Facing It (26 page)

If spending two days in Chason’s company was bad, spending two days in Chason’s company with Beecham gone was even worse.

Jennifer popped a couple of frozen waffles in the toaster and tried to keep her skin from crawling. Banning had stayed over to cover Beecham’s absence and the agent sat at the small dinette table with Chason, the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
spread over the Formica surface. The sense of discomfort and unease Chason inspired deepened every time she was forced into contact with him and the final hours in this rotation stretched before her.

Newsprint rustled behind her, followed by the clink of a coffee cup hitting a saucer. Normal everyday sounds that shouldn’t send frissons of nervous tension running over her, but did. Odd how relieved she’d been when Beecham had told her he was going to Vegas with his mother for her wedding. At the time, she’d wanted him gone, far from her, so she’d have time to regain the strength she would need to handle losing him. Now, trapped with Chason, she wanted Beecham here, trusted him to have her back in a way she couldn’t explain.

Banning’s complacency rattled her.

Her waffles popped up and she lifted them to a plate, hissing a little as they singed her fingertips. Forgoing the syrup, she added a dollop of strawberry jam. She couldn’t make herself join the two men at the small table; instead, she leaned against the counter and ate quickly, glancing at the kitchen clock every few minutes. She was ready for Edgewood to be here so she could return to Atlanta, escape Chason’s creepy presence.

“Hey, Settles, you’re off the next couple of days,” Banning said, pulling her from the circular reverie. “Got any plans?”

She found nothing but friendly inquiry in his face. Normally, she liked him—he was funny and easygoing. She sighed. It wasn’t his fault Chason made her paranoid.

Ignoring the look Chason flicked in her direction, she shrugged. “I’m going to see my family.”

She’d made the decision in the early hours of the morning. Getting out of town would keep her out of Beecham’s presence when he returned from Las Vegas. Sure, she was hiding, but right now she didn’t care. She wasn’t ready to see him yet, beyond interacting with him at work. Somehow, she’d avoided any real conversation with him about their relationship, or lack thereof—probably because he’d been preoccupied with his mother’s upcoming nuptials. His decision to go and give his mother away had surprised her, but she shouldn’t have been. He loved his mother, even if her multimarried and multidivorced status did drive him insane.

No wonder the guy had issues.

Insurmountable issues, as far as their own relationship went. He was never going to be able to trust in them. He was never going to be able to relax about loving her. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, how hard she fought for them…it wouldn’t be enough.

The silly tears she’d been fighting for days pricked at her eyes and she blinked rapidly. No way in hell would she cry in front of Banning.

Definitely not in front of Chason.

The rumble of a diesel straight truck sounded outside and she relaxed. The UPS truck bearing Edgewood. Thank God. The sooner she was out of here, the sooner she could be on her way home. Even her mother was preferable to the endless circling of her mind when she had too much time to think.

When Edgewood came through the back door, she escaped to grab her things. The desire to get as far away as possible pulsed in her. At least with Banning working through the next two-day rotation, she wouldn’t have to debrief with Edgewood.

Like it mattered what she had to say. Her fellow agents had already decided Chason presented no danger, escape or otherwise. She and Beecham hadn’t been able to convince Weston of their concerns, either. What was it with men, anyway, that they latched on to an idea and nothing could make them let go?

Shouldering her bag, she stepped into the hallway. Banning’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Damn, that’s a bitch, Steve.”

Steve? They were calling him Steve now? Good God in heaven.

As she entered the kitchen, Banning handed her the folded newspaper, the legal advertisements face up. “Check it out, Settles.”

She skimmed the column he indicated, her nerves shifting to outright fear. Halfway down was a divorce petition, one Ruth Ann Calvert Chason informing Stephen Walter Chason that their marriage would be dissolved in what was now less than thirty days.

“Hell of a note, isn’t it?” Edgewood shook his head. “Finding that in the paper?”

