Found Wanting (36 page)

Even though she was embarrassed by her crying jag, she couldn't deny that she felt better, lighter. Sleep had helped, too, but mostly Mitch had. She'd seen the rage in his eyes. She didn't doubt that if Layton had been standing there, Mitch would have torn him in two. Seeing his rage -- anyone's rage -- on her behalf ... it was a foreign experience. Mitch believed what she'd told him without question. He barely knew her, and yet he appeared to have no doubt. It was as if that moment when his hands had curled into fists had somehow eased the feelings of betrayal she had lugged around for fifteen years.

It still surprised her that she'd told him. Did that mean she was growing to trust him? Was that possible in so short a time?

He shifted, and she smiled, sliding her fingers over the back of the hand he had splayed over her belly, as if holding her in place against him.

"Hmm?" he murmured, his breath warm and moist near her ear. He wasn't completely awake, because he snuggled closer, and leisurely, as if they were lovers cuddling on a Sunday afternoon, one of his hands edged up to gently cup her breast.

Alaina stiffened, startled at the unexpected caress but even more shocked by her body's reaction to it. Her breath jammed in her throat, and every nerve ending seemed to leap to life.

Before she could do much more than gasp, Mitch jerked his hand away and sat up. She would have ended up in a heap on the floor if he hadn't caught her arm. Then, pushing himself up, he vaulted over the back of the sofa and started to pace.

"I'm sorry," he said, tunneling all ten fingers back through his hair. "I'm sorry. I was half asleep. I didn't realize what I was doing."

Sitting up, Alaina watched him pace the floor in agitation ... and laughed. "So you copped a feel. Big deal."

He stopped pacing to stare at her. Then he began to smile. "You're not going to bloody my nose again?"

"Not this time." She watched his face carefully, liking the light beard that darkened his jaw. His eyes twinkled, and she relaxed, relieved that he didn't seem to be looking at her any differently now that he knew. She'd heard that some men were uneasy after they knew a woman had been raped. But she saw no such wariness in Mitch's gaze.

"Good," he said, and idly slipped a hand under his shirt to scratch his abdomen. The action revealed a strip of lean flesh that rippled with muscle.

She looked away, astonished by the quickening pace of her pulse. "What time is it?" she asked, further amazed by the huskiness of her own voice.

He didn't seem to notice as he checked his watch. "Wow. Almost ten." He headed for the kitchen. "I need coffee."

He disappeared into the other room, and she sat there a moment, faintly disappointed. But then, what was she expecting? She had no idea.

Realizing the room was chilly, she got up to tend to the fire. She'd just lowered a fresh log onto the pile of smoldering coals when Mitch came up behind her. "Let me do that," he said.

Straightening, she stepped back, content to admire the way his muscles moved under his T-shirt as he piled another log on and got the flames going with kindling.

When he rose and turned, she started to step back, but in one smooth motion, he snagged her arm and drew her into him. His palm brushed her cheek as he slid his fingers into her hair and claimed her lips with his.

The kiss, gentle but firm, stunned her. Her breath lodged in her throat, and her heart took off at a sprint as his mouth slanted against hers, warm and seeking. When her lips trembled open, in shock, in invitation, he took it deeper, his hand at her cheek their only other contact.

Time spun away as every nerve ending, every heartbeat, zeroed in on what he was doing to her mouth with his lips, his tongue.

Wanted. He made her feel wanted. And it took her breath away.

When he drew back, she stared up at his face, her body humming, her brain stalled. For God's sake, don't stop, she thought.

Laughing softly, he brushed hair back from her forehead, his fingertips just grazing her skin. "I've been wanting to kiss you for a long time. Hope you don't mind."

"Mind?" she managed. "Why would I mind?"

Smiling, he tucked stray hair behind her ear and ran a knuckle down her cheek, his dark eyes lingering on her mouth. It was as if he couldn't stop touching her.

"You're an amazing woman, Alaina," he murmured. "You blow me away."

Dazzled, she felt her pulse stumble. No one had ever said such a thing to her. The words -- and feelings -- were so alien she didn't know how to respond.

His smile widened. "Take your time." He kissed her again, this time just a quick brush of his lips over hers, before pivoting to return to the kitchen.

Alone, Alaina stared after him, the tips of her fingers pressed to her still-vibrating lips, where the taste of him lingered. He was blown away?

* * *

In the kitchen, Mitch poured coffee into two cups and thought about what he'd just done. It was unlike him to be so impulsive. But seeing her standing there, her hair a mess, her eyes puffy and sleepy ... he hadn't been able to stop himself.

His heart ached for everything she had been through, the depth of the betrayal she had endured -- from Layton and from her family. He'd known betrayal in his life, too. His wife and his best friend/partner had delivered it, two for the price of one. The hurt had been shattering, and he'd decided then that women were far more trouble than they were worth. But not this woman. This woman ... her strength, her resilience, her determination ... she was worth every instant of trouble.

