his skin. He felt the orgasm travel through her, triggering his.

Moments, hell, maybe light-years later, she shivered under him, laughing. He recovered from his boneless slump, shifting his weight from her body, and nuzzled her ear when she pulled him back. “What?”

She trailed a fingernail down his spine, sending goose bumps over his flesh. “Just thinking maybe I don’t need that little black nightie after all.”

He smiled against her neck. “Oh, you need one. Believe me. Hell, I’ll buy it for you, babe.”

“Really?” That teasing finger danced along his buttocks. “Would you go shopping with me? I’d want to make sure I got just the right one. I might have to try them on for you.”

His mind took that little scenario and ran with it, picturing the beautiful woman in his arms in an array of provocative scraps of black mesh and lace. He kissed her collarbone. “I think I could be persuaded.”

“Oh, fun.” She stretched under him and looped her arms around his shoulders. “That’s definitely a date.”

He dropped a series of light kisses down her chest. “We need to get moving, though.”

“Hmm.” She rubbed her cheek against his hair. “I know. I want to call Ruthie.”

With a swift kiss on her sternum, he rolled away, pleasure still thrumming through him. She slipped from the bed, gathering clothing, and he took one last second to catch his breath before he dressed.

With his tie stuffed in his jacket pocket, he hefted the final two bags and prepared to take them out to the car. Jennifer’s gorgeous voice washed over him as she talked to Ruthie and he grinned, suddenly itching to get back to Atlanta.

He couldn’t wait to see what else the weekend held in store.

A muffled thud startled Chris from his half-doze. His pulse thumped a sick rhythm in his throat. Shoulder aching, he straightened from his slump on the sofa. The kids were okay—John Robert reading in the armchair, Camille snoozing on the other end of the couch. By his feet, Ainsley sat enraptured by SpongeBob and idly plucking at Chris’s shoelaces.

Another hushed bump. He frowned. What the hell was that?

With easy hands, he nudged her aside. “Excuse me, Ainsley.”

The house seemed normal enough. Down the hall, Lenora and Tori’s voices rose and fell in quiet conversation. A quick glance through the dining room windows revealed no new vehicles in the drive. So not car doors closing.

A third bang drew him to the foyer. A shoebox hit the floor, joining the two already there. A lid tumbled off and a tattered paperback fell out. He rested a hand on the coat closet’s open door. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning off the shelf.” Ruthie didn’t turn. She stretched higher, reaching for the next precarious stack of shoeboxes.

Chris laid a hand on the top box. “Let me help you with that.”

He pulled the containers free and set them next to their counterparts. Only when he turned back to her did their proximity and her glittering tears sink in. She tilted her chin to a defiant angle. “I suppose you want to know why I’m cleaning the closet.”

A couple of steps back returned him to a safe distance. “Because you need something to do, something to keep you busy.”

The look she slanted in his direction was probably meant to be a glare. The unshed tears and her trembling mouth ruined it. “You’re too insightful.”

He shrugged. Pointing out he was a cop and therefore pretty much required to be insightful seemed like overkill.

She bent and lifted the book back into its box. “I despise him. You can’t
own
another person and that’s what he wants, to possess and control me, even from a state away… You can’t own another person, Chris.”

“I know.”

She surveyed the handful of boxes. “I made a mess of things.”

“Messes can be cleaned up.”

Her disbelieving laugh quivered between them before it morphed into a sob. Two steps and he’d tucked her close. She turned her face into his shoulder.

“I’m so scared.” Her torn whisper shook him. He tightened his arms and rested his lips on her hair.

“I know.”

“Ruthie?”

Tori’s quiet voice tensed every muscle in Chris’s body. Oh, hell. Leaning against his chest, Ruthie stiffened as if anticipating yet another blow and anger singed his nerve endings. She didn’t deserve this, any of this.

No one did.

Ruthie swiped at her eyes and slipped away from his easy hold. Her shimmering gaze flicked to his before she turned to face her sister.

“I’m sorry.” Apology hovered in Tori’s rich voice as she held out the cordless phone. “You have a phone call. It’s Agent Settles.”

“Thanks.” Ruthie’s face blanched somewhat, but she accepted the phone and lifted it to her ear. “Hello?”

Chris watched as she listened, varying expressions chasing across her features. A prickling sensation slid over him. He glanced sideways to find Tori studying him as he watched. Discomfort settled under his skin.

