Crash Into You (30 page)

He’d lock her down on all fours, spread her wide so he could enjoy every detail of that smooth pussy, her sweet ass. He’d tease and pinch and nibble until her honey dripped down her thighs—until he knew she was aching just for him. Then he’d take her—utterly and completely—until she was so exhausted that all she’d be able to do when he was done with her would be to curl in his arms and let him hold her while she slept.

His erection hardened to the point of pain, and he had to stifle a groan.
Fuck
. He needed space. Air. Something. Before he broke every rule he’d set for himself coming into this thing. He yanked a pillow and extra blanket off the top shelf of the closet and spun to face her.

“Get some rest, LeBreck,” he said, forcing a casual tone. “We have another full day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Her attention zeroed in on the items in his hand. “You’re not sleeping in here?”

“I’m a rough sleeper. It’ll be best for both of us if I use the sofa bed out front.” He knew the excuse was lame, knew she would see through it. But at the moment, he didn’t care. He needed out of the room. Now.

A cool mask stole over her features, and he could almost see the mental retreat from the openness they’d shared a few minutes earlier. She leaned over and clicked off the bedside lamp, plunging them into shadows. “Don’t forget to shut the door on your way out.”

He cringed at the icy tone. He’d hurt her. He’d known it would, but if he stayed, he’d hurt her much worse. So without another word, he stepped out of the bedroom and put a solid wooden door between them—hoping it was strong enough to protect them both.

now

Brynn sat on the side of the bed with her knees to her chest, staring out the window as the last glimmers of the setting sun peeked through the trees bordering the back of their cabin. She and Reid had wandered to every possible place on the grounds today—smiling, touching, acting like a couple. Convincing everyone within shouting distance that they were for real.

Almost convincing her.

She rubbed her burning eyes. Absolute exhaustion had overtaken the two of them late this afternoon, and Reid had suggested they come back to the cabin to shower and rest before the festival. He’d managed to fall asleep on the sofa bed. But, she’d only closed her eyes for a few seconds before uninvited thoughts had crawled into her brain and taken over like ants at a picnic.

When Reid had shut the door to the bedroom the night before, she’d been left with a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a decade—a hollow, yawning ache deep inside her chest. A feeling of incompleteness. Of wanting. Needing. Forcing her to accept something she’d thought long dead.

She loved Reid. Probably had always loved him. And no matter how many miles, years, chapters of life she’d put between them, she couldn’t run from the fact that some door within her only accepted Reid’s key. Being with him again had flung that door wide open, yearning for him to step inside and stay awhile.

Only Reid had no interest in stepping over the threshold. Couldn’t. He needed something she couldn’t give him, and she wanted the kind of life he had no interest in.

She rested her chin on her knees and rocked, letting the realization that she was going to have to let him go all over again roll over her. She knew, technically, she didn’t even have him this time. But when he’d held her last night, caressed away her fears, it had felt like he was hers and she his—if just for a few moments. A few perfect minutes.

Now there would be no more. At least not with him.

She prided herself on being able to tough things out in life, but she couldn’t grit her teeth through this one. After the Bacchanal, there would be no more playacting with Reid. Every time he touched her, whispered her name, commanded her, she fell a little deeper into the hole. If she let herself tumble any further, she’d never be able to climb out. So before the party tonight, she needed to draw the line between them again so they could move forward and coexist. The only time he needed to touch her was at the Bacchanal. Period.

A light knock on the front door roused her from her thoughts. She stood and wrapped her robe around her. Quietly, she padded down the hallway and peeked into the living room. Reid was still splayed across the sofa bed, the sheets a tangled mess around his legs, and his bare chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Every muscle in her body strained to move forward, to crawl into bed next to him, and bury her face in his neck—absorb his scent, his heat, his being.

The hole in her chest widened a bit more, and she forced her
eyes away from the scene. She hurried to the front door and swung it open. No one was there, but two toga-style costumes were hanging from the hook on the front of the door and two familiar black bags sat on the doorstep.
Hallelujah.

