Stranger At My Door (A Murder In Texas) (20 page)

“I told you. I can’t get close to anyone.”

“I’m disappointed. You used to be so brave.”

Hurt glittered in Dinah’s eyes. “Me? What about you and Jamey?”

“That’s different.”

“Really? That boy loves you every bit as much as Rafe loves me, and I bet you haven’t let him get within spitting distance of you.”

“You know why.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry. But you’re telling me to pick myself up and move on, and I’m telling you it’s not that easy.”

The fight seemed to drain out of Dinah, and her shoulders crumpled. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to upset you. You have a damn good reason to turn down Jamey. But as far as Rafe and I are concerned, you have to trust me, it’s not going to work out.”

“But you love Rafe, don’t you?”

Dinah shook her head. “I can’t love him.”

“What if you tried?”

“He’d find out soon enough I’m not very lovable.” Dinah spun away and strode to the front window. She stared out at the street. “Come on, Es, you know what it’s like. Of all the people in this stupid town, you have to know how hard it is to stand up after you’ve been trampled into the dust.”

She did. Her legs began to wobble, and she sank back into her chair. The image of a fool gazed up at her from the floor. She picked it up and studied it. “I know.”

It irked her all the same. She’d worked so hard to make something of her life, but she was still letting the past hold her back.

“I’m going to change.”

Dinah spun around and eyed her.

“I’ve lived in this tight little circle with Brooke for so long, I don’t know exactly how to get out. But I want to try.”

“You love Jamey?” Dinah’s eyes were sad.

“Yes, I think I do.” She rose and went to Dinah. “Promise me something.”

“What?”

“If I can make this thing work with Jamey, you’ll give Rafe a chance.”

Dinah rubbed at her temple. “I can’t think about that right now. The money, the kidnapper, selling the house—”

“Once all that is resolved. Okay?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Esme nodded. “It’s a start.”

Dinah’s arms slid around her shoulders and hugged her close. “Thank you, honey.”

“What for?” She pulled away.

“For not giving up on me.”

Esme smiled. “It will be a cold day in hell before that ever happens.”

The enormity of her decision hit her. How was she going to do this? The same way she’d gotten over every other brick wall in her life. By taking it one brick at a time and not looking up.

…

Esme’s hand trembled as she pressed Jamey’s doorbell.

“This is stupid.” She’d let herself get caught up in Dinah and Rafe’s problems, and she wasn’t going to solve them by taking a machete to her own. Besides it was late. He was probably asleep. Tomorrow was soon enough to see Jamey, or even the day after tomorrow.

She’d count to fifteen, no, ten, then leave. One one thousand, two one thousand…ten. She leapt off the porch. As her boots hit the brick path, door hinges squeaked behind her.

“Esme?” His deep voice rumbled through her.

She turned. Framed in the light from the open door, Jamey studied her, wearing nothing but a pair of blue sweatpants. She’d not seen him undressed, and his body took her breath away. His shoulders were corded, his chest muscled. The black hair covering his chest narrowed to a thin line that traveled down his belly and disappeared beneath his waistband. She tried not to follow the dark trail with her eyes, but she couldn’t stop herself…just like she couldn’t stop her loins from melting and desire from quivering between her thighs.

Her heart began to beat wildly.
Run!
She backed up a few stops. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll call tomorrow.”

He smiled his sweet smile. “I was watching the news. Come in.”

Her eyes fell again on the dark line of hair on his belly, his narrow waist, the shadowy bulge in the soft jersey fabric. She wanted to touch him before the melting desire inside her disappeared. “I should go.”

“Come in. I’ll put on a shirt. We can sit in the kitchen and talk.”

She nodded. “Okay. Just for a few minutes.”

He led the way into the kitchen, grabbing a T-shirt hanging from a chair. As he slipped it over his head, his back muscles flexed and hardened, and she wanted to run her fingers down his spine, feel his warm, male skin beneath her palm. The hem of the T-shirt dropped to his waist. She took a gulp of air to still her heart.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Slipping onto the stool in the kitchen, she shook her head. “I just came here to tell you something.”

His forehead creased, and his eyes clouded. “What is it? Did something happen?”

She shook her head. Her throat was dry. How did one start a romance?
Very carefully.
She studied her hands as they twisted on her lap. “Tonight I told Brooke about the, uh, thing that happened to me. You were right. She was okay with it, and—”

Jamey’s hands breached the narrow space between their knees and covered hers. His palms were rough, and his hands squeezed hers and twined themselves between her fingers. She swallowed hard and kept going.

“—and we talked about what to say if anyone ever said…”

He lifted her hands to his lips. His mouth pressed against the back of each hand, then he turned them over and kissed her palms. She gasped. Every nerve in her body tingled, and the damp skin where his lips touched her hands burned.

She tried to retrieve her hands, but it was impossible. She couldn’t look at his face so she concentrated on his hands, big and masculine with a feathering of black hair at the wrists. Lifting them, she touched her lips to his knuckles and breathed in his spicy scent until her lungs froze.

The bulge between his legs grew. He pulled his hands from hers. “Esme.” He whispered her name, and it flowed over her like velvet. “Look at me.”