“Yes, thank you for calling.” Ruthie ended the call.

“Good news?” Tori asked.

“I think it’s over,” Ruthie whispered, her eyes flicking between Chris and her sister. The tension drained from her body visibly as her posture relaxed. “The Bureau worked out a deal with Stephen. Immunity and witness protection in exchange for his testimony, but he agreed to drop the charges against me and his custody suit. And he won’t fight the divorce.”

Chris stared, a weird blend of relief and disappointment curling through him. He scuffed a palm over his nape and looked away. A deep breath helped center him, helped him bury the disappointment where it belonged. She was right. It was over. Time for him to pack his stuff and go back to his real life. She didn’t need his protection anymore.

“That’s fabulous news.” Tori moved forward to embrace her. She stroked her hand over Ruthie’s hair and expelled a trembling exhale. “I’m so glad for you, Ruthie.”

“Me too.” Even muffled by Tori’s hug, Ruthie’s voice emerged choked with emotion. Chris shoved his hands in his back pockets. Weird how he felt completely superfluous but unable to walk away, not just yet. Ruthie’s shoulders heaved under a broken breath almost like a sob.

Tori pulled back and smoothed Ruthie’s tousled hair from her face. “Listen, I have to be back at the center for an appointment, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure.” Ruthie passed a knuckle beneath her eyes, catching the stray tears there.

“I promise, I’ll give you a call.” Tori brushed a kiss over Ruthie’s cheek.

Once she was gone, Chris smiled at Ruthie. “She’s right. That’s good news.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am.” Ruthie leaned against the door, phone pressed to her heart. Her dark eyes shone with a light he hadn’t seen there before.

“I can imagine.” He remembered too well the hard-won sense of relief when he’d finally extricated himself from Kimberly. He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. He’d lied to her, when he’d told her she would someday be free of Stephen entirely. That she’d get beyond this, as if drawing from his own experience. Hell if he was free of Kimberly and all her crap. Hell if he’d ever started really dealing with that.

“Guess Hound and I can head on home now, huh?”

She blinked, something like surprise and disappointment sliding over her face. “I guess so.”

He jerked a thumb toward the stairs. “I’m going to go pack up then. The kids are still in the living room. There’s a SpongeBob marathon going today, I think.”

“Chris?” Her quiet voice stopped him within steps. He turned to look at her, the dark depths of her gaze pulling at him hard. “I meant what I said. About us being friends.” She smiled, the expression in her eyes far from casual. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t.” Damn, why did turning away and heading up those stairs take so much effort?

It didn’t take long to gather his stuff together and get Hound situated in the Jeep. He made sure he said goodbye to the children before leaving, garnering sweet hugs from Ainsley and a shy smile from Camille. John Robert watched him with big eyes and stuck out a hand, his face solemn as Chris took it in a handshake. Hell, even her kids got to him.

Being home was even worse. The big old ranch-style house he rented, normally a peaceful haven where no one bothered him, seemed too quiet, too empty. After rambling around for an hour or so, he found himself heading to the sheriff’s department. Late in the afternoon, the squad room stood quiet and nearly deserted. Mark Cook sat at his desk with Tick kicked back in the chair opposite, both of them reading through incident reports.

Just inside the door, Hound slumped to a sighing heap in his favorite spot in the corner.

The two other men glanced up from reading. Cookie’s incisive gray eyes sharpened on Chris’s face. “What are you doing here?”

“Nowhere else to be, I guess.” With a shrug, Chris fed a couple of quarters into the soda machine and waited for a bright red can to tumble out. He slanted a sideways glance at Tick. “Settles and Beecham called you, right?”

Tick nodded. “Yeah.”

Chris popped the top on his Coke and leaned on the long counter running along one wall, where the coffee station and officer mailboxes stood. His own box lay empty. He turned in Tick’s direction. “Thought you were off today.”

Tick shifted in his chair. “Yeah. I was.”

Cookie smirked. “He’s in trouble at home and he’s avoiding Falconetti’s wrath by hanging out here, pretending to work.”

“I’m not avoiding anything.” A grin full of self-derision quirked at Tick’s mouth. “I just know when it’s time to go.”

Their banter grated. Chris downed half the soda, the sugary carbonated beverage burning his throat in an icy slide. He set the can aside with a thump. Hound lifted his big head.