Careful not to make any noise, she grabbed her suitcase and purse and set them inside the door. A small white envelope with her name fell off the top of the larger bag. She slid open the sealed flap and pulled out the card.

Ms. LeBreck, your master informed us that you have earned the privilege of your things. If you need anything additional, please request it through him.

—The Ranch Staff

She rolled her eyes. So Reid could’ve have given her access to her clothes last night. Opportunistic bastard. But even as she thought the words, a smile touched her lips.

She lifted the costumes off the door hook and laid them over the back of a nearby chair, then closed the door. Reid flipped over to his stomach, providing her with a buffet of delicious skin and sinewy muscles, but seemed to still be in a deep sleep. Not surprising—the man had always slept like the dead.

She checked the clock over the dining room table. Still an hour before the festivities started. She didn’t want to wake Reid yet since it wasn’t time to go, but she was starting to feel a bit stir- crazy. Maybe she could take a walk toward the vineyards. All the private cabins were along that path and people would inevitably be heading out for the evening. Couldn’t hurt to watch who was coming and going. Maybe she could intercept Kelsey before they even got to the party.

She headed to the bathroom with her costume, changed into the short, wine-colored toga, and twisted her hair into a knot.
Next, she fastened the leather collar that marked her as attached around her neck. The one-shouldered outfit definitely covered more than her ensemble from the night before, but she couldn’t help wondering how long the costume would stay on at an event like this. She’d seen paintings of the bacchanals of Ancient Rome in her college art history class. It wasn’t the fashion that had inspired lewd comments from the guys in the back row.

She smoothed the fabric with trembling hands and took a deep breath.
I will make it through tonight. I’ll talk Kels into coming home with me.
Everything’s going to be fine.

She gave a derisive snort, making a mental note to nix her practice of prescribing positive affirmation to her clients. Clearly, it was bullshit.

On quiet feet she made her way back through the living room and to the small dining room table. Reid had set a laptop bag next to one of the chairs and had placed his computer and a legal pad on the table. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one who’d had trouble sleeping the night before. She sat down in the chair and grabbed the pad so she could leave him a note, but frowned when she saw there was no pen in sight. Leaning down, she peered into his unzipped bag to see if one was in there.

She spotted one in an inner pocket and moved aside a few files to unzip the mesh pouch. But when she shoved aside the last one, the name on the manila folder caught her eye. After casting a quick look at Reid to make sure he was still asleep, she snatched the folder from the bag and laid it on the table next to the laptop.

Hank Caldwell
. The name alone made acid rise in the back of her throat. Her mother’s murderer.

And Reid’s client.

Why would he have Hank’s file in his bag? The case had been closed for two years, and the guy had gotten a life sentence—so no parole hearings to worry about. She drummed her fingers along the outside of the folder. She knew she shouldn’t look. Didn’t even
know if she
wanted
to look. What if it contained copies of crime scene photos?

She’d seen the horrible scene in person and had done her best to block the images from her mind—though they still showed up in her nightmares from time to time. Her mother’s lifeless body, the gunshot wound to the chest, all the blood. So much blood. And the feeling of complete despair that had overtaken her when she’d realized her mother was gone. Taken—right when she’d finally started to work toward a better life.

Her mom had hit six months of sobriety, was looking for a new place and a respectable job. Had even saved some money to get a fresh start. And then,
wham!
Gone forever. All because Hank Caldwell, Kelsey’s druggie boyfriend, had heard about her mother’s savings and needed cash to get that night’s fix. Fucking psychopath.

And then to add vinegar to Brynn’s open wounds, she’d shown up that first day in court to see Reid and his aunt Roslyn sitting next to the cold-blooded bastard. Defending him.

Apparently, Hank’s wealthy family, who had previously disowned him because of his drug use, had jumped in at the last second to lawyer-up their son and pay the Jamisons’ exorbitant legal fees.

