Dead or Alive (12 page)

She tucked her feet under her butt and hugged her knees. “You’re safe here, Archibald.  And you need some real rest.”

“What I need is a plan.”

“You do, but first you need rest. There’s no way you can think straight if you’re constantly on the verge of collapse.”  She looked over the couch to the staircase.  “I have a pretty nice memory foam mattress in the master bedroom upstairs, king sized.  The bed dressings are probably a little musty at this point, having gone unutilized for so long but…”

Remy didn’t give a shit about memory foam or musty dressings, because all he could contemplate was how perfect the word “bed” had sounded coming from her pretty full lips.  She’d washed her face of the heavy make-up she’d been wearing, but her lips still had that peach tinge that held him captives.  Full and luscious.  He frowned, remembering what they’d tasted like, and how many beautiful ways he could put them to use on that musty memory foam mattress upstairs. She pursed them, and he couldn’t help but frown, unable to fight off the image of them suckling gently at the throbbing head of his dick.  The thought nearly ended him.

The innocent gleam in her eyes made him wonder how she would feel if she had any inkling of the filthy thoughts running through his head.

“Do you think you have the strength to make it up the stairs?” she asked.  “I can help you.”

He didn’t answer, still watching her with serious eyes, before shaking his head.

She pointed to the other end of the couch.  “Would you mind passing me the duffle bag?”

He didn’t remove his hooded eyes from hers.  With a coy smile, he shook his head, again.

“Ugh, fine.” She leaned over him, across his body, her ass high in the air as she swept up the bag.  A soft gasp left her lips when, as she was falling back to her original spot, Remy took her arm, stopping her.  They came almost nose-to-nose, their breath coming in time as their eyes danced silently.

The beds of his fingers traveled slowly up her arm, all the way to her collarbones, before following the path that the low dip of her shirt made.  The shorts she wore now weren’t much longer than the dazy dukes she’d swiped from Barbara’s, and it had taken everything he had not to touch her all evening.  The urge was one he could no longer control.  His eyes fell to the cotton shorts that had been torturing him since the moment he’d caught her swaying in them, so short he was sure he could get his dick in without even taking them off.

“If you knew the thoughts running through my head, you’d drop me at the nearest precinct.”

Violet didn’t try to reclaim her arm.  “When are you going to get it?” she asked for the millionth time. “Huh?  You don’t scare me.  I know you’re innocent.”

“No man is innocent.
Every
man is an animal… when he’s looking at a woman like you. Capable of anything.”

“You can’t climb a flight of stairs, you can’t even hold your head up right now.  From a physical standpoint, you’re basically an infant, and you’re trying to convince me you’re capable of anything?” Violet reclaimed her arm, retaking her spot on the couch while reaching into her bag.

“I won’t always be injured, Violet.  Like you said, the bullet just grazed me. It won’t take long for me to heal.  Then…”

“Then what?”

“Then there’s nothing you could do to stop me.  If I decided to take what I wanted.”

“Remy.” Her brown eyes bore into his.  “This will never work on me.  Let it go.”

He wondered how a woman who had known him for less than a week already knew him so well.  Of course he would never hurt her, he wasn’t that kind of man, but she didn’t know that.

She should look at him and see nothing but a hardened criminal, a killer, a fugitive who couldn’t possibly be trusted with the gift of her tight ass in that pathetic scrap of cloth she called shorts.   His eyes fell helplessly to her chocolate legs again.  They spread apart in his wild mind like butter, exposing a glistening mound that begged for entry.

Violet absently pulled out a handful of notecards, leaning forward on the couch to tap them out on the coffee table, straightening the pile.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He asked, as she bent forward, ass in the air.  “Do you have any fucking idea?”

Violet immediately sat back, fingering the cards as she met his eyes.  She was sure he was trying to seduce her, hitting her with a look of such intensity she could almost see his eyes growing cloudy with something dark, and probably nasty.

