Lover Undercover (12 page)

“Nobody knows I’m here,” she justified. “I’m not in the way. Did you really expect me to just go home and get a good night’s sleep knowing you were wandering the parking lot with a big bull’s-eye on your head?”

“Kylie, I—nobody—did a sweep of the building.” Although his breathing told her he was on the move, his voice remained carefully calm. For whatever reason, this caused her nerves to stretch tight. “What if you’re not the only one hiding in there?” he went on. “What happens if our guy is holed up inside the club?”

Fear’s icy fingers tickled her spine. She hadn’t thought about the killer hiding inside the club.

“I’ll tell you what happens,” Trevor went on in the face of her silence. Leashed fear strained his words. “He trips over you on his way to take me down. Get out of there. Right now.”

Imagining a murderous maniac lurking somewhere inside the building triggered her flight instinct in a big way. “I’m going,” she gasped.

“Good girl. I’m almost at the back steps. I’ll meet you there.”

Hands shaking, she fumbled with the exit bar on the back door. The latch finally gave way, and she stumbled through, completely off-balance. Even as the world tilted and the concrete rushed up to meet her, her eyes scanned the lot for Trevor. She saw him running her way, but as he ascended the first step, a hulking figure in dark clothing and a ski mask broke away from the shadows between the stairs and the wall of the building. A blunt object glinted at the end of his upraised arm.

Kylie screamed at the same time the arm began a powerful downward arc. Trevor started to turn, feinted left, and grunted as the makeshift mace connected with his head. The next instant, he tumbled facedown on the asphalt. The heavy, hollow thud of something solid connecting with flesh and bone reached her ears like a radio signal on a five-second delay.

She screamed again—his name this time—and scrambled down the stairs to where he lay crumpled and unconscious. The attacker stood stock-still for a second, as if shocked by her presence. Then a voice in the distance yelled, “Freeze!”

Nobody froze. Momentum didn’t permit her to do anything except continue closing the distance to Trevor. The assailant took off down the narrow alley behind the buildings. Ian approached at a full run, shouting instructions into a phone…radio…something. “Officer down! Repeat, officer down! Hernandez, get your ass over to the mouth of alley and cut this bastard off.” Without breaking stride he yelled, “He breathing?”

Oh, God. Was he? With a burst of strength born from adrenaline, she rolled Trevor over, almost crying with relief when she heard his low groan of protest. “Yes!” The relief evaporated when she saw his face. Blood flowed freely and copiously from a cut near his temple.

“Stay with him,” Ian barked as he flew by. “Ambulance is on the way.”

Chapter Thirteen

Trevor hated emergency rooms. He hated getting scanned and stitched. He hated concussions. Most of all, he hated Ian telling him the perpetrator got away.

About the only thing he didn’t hate was having Kylie glued to his side whenever some nurse, doctor, or technician wasn’t shooing her away so they could inflict more torture on him. Of course, he gladly would have traded her worry and guilt for less tear-inducing emotions, but one thing seemed fairly obvious to him, even with his somewhat fuzzy head. She cared. A lot. Whether she liked it or not.

By the time the ER finally spat him out, the sun had dawned skull-splittingly bright against a cloudless, electric blue sky in the City of Angels. Despite his protests, he found himself propped between Kylie and Ian, and walked to the curbside pickup/drop-off zone like a ninety-year-old invalid. Seeing the yellow Bug pulled up to the curb improved his mood slightly. He liked his ride home, at any rate.

Kylie ran around to the driver’s side while Ian held the passenger door and helped him into the seat.

“Captain said he doesn’t want to see your face before Wednesday.”

“What will you do without me ’til then?

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. He wants to see
my
ass ASAP.”

“Hey, what happened wasn’t your fault. Tell him—”

“He knows. I already explained we had an unforeseen factor in play,” Ian said quietly. Their eyes flicked over to Kylie, but she’d turned to reach for her seat belt and didn’t appear to have heard. “Anyway, I’m going to keep digging into backgrounds. Maybe our man has kept his official record clean, but somebody, somewhere, has seen this guy’s dark side.”

