A Brutal Tenderness (23 page)

I tear my arm away and stomp to the car, Clearwater trailing
behind.
We get in the SUV.
I hit the dash with my fist. “Fuck!”
Thwack.
“Fuck  .  .  .
motherfuck!”
“You sound like O’Rourke,” Dec says mildly at my temper
tantrum.
I shift my eyes to his. “I’d kick your ass if you weren’t in the
land of the wounded,” I say in a sour voice.
Adams sighs as Dec palms the ragged scar at his throat.
Dec regards me from the backseat. The exhaust curling in a
lazy spiral, carried by the wind, drives the opaque white fumes
around the car like a ministorm. Our eyes lock in the rearview
mirror as we sit outside Jewell’s temporary house.
Adams pulls away from the curb and my eyes flick to the
protection across the street, the local boys in blue working
cooperatively.
But how long will that last? Cops hate feds.
Feds hate cops.
“Everything is brute strength for you, my friend,” Dec says,
his hand dropping from the wound inflicted by Ben Miller just
a month ago.
“Yeah,” I agree easily, my eyes drifting to Carlie’s condo
until it falls out of sight.
“Love doesn’t work that way,” Dec says.
Adams snorts from the front seat. “You’re an expert? Like
you’re what . . . a ripe old twenty-three?” Adams asks, and Dec
frowns.
“Experience is not a number,” Dec says, his eyes shifting
back to mine. My brooding silence fills the car. Clearly, I don’t
have answers. “I know Jewell in another capacity, and she’s a
cautious girl,” Clearwater expounds, his lips curling in a small
smile.
Wiseass.
“And I’m not? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask, my hands
curling unconsciously into fists.
“Not even close,” he says, and Adams laughs, adding, “girl.”
I throw a scowl his way.
“You’re like a powder keg, Cas,” Luke clarifies as he pulls
into the temp headquarters.
“What is Jewell, then?” I ask them both.
“The flame,” Dec says, all-knowing.
“Great news, asses.” I roll my eyes in their direction,
stepping out of the vehicle, my hand on the window rim. “Why
don’t you Zen assholes give me something I can actually work
with?”
I slam the door, beginning to walk away. I don’t expect an
answer.
“Protection is not just physical,” Dec says in his quiet way
from behind me.
I turn, the cold late winter sun blasting into my eyes, and I
shield them with my hand. Luke jams his hands in his pockets,
head down, shuffling his weight as the wind swoops in, cold
and fast, frosting Dec’s words.
“No one protected her. Every person who should have . . .
didn’t.”
I feel one brow cock. “I know, Dec,” I say. “I’ll protect
her . . . if she’ll give me the goddamn chance. Hell, even if she
won’t.
Dec shakes his head. “Any one of us would go to the ground
for her. For most women . . .”
“But not all,” Luke says and laughs.
I frown. “Shut up, ass clown. You hit Jewell,” I say in a low
voice, tapping my temple, my elephant’s memory kicking up.
Adams shuts up.
I swivel my head and meet Dec’s stare again.
“Show her that you’ll protect all of her.”
“Emotional shit?” I ask, nonplussed.
“It’s what women are, Cas  .  .  . fuck,” Clearwater says in
irritation.
“He’s such a player,” Adams mutters.
“Fuck off, Adams,” Clearwater says.
Luke scowls.
“Jewell MacLeod will have to reunite with what’s left of
her family. She has months of rehabilitation ahead of her.
She may not dance again. She flunked half her classes from
first semester and missed the first month of second semester.
Yeah,” Clearwater says, giving me a level look with eyes that
are blacker than my own, “I’d say her emotional health is pretty
fragile.”
I’m quiet, thinking about Jewell. Before, it’d been simple:
I love her, I want to keep her safe, I want to be with only her,
possess her. Now it’s more complicated. I don’t know how easily
I can navigate the emotional minefield of what remains inside
her psyche. All I know is I would rather try than lose her.
“I’m not good with this shit,” I finally say.
Clearwater nods. “We know, man.”
Luke grunts in agreement as he approaches me. “We’re here
for you, like you were here for me.”