Jennifer darted a glance at Chason. He seemed unmoved, his face expressionless as he shrugged and lifted his coffee cup. “It was part of my agreement with the government, that I let her have her way in this.”

His level of calm seemed genuine, but a memory flashed in Jennifer’s head, his hands closing around that puppy’s small skull while he regarded Ruthie with equal composure.

But as long as he was here, in this house that even the agents assigned to guard him didn’t know the location of, Ruthie was safe. It was the later Jennifer worried about, the time when he’d have the anonymity of the Witness Protection Program on his side, when he could go after Ruthie.

Without warning.

And without mercy.

Dinner didn’t exactly go as Ruthie had envisioned. The food, the cooking, was no problem. Chris’s large kitchen proved easy to work in.

But the meal itself? A dismal failure. Ruthie watched him do more moving his food around the plate with a fork than actual eating.

She moistened her lips. “How was your week?”

“Okay.” His shuttered blue gaze flickered to hers, then back to his plate. “It was a week, I guess.”

“So it wasn’t too bad, being on the desk?”

“It’s…interesting. People call about the oddest things.”

Disconcerted by the tension hovering at the table, Ruthie popped a shrimp in her mouth and chewed, not really tasting it. He’d been happy to see her, as pleased as she’d been to see him, she’d bet on it. What was going on?

“What about you?” He moved a piece of pasta with his fork. “Business good?”

She nodded. “It’s growing.”

They lapsed into a taut silence. She didn’t get it, either—they were never this ill at ease with one another. Things didn’t improve with dessert and relief deluged her once the time came to clear the table. At least she’d have cleaning up to busy her hands.

“You said we needed to talk. Of course, I also promised to kiss you senseless once I had you completely alone, and this is the first chance I’ve had to do that. So what comes first?” She set the plates she carried on the counter and turned to take the glass casserole from him. He stared at her, his eyes blazing with a sudden fire. Her stomach lifted and turned over, a deep fluttering kicking off lower with a series of tiny, stinging aches.

His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. “Having you kiss me senseless sounds pretty damn good right now.”

The serving dish hit the countertop with a dull thud. She reached for him first. Arms around his neck, she leaned up and kissed him. With a smothered groan, he wrapped her close and plundered her mouth. She met the ferocity of his possession with an intensity of her own, holding his face and sucking his tongue between her lips.

“God, Ruthie.” He backed her into the counter, fumbling at the tiny buttons on her blouse. She went for the hem of his cotton polo and tugged it free of his jeans before rubbing her hands up the sleek warmth of his waist and rib cage. He growled in pleasure and kissed her again, giving up on her buttons and shoving the fabric out of his way instead.

Lost in the heated wonder of his mouth, she arched into him, bare midriff brushing against his stomach. The contact sent sharp desire piercing through her, weakening her legs and filling her with fierce triumph. Stephen had not stolen the ability to need and desire from her. She wanted this, wanted Chris.

He stroked his thumbs across the lower edge of her sternum and sensation danced out from the caress. She loved the hot, rough touch of his skin on hers. Nipping lightly at his bottom lip, she scraped her nails along his waistband, just below the small of his back. His knees dipped, his pelvis bumping hers, almost as though his legs had buckled.

“Jiminy Cricket.” The rumble of his choked laughter shivered against her mouth. He brushed his palms back and forth over her waist.

She trailed her fingertips across the light stubble on his jaw. “Take me to bed.”

“Hell.” His breath rushed out on a shocked exhale and his lashes fell. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” She ran her thumb across his lower lip. Leaning closer, she tilted into him and let her tongue take the same path her thumb had. The pale blue of his eyes darkened, grew hot and stormy. “I want you, Chris.”

“I don’t want to rush this, don’t want to mess us up. This isn’t why I invited you here—”

She stopped the words with a fingertip atop his lips. “Nothing you could do would mess us up. Do you not get how important you’re becoming to me?”

