Trouble with the Law (7 page)
She peered at him through her lashes, and the eager look made his chest tighten.
“What are you planning to do?” she asked.
He raised his other hand and cupped her face between his palms, fascinated by the curiosity that had replaced the fury in her eyes.
“I’m taking my niece and nephew to
Valley Forge
to see
“They live in the city?”
He smiled down at her and stepped closer, until their bodies almost touched. His thumbs moved in an unconscious gesture to gently rub over her lower lip. “You ask too many questions,” he said. Then he bent down and kissed her, the pressure of his lips soft and tempting. He could feel her hesitate, and then she leaned into him and responded to the kiss.
“I’d like to take you to bed now,” he whispered.
“Why?” she whispered back.
“Because now that you’ve got rid of your anger, you’ll be ready to make love to me rather than use sex as a weapon.”
“Is that what I was doing?”
He smiled against her lips. “Yes,” he told her. “And a lethally effective one too. Damn near killed me.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” she breathed, her mouth brushing his.
Mark groaned in defeat, realizing that he might end up hanging around longer than was strictly necessary, simply out of the hope of repeating the experience he’d just been through. The thought made him harden, and he bent to scoop her in his arms. “Which way is the bedroom?”
She raised one elegant arm. “Over there.”
“Truce?” he said as he lowered Justine against his chest so that she could reach down to the doorknob and open the bedroom door.
“Truce,” she replied, and when her arms came around his neck and she planted a soft kiss on his lips, he found her gesture of surrender almost unbearably sweet.
Then they were by the bed, and he settled her on the quilted cover.
Vulnerability in a woman broke his defenses like nothing else. He nudged her over to her stomach and reached for the zipper at the back of her little black dress. Inch by inch, he pulled it open, bending to kiss the exposed skin between her shoulder blades. Her soft moans of pleasure eased his troubled mood.
Justine wasn’t to blame for his current predicament. She was a victim of circumstances, just as much as he was. Honesty forced him to admit that dealing with the situation had to be easier on a man than it was on a woman.
Unsure of exactly what filled him with such tenderness, Mark set out to give Justine pleasure that she would remember long after he was gone. She lay languid before him, allowing him to undress her. Shifting her shoulders, she helped him slide down the dress, and then she raised her hips so he could ease off the garment and the panties beneath.
He quickly discarded his own clothes and climbed on the bed beside her. She pressed her face into the covers, and he brushed her curtain of shiny hair aside to kiss her neck. Slowly, dreamily, he claimed her body with lingering touches and roaming lips. The curve of her shoulders, each side in turn. The arch of her back. Traveling down one vertebra at a time, until he reached the swell of her buttocks. Down her legs and back up again. The dip of her waist, the side of a breast peeking from beneath her body.
All the while, she trembled under his touch. Her murmured pleas for more filled him with a sense of ownership. When he could take no more, when the blood pounded through his cock so hard it bordered on pain, Mark paused to get ready and stretched out over her.
“Do you want me?” he whispered into her ear.
“Like this?” she asked, twisting her head to look at him.
“Yes.” He nuzzled the curve of her jaw. “I’ll keep it slow.”
She gave him a wordless nod.
He reached down, urged her legs apart, and slipped his arm beneath her to tilt her hips to give him better access. He ground his teeth to keep from ramming into her, the way instinct demanded. Instead, he eased into her, taking forever. When he finally filled her, he stopped and waited until she began to rock her hips to meet him take him deeper still.
With excruciating patience, he withdrew and slipped back inside. He lost all sense of time as he continued the slow thrust and drag, bringing her to a shuddering peak, making her shatter beneath him, and then waiting for her to calm down, so he could start all over again.
Giving, not taking, and the selfless act seemed to forge the most complete possession he had ever experienced.
* * * *
When Justine woke in the morning, she found herself spooned against Mark, his arm around her waist, anchoring her close. She barely dared to breathe. What madness had overcome her yesterday? A hot flush crept over her skin as she recalled how she had allowed the blistering anger to turn her into a sexual aggressor. Then she closed her eyes and thought how Mark had carried her to bed and made love to her with a tenderness that still tugged at her heart.