I look at Luke for a heartbeat. “This doesn’t mean you want
to take long warm showers with me, right?”
Clearwater barks out a laugh.
“No.” Adams claps me on the back. “Come on, Cas  .  .  .
you’ll live.”
I nod, my mind already mapping out what I need to do. It’ll
take all my strategic skills.
They’ve worked so well in the field. Can that same skill set
transfer to love? Relationships?
It can’t be that hard.
It’s more difficult than I can foresee.
I swipe my cell to hibernate, shoving it in the front pocket of
my jeans as I pace back and forth. I’m thinking about the text
I’ve just received from Jewell.
Let’s talk

Playing hard to get is for guys who have never been in love.
The lucky fuckers. I don’t even try to fool myself. It’s been two
months since I blew the brains out of two serial killers all over
the woman I love. I saved Jewell but lived a lie to do it.

Could Jewell come to terms with what I did? What I had
to do?
I’d do it again.
I holster my weapon, the familiar weight a comfort, its
absence for the month that I was suspended weighing on my
mind.
It’s standard procedure, but somehow still feels like a
betrayal from the only family I have. That’s what the Bureau is,
a family.
My pseudobrothers are a part Navajo Indian who’s wise
beyond his years and my partner of three years and childhood
friend, Luke Adams, who believes in too much realism but gets
the job done.
I don’t know what I would have done without their
patchwork camaraderie in the dark months of waiting for
Jewell to respond, to think.
To feel.
It looks like that dry hiatus, a special slice of bereft, might
be coming to an end.
However, I don’t allow any hope to wash over me.
Life’s taught me that.
I shut the Harley down, the low drone of the engine softly
muffles in a resounding pop as it follows the command of the
flick of my wrist. I sit on the leather seat, the hot engine ticking
as it cools. I scan my surroundings. This time of year in Seattle
is a dicey mix of spring wanting to begin and winter hanging
on.
That means warmer rain instead of cooler.
It falls softly now as I sling my leg over the side of my bike
and light a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, I watch the red tip sizzle
at the misting rain that falls. The cherry trees that line the street
are filled with tight buds in the deepest hot pink, waiting for
permission from Mother Nature to burst into bloom.
My eyes travel to the flaming red door of Carlie’s parents’
condo. A spot of brightness in the gloom that permeates the
day. I take another drag, deciding in that moment not to put off
the inevitable.
I don’t need to. Suddenly Jewell is standing in the doorway,
all that deep scarlet framing her, and I stand, flicking my
cigarette into the water that runs along the concrete curb. It
makes a small hiss when it lands.
We watch each other for a pregnant moment of time that
slows down, then I feel my feet move. I bounce onto the curb,
my smooth stride bringing me to the stairs, and I take the six
in two steps.
Suddenly I’m face-to-face with the woman I’ve been tailing.
To physical therapy, to follow-up appointments from the
surgery to repair the scar I gave her with the bullet meant for
Thad.
To a therapy that is not physical at all but emotional.
Does she tell her therapist about the closet? I wonder
randomly. Me?
Those questions pose themselves in my mind in seconds,
the internal process as seamless as my external one isn’t. People
require words, and mine always come with great effort.
“Cas,” Jewell says, and I lock down on my urge to touch her.
I see the damn break on her face as her eyes move over
every crevice of my own, leaving nothing behind, my soul in my
eyes, my heart in my throat.
My body . . . hers.
She owns me and I can’t breathe for knowing it.
Jewell moves into the shadow of my body, and my jaw
flutters as I tense with her nearness. The rain is soaking my
shirt, dampening hers, but my body heats despite the coolness
of the weather, her nipples pebbling against her shirt that’s
getting wetter moment by moment.
Silently, we move inside. I wait. This needs to be on Jewell.
All. Her.
Time narrows like acute vertigo, and I’m captured in the
timelessness that descends on the moment, like a fly in Jewell’s
web.
She reaches up a tentative hand and runs it down the
stubble of my jaw, and I swear I draw blood to keep still, to not
react to her hesitant exploration of me.
“I miss this,” she whispers, her hand moving with delicate
insistence to my throat, and I tremble underneath her gentle
touch.