Trevor nodded, and then winced as pain sliced through his head. “E-mail me some of the files. I’ll dig, too.”

Ian stood and shut the door. “You can start digging on Wednesday.”

“I’ve got a concussion, not brain damage. I can read, type a few e-mails. I can dial a phone.”

“Hmm.” Ian’s eyes drifted back to Kylie. “I’m thinking, if you play your cards right, you’re going to be otherwise occupied.”

Oblivious, Kylie leaned across the interior of the car until she could see Ian out the passenger-side window. “Can you continue this later? The doctor said Trevor’s supposed to rest.”

Ian grinned. “We’re done. He’s all yours, Ky. Take him home and put him to bed.” The lazy wink he added was, in Trevor’s opinion, neither subtle nor discreet, but Kylie was too busy gunning the engine to catch the insinuation. As soon as she pulled away from the curb, it became apparent exactly where her thoughts were.

“Are you dizzy? In pain? Do you need me to stop for anything?”

“I’m fine. Looking forward to being home.”

She glanced at him, her expression uncertain. “Are you sure? You look pale and your eyes are kind of squinty. The doctor recommended ibuprofen for the pain. I should stop at the drugstore and pick some up.”

“My eyes are squinty because it’s bright out here.” He closed them and settled back in the seat, shifting around until he found a reasonably comfortable position in the compact space. “I have ibuprofen at home if the headache gets to be more than I can stand.”

“Okay. Straight home. Go ahead and take a little nap if you feel sleepy. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“I’m fine. Honest,” he replied, not bothering to lift his eyelids, which suddenly felt as if they weighed a ton. “I don’t need a nap. I’m just resting my eyes.”

“’Kay,” she replied quietly. Silence reigned in the small car, save for the strangely soothing hum of the engine and light, distant street sounds. Sunlight warmed his face. Red-orange lava-lamp shapes flowed behind his closed eyes.

A soft murmur wafted to his ear, too indistinct to catch.

“Huh?” He forced his eyelids open and immediately drowned in the twin oceans of Kylie’s eyes. The headache had disappeared, only to be replaced with a new, incredibly insistent ache in a distinctly lower region.

“What’s your full name?” she repeated.

He pulled himself a little higher in the seat and looked around, surprised to realize they were parked in front of his house. Someone, maybe Hernandez, had retrieved the Yukon from Deuces and left it in his driveway. “I wasn’t asleep.”

Apparently debating the sleep issue didn’t interest her. “What day is it?”

“Saturday…well, shit, now it’s Sunday. Calm down, I’m fine,” he insisted at her alarmed expression. If she thought he was about to tip over from cranial swelling, he had zero chance of talking her into bed so he could prove exactly how fine he felt.

She waved her hand in front of his eyes. “How many fingers do you see?”

“Jesus.” He clasped her wrist and moved her hand back about a foot. “Four fingers, one thumb.”

“Trevor—”

“Okay, okay. You’re holding up three fingers.” Uncurling her thumb and pinky, he interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed lightly. “Slim, delicate fingers,” he mused, “attached to one soft, graceful hand.” He let his thumb caress her palm. “Do I pass?”

“Hmm?” She stared at him for a long moment, seemingly hypnotized, while he drew intricate patterns on her palm with the edge of his thumb. “Um, yes. You pass.”

“Excellent.” Continuing the slow, stroking motion, he watched her eyes glaze over just a bit. “So tell me, Kylie, is this strictly taxi service or do I get some nursing, too?”

She blinked, frowned, and pinned him with a stern look—the one that always made his dick stand up and take notice. “I’m going to help you inside, tuck you into bed, and make sure you follow doctor’s orders and get some rest. I promised I’d stick around until three this afternoon. Then Ian will be here to take over watching you for signs of dizziness, nausea, or disorientation.”

