Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (12 page)

“It’s okay.” He held his hands, palms out, toward her as he slowed his charge to a timid creep. “You’re safe, sweetheart. I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean to scare you. Shit, Izzy. I’m a douche. I’m sorry.”

His soothing nonsense must have worked because she collapsed into a tiny heap and clutched her chest.

In the next instant, he skidded to his knees beside her before scooping her into his arms. He squeezed her until she squeaked then forced himself to let up a tad.

“Wh-what…” she couldn’t finish the question. Her teeth chattered too violently.

If he hadn’t believed himself two seconds from a heart attack, he might have provided a calm and rational explanation. In this condition, he had no hope of affecting cool and collected, so he skipped ahead to the most important point.

“Christ, Izzy. I would
never
hurt you.” He framed her face with his shaking hands, stroking her cheekbones with numb fingers. “Never. Do you understand me?”

She hesitated before surrendering a timid nod. Her gorgeous eyes filled with tears. When droplets seeped from the corners, over his knuckles, Razor’s heart broke. He knew exactly how she felt. In the moment when her gaze had locked with his in that doorway, all his doubt had been blown away.

This woman knew the soul-deep stab of betrayal. Just as he did.

And he’d made her think she was about to live through it all over again.

Fuck
.

Nothing short of an act of God could have intervened to prevent him from comforting her. Without hesitation, his mouth descended, intending to absorb all her aching misery and the lingering anxiety he’d inadvertently caused.

Izzy gifted him with another new experience when a kiss became all about giving rather than taking. For years, he’d partied hard with women who threw themselves at him for a chance at a night of no-strings sex. He’d earned his reputation as a fun-loving man who respected his partners and always left them satisfied.

Razor wouldn’t have understood if someone had told him it could be like this. Actually, he’d damn near busted a blood vessel ripping mercilessly on Tyler when his friend had argued the existence of a bond this pure. Irresistible. As soon as his lips met Izzy’s, Razor paused, waiting for her to claim what she needed.

Adrenaline swooshed through his system, borne on frantic pumps of his blood. He held stock still until she showed him what she desired. Where their earlier kiss had been gentle, exploratory, this encounter had more in common with an explosion. One part each—despair, longing, relief, lust—and a double helping of the camaraderie he would never have expected to find in this siren, mixed into the perfect chemical reaction.

Izzy crawled onto his lap for better access. She plundered his offering like a pirate unleashed on a huge stash of loot up for grabs. Her tongue raided his mouth, stealing tastes of his teeth and the roof of his mouth with bold swipes that caused his cock to throb. When he attempted to return the favor, she stopped him cold by sucking on his tongue, rasping her teeth along the sensitive muscle.

Razor guided her knees to either side of his hips. He palmed her ass while she ground against his hard-on. He would have loved to tease her perky breasts while she poured herself into their full-contact kiss if slipping a hand, or a sheet of paper, between them proved possible.

Desperation tinged her initial veracity. It melted into something sweeter the longer she rode him. Writhing in his arms, she unleashed the sensual storm that had been brewing between them since the moment he’d crossed the threshold into this room yesterday. Hell, ever since he’d caught the snippet of her interview on his TV.

And with Izzy, when it rained…it poured.

She moaned, a feral sound, as she buried her hands in his hair then rocked against his chest. Her hips glided in a seductive figure eight. The motion had him ready to beg for mercy.

Until he heard a faint rustle from the other side of the room.

In a flash, he’d shifted her slight weight to the crook of his left elbow while he snatched the gun from his waistband. He aimed in the direction of the scuffle.

“Whoa.” Matt skidded to a stop so fast Clint almost barreled over him. “It’s us, bro.”

Razor relaxed, avoiding the concerned gazes of his cohorts. Partners on the force and buddies who enjoyed nights out on the town—though he hadn’t tagged along since the incident—the men seemed more like brothers than co-workers. They knew him well. Any attempt to conceal his lip lock with Isabella would be futile, even discounting the attention to detail every good cop possessed.