Jewell holds the power over me that only a woman can hold
over a man. The fairer sex is the cleverer sex. Any man who
believes differently hasn’t been under that power.
Jewell moves her hand lower, running fingertips over my
pecs, my own nipples standing at attention in response. When
her hand reaches the waistband of my pants, I grab it, though
it’s the last thing I want to do.
Her luminous green eyes rise ever so slowly to reach mine.
“I can’t . . . if we do this . . . I can’t . . . I won’t do halfway.”
My tone is apologetic, my words aren’t. I’m only hardwired one
way.
“I know,” Jewell answers. Leaning against me, she puts the
side of her face against my damp chest and something eases
inside me. A deep and abiding hurt loosens, and I take a sharp
shuddering breath.
I have to be sure. I can’t go through this cannibalization of
my heart again.
“Jewell . . .”
Jewell leans back. “Shhh,” she says, pressing her finger
against my lips.
We look deeply into each other’s eyes.
Please save me while I drown in you, Jewell.
I lead her to the couch and set her on my lap, turning her
legs between mine, my hands on her waist, holding her against
me. I search her eyes, cupping her chin. “I’m so damn sorry. I’ve
been stupid . . . blind.”
Jewell smiles. “We’re all a little blind sometimes.”
I hang my head. She’s so good, even now  .  .  . after
everything I put her through, justifiable deceit just makes it a
prettier lie.
“I’m sorry I blamed you for Faith.” Jewell sucks in a breath,
holds it beautifully for a moment, then blows it out in a rush.
“It was my fault all along,” I finish.
“Oh, Cas,” she says, putting her hand over my own, her
eyes are so green, so vital as they lock with mine. Our masks
are gone, our faces bare to each other—finally. “It’s nobody’s
fault . . . don’t you see? It was the fault of two other people.”
Her eyes move over my face like a caress, and that tightness
in the back of my eyes burns. I don’t even blink. I don’t dare.
“Thad and Mitch are dead now because of you. You protected
who you could . . . when you could. Now they can’t murder ever
again.”
We sit quietly like that, my arms moving over her, one hand
stroking her back . . . soothing myself as much as her.
“I miss Faith,” I admit so softly I’m sure she can’t hear.
She does.
“Me too,” Jewell answers. “She wanted this, Cas. She
wanted us . . .”
I smile, because talking escapes me, I’m full to the brim with
everything.
Jewell’s lips lift into a heartbreaking smile. I feel it from her
before she says it, love is the deepest cut of all.
“I love you, Blaine Steel,” she says, her voice unwavering.
Solid. Certain.
Jewell heals me.
“It’s Cas,” I whisper against her finger.
Then I suck it inside my mouth in a hot wet pull, sweeping
Jewell against my damp body as I walk us inside her borrowed
bedroom. Our wet clothes cling to our bodies while our mouths
move against each other like two people who haven’t eaten in a
week. In my case, it’s been two months.
Jewell is my banquet.
I kick the door shut behind us.

Because I don’t give a shit. Jewell’s in my arms, and each
breath I take, each step with her riding my toes is closer to her
being beneath me.

Her small arms wind around my neck, and I groan,
remembering so much: her smell, her touch, the way her hair
winds around us while our mouths lift only for air.

Need pulses deep inside me, the heat of her breath searing
me.
I feather kisses along her temple, one hand on her lower
back, the other holding her neck steady. “Yeah,” I answer,
distracted to hell . . . lick, suck, peck . . .
Jewell gasps and I go harder on her.
“No . . .”
“Yes,” I reply.
She told me she loves me. But does she mean it? My eyes
flick to the bed, claiming it for us as I move toward it. Mindful
of her knee, I lower Jewell gently.
Then I just look at her.
Jewell’s face is sad, and my libido tanks.
What’s this? I solve things, it’s what I do . . . it’s what men
do. Every problem starts looking like a nail and my only tool is
a hammer.
Right now, Jewell needs a gentler tool, one I never use.
I put a knee on either side of her, grabbing Jewell’s face.