“You know, those earrings really are beautiful.”  His eyes went to the square-shaped, stud earrings that she never took off.  He took one between his fingers before running them along the edge of her ear.  Touching her was still an epic mistake, one he’d clearly yet to learn from, because the moment his fingers touched her ear he immediately wanted them everywhere else.  The earrings were nowhere near as beautiful as she was, but Remy couldn’t risk telling her that. “Was Jason right?”

“About what?”

“Does someone like you a lot?”

In much the same way she had with Jason, whom she’d almost forgotten existed, Violet reached up and touched the earring, causing her to cover his hand with hers.  Their fingers played together for an almost indiscernible instant before he pulled his away, but not before Violet felt the white hot spark that had flashed to life inside of her.  She played one of her diamond earrings between her fingers, and wondered why the man who’d given them to her had yet to make her feel such a spark.  She’d prayed for it every time he touched her, every time they kissed, made love, to feel that thing women are supposed to feel with a man who loved them deeply.  The truth was that Violet had simply never felt the same way back.  Her heart still churned, however, at the thought of her ex-boyfriend, a district attorney, probably sick to death back in Redding.  “Yes, someone did like me a lot.
My ex-boyfriend, Mark.  Though I can’t imagine he likes me very much right now.”

Remy hoped his eyes weren’t awash with the relief that was crashing away inside of him.  “Ex?”

She blushed down into her lap. “I left him the night before the trial.  The night before you decided you needed a little company on your way out of the courthouse.”

“Why did you leave him?”

Violet sighed deeply.  “He proposed to me.”  Her heart hurt to say the words.  “And I said no.”

Remy’s eyebrows pulled together.

“He bought these earrings when we first started dating, because he knew they were exactly what I pictured my future engagement ring to look like.  Silver cushion cut halo.  Elegant.  Not too big, not too small, not too flashy.”

“Silver cushion cut halo?  Sounds like a lot of words that don’t belong together.”

“Or… the only engagement ring that I will ever allow to touch my finger, or my ears.”  She touched her earrings, again, and her eyes fell.  “I said no to a man who remembered what kind of ring I wanted.  I said no to a man who actually listened to me.”  She was sure she might fiercely regret turning down Mark’s proposal one day, but that day had yet to come.

“You didn’t love him,” Remy remarked, not looking for confirmation.  It was right there, clear as day, in her eyes.  She seemed almost as relieved as he was that Mark was no longer in the picture.

“He was a good guy… and turning him down was another item on the never-ending list of choices my father will never forgive me for.”

“But you didn’t love him.”

“I didn’t love him,” she finally confirmed.  “I loved how happy being with him made my father, and my father
really
loved Mark’s position, his status. He especially loved that Mark’s wealthy family were willing to make a sizable donation to the run for Governor my father’s been dreaming about his whole life.”

Remy breathed out a cynical laugh.  “So dear-old-dad auctioned you off to the highest bidder.”

The softness in Violet’s eyes was quickly chipping away, replaced with something dark.

Remy didn’t like seeing it there.  “No wonder you ran off with me,” he whispered.

Her eyes rose back up to his, and just as soon as it was there, the darkness had peeled away. “Is that how you’re remembering it?” She smiled.  “Because I remember, pretty vividly, being
dragged
off, but whatever...” She trailed off with a shrug.

“What does Mark do?”

He seemed extremely fascinated by Mark.  “He’s the D.A. that fought to put you away, but his real career is being the dutiable heir to a billion dollar family fortune, just as soon as his evil mother finally bites the dust.”

“
Christ
.  Mark Jantz is your ex?”  Remy buried his head in his hands.  “I really did take the wrong girl.  Is there
anyone
in your life… who doesn’t have the power to burn me at the stake the second they get their claws into me?”

“Miles, my best friend and cameraman.”  Her smile grew.  “He would never burn anyone at the stake.  He’s very gentle.”

“Great.”  He tittered.  “Miles.”  He remembered Miles from that day in the courthouse, and if that awkward, wide-eyed kid was the only person in Redding that was ready to support his redemption, Remy would be happy to take it.  His eyes went to Violet, and his heart warmed at the thought of Miles not being the only one.  Violet had already given him the warm gift of absolution, and he realized at that moment how precious that made her to him.