She raised her eyes to him. A frown marred his forehead, and his gaze was serious. She’d expected love, or at least desire.

Her face grew hot. She’d thrown herself at him. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

“A mistake?”

“You kissed me like you were happy with me, with m-my news, but when I look in your eyes, they aren’t happy.”

“I kissed you because when you told me about Brooke, I knew you’d decided to give me a chance. So I had to touch you. And I am happy, painfully so.”

Her eyes drifted to his lap, to the hardness pressing against his sweatpants. She swallowed hard and raised her face to his.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Occupational hazard.”

She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Her uncertainty must have shown in her face because Jamey pressed his hands to the side of her head and kissed her forehead.

“If I look unhappy, it’s because I’m nervous. You are everything to me, Esme. I have to get this right.”

She relaxed. “Me, too.”

He gripped her shoulders, his palms hot against her bare arms. He pulled her to her feet and guided her between his knees. His sober blue eyes ignited, glittering with love and desire. “Is this better?”

She couldn’t speak, so she nodded.

He tilted his head and kissed her.

“Next step,” he whispered into her mouth, “I take over.”

She pulled back. “Take over?”

“Yeah. Expect to receive frequent phone calls from me and invitations to go out or come over. Expect me to pick you up
and
take you home, and expect me to tell everyone in El Royo that you are my girl.”

She shivered with anticipation.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The evidence bag in Rafe’s hip pocket felt like a burning ember. Nevertheless, as he dragged himself up the steps to Dinah’s house, he shivered.

Hollyn answered the door. If hate was a palpable thing, then this girl was mixing it up in ten-gallon drums. “Yeah?” she sneered.

He pushed inside, forcing her to stand back or risk brushing against him. The living room was dark, but the upstairs hall light was on. “Dinah?” He shouted her name up the staircase.

“She’s in bed.”

“It’s nine o’clock.”

“She said she was wore out.”

“Thought I saw a light on in her room.” A lie, but he didn’t care what the girl thought of him. He started up the steps, taking them two at a time.

“Hope that mean old dog doesn’t get you.”

Like hell she did.

He pushed open Dinah’s bedroom door. Muted light from the street illuminated the curled up body on the bed and the ribbon of pale hair against the pillow. The first flicker of need flashed through him, and he wished he could stretch out beside her like he belonged there.

Dinah raised her head. “Rafe?”

“Did I wake you?”

“I got tired of sitting and standing so I thought I’d lie down for awhile.” She sat up and switched on the lamp. Her luscious pink nipples called to him from beneath that dang tank top again. His eyes rolled to the left. The strip of condoms—minus one—stretched across the bedside table. All the blood in his body rushed straight down to his loins.

He cleared his throat. “Would you mind covering yourself, Miss Dinah, so we can talk?”

She glanced down at her breasts, then up at him. An eyebrow arched, but all she said was, “Sure thing, Mr. Rafe.”

Even
that
turned him on. He pulled up a chair beside her bed and vigorously petted the dog while Dinah slipped her arms into a shirt, which she didn’t bother to button.

“I’m decent. You can stop carrying on with the dog.”

He shooed Daisy away and leaned in close to Dinah. “I’m sorry,
querida
.”

“Oh, God.” The light in her eyes dimmed, and she pulled the shirt tightly around her. “You found my momma, didn’t you?”

“She was under an old catclaw tree near the house.”

“When can I have her?” Without flinching, her eyes bore straight into him. Playing the hard ass. That was his Dinah. But he knew better.

He lifted his hips from the chair and settled beside her. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her as tightly as he could without crushing her. She relaxed against him, her thin arms sliding around his waist, and he fought to stay in this sweet moment even though his body was roaring at him to press her against the pillows and take her.

He couldn’t think of anything to say, but “I’m sorry,” and he was tired of saying those words to her. “There was a ring.”

She pulled back. “Where is it?”

“Here.” He dug it out of his pocket. “The investigation team was finished with it.” He shook the ring into her open hand. It gleamed dully in the lamplight—he’d tried to shine it—a wide gold band with tiny diamonds pressed into the center.

She gazed at it with stony eyes. “Sometimes I wish I could cry, but I used up all my tears a long time ago.”

“Don’t mean anything either way. It’s how you feel inside that matters.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said sadly.

Her shirt had fallen open, and even when he looked away he could see the firm mounds of pink-tipped flesh. He took the ring and set it beside the condoms on the table. She gazed up at him, and her eyes turned knowing.

“You want to screw me.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No.” He wanted to make love.

“Right. Not screw. What was the word you used?” She waited.

“Di, don’t.”

“Fuck. I want to fuck, and you—” Her eyes flicked down to his jeans, then back to his face. Her mouth was a tight line of stubbornness. “—and you want to fuck, so what’s stopping us?”

The tight belt of pain that had squeezed his chest all day, exploded into anger. Why couldn’t she see how good they could be together? He wanted to hurt her, to brand her with his fury, to force her surrender.

“Nothing,” he growled.

He pushed her shirt off her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. She went lax as he dragged her to him. He ground his lips against hers. A puff of breath escaped her mouth, then it opened. His tongue thrust into her mouth, invading her, claiming her tongue and her teeth as his territory.

