Shades of Temptation (7 page)

“Despite what I said earlier at McGill’s, I think it’s only
fair to tell you I’ve changed my mind.”

“Changed your mind about what?”

“About whether it’s worth pursuing this attraction between us.
Like you said, you’ve got needs, and I’ve got a need for you that’s been
building since the first moment I saw you. So long as commitment isn’t what
you’re asking for, we can have some fun in the sack, too. If you thought a leg
massage was good, you should see what I can do when you’re spread out and naked.
I’ll show you a better time in bed than anyone on SWAT can, I promise you
that.”

For a second she hesitated, as if she was considering his
half-assed offer. Then she smiled tightly and said, “I have plenty of fun, Jase.
You’re free to do the same. Just do it without me.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

B
RAD
COULDN
’
T
BELIEVE
his
luck. He’d never been the kind of guy to leave a bar with a girl, let alone one
as classy and beautiful as this. Tonight, not only did he have a pretty girl on
his arm, but she was going home with him. And according to her, she was willing
to do whatever he wanted when he got there.

The possibilities were endless. There were so many things he
wanted to do to her. And with her. So many things that he wanted
her
to do to him…first.

Before.

Before he took advantage of the information he’d overheard at
McGill’s.

Before he proved that he was better. Smarter. More creative
than even
him.

After all, it was
his
fault Brad
had never left a bar with a woman before. And it was his fault Brad now had the
courage to do so. Being able to blame him for both seemed not just fortuitous
but destined.

Like there was a higher power at work, telling Brad that after
all the pain, the mockery and the rejection, his time had finally come. If only
he was willing to seize the opportunity.

Still, in the back of his mind, a gnawing feeling of guilt ate
at him.

He glanced at the woman beside him.

It would be wrong to sleep with her. Wrong to use her. After
all, he didn’t love her.

He loved Nora.

It was Nora he really wanted to make love to.

But she’d never seen him that way. And she never would.

Not now.

Not when she had him in her life.
Him
—who was perfect. Handsome. Popular.

All things Brad could never be.

That knowledge wasn’t new, but it stung as if it was.

Pain was the last feeling he’d ever wanted to associate with
Nora, but it was there. Erasing his guilt. Prodding him on.

If he couldn’t have Nora, he decided, then this girl would
do.

She’d do for now.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“W
E
CAN
HAVE
SOME
FUN
,”
Carrie mimicked the next day as she walked into the building that
housed SIG Headquarters. “Fun my ass,” she breathed, more to push away the
images the phrase brought to mind—all involving her and a very naked, sweaty
Jase Tyler—than anything else. “He’s exactly what you thought,” she told
herself. “He respects female cops, but God forbid he ever become involved with
one for more than a quick screw.”

She snorted and shook her head. Quick screw? Right. As if. From
what she knew about Jase Tyler, he wouldn’t be a quick lover. If his slight
Texan drawl and his deceptive habits of lounging and ambling weren’t proof
enough, all she had to do was remember the slow, firm strokes he’d used to
massage her legs. He’d had all the patience in the world, teasing both her and
himself with carefully controlled touches when it had been damn clear they’d
both wanted more.

When he’d tugged her thighs farther apart, it had taken
everything she had not to grasp his hand and guide it between them. She’d been
aching for his touch, his penetration. Wanting to be filled. Wanting to lose
herself in pleasure in a way she never had before. It was one of the things that
drew her most to him. Her life demanded constant energy from her and that’s the
way she liked it. Most of the time. She knew that once Jase got a woman in bed,
he’d make sure they stayed there for a long time. While he did all kinds of
wonderful things to her.

Too bad that woman was never going to be her.

So forget about him already. You’ve got a
job to do.

Sighing, she rubbed at her eyes, which felt covered with
grit.

She’d been doing her job all night. So much so that she hadn’t
gotten any sleep.

After Jase left, she’d kept working just so she wouldn’t give
in to temptation and call him. Thankfully, after looking at the crime-scene
photos again and going over the notes she’d made, she’d forgotten about Jase and
their turbulent relationship. All she’d been focused on was trying to come up
with a lead. Any kind of lead.

Her mind still on the case, Carrie took the elevator to the
lower floor that contained locker rooms and a small workout room. She hadn’t
done her P.T. exercises this morning, so she’d do them now. That way, she could
work uninterrupted through the rest of the day. After meeting with the
commander, she’d start setting up interviews. Then she’d—

Turning a corner, she didn’t even see the man coming toward
her. She ran right into him.

She actually bounced off Jase’s hard body before he grabbed her
arms to steady her. Instantly, she took in his half-dressed state. He wore
shorts, socks and sneakers, but nothing else. His chest was bare, his muscles
defined and bulkier than she’d have expected, his skin a smooth surface
sprinkled lightly with the perfect amount of hair. He was sweating and breathing
hard, and she realized he must have just finished working out, either running on
the treadmill or lifting weights or both.

