Playing Dead in Dixie (26 page)

Carly shook her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.  "No, it's not.  This is all my fault.  I brought all this here.  I'm so sorry."

Wes cradled her face between his hands.  "I'm not happy that you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth.  But you're not the bad guy here."  He slid his arm around her waist, guiding her toward a car parked at the curb.  A nondescript man in a dark blue suit waited behind the steering wheel.  FBI, Carly thought.  She was getting good at spotting them, even in the dark.

Wes opened the back door of the sedan and helped her inside, sliding in after her.  He made her buckle up but didn't bother with his own belt, scooting close and wrapping his arms around her.

"We're going to work everything out, Carly.  I promise."  His voice was a soft, soothing rumble in her ears.

Tonight, she made herself believe it.

Chapter Fourteen

The Beecher Motel just outside Lithonia, Georgia, was as close to a No-Tell Motel as a place got without offering rooms by the hour.  Wes had tried to put on a happy face while they were waiting for the FBI agent to bring the key back to them and point out their room, but when they actually unlocked the door and got their first look at the shabby, drab motel room, he was ready to write his congressman and ask where, exactly, all his tax dollars were going.

Carly, to his surprise, showed little disappointment as she carried her bag into the room.  She took a quick peek at the sheets on the double bed nearest the door.  "Looks like they've been laundered," she murmured with satisfaction.

"Glad to hear it."

She looked over her shoulder at him, a weak smile curving one side of her mouth.  "I've stayed in worse."

"Such as?"

She sat on the bed and looked up at him.  "When I was eight, we got kicked out of an apartment in Mays Landing and moved in with my mom's cousin Kate and her alcoholic husband Leon.  They lived in a nasty little tenement house in Trenton.  My sisters and I tried to make a game out of naming the cockroaches but ran out of names by the end of the first week."

"That must have been terrible.  I'm sorry."

"It wasn't a big step down from what we had before.  Dad talked a lot about hitting it big one day, but he never did."

"He's dead?"

She nodded, tucking her knees up to her body.  "He'd been in Boston, on one of his extended rambles.  He'd owed money to some mob-connected Southie, money he didn't have.  They beat the crap out of him, tossed him in an abandoned warehouse and set fire to the place.  The cops told Ma he was probably unconscious and didn't know what was happening."

"I'm so sorry.  That's horrible."

"It took the cops a month to identify him.  They tracked down Ma in Vineland and she called us girls."  She rubbed her chin against her knee.  "He died too damned young and for no good reason.  We didn't need him to hit it big.  We just needed him to be around.  If he was going to be a rolling stone, he shouldn't have tried to be a husband and a dad, too."

Wes wondered if she realized that she was turning herself into her father, with her itchy feet and wandering heart.  The rambler who moved from place to place, afraid to settle.

Afraid to care.

His chest ached, and not just because of the bruise a few inches below his heart.

Carly lowered her feet to the floor and bent toward him.  "So tell me, Chief Wes.  Was sharing a room your idea?"

Amazing how she could go from vulnerable little girl to sexy temptress on the turn of a dime.  No doubt it was a defensive mechanism, but he wanted her too damned much to quibble about her reason for turning on the charm.

He answered her sultry look with a come-hither smile.  "You know the federal government.  They'll spend two million dollars on a corn museum in Nebraska but can't shell out a few extra bucks to book an extra room for a federal witness under protective custody."

She reached out with her foot and ran her bare toes along the inside of his calf.  "Well, I happen to be a big fan of fiscal responsibility from the government.  So I guess I'm in no position to complain about cost-cutting."

He caught her foot and rubbed his thumb against the instep, he watched her eyes dilate with pleasure.

"Mmm, are you going to expect to be compensated for your services?" she asked in a sexy purr, arching her back as he apparently hit a particularly sensitive spot near her ankle.

"Strictly pro bono," he answered, shifting on the bed as his trousers seemed to shrink a couple of sizes.  "Say, I have an idea.  Why don't I run you a bath?"

