CHERISH (58 page)

The muscles in my legs are shaking. Not shaking,
quivering.
I never thought I would use that word to describe any part of my body, but it’s true.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are when you come?” Beckett pushes up on his elbows, nose to nose, covering me still.

“Shut up.” I throw an arm above my head and push his grinning face away with my other hand.

His lips are on my neck in a flash of his smile, and I have to fight like heck not to cry at how good it feels.

“I love this.” Beckett strokes his fingertips up and down my inner thigh where I can’t stop the muscles from quivering like a thousand-orgasm aftershock.

The only light is coming from single, dangling industrial fixture over the long table covered with the mysterious notebooks and papers. The glow is casting us both in half-shadow, but I can still see the white of his stupid smile as he raises back up from where he works his magic just above my collarbone.

He’s one of those people who almost looks unnatural without a smile. For me, I have to force my lips to turn upward. I physically have to think about it most of the time, but not Beckett. He’s got those amazing lips that just look like they invented smiling. And, every time I see the crooked way his face crimps into where his scars start, I imagine what he would have been like if he’d not gone through whatever pain caused those marks.

For a split second, I remember how different he looked in the street below when he destroyed my attackers. He didn’t just look different; he
was
different. If I hadn’t been curled up in my own ball of panic, he would have scared the shit out of me. There is something bubbling below the surface in him, and if I was thinking straight, I would probably see a giant red flag waving.

“I won’t shut up.” He gives me a soft, quick kiss, and my stupid belly does loop-da-loops again. “But, what I will do is get the shower going because I’m going to enjoy the hell out of you again, but I seem to have made quite a mess on this beautiful body. So, let’s kill two birds with one stone, shall we? Or, maybe three. Clean up, get dirty, clean up again?”

He bounces up, off of me and the bed, like a spring.

Watching his naked body stride away, I think he has be photoshopped, right? Nobody is that perfect. Every contour and indent is cast in shadow, and he glows with just a sheen of sweat. He is the perfect blend of lean and buff. Just enough rippling muscle but not too much bulk. I take in and let out an audible uneven breath and my lips turn upward without effort.

Whatever this is, I’m in trouble. I don’t want this.

Do I?

Sure, it feels good, but it’s not for me. Especially not now.

My eyes scan for the robe. I want to cover myself. Even lying here on the bed, my belly is far less than a flat plane, and there are no signs of my hipbones. The endorphins, or whatever sexy voodoo he used on me, are wearing off, and more than anything, I do not want to be naked in front of him when he comes back.

And, I’m hurting. My shoulders feel like they’ve been scraped over a cheese grater, and my hand is starting to swell from the throbbing cut. Not to mention parts of me that are reminded of just how big Beckett’s south-of-the-border soldier is.

I wrap myself in my arms, trying to cover what I can, and slip off the bed, its crisp, white sheets smelling of lavender and are so white they almost glow. I bend over to grab the robe where he flung it and shove my arms in as quickly as I can.

“Hey.” I nearly jump out of my skin when Beckett leans in behind me.

“Hey.” I jerk the robe closed, and I am not entirely sure how to feel about the deposits that are still sticking to the front of me. Leave it to me to fall into bed with someone and not even have the adult conversation about wearing a condom. Not that I ever expected to be here. Or doing this.

As a matter of fact, I’ve never even had to think about having that conversation before. Ever.

His hands are on my shoulders, and I wince as he turns me around to stare right into my face. His eyes are blending hues of blue and green, rimmed in those black lashes, and I can’t imagine what sort of magic created eyes like his.

“What’s wrong?” He looks at the robe like a kid who just lost the ice cream off his cone.

“I—” I pull my lips to the side. I hate that I do that when I’m nervous. It’s a dead giveaway, and Beckett doesn’t miss the subtle cue.

He doesn’t wait for more of an answer before his arms curl around me, and I’m against his naked body. He hugs me so tight, I can feel each thump of his heart even through the thick fabric of the robe.

“You’re okay. Everything is okay.” He kisses the top of my head, and I want to push him away as hard as I can. I feel trapped.

He’s so damn genuine; I think I’m starting to hate him. I’ve lived for so long with a flatlined, emotional EKG. Now, he’s got the needle jerking up and down.

“Tell me what’s going on in there.” He taps my forehead gently with his index finger. “And, silence is not an acceptable answer. Neither is ‘nothing’ or ‘I’m fine” or any other bullshit answers. I’m going to tell you a secret.” He’s holding onto me like I’m about to fly out the window. “I have a superpower.”

I hate that I smile into his chest.

“Really? Another one?”

He lets out a satisfied chuckle.

“Yes. Another one. I have a truth detector. Not a lie detector, this is different. I know when someone is telling the truth. I can feel it, like someone hitting that little, silver, dinging thing on a reception desk.”

“
Wow
, you’ve tested this scientifically, I’m sure.”

“Yup. Johns Hopkins first took note of my super power when I was still a teenager. Then, the government came and scooped me up into a secret testing program. I pretend to just be an average Joe.” His voice is cracking, trying not to laugh as he continues with his absurd story.

As much as I try not to, I
like
him. A lot. My muscles relax, and he draws me into him even closer.

“So, out with it. What’s wrong? I realize I’m not the best lover in the world, but I’ve got to be a close second. So, I apologize ahead of time for my shortcomings in that department. But, I do get an ‘A’ for effort, I hope.”

Not that I have a clue about a good lover versus a bad lover, but I am fairly sure he would be on the damn good side of that debate.

Promise

“I should go. I should get home—” He pushes me out far enough to see my face, his brow coming together as he glares playfully at me, and the words tumble out. “I don’t know why. I just want to leave. I have this overwhelming sense of dread all the sudden.”