Subduing a satisfied smile, he popped the door and stepped out. Three was hours away. When she hurried around the front of the car and braced her arm at his waist to help him walk to the front door, he held back a laugh. No way would a hundred and ten pounds of sweet, slender curves hold him upright if his conscious mind called a time-out. He’d go down like a sequoia and take her with him. But that wasn’t going to happen. He felt fine. Better than fine, actually. With her hand curved low on his torso, her hip brushing his, and the side of her breast pressed high against his rib cage, every step served as a minor seduction.

Once inside, she parked him on the sofa and scurried off to his kitchen, saying, “I’m going to get you a glass of water.” He toed off his shoes, and with something between a sigh and a groan, stretched his legs. The bliss lasted about a second.

From the kitchen she called, “Are you hungry? Maybe I should fix you something to eat before you go to bed?” Reappearing with the water, she handed it over and stood before him expectantly.

He ran his hand over his stubbly jaw and looked down at himself. Dirt and blood stained his shirt and hands. A quick sniff confirmed he reeked of…innumerable things…the hospital antiseptic being the least offensive.

Kylie hadn’t fared much better, he realized as he took in her disheveled hair and pale, tired face. Her clothes also bore the signs of their rough night. His blood smeared the thighs of her faded jeans and crusted the hem of her pale-pink T-shirt. He didn’t need to be a detective to figure out why. While he’d been conked out, she’d cradled his head in her lap. A wellspring of tenderness for this exhausted, valiant angel rose in his chest. Maybe he could offer the caretaker a little care as well. “You know, what I’d really love right now is a shower.” For two.

She chewed her lower lip. “I don’t know, Trevor. I’m worried you’ll get dizzy and fall. How about a bath instead?”

An image of Kylie in the tub with him, all slick and wet and snug between his legs, popped into his head. “Deal.” He grinned. “If you’ll scrub my back.”

She took his arm when he lifted himself off the sofa and kept a steady hold as they walked. “I’m here to
help
you. But don’t get any ideas, Detective. The doctor said no strenuous activity.”

“I promise not to strain you.”

“The directive applies to
you
. I’m serious,” she added as she led him through his bedroom and into his master bath, where his roomy white soaking tub dominated one wall. “You need to take it easy.” With that, she turned and started running the bath.

“I plan to,” he assured her over the tumble of water. Slow
and
easy. Appreciating the way her jeans molded to her perfect ass, he started unbuttoning his ruined shirt. What could be easier than the two of them in his tub, her sliding over him, him sliding into her?

While she bent over the tub, fiddling with the water temperature, he shrugged out of his shirt and got started on his pants. He’d just stepped out of them and his shorts when she straightened, turned, and looked at him. She swallowed, and her eyes moved over him, slowly, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head with a couple noticeable stops in between.

“Kind of a switch, huh? You fully dressed and me naked?”

She swallowed again and nodded. He stepped closer. She retreated until the tub brought her up short. He wished he could see what was going on in that head of hers. She was tempted, that much he could tell. But was she going to give in to temptation?

She took his arm, looked up at him with big, bottomless eyes, and said, “The water’s warm. Let’s go ahead and get you in.”

He bit back a sigh. Apparently not.

A groan that was part agony, part relief rumbled in his chest when he submerged himself in the steaming water. Despite the big tub, he rarely took baths, and never in his life one this hot. A single degree higher and he wouldn’t have been able to stand it, but after he settled in, it was…relaxing. Abused muscles loosened in his neck, back, and shoulders. He leaned against the curved wall of the tub and sighed. His eyelids drifted down.

“Feels good?” Her quiet question came from nearby, caressing him like a feather.

“Umm-hmm.”

“I’m glad,” she all but whispered and ran a washcloth over his chest. “Trevor…” The cloth swept along his neck, over his cheek, just below the bandage covering his injured temple. “Thank God you’re all right.” Her thick voice trembled over the words. She sniffed, and like a reluctant confessor added, “I was so scared.”