She still didn’t understand how Reid had stood by that man, touted his innocence, even when she’d begged him to drop the case. Was he really willing to defend anyone if the paycheck was right? She glanced over at him again, having trouble reconciling the guy in the courtroom back then with the man who’d come to the women’s center to do pro bono work. Maybe the experience with Hank had changed him.

Regardless, she thanked God that he and his aunt had botched the case and lost. She’d never be able to sleep at night if she knew her mother’s murderer was still roaming the streets.

She shook the memory from her mind and stared down at the folder again. She couldn’t bear to see the crime photos, but the
temptation to find out why Reid was carrying the file around
was too compelling to resist. After a few centering breaths, she lifted the edge of the file and opened it.

As she feared, a picture sat on top of the pile of papers, but it wasn’t the crime scene, wasn’t even the killer. Instead, her little sister’s senior yearbook photo stared back at her. Brynn frowned and lifted the black-and-white photocopy, flipping it over to read the writing on the back. Reid’s neat, block lettering filled the page in bulleted notes, but the first line glared like neon in Brynn’s vision: K
ELSEY
L
E
B
RECK
. V
ICTIM’S YOUNGEST DAUGHTER
. S
CHEDULE INTERVIEW
.

Her fingers gripped the page so hard, it crinkled the paper. She forced herself to read on. Copious notes about Kelsey’s whereabouts in the days leading up to the murder. Her drug dealer contacts at the time and her relationship with Hank. Theories on who could’ve committed the murder and what motive someone may have had. A note that Kelsey had found a list of her mother’s clients that may help with the case. Then, the name J. Kennedy circled with the word
killer
and a question mark behind it. Finally, at the bottom of the page, the date of his notes.

Last Sunday.

Rage ripped through Brynn as she shoved the page aside and looked at the next one. Title: Hank Caldwell Appeal.

That son of a bitch.

Reid was working on a way to get that bastard out of prison and hadn’t told her? And he was planning to get Kelsey to help him?

Jesus.
She put her head in her hands as another disturbing realization hit her.
That’s
why Reid was here. Not because he’d wanted to help her. He needed to know where her sister was for his case.

She rose to her feet, almost toppling the dining room chair in the process, and stalked across the room to her bags. Goddamn him for lying to her and making her believe he really cared. Self-serving motherfucker. She slipped on a pair of sandals, barely
resisting the urge to ram one right up his conniving ass. But that would wake him up, and she planned to be as far away from possible from him when he woke up.

The sheets rustled behind her and she froze, holding her breath. When no other sound came, she turned her head and saw that he had shifted his face toward her, but hadn’t awakened. His breath had become shallower, however. She frowned.

With renewed urgency, she zipped up her suitcase and dug through her purse to find her watch. When she slid the silver Timex over her arm, she cringed. The leather from the night before had abraded her wrist, leaving a ring of sensitive pink skin. She dropped the watch back into her bag, then paused, an idea tiptoeing into her brain.
Hmm.

Quickly, she moved past Reid and returned to the bedroom. She hadn’t had time to explore more than the closet the night before, but she knew the place had to be well stocked. When she opened the armoire that faced the bed, her lips pressed into a determined line. She grabbed what she needed and hurried back to the main room.

Reid had remained in a stomach down, spread-eagle position. Perfect. With the stealth of a thief, she quietly locked a set of fur-lined cuffs on each of Reid’s wrists, then fastened the matching cuff of each pair to the frame of the bed. She placed the keys that would release them on the kitchen counter, far out of his reach. Then, unable to resist the vindictive impulses running through her and encouraged by the return of his sleep-heavy breathing, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxer shorts and gently slid them off and tossed them across the room. That would assure he’d try to get out on his own before calling for help.

She glared down at his sleeping form, knowing she should just walk out now, get as much of a head start as possible. But the urge to confront him burned bright within her. He’d tricked her into trusting him, loving him—again. God, how could she have
been so freaking stupid? Before she could think better of it, she gave the bed frame a sharp kick, jolting the mattress and Reid. “Wake up, asshole.”