Which made his goal of getting her the hell away from him all the more powerful.

Feeling his eyes on her, Violet fought to ignore the slight throbbing that had recommenced under her shorts, which, like the jeans shorts from earlier, seemed to be rubbing her in all the best and worst ways.  She suddenly held up the pile of cards, hungry for a distraction.  “Anyway… like I was saying, these are my innocence cards.  I use them to gather my inspiration and ideas so I don’t forget them later.”

“Do you really call them innocence cards?”

“First rule of the innocence cards? Never mock the innocence cards.”

Remy couldn’t help a shy smile.

Her eyes fell to his lips, loving how quickly he could go from completely stoic to melting like butter in a matter of seconds.  Usually in response to her. “Whenever something strikes me, I write it down, and pin it on the wall.  I used this tactic a lot back when I was a lawyer.  It helped me sort out the tiniest details and played a huge part in navigating the most intricate corners of my cases thoroughly, so my clients would have the best representation possible.”  She tucked her hair behind her ear with her pen-clad hand.  “Let’s get all of the basics down now, and then we’ll delve deeper once you’ve gotten some much needed rest--”

Her words came to a jumbled stop when the weight of his head hit her shoulder out of nowhere.  She looked down at him, seeing that he’d passed out, once again.  She couldn’t help but pout.  He couldn’t make it upstairs, so the couch would have to do.

She went to stand so she could grab him a blanket and give him more space, but as she shifted to move, he suddenly caught her around the waist, pulling her back down, pulling her body to his. Violet’s surprised eyes went to his face as she lay on her back, just as he tucked his cheek into her shoulder.  With a heavy sigh, he encircled her in his arms, his big body curling in next to hers harder, deeper, pushing his own back deep into the cushions while locking his arms around her waist.  His big leg came up and over both of hers, blocking her in.

He was huge, and the awkward position he’d rolled her into threatened to crush her crossed limbs.  She shifted until her arms were all around him and her legs were straightened, intertwined with his, accepting him.  She rubbed his back soothingly as he leaned further into her, giving her all of his weight.  He’d been giving her most of his weight all day, and it no longer felt alien.  Just warm.  Right.

Without thinking, her fingers touched his blonde hair, disappearing into the soft tendrils completely.

“Oh Jesus, Archibald.”

After a little tossing, he finally settled in, with his head cuddled against her ribcage, breath coming warm and soft against the swell of her breast. His perpetually distressed face looked relaxed for the first time, as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted clear off of him after months of torture.  He needed to be touched, held, and she didn’t mind giving him that.  She wasn’t ready to admit that she probably needed it just as much as he did, if not more.

Before she knew it, Violet was gone, too, falling into a deep sleep.

8

The sun’s rays fought a losing battle against the rain clouds the next morning, sending random beams of uneven light flushing through Violet’s kitchen window.

Her eyes were squinted in deep thought, full lip trapped under her teeth as she jumped from card to card.  She’d gotten most of Remy’s story down on her cards, and pinned them up against the dartboard on her kitchen wall in chronological order, her mind trying to make sense of all the events that had led up to his arrest.

“Good morning.”

She pivoted on her heels at the sound of his gravely voice chiming out unexpectedly behind her.

The moment she caught sight of him, in the same boxers he’d had on last night, she stammered, then blushed furiously.

Her ass had been pressed firmly against those boxers when she’d woken up that morning.  Somewhere in the night, while they’d been dead to the world, they’d curled themselves into a perfect spoon on the couch.  It had been so warm, so intimate, the best night’s sleep she’d had in ages.  If the hardness pressing intently into the swell of her ass the moment she’d opened her eyes was any indication, Remy felt the same way.

He was certainly regaining his strength, if not in his leg then certainly
everywhere else
.