“Well then.” He lifts his hands from my shoulders, and the dread is even heavier without them there. Why do I want this so much one second and the next I can’t wait to get away? “I know one thing. There’s no way you’re leaving without me. The second thing I know is, no matter what, you need a shower. So, let’s just settle for getting you cleaned up. I’ll leave it up to you if you want to invite me in to give you an assist. I’m at your service if needed.”

He slips around behind me, arms draping around my neck, and shuffles me forward with his own motion. I can’t miss that his cock is still standing tall. He is utterly shameless and confident, and it only makes this that much harder.

“I have all sorts of services you may be interested in,” he murmurs seductively in my ear. I fight the smile as his breath warms my already pink cheek, and my body practically folds into itself, like he’s just thrown a lucky penny into the fountain between my legs.

“I’m sure you think you do.” I play along, and he lets out a laugh that echoes in the ceiling.

“That’s what I want to hear. Just be careful, there is a fine line between playful and disrespectful.” His fingertips brush down my hair and settle on the neck of the robe, making quick work of slipping it down my back. His voice is a sensual mixture of calm control and boyish humor.

What line? There’s a line?

I decide to leave that comment alone. I’m conflicted as to whether or not it turns me on or pisses me off. His fingertips are on the back of my neck, gently lowering the robe.

“God,
babe
.” His voice turns sad as the robe drops from my shoulders into a blue, velour puddle around my feet.

I shiver as his fingertips graze over the raw, painful areas on my shoulders and back, and I can’t help but wince and make a hissing sound.

“What? Is it bad?” I twist my head around as if to actually view my own back.

The look in his eyes is more than I want to see. He is Dr. Beckett and Mr. Fitzgerald inside that body, and I shiver from head to toe seeing the change in his eyes.

“Yeah. It’s fucking bad.” His voice drops two octaves and goes completely flat as his fingers freeze on top of the bruises and scrapes left from being dragged.

I’m frozen along with him because this person is not the same one that was here just twenty seconds ago. This is someone I would run from if I could make my feet listen.

If there is a way to be more naked than I was a few minutes ago, I am now. My heart is thumping, and I have an intense need to escape, but my feet are stuck. If I needed to scream, I am very sure no sound would come out.

I can hear Beckett take a huge breath in, and I don’t know why but I start counting.

One.

Two.

Three . . . Four . . . Five . . . Six . . .

He still hasn’t exhaled, and my face is starting to burn. The muscles in my shoulders where he’s still touching me are about to snap.

Seven . . . Eight . . . Nine . . . Ten . . .

“Beck?”

The breath that has been stuck inside him emerges, and his energy shifts and Dr. Beckett is back.

“I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again.” He sounds so sad, and I’m afraid to turn around. “I want to wipe it from your memory, starting right now.” His voice catches.

He lifts his fingers; his touch becomes flat palms running down the sides of my spine until they swoop around my waist and rest over my belly button while whistles and sirens are going off inside my head.

Any control I had disappears when one of those amazing hands slips downward and the other travels upward, skimming over my nipple to rest around my throat.

Just as his fingertips graze my lower lips, his other hand tightens under my jaw.

Something between a gasp and a moan comes from me as he sets two fingers into my wet folds, firm on my clit, and adds the final hammer blow with his tongue tracing up my neck until he’s just below my ear.

A shudder passes through every bone and muscle, and I’m drowning in the fire erupting inside of me.

It’s magic how he manages to keep all of that going on and walk me forward into a shower big enough to fit a compact car. It’s encased in half-inch thick glass standing almost eight feet high with Carrera marble on the floor and a shower-head wall where two firehouse-sized shower heads are spraying.

Inside, the steam clouds around us, and he guides my steps below the flood water. I am in sensory overload, and I turn to melted butter against the hardness of everything about him.

His chest is against my back, his hand, still at my throat, only adding to the way my body is bending to the will of his other working fingers. He’s playing with me, exploring, and the tension I hear in his ragged breaths tells me just how much he wants to do exactly what he’s doing to me right now.

“There is something about you.” He rumbles as the water engulfs me.

More lips, more fingers, more of everything, and I forget how to speak.

“Something deep inside of me tells me you’re mine. Mine to protect. Does that scare you?” It’s Beck again, the one that smiles and makes me feel like a girl in some parallel universe where Mom is home cooking roast beef and Dad is just getting home from a round of golf, and I’m normal.

The timbre of his voice sends a chill down my spine in spite of the near scalding shower coursing over me.

I nod and then shake my head. I don’t know the answer to his question. There is fear rising up in me now, yes. But there is also something stronger. Something that tells me to turn and cling to him with all my might and never let go.

The water is rushing in my ears, but I can still hear his dark laugh at my indecision.

“Good answer, babe. You should be scared, but you should also know, you’ll never have anyone care about you like I do. No one. I’ve been waiting for you.” As his words fill my ears, his massive hands slide to my hips and turn me to face him.

He raises my hands over my head and presses me against the glass. Darting hands move quickly downward, cupping my ass, lifting me up and around his waist with a gasp.

That little girl that always sat alone at the lunch table listening to Bobby Lewinski moo at her is screaming inside my head—hoping I’m not too heavy, or that he won’t notice the way my belly folds over on itself.

As if he’s reading my mind, he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, then glares at me with eyes that drown me with him.

“What are you thinking about? I can feel it . . . tell me.”

“I’m afraid you’ll drop me. I’m heavy.”

His fingers dig into my ass like claw hooks, lowers his face and bites down again, this time on the inside of my tit, and it shorts out any other thoughts with the raw pain.