He pushed on, pressing his mouth against her delicate jaw and suckling her sweet neck. She tried to pull away from him, and he opened his eyes, hoping to see capitulation. But she met his gaze straight on.

“Your wet shirt is giving me a chill.”

Her nipples were hard nubs beneath the thin tank top. “Sure thing, Miss Dinah.” He yanked up his shirt. A soft hand pressed seductively against his chest before his T-shirt cleared his head. His anger hardened.

He flicked her hand away from him, gripped the top of her thin cotton tank, and jerked until it ripped. He yanked harder. It tore from collar to hem, coming away in his fist. Thin, rag-like bits of white cotton that no longer had the power to taunt him.

A tight gasp escaped her lips.

He shot her an evil grin. “I like my women naked.”

Her chin rose. “In that case…” She lifted her hips and pulled down her pajama bottoms.

She faced him, half-sitting, half-kneeling, legs slightly apart. Lifting her arms she fluffed her hair. Her breasts rose. He touched them, squeezing them softly. She stretched her back and arched, and he forgot about everything—his job, Hollyn, his broken heart—everything except the warm body beneath his hands and his need to possess it, possess her so she’d never forget she’d belonged to him, if only for a night.

He pushed her roughly against the pillows and lay on top of her. Her lips were swollen from his assault on her mouth, and her neck marred by a love bite. Her eyes were summer storm clouds, roiling, implacable, uncompromising. He pressed his lips to the soft flesh at the base of her neck so he wouldn’t have to look at her.

“Rafe.” Her knees rose on either side of his hips, and she opened herself to him. He’d never been so hard or wanted a woman more. His mouth descended on her breasts, suckling and biting. Beneath him, her hips were bucking against his penis. Her fingers snaked between their bodies and tugged on his jeans.

“Take off your pants.”

The memory of Dinah, naked in the dawn light rose inside him.

He lifted himself off her, and she opened her eyes. They were glazed with passion. She tried to sit up, but he grabbed her hips and flipped her over on her stomach.

“Rafe?” She spoke into the pillows and his name was muffled. He didn’t bother to answer.

The white globes of her bottom glowed in the light. He bent his head and pressed a kiss on each one. She gasped and writhed. The flesh between her legs was pink and moist, ready for him to plunge into her.

He unzipped his pants and pulled them down to his knees, then seized a condom from the table. His penis was swollen and throbbing. He pulled her hips to him and thrust into her hot, wet body. Rafe pushed her hard against the pillows, keeping her hips up with his hands, pushing into her again and again until she pulsed around him, then with a strangled cry, he came, pouring everything he had into her—love, hate, desire, bitterness, longing.

His spent body collapsed on top of her, covering her pale, dewy skin with his sweat-filmed flesh. Disgust curled at his lips and roiled his stomach. He’d never treated a woman that way in his life.

His mouth found her earlobe. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Her face remained buried in her pillow. She resisted him, but he managed to roll her over on her back. Her eyes glittered up at him. Tears hung on her lashes.

Hijo de puta.
He was a son of a bitch. “I hurt you.”

She shook her head. “No. I deserved that.”

“Why are you crying?” He brushed a curl from her cheek.

“Because
I
hurt you—”

“No.” He’d die before he accepted pity from anyone, but especially her.

“Yes. And you’re just about the only friend I have in the world. You and Esme.”

He didn’t want to be her friend. He lifted himself off her, hitched up his jeans and zipped them. “I’ve got to get ready for my shift. I just came by to bring you the news about your momma because your phone is off. You’re supposed to keep it on.”

She grimaced. “About the phone. It, uh, fell into a bucket of water. Accidentally.”

He’d bet a month’s pay Hollyn had something to do with it. But he still didn’t have a solid case against her on the kidnapping, and until he did, there was no upside to spooking her with accusations. The fingerprint results would be back in a day or two. Maybe that would spark something. In the meantime, he needed to protect Dinah.

“You know how to shoot a gun?”

Her eyes widened. “I’d be tarred and ridden out of Texas on a rail if I didn’t.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Hollyn was standing outside her bedroom door. “You leaving?”

“You go on to bed,” he ordered. “I’m coming back.”

He unlocked his glove box, pulled out the Beretta and slipped it under his shirt. Hollyn had disappeared and her bedroom door was shut tight when he came back upstairs. Dinah had pulled on pajama bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt. She still looked as sexy as hell, and his body stirred.

He gave her the gun.

She handled it like a pro, gauging its weight, sighting it, checking the clip, the safety. “It’s warm.”

“I put it under my shirt. I don’t want Hollyn to know you have it.”

Di set the gun down. “What is going on? She swears up and down you’re out to get her. I don’t believe her, but something’s changed since I was ambushed. You don’t think she was involved, do you? She just got into town, and she’s pregnant. Seems like it would be impossible.”

“Nothing’s going on. Just keep it close by and don’t let Hollyn see it. Okay?”

Her hands went to her hips, and she tilted her head to study him.

“Please, Di.”

Maybe it was something in the way he looked at her or how his voice broke when he said please, but she nodded.