“You’re so whipped it’s pitiful.” Cookie flipped a folder across the desk at his partner. “Admit it. You pissed her off, probably by being stupid and stubborn, and now you’re hiding out here because you know she could kick your ass if she really wanted to.”

“That’s—”

“Shut up, Cookie.” The weird itchy anger simmered under Chris’s skin. Damn, he was tired of hearing this kind of crap. “God, that’s so not fucking funny.”

He tossed his can in the trash. Hound’s hackles lifted, a growl rumbling deep in his throat.

A quick look passed between Tick and Cookie. They glanced at the dog and then at Chris. Tick frowned. “You all right, Chris?”

“I’m fine.” Under Hound’s watchful gaze, he made a conscious effort to relax and managed to unclench his jaw. Tension lingered at his nape and shoulders. A mild pulsing ache spread up the back of his head.

“You’re sure?” Cookie asked.

Shit. Now he’d done it for sure. He’d let the carefully shut-away tension and anger find a chink in his emotional armor. The two men before him, respected colleagues, hell, his superior officers, watched him like he’d sprouted a prehensile tail or something.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He rubbed at his eyes. “More tired than I thought, I guess.”

Tick examined him, appearing far from convinced. “Take the rest of the week off like we’d planned. You’ve been working hard, even before this whole mess with Ruthie.”

Chris looked away, refusing to show any physical weakness. His damn stomach spun, a sick afterwave of adrenaline washing through him. “Sure.”

He moved toward the door, giving the soft whistle that drew Hound to his side, a sure, steady presence.

“And Chris?” Tick’s quiet voice stopped him at the hallway. Chris glanced over his shoulder. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for Ruthie.”

“Anytime.”

Dark hair, all shine and satin, begging him to bury his hands in it. Those big eyes of hers, the way she’d looked at him the other night in her mama’s kitchen. The briefest of kisses, richer and sweeter than the hot chocolate had been.

He wanted more, wanted her mouth open under his, tongues stroking together. He wanted her touching him, gliding those pretty tapered fingers along his body. He needed to touch her, to explore skin he knew would be soft and hot and so damn perfect it hurt. He ached to be wrapped up with her, naked, skin on skin, breasts pressed to his chest. Wild, wet open-mouth kisses. Arousal prickled through him, gathering at the base of his spine, tingling up from his balls.

He wanted
her
, wild, wet, open. Needed to press into her, long legs wrapped around his waist, hips tilting into his, faster and harder, the slide of sweaty bodies, the rippling grasp of her around him, his name bursting from her lips, a climax barreling through him.

A rough groan ripped free of his throat. He shuddered and palmed the head of his dick, catching the spasms of semen. He sagged, face pressed to his arm.

Shit. Fantasizing—
jacking
off
—thinking about her, and she was…she was…

Married. Beaten and fragile and…no, not either of those things. Strong and gorgeous and…

Not for him. He wasn’t for her, either, wasn’t for any woman.

Friends, he’d said. No kissing, no nothing. Just friends. Sealed the bargain with a handshake, and here he was conjuring up all the ways he could take her, how damn good it would be between them, when he was the absolute last thing she needed, would ever need.

He was a dog. No, lower. A worm, maybe? With a rough exhale, he shoved the covers away with his foot and rolled from the bed, grimacing at the sticky residue. Shower. A run with Troy Lee if he hadn’t missed him. And then…the day stretched before him, empty and aimless. Wonder if Tick would let him work?

In the bathroom, he washed his hands, relieved himself and brushed his teeth. He stared into his own shadowed eyes while he attacked his teeth and gums. The loneliness crushed in around him and made his chest hurt. Hell, he didn’t miss only her either. He’d gotten used to Ainsley’s quiet chatter, Camille’s shy presence, John Robert’s near-worshipful shadow. Damn it, he missed the kids too, and that was insane.

He spit and winced a little at the pink tinge in the sink. He started on his molars again. Maybe not so insane. He’d wanted kids, once upon a time, had even talked about the idea with Kim early on. A shudder worked over him. Thank God she hadn’t gotten pregnant. A child, living in that hell.

Three children, living in Ruthie’s hell. Three more reasons for him to stay away, to be a merely friendly presence when he did see her. Hadn’t he seen the suspicion and fear in John Robert’s eyes himself? No telling what they’d seen in that house in South Carolina, and someone didn’t get over that just by getting out. They’d need time to heal and that kind of healing took a hell of a long time, if it ever happened at all.