The picture he and Izzy made in the mirrored wall—clothes rumpled, hair standing on end, lips swollen and red—screamed of imminent, hardcore sex. Not to mention how he clutched her in the shelter of his torso while sporting an erection it would be impossible to miss from across the room.

If they hadn’t come to his rescue, no one could say what might have happened.

The two men took turns cursing under their breath, shifting from foot to foot, inspecting the water-damaged ceiling tiles and otherwise offering all parties involved a chance to recover. Isabella nudged his biceps. She climbed to her feet to stand on her own. He followed her lead, though his legs wobbled a bit.

“Would anyone care to fill me in?” Isabella whispered. Her voice didn’t crack.

Razor held out his hand, glad when she accepted it, entwining their fingers. He rubbed his face with his other. “Izzy, this is Clint. That giant bastard next to him is Matt. They’re officers, like me.”

“Nice to meet you both.” He would have laughed at her relentless manners if she hadn’t followed up the prim and proper routine with, “Now somebody better tell me why James felt it necessary to scare the shit out of me and cover his ass like this.”

“James?” Matt barked out a bass laugh.

“Is that your real name?” Clint acted shocked.

Razor nodded at their handoff. They weren’t sure what story to give. So he did the dirty work while sticking as close to the truth as possible. “All this is my fault. I must be a little jumpy. I thought we might have been followed here, and I overreacted.”

His resignation was genuine. Rusty instincts had nearly caused him to blow his cover. Despite them, his belief in Isabella’s innocence persisted. No one could fake the raw, honest emotion he’d detected in her split second of pure reaction. Only, now, he didn’t repay her in kind. Sickness tarnished the gleam she had inspired.

“Followed?” Color drained from her cheeks in a rush.

“There was a suspicious-looking vehicle outside, ma’am. Razor played it safe, that’s all. Nothing wrong with being cautious.” Clint let him off the hook a bit. “He called for assistance, and we were closest. Our beat’s less than a mile east of here. So we came to check it out. Nothing to worry about. The car’s gone. The building’s secure.”

Razor sighed. The rest of the team probably combed the outlying property as they spoke. They’d have covered most of the area before sending Matt and Clint into a dangerous situation.

“Maybe we’d better call it a day.”

“There’s no need to do that, Ms. Buchanan.” Matt crossed his tree-trunk arms over his chest. “If it’d put your mind at ease, we could have a patrol car swing by now and again to keep an eye out.”

Razor read between the lines. Someone had been stationed outside to watch his back. Though he’d been fired up when he thought they sent a watcher on the sly, relief eroded the dregs of his lingering unease. He could trust the men in blue with his safety. And Izzy’s.

“Unless you’re tired of me stepping on your feet, I say we keep working.” He smiled at Isabella before turning serious once more. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She shushed him with a hug that stunned him silent. Was
she
comforting
him
? Could she sense the ghosts haunting him? Acid churned in his stomach.

“Whatever you say next, don’t apologize. I understand what it’s like to check over your shoulder all the time.”

The other guys retreated, giving him space to accept her gesture and whisper a response. After all, she seemed close to divulging pertinent information. The officers knew better than to jeopardize his assignment.

Son of a bitch. He had to make the most of the opportunity. God help him, he craved untangling her secrets more for himself than in support of the investigation. “Why, Izzy? What are you running from?”

Isabella blew out a sigh. She opened her mouth. Then she closed it again. She peeked over his shoulder in Matt and Clint’s direction before shaking her head. “Nothing.”

Close but no cigar. She wouldn’t tell him. Not now, not like this.

“Are you up to practicing some more? I’m afraid of disappointing you, Izzy.” Truer words had never been spoken. If this ridiculous contest allowed him one avenue to live up to her expectations, he planned to knock the waltz out of the park. Maybe someday, when the shit hit the fan, she would realize he wished he could do more than something so insignificant.

Besides, if they danced, he could touch her while pretending he sacrificed for the sake of the job. Now that someone from the force kept an eye on them, he’d have to revert to his best behavior. Their surveillance would relegate him to the straight and narrow. No way would he put his career at risk. Again.

“Sure, we can put in more time on the double reverse spin.”