She could still feel the numbing warmth that had spread across her throbbing pussy at the feeling of a man pressed so hard against her.  It had been far too long since she’d woken up to that feeling, and her center had all but gushed in response, nearly overflowing with need.  Everything in her bones had told her to shift her body back, to grind against his length until his dick made its escape from the slit in his boxers, to let the tip slip right inside her soaking, aching channel, spreading her apart as he sank slowly in.  Perhaps she could make it look like an accident.  Like she hadn’t been dying to have him inside of her, like he’d entered her by pure coincidence.  He hadn’t touched a woman in months, he’d said so himself, surely he’d be too busy pounding her senseless to wonder how he’d gotten inside in the first place.

But she’d fought all those urges, and as her heart swelled at the sight of his sleepy eyes and bed head, she was thankful she had.

“Good morning.”  She managed to smile passed her nerves.

He noted the simple pair of skinny jeans and white t-shirt she had on.  She’d released her thick curls and parted them deep.  They spiraled down passed her shoulders and shadowed half her face, which was still free of any and all make-up.  His eyes fell to her pedicured toes and he smiled, thinking only a woman as beautiful as Violet could make such a simple outfit look that damn sexy.

He was also supremely aware of how desperately he needed a shower.  “Is there anywhere I can get cleaned up?”

“Yes.  Down the hall, second door on the left.  There should be extra toothbrushes in the vanity.”

“Thank you, V… for letting me…” He held his hand out, looking for the right words.

“You fell asleep.  You were tired.” She shrugged.  “I was, too.”

“I didn’t mean to climb all over you, I was just…” He stumbled. He’d forgotten just how good a woman could smell.  How good they could feel wrapped up in his arms.  He had a distant memory of collapsing on her shoulder from pure exhaustion, but the moment he’d gotten a whiff of her hair, her dewy skin, he’d been a dead man, literally and physically.

“Remy.” She stopped him.  “It’s okay.  And now that we’ve gotten a good night’s rest, we can focus on proving you innocent.”

“I guess that means you haven’t come to your senses and decided to turn me in?  A barrage of armed cops aren’t going to come crashing through the front door any minute?”

“ ‘Course not.” She frowned, before running over to the stove, where the pancakes she’d been cooking up were ready to be flipped.  The island behind her was already littered with plates full of ham, bacon, eggs benedict, buttered toast and hash browns. “I hope you’re hungry.  I didn’t know what breakfast foods you liked, so I made a little bit of everything.” She smiled into the pan when she heard his stomach growl from across the kitchen.

Remy fingered a slice of bacon from the plate, inhaling in it seconds. “It smells delicious.  Probably the only thing in the world that could’ve pulled me out of that coma.” Next to her not being in his arms, anymore.  He looked across to her.  “How long did we sleep?”

“Long.  Almost twelve hours.”

“I could’ve done twelve more.”

“I know, me too, but my stomach was having none of that.”

“Hm.  Likewise.”

It was back.  The blush on her cheeks.  The sickly rumblings in her stomach.  She was confused about what was happening to her body whenever he was near.  He’d started as just a means to an end for her, a way to improve her career.  She was now realizing that Remy was rapidly taking up space in her heart which, at the moment, was beating so rapidly she worried it was on a one man mission to climb all the way up her throat. “You didn’t have any nightmares this time.”

“No, I didn’t.” How could a man have nightmares with his nose tucked into her fragrant hair? With his arm curled around her delicate waist?  Her sweet behind teasing his arousal in all the right ways, all night?  It wasn’t possible.

“Good.  So go ahead and get cleaned up.  Breakfast is almost ready, then we can continue our investigation.”

“We’re investigators now?”

“I don’t just show up to work in a skirt suit, purse my lips, and say my lines, you know.  I do a lot of investigative work out there, and I’m damn good at it. You’ll see.”

“Can I help you with anything?”

“Yes.” She smiled over her shoulder at him.  “You can get ready, and sit down somewhere.” She waited for him to leave before going back to the pancake batter with a grin.

As she finished cooking the rest of the pancakes and filled three small pitchers with fresh water, milk, and apple juice, she realized just how overboard she’d gone.  Had it been so long since a man had turned her on that she’d forgotten how to play it cool?  Back in college, her sexual partners were lucky to get a slice of buttered bread out of her the morning after.  For the special ones who’d been skilled enough to make her cum, she might’ve even thrown it in the toaster for good measure.  But that was as far as it went.