He was living proof of that.

The damp air stung his lungs. Chris concentrated on the run, the terrain, glad Troy Lee was pushing this morning. Maintaining the strenuous pace meant he didn’t have to talk. They rounded the edge of Railroad Park and a steady hum of generators and chatter greeted them. Vendors for the Pecan Festival set up booths and readied wares. By ten a.m., the downtown area would be crawling with people. He could hang out at the festival for a while, kill some time that way, although arts and crafts really weren’t his thing.

“Think”—if he were with anyone else, the breathless rasp of his voice would be an embarrassment—“we need…someone else working here today?”

Troy Lee snorted. “Hardly. What’s gonna happen—some of the old-biddy committee get in a fight over a crocheted throw?”

He sounded anything but winded, and Chris straightened to relieve his own cramping lungs. Troy Lee slanted a searching look at him and Chris glanced away. The next block passed in silence broken only by the rhythm of worn running shoes on the sidewalk and their breathing. Each soundless second ratcheted tighter the tension in Chris’s muscles. It wasn’t like Troy Lee to be quiet, not when he’d been giving Chris those looks all morning, like he was a particularly interesting math equation begging to be figured out.

“So what’s up?” The quiet question came from nowhere.

Chris shrugged, using the pace as an excuse not to answer. The palpable look Troy Lee bounced off him squirmed under his skin. Troy Lee slowed, more of a cool-down jog than a racing tempo.

“Chris, seriously, man. What’s with you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He swigged from his water bottle.

Troy Lee stopped dead. Surprised, Chris continued a few strides and turned to face him. Chris spread his hands in silent inquiry. Troy Lee stared back, chin lifted in challenge. Chris shook his head. “This is stupid.”

“Well, yeah. You’re buzzing like a Taser, have been all morning, and won’t talk about it.”

“Not all of us have to spill everything, Troy Lee.”

“Not all of us internalize every goddamn thing that happens, either.” Troy Lee’s brows dipped in a frown. “It’s not fucking healthy, Chris. Sometimes you gotta talk about it.”

“Nothing to talk about.” And there wasn’t beyond a simple friendship agreement and his own pointless fantasies. Except maybe a woman who, so fast it was terrifying, made him forget every reason he’d chosen solitude as his preferred way of life. “Nothing important, anyway.”

“Yeah, sure.”

With an index finger, Chris indicated the sidewalk before them. “We gonna run or not?”

For a long moment, Troy Lee studied him with that mathematician’s look. “Yeah. We are.”

The remainder of their miles passed in companionable, if strained, silence. Back at their vehicles, parked behind the sheriff’s department, Chris leaned on his Cherokee and finished off his water. Muscles jumped and quivered in his thighs despite the stretching they’d done earlier.

Troy Lee lifted the hem of his T-shirt to rub his face. “Listen, Chris…”

Whatever he planned to say trailed away in an uncomfortable cough. Chris scrubbed the end of his nose, tingling from the chilly air. “Yeah?”

“You decide you want to talk…you know where I am.”

Something about the genuineness of the offer, the easy acceptance, heated Chris’s neck, the way his dad’s pride had done way back when. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

They separated on casual plans for several runs during the week. Chris drove home with the day still before him, empty as a rural highway. He chafed his palm over the worn leather of his steering wheel. Maybe he’d find a game to watch on cable. There was that new action film on pay-per-view. If he looked hard enough, a couple of books he hadn’t read yet probably existed somewhere in his place.

The bitch of it was that nothing he did would be enough.

Inside, silence smothered. Through the glass doors, he could see Hound snoozing in his kennel. Smart would be digging out something to read, lounging in front of the television. Smart would even be driving back to the coast.

He passed a hand over his jaw. Hell, he wasn’t going to be smart, and he might as well just go ahead and acknowledge that fact. No, he was going to take a shower and then give in to the insane pull.

Once the grime and sweat were gone, he was going to see Ruthie. God only knew what he’d say when he got there.

“Mama, maybe this is an omen.” Tori’s desperation carried down the hallway. “A sign.”

“Victoria, you know I don’t hold with such nonsense.” Maternal impatience lingered in their mother’s tone. “Now get the phonebook.”

Tori’s hefty sigh hinted at long-suffering patience. “Mama, I don’t need the huge reception anyway.”

Ruthie stepped into the kitchen and her younger sister threw a help-me-here look in her direction before turning back to their mother.