She gulped in air, trying to steady herself, but all she ended
up doing was inhaling his spicy, musky scent, all hint of cologne gone and only
the wonderful subtle aroma of man left behind. His grip loosened, but he didn’t
let go of her. Instead, he smoothed his palms against her arms in a gentling
motion. From just that slight touch, from just seeing him, she was ready to
take. And to be taken.

It pissed her off, but…

Big deal. So her response proved she was human, female and
breathing.

Despite his southern charm and snazzy clothes, he exuded that
bad-boy quality that made grown women turn into simpering fools. She’d seen that
herself last night at McGill’s when one woman after another had propositioned
him.

But he didn’t want them,
a voice
taunted her.
He wanted you. Only not for a commitment—for a
roll in the sack.

Story of her life.

But she was stronger than the bolt of chemistry that hit
whenever they were together.

She had to be.

Didn’t she?

She wasn’t so sure anymore. They stared at each other before
his gaze dropped to her mouth. She sucked in a breath, wondering if he would
kiss her. Hoping he would.

Instead, he frowned and took a step back. “Good morning. Did
you sleep well?”

She immediately tensed but there was no hint of taunting or
innuendo in his expression. To the contrary, he looked subdued. Tired. As if
he’d done the exact
opposite
of sleeping well.
Because of her? Had he replayed their time together as much as she—

“Listen, Carrie. I need to talk to you about something,” he
said, his expression growing even more solemn.

She cleared her throat and tried to look anywhere but at his
bare body. “Did you have more thoughts about the case? Because it really helped
me to talk things out with you last night, Jase. After you left, I thought
about—” She couldn’t help it. Her attention had strayed to his naked chest. Then
his six-pack abs. Her gaze would probably have continued its downward path but
for the fact that she caught sight of a crisscrossing network of raised scars on
his smooth, slightly tan skin. She sucked in a breath. “Jesus, Jase, what
happened?” Without thinking, she reached out to touch the scars that riddled his
left side. Before she could, he caught her wrist.

“It happened a few years ago,” he said, still holding her.
“When I worked for Dallas P.D.”

“They look like knife wounds.”

“They are. I got called to a domestic situation. Met the woman
outside. She was beaten pretty bad but she told me her husband, the guy who’d
done it to her, had left. When I walked her back inside, he ambushed me. Sliced
me up six ways to Sunday before I could get to my gun.”

“She let you walk in there knowing he was going to do that?
Knowing that you were just trying to help her?”

“I don’t think she knew what he was going to do. She thought he
was hiding in the bedroom. Waiting for me to leave.”

“So he could beat her up some more,” she snapped.

He shrugged. “You know the reality of domestic abuse, Carrie.
He probably apologized before I got there and that was enough for her to believe
that maybe, just maybe, this time he’d change. Anyway, it was touch-and-go for a
while, but…” He shrugged.

Her mind reeled at his words. She shouldn’t be so surprised to
learn he’d been hurt on the job or that he’d almost died, but seeing the proof
of his wounds, hearing him describe the incident that had almost taken his life,
rattled her so much that she shocked them both.

With him still holding her wrist, she bent awkwardly and
pressed her lips against the worst of his scars.

He sucked in a hissing breath and went perfectly still.

Straightening, she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m
really—”

He curled his arm around her and yanked her against him. Then
his mouth slanted over hers. This time, she knew he kissed her with absolutely
no thoughts of comfort in mind. Instead, he seemed to care only about possessing
her. And despite where they were, who they were, she wanted to be possessed by
him.

* * *

J
ASE
SLIPPED
HIS
TONGUE
into the heated cavern of Carrie’s mouth and
groaned at the pure pleasure of it. Despite her prickly demeanor whenever they
were together, she was as soft and warm as he’d always imagined she’d be. As
soon as her body touched his, their individual components locked together with
ease, as if every part of her had been created for the sole purpose of
complementing every part of him. At work, they were equals; by nature, they were
opposites, but opposites of the best sort. Where he was hard, she was soft.
Where he was male, she was fabulously female. Her plump breasts gave to the
pressure of his torso. Her graceful hips cradled his. And her scent? God, her
feminine scent wound around him the way he knew her hair would if it was
loose.

With his free hand, he reached up and carefully withdrew the
band from her ponytail. Her russet curls spilled over his hands like molten
lava, and he buried his fingers in the tangled mass. Cradling the back of her
skull, he tilted her head to give him better access to her mouth. He explored
every sweet corner with his tongue, lingering over the smooth sharpness of her
teeth. She rose on tiptoe, trying to gain control of the kiss by sucking on his
tongue. With a groan, he ripped his mouth free to take in desperate bursts of
air.