Sheriff Taylor was a dangerous man, but that was something she’d known from the instant she first saw him storming across the floor into his office.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, without any apparent transition between sleep and wakefulness.
Almost against her will, Justine snuggled closer. “Yes.”
“Do you want to come with me today?”
“I don’t know.” Hesitation muffled her voice. How would he introduce her to his brother’s children, who would no doubt mention her when they got home? Friend? Girlfriend? Or would he keep it deliberately vague?
“How old are your niece and nephew?” she asked.
“Seven and ten.”
“Do you have any children?”
His arm tensed around her. “No.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“Yes.” He shifted along the bed. “Have you?” he asked. She could hear the strain in his voice, and knew that although he might be curious about her, his main reason for asking the question had been to turn the conversation away from him.
“No,” she said.
“How come?”
“I almost got married when I was in my early thirties.” She paused for a moment, puzzled by the impulse that had her pouring out her relationship history to a stranger. “The man was my boss. He was divorced with three children, and he made it clear he didn’t want any more. I decided it was too much of a sacrifice.” She couldn’t stop the wistful little sound that rose in her chest. “Seems foolish now, since I’ve ended up childless anyway.”
“It must have seemed the right decision at the time. You couldn’t know then that you wouldn’t meet someone else.”
Justine was glad she had her back to Mark, so he couldn’t see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “That’s right,” she said. “And the guy turned out to be a bastard anyway.”
“Why? What did he do?”
“He fired me when I broke off the engagement.” She blinked back the tears, angry that despite the years the memory still had the power to hurt. “Six months later, he married a twenty-two-year-old and promptly got her pregnant.”
“Maybe he realized he’d made a mistake in letting you go, and didn’t want to repeat it,” Mark said lightly.
Justine expelled a long sigh. “Or maybe he never loved me the way he loved her.”
“Maybe.” Mark held her tight in his warm embrace. “This seems a very long way of answering my question.”
“Which was?”
“Do you want to come along today when I take my niece and nephew to
Valley Forge
?”
Justine held her breath. “No,” she said in the end. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. And I have work to do. I need to go and man the Chandler Developments stall at the charity bike ride in
He didn’t press her. They took turns to shower and then had breakfast. Mark kept up the idle conversation, attempting to fill in the long silences. When he was gone, with assurances that he would be in touch as soon as he knew if he had the time to drive down the following weekend, Justine couldn’t relax. She spent the rest of the day regretting that she hadn’t gone with him.
So what, if it made no sense to risk becoming too fond of him, and having to suffer the agonies of a broken heart when he disappeared? Surely, a broken heart was better than a frozen heart.
The following week, Justine had to use all her ingenuity at work to keep Sandra’s probing questions at bay. Steven was much blunter in his approach, telling her that Mark had been a great success and should be invited to all upcoming company events.
Justine balanced the fine line between telling lies and keeping up the pretense that she and Mark were in a committed relationship.
On Thursday morning, he telephoned to tell her that there had been a breakout at the county jail, and he had to work until the three escaped prisoners were caught. Justine moped around her apartment all evening. It made her feel a little better when she heard the details of the prison break on Fox news.
At least it was true, rather than an excuse he’d made to avoid seeing her. Then it occurred to her that the convicts could be dangerous. She spent the weekend showing prospective buyers around the latest project of Chandler Developments, using every spare moment to rush in front of the television screen. She was almost as worried about Mark as she was about the fact that his welfare appeared to mean so much to her.
She tried to call him on Monday, and realized that he’d never given her his home number. Irritation stirred up inside her. How was she supposed to pull off the pretence that they were lovers, if he paid so little attention to details? She ended up leaving a message with the woman with the nasal voice, who seemed to have no idea who Justine was when she gave her name. So much for being the sheriff’s latest ladylove, if his staff had never even heard of her.
The week limped by. Tension made Justine impatient, causing Sandra to give her long concerned looks. On Friday night, Justine took home three proposals for a leisure village Steven was planning, although the project was in such early stages that her involvement wasn’t required. She would only be needed once Steven had decided which parcel of land to bid on, and then she would do her best to rally support for the project amongst the local population.