His cellphone started to ring in the other room, and he left the kitchen to answer it. Alaina was still sitting on the sofa, staring into the fire. It pleased him that she seemed as thunderstruck as he was by what had happened ... by what was happening between them.

He flipped open the phone. "Yeah."

"It's Julia. I'm on my way."

He forced his brain away from the woman on the couch. "You remember how to get here?"

"If I get lost, I'll call you."

"You've made sure you're not being followed?"

"What do you take me for? An amateur?"

"You know the alpha male in me requires me to ask."

"You sound funny. What's up?"

His gaze sought Alaina, and his lips curved. "Everything's fine. See you when you get here." Closing the phone, he said, "Julia's on her way."

Alaina turned her head toward him. She looked as if she hadn't even heard the phone ring. "Julia?"

"My partner."

"Oh." The fire reclaimed her attention.

Amused, he went to the kitchen to retrieve the coffee he'd poured and brought it to her. She accepted it but didn't sip as he sat beside her. "Should we talk about it?" he asked.

She didn't speak for a moment, as if thinking carefully about what she was about to say. "I don't think it's a good idea," she said finally.

He hadn't anticipated anything different. He expected her to run. That was what she'd trained herself -- what fate had trained her -- to do the moment someone started getting too close. But he wasn't about to let her off the hook easily. Smoothing his palm over her back, he felt her stiffen but kept his hand in place, gentle, soothing. "Why isn't it a good idea?"

"I've never been a good bet." As she sipped coffee, her hands shook.

Seeing the tremors, feeling them under his palm, tugged at him, as did the sad comprehension of all that she'd been denied over the years. The joy of love, of discovery. The contentment of curling up in front of the TV, a roaring fire or in bed with a lover. "How often has someone bet on you?" he asked.

She shifted her gaze to his, her brow creasing. "Not very often."

She said it so softly that his heart rolled over in his chest. She deserved so much more. Probably more than he could ever give. He slid his fingers beneath the dark hair at her nape, lightly massaging. She was beginning to relax under his touch. That felt like progress. "Then how would you know what your odds are?"

She closed her eyes, dropping her head forward, as if to allow him better access. Her breathing had grown shallow. "It's just not a good idea."

"Maybe I'm willing to take my chances."

"Why?"

"Why not?" He smiled, cupping the back of her neck and drawing her toward him. Her lips were an inch from his before she resisted. Their breaths mingling, he met her troubled gaze.

"It's too soon," she said. "We don't know each other."

He held on when she would have pulled away. Irritation flared in her eyes before she focused on his mouth. The annoyance eased over to desire, sending his pulse scrambling. She wanted him, too. "It's too soon for what?" he asked. "A kiss?"

She swallowed. "Sex isn't casual for me. It can't be."

"I'm not looking for casual sex, Alaina."

"You think what we're doing here is going to lead to something more meaningful?"

"I think what we're doing here has snapped some things in perspective."

She pulled back so that he had no choice but to let her go. "If you're experiencing some need to celebrate the fact that your heart is still beating, I'm not interested."

He grasped her hand before she could rise, knowing he'd somehow lost precious ground and wanting to get it back. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I have a heightened sense of desire because we've been shot at more than once. Hell, I killed a man. My need to celebrate life is only normal. But it's more than that, and you know it."

"I don't know anything." She gave her hand a hard tug, freeing herself, then retreated to a place by the fire, several feet away from him, where she glared into the crackling flames.

She was scared, and he couldn't blame her. He was, too. He'd made a deal with himself never to let another woman anywhere near his heart. Yet here he was, willing to break that deal for a woman who should have been a virtual stranger to him, who had more emotional baggage than he knew what to do with.

"There's something you don't know about me," he said.

She arched a brow. "You mean everything?"

He smiled. At least she hadn't retreated so far she couldn't joke. "I don't usually experience ... emotions ... in extremes," he said.

"Lucky you."

His knees cracked as he rose and crossed to her. For an instant, her gaze flickered up to his, then flitted away. It was enough for him to see the uncertainty, the fear. He found himself wanting to say things he never would have said to anyone before he met her.

He stopped short of entering her personal space, waited for her to look him in the eye. "You make me feel ... things I can't explain," he said. "When I first met you ... it was anger. I anticipated making you pay for the things you'd done to hurt your son, to hurt Keller."

She dropped her gaze, biting into her lower lip.

He waited for her to re-establish the connection, wanting to touch her but knowing he couldn't until he'd said what he had to say. "My rage," he went on, "was consuming. And unlike me. I'm the objective detective. I do the job, and I don't get involved because getting involved is dangerous. But when it came to you, I didn't seem to have a choice."

She dragged both hands through her hair. "I don't think I want to hear this."

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "My objectivity was out of whack from the start. Then, as I realized that I had it wrong, that Keller lied to me, everything shifted. Technically, I should have been able to walk away. It wasn't my fault he lied to me. And I didn't do anything illegal. He wanted you found, and I did that. As far as I knew, the feds were taking you somewhere safe, end of story. It should have been easy for me to cop the 'it's someone else's problem' attitude and leave it at that. So why couldn't I?"