He opened his eyes and met her watery gaze. Leaning forward, he cupped her cheek. “Kylie, baby, I’m okay. Don’t cry.”

Inexplicably, his assurance only broke the dam. Her face crumpled. She pressed it to his wet chest and sobbed. “It was my f—fault…”

Ah, shit
. He grabbed her shoulders, and after a brief internal debate, murmured, “Come here,” and simply hauled her into the bathtub. She struggled for a moment, but he held her tight. “Kylie, no. None of this is your fault, understand?” He kissed her forehead and reiterated, “None of it. There’s only one person to blame, and that’s the killer. You’re not responsible. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

Now she clung to him. “You could have been killed—”

“But I wasn’t,” he interrupted, speaking firmly. “If you hadn’t screamed, that guy would have cleaned my clock. If anything, you saved my ass. I’m alive, thanks to you.”

Shaking her head, she hugged his shoulders and pressed her lips to his neck, his jaw, along his cheekbone, and finally, unbelievably soft, delicate kisses around the edge of the bandage at his right temple. Suddenly feeling incredibly alive, he raised his chin and intercepted those restless lips. Their mouths fused, and she stilled, sighed brokenly, and sank into him.

Within seconds, they were panting and pulling at her clothes. He dragged her wet shirt over her head and tossed it. It landed with a slap against the tiled floor, but he barely noticed. He was too absorbed in the sight of her—her breasts encased in a wet, white, completely transparent bra. When he cupped those breasts and lifted them, taking their weight, her head tipped back and her thighs tightened around his hips.

Needing to taste her skin, he popped the front clasp and watched warm, smooth flesh burst free of the sodden confines. “Closer,” he whispered, and with an arm behind her back, he brought one straining pink nipple to his mouth. When she whimpered and writhed, he transferred his attention to the other pebbled bud.

“Trevor. Oh, God, what are you doing to me?”

“Exactly the same thing you do to me,” he mumbled around her nipple.

“It’s my turn,” she insisted, her voice quavering as he sucked deep. “Please, it’s my turn.”

The “please” undid him. Putting a choke chain around his rampant desires, he slowly released her and sat back. “I’m all yours. Be gentle with me,” he said, only half kidding.

Eyes pinning his, she reached behind his head for the shower gel and poured some onto the washcloth. After replacing the bottle, she settled her hand on his cheek, leaned in, and closed her lips over his. Her tongue delved into his mouth while she ran the sudsy cloth over his neck and chest, squeezing so rivulets of water found the shallow valley between his pecs, ran down his torso, and dribbled into the tub. The sensation was so exquisite he shivered. Maybe he wasn’t as all right as he wanted her to think, because if her hand followed the same route, he just might die.

While her tongue tangled with his, the hand controlling the washcloth scrubbed its way down his body, in slow, lazy circles, until it rested directly between his legs. Encircling him, she ran the cloth along his shaft, lifting and stroking with the lightly abrasive terry cloth.

He groaned into her mouth. She made a sympathetic sound in reply, and the next thing he knew, her slick, slender fingers wrapped around his cock and tugged gently. Another groan scratched its way over his suddenly dry throat.

Her other hand slid down until it rested along the inside of his thigh. “You okay?” When she brought that hand up to cup his balls and squeezed gently, his inarticulate reply was embarrassingly close to a whimper.

“Shhh,” she said against his lips. Her hands kept up their busy stroke-and-squeeze between his legs. “Not too hard?”

“God, no.”

“Too fast?”

“No, no. It’s…good.” Head back, eyes closed, he endured the sweet torture as long as he could. The sounds of gently stirred water and his labored breaths filled the room while low in his gut, pressure coiled to a critical mass. After a minute, he bit back a ragged curse, sat up, and bracketed her wrists with his hands. “Stop,” he begged—there was no other word for it. “If you keep that up, I’ll come.”