When she got home, a message light blinked on her telephone. She pressed the keys and listened to Mark’s tired voice.
“
Sorry I haven’t been in touch. It’s been hectic, but we’re done now. I’m too tired to drive, but I’m catching a ride down with a Fox reporter. I should be with you around seven. I hope that’s okay with you
.”
When the phone clicked at the end of the message, Justine checked her watch.
“Hi, it’s Mark,” said the exhausted voice.
“Come up,” she told him. “I got your message.”
She unlocked the front door and returned to the kitchen, her mood somber as she realized that tonight would fill his required quota of three times of making love to her. After that, she would be unlikely to see him again.
Unless…she managed to get through the weekend without sleeping with him. Her brows in a calculating frown, Justine finished rinsing the dishes. By the time the front door slammed and heavy footsteps thudded through the hall, her vague idea had grown into a solid plan.
She turned to say hello to Sheriff Taylor, leaning her back against the countertop as she waited for him to appear. When he did, his battle-scarred appearance made her forget her intention to act cool and distant.
“What is this?” she cried out, rushing up to him. “Why is your face covered in cuts and bruises?” Her hand rose to hover in front of his battered face, but she didn’t dare to touch his skin, in case it would cause him pain.
“It’s not what you think.” He sank down in the kitchen chair too small for his big frame. “I haven’t been in a fight. I’ve been running at full speed through the forest. There wasn’t enough time take care, so the branches clipped my face.”
She inspected the cut above his left eye. “Have you been attended to? In high summer cuts can easily get infected with the heat.”
“There was no time.” He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes with his hands, then winced when his fingers met the wound. “I had to see you this weekend. Time’s running out if there is going to be a disciplinary hearing. I was too tired to drive, and the guy who offered me a ride couldn’t wait.”
“You should have called me, and I could have driven up.”
Mark lifted his face, looking surprised. “You would have?” His brows knitted into a frown. “When I told you two weeks ago that we needed to spend time together, you could barely find me a slot in your busy schedule.”
“I told you I was busy for the next two weekends. That was work. This is the third weekend, and I’m free.”
Mark shrugged his broad shoulders, appearing too tired to have the energy to become annoyed because of the miscommunication. “I guess it will do me good to get away from
“Of course,” she told him. Leaving him, she hurried into the bathroom and ran him a bath, filling the tub with bubbles. When she returned to the kitchen, she found him asleep, his head pillowed on the table over his crossed forearms. She hesitated about waking him up. Slumber rendered him appealingly vulnerable. The crescents of thick dark lashes made shadows against the bronzed skin. A longing choked Justine’s chest as she stood watching him. She knew that she didn’t want to let him go, but she also knew that she couldn’t deny him if he tried to make love to her, so the plan to force him to return one more time wouldn’t work.
It would be bittersweet, knowing that if she had the strength to resist him, he would have to come back to her.
Mark blinked his eyes open with the curious instant awakening that she recalled from their previous night together. “I’ve ran you a bath,” she told him softly. “There are clean towels on the shelf, and shampoo and soap on the ledge by the tub.”
He murmured his thanks and rose his feet. At the door he turned. “Would you mind coming in and watching over me? I’m so tired I might go to sleep. I don’t want to drown in the tub.”
She nodded, a lump forming in her throat at his battered look, and at the prospect that she might offer him some comfort. She followed him into the bathroom. When he began to undress with clumsy gestures, she stepped in and lifted her hands to unbutton his khaki shirt. As soon as she took over, he dropped his arms down his sides and stood still, allowing her to take charge.
She pushed the shirt open, her eyes widening at the bruises that mottled his chest. “It’s a thick forest, and the tracker dogs run at speed,” he told her gruffly. “I’m not in good enough shape for the job.”
Not pausing to comment, she knelt down and unlaced his boots, then guided him to sit on the edge of the bathtub, which allowed her to remove the dusty boots and socks. He stood up again, and she undid his belt and rolled down his pants. She sensed his gaze lingering on her, and felt the stirring in his groin that didn’t quite grow to a full erection.