She dropped her chin to her chest, gazing up at him through her dark lashes.  "You're a credit to your department, Chief."

He released her foot and stood, brushing his fingers along the curve of her jaw as he headed for the bathroom.  He was relieved to find complimentary soap, bath gel and shampoo in a little basket by the sink, plastic seals reassuring him that they hadn't been used before.  He turned on the tap, testing the heat of the water until it was just short of steaming.  Engaging the plug, he added all of the bath gel to the water, stirring until a thick layer of fragrant foam covered the surface.

He heard Carly's soft footfalls behind him, felt her hand glide through his hair, raising goose bumps along his spine and down his arms.  When she gently pressed his cheek against her warm belly, he didn't resist, breathing in the smell of her, musky sweet and warm.

She knelt in front of him, cradling his face between her hands.  "Thank you."

"For running your bath?  My pleasure."  He turned his head, pressing his lips to the center of her palm.

"For everything.  You've been so good to me, even though I know you never really believed anything I was telling you."  She pressed her nose in the curve of his neck, her hands sliding over his shoulders and down his back, coming to rest against the base of his spine.  "It was more than I deserved.  I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the whole truth.  I just knew that it would put you in a terrible position.  You'd have to call the FBI if you knew they were looking for me—"

He shushed her with his mouth, a light, undemanding caress of lips against lips, offering forgiveness and passion in equal measure.  He felt moisture spill over his cheek and opened his eyes to find her crying again.

"Shh," he murmured, kissing away the tears.  "We can talk about everything later.  Right now, let's get you in the tub."

He undressed her slowly, ruthlessly controlling his rampaging passion as he peeled away her t-shirt, her jeans, and finally her bra and panties.  She was as beautiful as he'd ever imagined, her skin creamy and soft, her breasts small but firm, her belly flat except the slight rounding just above the shadowy delta between her thighs, a hint of what she might look like with a child growing inside her.

The image of her belly swollen with his child was a powerful aphrodisiac, catching him by surprise.  He ran his trembling hand down her belly, letting it come to rest on that little swell of flesh.

She lifted her green eyes to meet his, questions flickering in their depths.  He answered her with a soft kiss, lifting his hand to her jaw.  "Get in the tub."

He rose to his feet and helped her up, holding her hand as she stepped gingerly into the bubbles.  She eased herself into the fragrant water, submerging her body inch by inch beneath the foamy bubbles.  A guttural hiss of pleasure escaped her parted lips as she eased herself underwater to her chin.  "Oh, you're definitely going to get compensated for this."

He smiled, reaching for a washcloth.  That was exactly what he had in mind.

CARLY BIT HER BOTTOM lip as Wes's fingers trailed along the underside of her knee.  He'd dispensed with the washcloth a few minutes ago, giving up any pretense that his underwater ministrations were anything but seduction.

He ran his forefinger up the inside of her thigh, his dark gaze locked on her face.  "Do you like that?"

She nodded, unable to form anything but wordless sounds of pleasure.  Her body hummed from head to toe, every nerve, every sense vibrating with glorious life.  His finger slid farther up her thigh, dipping into the curls between her legs.  He touched the knot of nerves at her core.  Electricity jolted up her spine, tingles spreading over her belly and breasts and down her legs.  She gasped, arching her back.

"Oh, you
do
like that."  A wicked smile spread across his dark face, and he touched her again.

She lifted one damp hand to the lapel of his shirt, curling her fingers in the fabric.  "You're overdressed," she growled.

"We'll fix that in a minute."  He cupped the mound of flesh between her thighs with his palm, pressing the heel of his hand against her center.  One finger dipped inside her in one long, shudder-inducing stroke.  She uttered a succinct curse that made him chuckle.

"I'm learning all sorts of things about you here," he murmured, dipping his head touch his mouth to hers, his tongue darting between her lips to trace the edge of her teeth before withdrawing.  Between her legs, his fingers grew bold, teasing and exploring, dipping into her and stroking her to the verge of madness.  "You're very responsive," he whispered in her ear before nipping the side of her neck, sending a jolt down her spine.  His tongue laved the indentations his teeth had left.