“What is it, babe?” I kiss her lips, and they stick to mine like
two halves of the same piece found.
She tastes like my favorite meal.
“You didn’t tell me . . .” Her lip trembles, the one that tastes
like candy made for my palate.
I love her. Jewell must know.
I see in her eyes she needs to hear it.
Instead, I say how I feel, it’s a rats’ nest but it’s mine. I own
it. I rub my thumb over that lip that I’ve been sucking on. “I
watch you every day . . .”
Jewell’s eyes widen.
“I have been for two months. Every day.” I kiss her forehead,
breathing in the scent of Jewell, who no longer smells like
coffee, her job at Java Head only a memory.
She still smells like the woman I love.
“I would kill anyone who touched you.” My eyes meet hers.
“I have.”
A tear slips out of one eye, and I catch it with my thumb.
“I’ll never lie to you again.”
Jewell’s chin dips and I stop it with my finger, raising it
gently until our eyes are level.
“Let me love you,” I say with an urgent intensity, my voice
like gravel falling.
Jewell opens her mouth, and I kiss the words she has for me,
her answer swallowed by my passion for her.
I pull away and search her eyes. “I can’t stop it. I’m not in
control of it. I never have been . . .”
She puts her finger on my lips again.
“Does that answer your question?” I ask.
Jewell nods.
“There’s not a word for how I feel, Jewell.” “Love” is too
small a word for how I feel.
She moves up to meet me, our knees touching on the bed,
our faces almost pressed together.
“So it’s not love?” she asks, her lips tipping up.
I shake my head. “No, it’s not love.”
Jewell begins to smile.
“What is it, then?” she asks in a low voice full of heat.
“It’s more.” I gaze intensely into her stare, never breaking
contact. “Much more.”
We fall softly in the bed together, and like an excited boy at
Christmas, I unwrap Jewell from her clothing.
But I’m not. I’m a man and she’s the woman I want inside
so badly my hands quake with my desire.
As I take off her clothes, Jewell unplaits her hair from the
braids she always wears, and the soft waves spill all around us
like bent copper. The sun comes in from outside and caresses it
like a sinking sunset against the white sheets. I kneel between
her knees, spreading them with my own, and she lies before me.
Open . . . vulnerable . . . absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve
ever seen, like living art.
I cage my arms around her, sliding my hands into the hair
that she’s let down, and in a semiworshipful pose I press my
mouth against her nipple, blowing out the lightest heated
breath. The small nub of flesh hardens into a tight light pink
peak and Jewell moans beneath that touch, as my hands
become fists in her hair.
“Please, Cas . . .” she begins, and I tighten my hold in all
that hair, and she groans at the pleasure of being held and not
escaping, of giving trust while vulnerable. It’s a heady balance
when achieved. Even more so when two people come together
and it happens naturally.
I luxuriate in the wonder of being with her when I thought
it might never happen again.
I rise and kiss those lips that make eatable sounds from my
borderline rough attention.
I remove my hands from her hair and strip off my shirt,
watching her eyes roam my tat. She begins at the Aztec-style
sunburst at my shoulder and chest and moves down the length
of my arm to the band that encircles my wrist. I chuck the shirt
in the corner and slowly lick my finger. Jewell’s eyes break from
her scrutiny of my ink and move to what I’m doing with my
mouth.
I press that wet finger on her pleasure bud, and Jewell’s hips
buck instantly. I grin, moving that wetness with precision over
her and she squirms with the attention, her head thrown back,
her hair like a waterfall of red against the pure white of the
sheets.
I bend to spread her legs farther.
“Cas,” she says in a breathless whisper.
“Hmmm,” I say as my face presses against her inner thigh
and I blow warm air on the center of her and she shivers.
“Please . . .” she says.
“No,” I reply. This is like the dream I’ve had for two months,
of being right here, in this very moment, and I don’t want to
wake from it. There’s no stopping, it’s all about consuming . . .
a slow devour of Jewell. My speed, my pace. My worship of her.
It’s all I can do. Show is always better than tell with me.