“I sure as hell am not capable right now, but I guess this reminds me of that other time when you pulled down my pants and had your way with me.” Amusement lingered in his voice, but it didn’t mask the exhaustion.
She glanced up at him, and saw that he wasn’t smiling. An intent look filled his eyes. For a long moment, they contemplated each other. Justine felt as if she was falling under a spell. It was strangely erotic, undressing a man who offered neither help nor resistance.
“Next time we do this, I want you to get in the bath with me,” he murmured. Then he turned around, and with a long relieved sigh, he lowered himself into the hot water.
Next time
.
Her heart fluttered, but she told herself it was nothing but a phrase, an idle expression about what a man would like to do with a woman in a bath filled with fragrant bubbles.
“Duck under to make your hair wet,” she ordered.
He turned to give her a long look, and then slid down and dipped his shoulders beneath the surface. When he sat up again, water cascaded off his skin. She poured a dollop a shampoo into her hands and washed his hair, massaging the scalp with strong fingers, gratified to hear his murmurs of pleasure.
“Duck again to rinse,” she said, and he obeyed without question.
“Do you want conditioner?” she asked.
“What does it do?”
“Makes it easier to comb. And it smells nice.” She uncapped the bottle and held it in front of his face.
He inhaled a long breath. “Smells like a girl,” he said, turning to grin at her. “None of that for me.”
She smiled at him, and went on to soap every inch of his skin, carefully skirting around the darkening bruises. She hesitated around his half-hearted erection.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Just give it a wash. I’m too tired.”
She did as he told her, more embarrassed now than she’d been when she had taken him into her mouth in her burst of anger. Blood heated her cheeks, and the color deepened when she noticed the amusement Mark wasn’t even trying to hide.
“You are a strange contradiction.” His eyes followed her movements as she turned on the shower attachment to give him a final rinse with clean water. “Normally so proper and cool, but like a scorching flame when you lose control.”
She didn’t reply, just went about the business of methodically rinsing the last traces of shampoo and bubble bath from his dripping curls “You are done,” she said finally and turned off the taps. “Stand up.”
When he did, she shook out a big white towel and began to rub him dry, patting gently over his injuries.
“I could get used to this,” he said hoarsely when she was finished and wrapped a fresh towel around his waist.
She looked up at him, her throat closing up with the need to say something in return, to make him understand how she felt, but she knew that she mustn’t. The heartbreak of parting would be easier to deal with if pride remained intact.
“You can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa,” she said, and felt a sharp sting of disappointment when he didn’t contradict her.
“You need to help me get there. I’m not sure that I’m steady on my feet.”
She gave him a surprised glance, since the bath seemed to have revived him, but didn’t protest when he draped his arm over her shoulders and leaned on her as he first stepped out of the path, and then made his way into the bedroom.
“If you don’t mind sitting down for a while, I’ll change the sheets for you,” she said.
“Have you slept with someone else on these sheets?”
Taken aback, she frowned at him. “Of course not.”
“Then there’s no need to change them.” He unraveled the towel from around his waist and dropped it to the floor. With a long satisfied sigh, he stretched out on the bed, on top of the covers. “I need to cool down,” he explained to her.
“Do you want me to get you anything? A drink? A cup of coffee?”
He turned and met her eyes with his level stare. “Only you,” he said. “I want you to lie down next to me.”
Her breath caught at the solemn tone of his words. “You’ll be more comfortable without me bumping against your bruises,” she said hesitantly.
“I don’t care.” He held one arm out to her. “It’s been a hell of a week.” His mouth quirked. “When a man is as beat as I am, he realizes how much comfort there is in a pair of slender arms to hold him.”
Justine swallowed, and then she stretched out next to him, leaving a careful distance between their bodies in order not to cause him discomfort, but he reached for her and in one swift move, he hauled her up against his side, clutching her tight.
“I may be crazy,” he told her, his words muffled against her hair, “but when I heard that the men we were hunting were armed, the thought that flashed through my mind was that if I died, I’d never get to see you again.”
Almost as soon as he had finished the sentence, he fell asleep, but his arms remained wrapped around her, holding her close.