He slid another finger inside her.  She rocked her hips in counterpoint to his touch, reaching for every sensation his touch elicited until the fetters of reality ripped.  Releasing a keening breath, she hurtled into whirlwind of pleasure, unraveling, shattering under the onslaught.

He murmured soft endearments against her temple as she slowly returned to herself.  She forced her heavy eyelids open, needing to see his face.  What she saw in his eyes was like nothing she'd ever seen before.  Ferocity and abandon, edged with a tenderness that made her heart ache and her eyes sting.

She threw her arms around his neck, not caring if she soaked him to the skin.  She needed his body against hers, flesh to flesh nothing between them but passion and pleasure.

He roped his arms around her, dragging her out of the bath and into his arms.  Sliding his hands over the curve of her buttocks, he pulled her hips flush against his.  His erection pressed against the juncture of her thighs, setting off sparks low in her belly.

Her nerveless fingers fumbled at his belt buckle, a low growl of frustration rumbling up from her throat.  Wes moved her hands aside and opened the belt open with quick efficiency, helping her slide his pants and underwear down in one movement.

As he shrugged off his shirt, she saw an ugly purple bruise the size of a fist just above his ribcage on the left side.  She touched the contusion.  "Oh, Wes, what happened?"

He didn't answer, gazing down at her hand.

When she put together his silence and the location of the bruise, her heart skipped a beat.  "One of his bullets hit you in the vest."

He covered her hand with his.  "That's what vests are for."

She shuddered.

He pressed his lips to hers.  "Don't think about it.  Think about this."  He drew her hand down between their bodies, urging her to touch him.

She responded, stroking him with more enthusiasm than skill.  A hiss of pleasure escaped between his clenched teeth, stoking her confidence.  Her fingers grew more sure as she focused on his reactions, his growls of need and frustration, the shaking of his hands when they curled around her shoulders to steady himself as she found one sensitive spot after another.

He drew away from her briefly and reached down for his pants.  Digging in one of the pockets, he produced a foil covered packet.

"I knew you were a Boy Scout," she murmured, taking it from him and ripping it open.

Using her newfound skills as a seductress, she took her sweet time putting the condom on him, watching with pleasure as his breath became ragged and his eyes darkened to onyx pools.

Once the condom was in place, he lifted her into his arms and carried her from the bathroom to the nearest bed, stumbling as his knees hit the side of the mattress.  They fell atop the drab yellow bedspread, his body covering hers.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, drawing his mouth down to hers.  As their tongues tangled, he slid his hand between their bodies, stroking, testing.  A surge of liquid heat flowed to her center in response.

Then he entered her in one long, sliding thrust.

Her heart stuttered for a second, then lurched into a rattling gallop.  He remained still, buried inside her for a long moment, his lips pressing heated kisses against her throat as he let her adjust to the fullness.

She dug her fingers into his hips, urging him into movement, a long, slow rolling thrust and parry, her hips rising to meet his, hungry for everything he wanted to give her.  He began to lose control, his strokes longer, his rhythm devolving into uneven syncopation, evoking an answering abandon in her own body.  She lost herself in the primitive, driving pulse of their passion, reaching for a shimmering ocean of pleasure just beyond her grasp.

Then she broke through the surface, plunged into the sparkling depths of pure sensation.  It flowed over her, flowed into her, filled her veins with a river of light and heat.  Pumped into the chambers of her heart, spread through her lungs, replacing her breath.

Somewhere in the swirling madness engulfing her, she felt Wes join her, his body heaving against hers until he was spent.  He rolled over onto his side, pulling her with him.  She felt boneless, her body melting against Wes's as he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair.

She closed her burning eyes, snuffing the tears his words evoked.  Her heart full of equal parts joy and terror, she pressed her face into the curve of his throat.

I love you, too
, she thought.

But the words remained unspoken, trapped in her throat by a lifetime spent avoiding ties that might bind her to anyone with the power to break her heart.

Saying the words would be making a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.