I scoot down until I’m at her feet and look up the long line
of her body, her small hands clutching the sheets in fists of
tension, her body flushed from my touch. Her green eyes never
leave my brown ones and I grin as I begin kissing my way up
her body, her leg serving as an erotic ladder.
I hesitate when I get to her knee, where deep contusions
still fade, a small scar from surgery rides the side of her knee
like a lightning strike.
My gut twists at it.
I bend my head over the injury, licking and sucking at the
proof of savagery, letting her know with my mouth:
That I love her, every part of her.
That I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this part of what happened.
Trying to ease the memories with my tongue, my lips, my
love.
When Jewell is panting, I keep licking, pecking, and
lavishing her knee with seductive attention while my other
hand walks up her opposite leg. I begin to explore her wet folds,
and when Jewell’s breathing deepens, I push a finger inside her
and she cries out, “Cas!” She half yells in a hoarse shout, her
channel giving a single hard pulse that clenches around my
finger.
I know that reaction. I get harder, my dick an aching
divining rod, seeking the spring within Jewell.
Her hands go to my head, and as my cock throbs I move
as she does and we meet in the middle, my finger inside her,
buried deeply as she spreads and pulls up her knees, and I
place my other hand at the naked small of her back, jerking her
forward even as I plant a second finger inside her and begin a
slow pump in and out of her dripping heat.
“Oh . . .” Jewell croons softly, lips parted as she meets my
fingers in a dance of motion. I sweep in and out, and when she
stills, I know she’ll come and I’m not missing being inside her
for anything.
I slowly withdraw my fingers, her pussy latching on to them
in greedy reluctance. I unbutton and kick off my jeans onehanded. My other hand keeping her against me.
When I meet her eyes again, Jewell gives me a smile of such
radiance it stops my heart as she jerks my boxers off. I would’ve
gone commando if I’d known this is the talking she has in
mind.
Jewell pops my prick with a roll of my underwear and
winds them down my ass like a reverse tube. Bending her head,
Jewell gives a lick at my sensitive tip. Her beautiful eyes roll up
to meet mine and I groan at the sheer unexpectedness of the
move, her unnerving gaze, all of it.
My nuts tingle and I swear I just about go right there.
My hand hovers over her head, wanting to push all that red
goodness down on me, feel her mouth sheath my cock in one
stroke of wet glory.
But this is about Jewell, about our mutual ownership.
I take her head off my dick, fisting all that hair, the silk
knotting around my hand as I cup my other hand around her
ass and lift Jewell until her spread legs are on either side of
mine, my cock pointing at her entrance.
“Yes,” she gives in a whispered purr of permission, a
knowing smile turns the corners of her mouth up.
And I don’t so much move as dive inside her. Jewell’s back
arches as I drive my cock inside her, the walls of her heat
expand at that hardness I stab her with, both of us groaning
with the impact, our flesh sinking into each other.
I jerk pillows from the headboard and pile them behind
Jewell as her eyes widen, her breathing getting shallow. I grasp
her hips and move inside her, stopping every few strokes so I
won’t end it all. She’s that tight, that wet.
That everything.
Then she shatters me by making those little primal
noises like come and get it, and my body moves without my
permission. Jewell’s hands are planted behind her, head thrown
back, all that hair moving as I rock inside her body like I always
have, seamlessly . . . naturally.
I feel the inside of her become plumper, ready for more, and
I take my arms and pull her against me, her tits pressed against
my pecs, and I feather kisses along her collarbone as I slowly
pump inside of her.
“Please  .  .  . Cas,” Jewell begs, clinging to the nape of my
neck.
“Please, what?” I ask, my dick begging for liftoff.
“Fuck me,” she tells me in a guttural command.
Hearing those rough words out of her soft mouth brings
me like nothing else and I grab her hips, no choice about
continuing, and move her up and down on my dick. Once,
twice and . . . liftoff. I think I come from my toes. We shout
as she trembles against my release, her insides clamping and
pulsating around me in great, rhythmic sweeping waves as her
own crashes around us.
We cling together for moments that are at once over too
quickly and last forever.