“Ruthie.” The warmth of his mouth moved against her skin. “There’s—”

“Time for that later.” She dropped her hand and leaned in to feather her lips over his. “I need you.”

For a long moment, he stared at her before he stepped back, took her hand and led her down the hall. In the dimness of his bedroom, she stood before him, her desire for him making her bold. Holding his gaze, she lifted her hands to unbutton her blouse. Finally, she shrugged free of the thin garment and he wrapped a warm palm around her nape, pulling her in for another of those passion-drugging kisses.

She fisted the hem of his shirt and dragged it upward, over his head. Deeply golden filtered sunlight fell on his torso, highlighting his tightly muscled chest and abdomen. Her mouth dry, she let her hands drift over his shoulders, across firm pectorals, down his arms, to his hands. A long, thin line of puckered flesh ran from shoulder to elbow. He flinched when she brushed it, and she moved her hand quickly to his chest. With scrupulous care, she avoided the scar there, a pale, flat mark at his ribs.

A shaky laugh erupted from his mouth and he buried his face against her hair. His hold at her hips tightened, his fingers seeming to tremble. “Shit, this is a bad idea. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, don’t know how to—”

“Chris, stop. It’s all right.” She whispered the words near his ear. She folded her arms about him and held him closer. With her palms flat on his back, she discovered yet another mark on his shoulder blade, a jagged twin to the one on his arm. She rubbed her cheek against his neck. “Just hold me a moment.”

He embraced her, too tightly but somehow just right at the same time. The thin lace of her bra did little to deflect the heat of his skin on her own. She curled into him and scattered tiny kisses along his throat, over his shoulder, all the while playing her hands over his back. Desire with all the burn of fine, smooth whiskey poured through her.

He exhaled hard, stirring her hair. “She ruined me.”

Hatred for the unknown woman blazed to life, strong and virulent. Ruthie tamped it away and leaned back to meet his troubled eyes, brimming with mingled despair and desire. “I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t want to be this way with you, awkward and damn near afraid.”

“Stop thinking so much. Just…touch me.” Taking his wrists, she lifted his hands to her body, molding his palms around the curves of her breasts. Still holding his forearms in a light grasp, she trailed her fingers over the backs of his hands as he shaped and caressed her. Her head fell back and her hair tumbled free from her already messy knot. “Oh yes, like that.”

The pads of his thumbs flicked over the lace covering her hardening nipples. Bending his head, he took one into his mouth, teeth grating and tugging through the thin fabric. Need arrowed from the point of intense contact to the throbbing between her thighs.

“I want to go slow, make this so good for you,” he murmured. “But it’s been a long time, sweetheart, and I don’t know if I can.”

“Maybe I don’t want slow. Maybe I just want you—”

The words died under his mouth and he lifted her against him, before spinning to lay her across the bed and follow her down, his hips between her thighs. “My God, Ruthie, you make me crazy.”

“Good.” She wiggled against him, her skirt riding high. Denim scratched the tender inside of her thighs. She ran teasing hands down his spine, dipping beneath his jeans to cup his buttocks and pull him into her. Lord, when was the last time she’d felt like this, free and confident, secure in the knowledge a man wanted her? “What are you going to do about it?”

A sound that was half-chuckle, half-growl escaped him and he lowered his head to her breasts once more. “Is that a challenge?”

She slid her hands around to his fly, making short work of the button and zipper. He hissed a curse when she encircled him, stroking and teasing. “It could be.”

Hard and heavy, he pushed into her hand, his teeth tearing into his bottom lip. After a second, he caught her hand, stopping the smooth motion. “If you keep doing that, we’re really not going to go slow.”

He leaned over her, touching his lips to hers in a kiss that was different, softer than the wild exchange they’d shared in the kitchen. When he finally lifted his head, he gazed at her with a softer fire in his eyes, the lines of his face gentled.

“Can’t remember the last time I felt like this,” he whispered, tracing a fingertip along the curve of her cheek. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this, about anyone.”