“I know you don’t want to admit any weakness, but you have to remember you just suffered a traumatic event and a head injury. You had amnesia, for Pete’s sake.” Tori’s distress built, seeming nowhere near running out of steam. “I simply want to marry Mark and it doesn’t matter if we have the catered shindig or a family deal here at the house.”

The two women stared at one another in a visual power struggle. Ruthie lifted an eyebrow at them on her way to the coffeepot. The sounds of the children playing in the living room wafted down the hall. Ruthie poured coffee into one of the green lily-patterned mugs. “What’s going on?”

“My caterer cancelled. Everyone else locally is booked.” Tori rolled her eyes, lips pinched in a frustrated line. “And I’m trying to convince Mama all the trappings don’t matter.”

With a sip at the rich French roast, Ruthie shrugged. “I can do it.”

“What?” Tori shook her head, the single word distracted. Their mama turned sideways in her chair to fix Ruthie with a measuring look layered with maternal pride and approval.

“I said I can do it.” Ruthie smiled at her sister’s confused expression. “I have catered weddings before, Tor.”

She didn’t mention that was how she’d met Stephen in the first place. Excitement uncurled within her, the long-forgotten taste of a culinary challenge sweet and seductive. She caught her sister’s wary gaze.

“Let me do this for you,” she said, hoping how much she needed the opportunity to prove herself all over again didn’t show as badly as it felt it did. “You won’t be sorry.”

“Are you sure?” A hint of doubt remained in Tori’s voice.

“I’m positive.” She turned her attention to her mother, still studying her face. “Would you mind if I commandeered your kitchen for this?”

A slow pleased smile spread over Mama’s face. “Not in the least.”

Once Tori had departed and her mother disappeared to putter around the house, Ruthie threw herself into measuring, mixing, baking. The dust of flour on her hands, the feel of batter smoothing out under a wooden spoon, the mingling of vanilla and almond…it was like finding her way back to friends long lost and long missed.

An engine purred into the yard, tires crunching on gravel. She stilled, straining her ears as footsteps thumped up the back steps. From the kitchen window, she caught a glimpse of dark hair and a tall form, and her anxiety shifted into a giddy anticipation. She went through the screened porch to meet him at the back door.

“Hey.” Holding the door open with one hip, she tucked a stray hank of hair behind her ear. Pleasure bubbled along her veins. Oh, she was happy to see him.

“Hey. Something smells good.”

“I’ve been baking.” She waved him up the steps and into the house. “Come on in.”

“Wow.” He paused in the kitchen doorway and she looked at it through his eyes. Various bowls sat out on the counters, ingredients gathered in bunches. It wasn’t the meticulous way she’d been trained to keep a kitchen, but having been so long denied the pleasure of cooking, she’d thrown herself into it with a visceral thrill that didn’t allow for neatness yet. “Baking, huh?”

“Yes, samples for Tori’s wedding. Taste this for me.” She held out a small hunk of the chocolate amaretto groom’s cake she’d been experimenting with half the morning. The warm, moist firmness of his lips brushed her fingers as he obeyed. His eyes slid closed on a muffled grunt of pleasure. An insidious tendril of wanton desire uncurled low in her belly. She wanted to make him sound like that again, without food involved. “What do you think?”

“God, that’s good.” His lashes lifted, flames flickering in his shuttered gaze. “Sinful.”

“Think Mark would like it?”

“He’d be crazy not to.” He propped against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other.

“What are you doing here?” A ridiculous level of pleasure flushed her body, just from seeing him. His eyebrows lifted and heat touched her face. She busied her hands with cleaning and putting away her supplies. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I meant, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

A small smile touched his mouth and he leaned on the counter, watching her. “I can’t find Hound’s short lead. Thought maybe I’d left it here.”

“Oh well, I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t been looking for it either—”

“Hell, what am I doing? It’s not about that damn lead.” The smile disappeared. She stopped, wariness invading her. He lowered his head and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Truth is, I couldn’t stay away. Couldn’t stay away from you.”

His simple words filled her with a bubbling, rushing elation. She leaned against the opposite countertop, hands clenched around the edge to keep herself from reaching for him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

He held her gaze for a long second. “This really isn’t convenient, is it?”

“Not at all.” She shook her head. “But I don’t care.”

“I’m not—” He bit the words off, frustration sliding over his features. “There are things you don’t know, Ruthie. I’m not whole.”