Did he detect a hint of disappointment in her response? What else did she have in mind? An afternoon of sweaty sex instead? After their smoking kiss, who could blame her?

“It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Buchanan.” Clint waved from the doorway. “Sorry to barge in.”

“Call me Isabella. Please. And thank you for making sure we’re okay. It’s nice to find out there are real good guys in the world.”

Razor couldn’t blame the partners for their googly eyes when she flashed them a hint of her spectacular smile, which illuminated her extraordinary features. Any man would be dazzled by her beauty, especially when combined with her grace and easygoing personality.

A trifecta of perfection, really.

“If you insist,
Isabella
.” Matt winked. “See you next time we pass by. In about an hour or so. Good luck whipping this guy into shape.”

“If he gives you any trouble, you let us know.” Clint’s teasing jab hung in the air between them as the cops vanished.

Razor stayed frozen in place until the fireproof stairwell door slammed behind his friends. “Izzy…”

“You don’t have to explain.” She embraced him from behind, reminding him of her absolute trust on their wild ride earlier. Faith he didn’t deserve.

When he didn’t respond, she deserted him, leaving cool air in her wake. He struggled to draw deep breaths while she fiddled with the stereo until the opening strains of their song floated throughout the room, breaking the silence.

He held out his arms, and she came into them.

They communicated on a level more expressive than language, every synchronized step and turn reaffirming their bond—the affinity he would obliterate with his pretense. He hadn’t dreaded a loss so much since the ride to the hospital when the EMT had informed him his chances were slim to none. He hadn’t had the spirit to mutter an apology for the guy to carry to his friends, whom he’d failed.

There had to be a way to protect Izzy, to collect the information the department required and avoid hurting either of them. Hell if he could figure it out, though.

“Stop thinking so much. Go with your emotions.”

Could she read his mind now, too? Doubtful. Or the spitfire would be kicking his ass instead of fixing his posture.

Isabella winced when she laid into the arabesque turn, pivoting on her bad ankle.

“That’s it. We’re finished. You’ve had enough.” Razor possessed eagle eyes when it came to her reactions this afternoon. His scrutiny made her feel like a diamond under a jeweler’s loupe, all flaws evident. Since their smoking kiss, he’d tuned into her thoughts as though he had a persistent connection straight into her brain.

“I’m okay. Don’t use me as an excuse to quit. The show is in less than twenty-four hours.”

“We’re ready. Besides, how well do you think we’re going to do if your ankle is swollen to the size of a loaf of bread and you can hardly put any weight on it?” Razor snapped at her. She deserved it. He had a point.

“Fine. But we’ll start early tomorrow.” She hated her petty need to win something. It demanded he offer a compromise. She had to retain a modicum of control.

“Fine,” he grumbled. Exhaustion hounded him as much as it did her. Neither possessed enough energy for a proper argument.

They gathered their jackets. When she headed for the stairs, a firm hand gripped her wrist.

“Take the elevator or I’ll throw you over my shoulder.”

She rolled her eyes, but changed direction.

“Let me lead. It’s getting dark out. You wouldn’t want to trip and hurt yourself again.” Irritation colored his directive. She’d refused to explain how she’d sustained her injury no matter how many things he’d tried to suggest.

Isabella didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to realize the earlier scare had him spooked. She didn’t call him on it. No need to embarrass him despite the overbearing asshole he’d imitated. Guilt had eaten at her all afternoon for not coming clean about the threatening messages she’d received yesterday from someone who could very well be lurking nearby this instant.

No news was good news, right? She hadn’t heard a peep since then. Still, the hairs on her nape insisted someone was watching. Biding their time. Razor’s freak-out had been justified. She wished she could confess without putting him in greater danger than she already had.

Especially since holding out gambled more than the two of them.

Matt and Clint had stayed true to their word. They’d stopped in from time to time to check up on her and Razor. The duo had reveled in flinging shit and talking trash until she kicked them out for disrupting. Every time the cops appeared, her partner stiffened, fumbled a step he’d nailed repeatedly or forgot sections of their routine.

He didn’t seem like the type to give a crap what others thought of him, so why the change?