Jewell’s hands grasp my shoulders, our breath mingling in
excitement and decompression. If I were standing, I’d have
weak knees. Jewell’s breathing slows and her head lulls against
my shoulder. She peeks up at me through ginger-colored
eyelashes, a subtle blush staining her cheeks.
There’s a moment or two of staring.
Then we laugh, my dick slipping out of her, and I lay her
down, moving in beside her, my ankles dangling off the bed,
her body fitting perfectly against mine.
Custom-made. Mine.
We lie quietly like that for a few minutes, my hands
restlessly moving over every inch of her. My softened cock gets
semihard.
I smile. Old fucking faithful.
“So?” Jewell says, our earlier laughter leaving a smile on her
face.
“Hmmm?” I say, kissing her shoulder. It smells like sex and
Jewell. Fucking bliss.
“We didn’t really talk, Cas  .  .  .” she begins, then giggles
when I kiss her at the bend of the neck.
Hmm, ticklish. Ammunition for later.
It’s the kind of talking I like best. My body says it all.
“I said what I needed to . . .”
Jewell turns in my arms and my dick gets soft again at her
expression.
Serious, thoughtful . . . talkative.
I tuck a sheet over our nudity and lace my hands behind my
head. “So let’s talk.”
“So Brad is . . .” she begins.
“Agent Decatur Clearwater,” I say simply, playing with a
lock of her hair, I can’t get over the texture. I run my hand
down her side, the lay of the land, Jewell’s body, like a sexy
hourglass in this position. That simple shape makes a man take
a look.
Or two.
I’m way past that. I stare at Jewell, her ivory skin like
polished stone, so smooth . . . but never hard, never cold. I kiss
her hip.
“You’re not listening.” She laughs, grabbing a handful of my
short hair. I growl and she bursts out in a gale of giggles.
“Oh  .  .  . you like that?” I ask, moving her underneath me
easily, and the smile disappears to be replaced with a look I
recognize, covet.
Heat.
Desire.
“No,” she says, pressing a small hand against my chest.
“Ever?” I smirk.
A look of horror goes over her face. “Hell no!” she says.
I can’t stop the grin.
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Full of you, more like,” I reply.
We stare at each other until the heat becomes scorching and
Jewell casts her eyes down, hiding from me.
I let Jewell off the hook, cupping her hip and sitting up on
an elbow. “He’s a rookie. This was his first case with a serial
and . . . it went wrong. We didn’t know that there was someone
besides Thad. We were looking for one . . .”
I watch Jewell’s face shut down, her laughter dying, our
passion cooled.
“Hey . . .” I ask, like, do you want to hear more?
She nods, her teeth rolling her bottom lip inside her mouth.
I’m sure to keep that emotion inside.
It’s a major distraction for me.
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It’s painful for her.
It’s murder for me. Just kill me twice. I couldn’t save Faith. I
save Jewell the ultimate indignity of death but not the smaller
one. My eyes flick to her knee, then back to her face.
“He was primary . . .”
Jewell arches her brows.
“That’s the section of surveillance nearest your dorm.”
“Oh,” she answers, a sheen to her eyes.
Don’t cry, baby.
“You and I had that fight at Skoochies and I was going to
alert Clearwater, but a brawl broke out and I had to bounce that
right out. By the time I finally communicated to Clearwater, he
was . . .”
I swallow, and a tear rolls out like diamond rain from her
eye. I watch its sparkling descent on her face. When it reaches
her jaw, it hangs like a suspended gem, the sunlight capturing
it, as my finger does. She sweeps her gaze to mine.
I look at the wetness on my finger, shimmering there.
Tangible grief. Why do her tears hurt me?
“Ben Miller tried to kill him and take away your protection,”
I say without looking up, mesmerized by that piece of her
sadness.
“But he lived. Brad . . . I mean Clearwater . . . lived.”
I give a grave nod, meeting her eyes. “He did.”
Jewell inhales deeply, then exhales. “I’m glad.”
I feel the corners of my mouth turn up. “Me too.”
“What about Brock?”
I slant a wicked grin her way. “Yeah . . . I kicked his ass for
hitting you.”
Jewell grins back, her face coloring. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We smile at each other.
“So that whole scene back at school, with him and Brad . . .
?”