His hands didn’t know what to do. They wanted to stay in her
hair and around her waist, but at the same time it wasn’t enough. He wanted to
touch her everywhere, all at once, to cup breasts and buttocks and, yes, that
sweet hot core between her thighs before one of them came to their senses and
realized they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing.

He licked the hollow beneath her ear just as she gasped, “Jase.
Jase, stop. We can’t.”

He rested his forehead against her shoulder, and although he
wanted to howl in denial, he took several deep breaths, released her and stepped
back.

She looked like an erotic fantasy, her lips bee-stung and her
hair a wild cloud around her face. Most of all, her blue eyes glittered with a
fierce desire that he’d never forget, no matter how much she denied it later.
She raised her hand and gingerly touched her mouth, and he remembered the sting
of pleasure that had bolted through him when she’d pressed that mouth against
his scars. Automatically, he lifted his hand and touched the scars at his side,
as if by touching himself he was touching her, too. Her eyes followed the
movement before darting back to his.

With a whimper, she turned and walked away.

* * *

O
DELL
B
OWERS
’
S
SMILE
disappeared as soon as the
door to his office closed. He’d just finished a consult with yet another woman
willing to pay thousands of dollars for elective cosmetic surgery that she
really didn’t need. It was the bread and butter of his practice, and enabled him
to live in the manner to which he’d grown accustomed, but he was so damn bored
with boob jobs and tummy tucks. Even the face-lifts, which he’d always viewed
differently, weren’t challenging him any longer. All he could think about was
his girls. The magnificent results of what he’d done to them. How proud Laura
would have been of him and his work.

Unlike the women he saw day in and day out, Laura had been
comfortable in her own skin. She’d made it her duty to help Bowers become the
same. She hadn’t cared that he’d liked to borrow her clothes or play with her
makeup. In fact, she’d reassured him that he looked better in them than she
did.

Laughing affectionately, Bowers rose and locked his office
door. Then he buzzed his receptionist and told her he needed an hour of privacy.
Using his private bathroom, he washed his hands thoroughly, the way Laura had
taught him. By the time he was done, and he retrieved his briefcase from under
his desk, he was trembling with anticipation.

He always had his briefcase with him. Always.

The snick of the lock as he disengaged it made him jerk.

The smooth glide of the lid as he slid it up made him gasp.

The sight of the small box inside, an intricately carved ivory
container Laura had given him for his birthday, made him moan.

Lightly, he brushed his fingertips over the surface and
imagined he could still feel the warmth from her having held the box so long
ago.

But he knew it wasn’t real.

That was okay. Because the contents of the box were very
real.

Each time he added more items to the box, he paid homage to
Laura and repented for the way he’d failed her. He was good at his job, the
best, but what he did with his girls was the work he was most proud of. He’d
give up everything—his practice, his money, his social standing, everything—for
the time with Laura that he’d been denied. But since that couldn’t happen, he
took comfort in the ones that he could help.

He closed his eyes and recalled the last one. How smooth her
skin had looked. How creamy. He’d over-plucked her brows, just the tiniest bit,
but he was confident the brow corrector had done its job. Even if the police had
enlarged the photos he’d sent them, he doubted anyone would be able to pinpoint
his mistake.

Grimacing, Bowers reached down and cupped his growing erection.
He hissed and let go. Hand shaking, he touched the ivory box once more, then
picked up the shiny tube next to it. As he popped off the lid, he strode to the
gilded mirror on the wall across from his desk. He layered the lipstick—the same
baby’s breath color he’d used on his girls—on his lips.

He studied himself from first one angle and then another. Not
satisfied, he added even more color.

Yes. That was it.

Lovely. He was lovely.

His gaze strayed back to his briefcase and the ivory box
inside.

It was almost a shame that he had to limit himself. The urge to
speed things along, to show off his artistry, was increasing. It was getting to
the point that whenever he caught sight of a woman that reminded him of Laura,
he could barely stop himself from approaching her.

But he had to. And he did.

Because Laura had been in a hurry when she’d been killed. She’d
taught him the dangers of impatience.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake.

* * *

C
ARRIE
BEAT
J
ASE
to the SIG office by a mere ten minutes, yet
when he strolled in, he’d already showered and changed into his work clothes. He
looked calm and composed, but the searing heat in the gaze he directed at her
told another story. She, on the other hand, was feeling anything but calm. She
tried to look anywhere but at him. Although she’d once more pulled her hair
back, twisting it into a strategically tucked knot because he’d pulled the band
free and tossed it on the floor somewhere downstairs, she imagined that everyone
could see how his lips and hands had been all over her.