And after years of dealing with Mark’s selfish lovemaking—only out for himself—the man was lucky to get a kiss on the cheek from her when they woke up together.  When he’d proposed to her, she’d had a horrible vision of her future.  A future full of a man who never returned the favor in bed, and had a real propensity for ejaculating prematurely—something he refused to get checked out for.

Somehow she knew that Remy wasn’t the type of man to leave a woman hanging in the bedroom.  One hit of those serious blue eyes had her body responding in ways she’d convinced herself it was no longer capable of, and she knew the promises those eyes of his held would not go unfulfilled.

She flinched at her own thoughts. How had she gotten here? She’d prepared a feast fit for ten, all for Remy, a man who she hadn’t even slept with.  A man she wasn’t sure she would
ever
sleep with.

And she was smiling, like a crack head who’d just gotten a hit.  She tried to stop, but couldn’t do it.  She now understood why women worshiped him, had shrines for him, and handed him the keys to their motor vehicles with no hesitation.  The man hadn’t even fucked her and she was preparing him feasts.  The man was damn good.

Too damn good.

Violet had always believed herself too smart for this.

Perhaps this was what happened to a woman who’d suffered through one too many bad dates, too much bad sex, and even more bad relationships.  Had she begun grasping at whatever scraps a cute man was willing to toss her way?  Remy was a fugitive, she hadn’t even found any solid proof that he was 100% innocent, and yet here she was, cooking for him?

With a frown, she got to work bringing all of the plates to the dining room table, where Remy was washed up and waiting for her, truly looking like a new man.  His hair was freshly washed, blonde strands still damp and swept back, and he was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that she’d found at Barbara’s and thrown in the wash. He hadn’t bothered to throw on the t-shirt she’d washed for him, as well, leaving his chest exposed, all ridges and hardness and tensing muscles, skin still glistening from the hot shower he’d taken.

The moment she saw him, she understood.  All she had to do was look at him, and everything made sense again.

She knew he was telling the truth.  She just knew it.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” his deep voice rang out, looking up at her with those crystal blue eyes.

She wasn’t sure if the blush on his cheeks was because he was getting stronger, which was causing the color to return to his previously pale face, or if it was a direct response to her.  Apart of her, deep inside, hoped it was the latter.

And that scared her to death.

She took the seat next to him at the table, and they dug in.  They didn’t leave that table even after they’d finished eating, too busy discussing the murder, taking notes, and doing all they could to clear Remy’s name for good.

***

There just weren’t enough hours in the day.  Before they knew it, morning had gone to evening, and they found themselves back on the living room couch with the news playing quietly on the television.  From what they’d seen so far, the police had upgraded the man-hunt from California to the entire country.  Her stomach had dropped at that tidbit of information.  There were people scouring the entire
country
for them.  While a part of her was relieved that no one had tracked them down, she couldn’t help but hurt for her family, and how worried she knew they had to be.

Her mother was surely in pieces, and she had no doubt her sisters had already planned Remy’s slow, painful death, all in sordid detail, while mapping out all the different places they’d go to scatter his limbs once they got their hands on him.

For now, however, it was just them.  They’d agreed not to talk about the case for an entire hour, just to rejuvenate their senses, and they needed that break. There was only so many times a person could say the words murder, poisoned, and killer in one day before they finally hit their emotional wall.  Remy and Violet had definitely hit that wall, hours ago.

She looked across the couch at him from where she was cleaning his wound. The baggy sweatpants had been a perfect choice, since it was easy to roll them all the way up Remy’s thigh, completely eliminating any need for him to take them off.  Remy in his underwear did nothing but lead them down a path that led to the same destination they’d arrived at the night before. The one that had ended with them waking up in far too intimate a position, a position neither of them were ready for.

“So I’ve been meaning to apologize to you… about kissing you at the gas station the other day.”  She’d been looking for a smooth way to bring up the kiss they’d had in the truck, but she wanted to kick herself when she heard the words that had just tumbled out of her mouth.  Was that the best she had?  She never had a problem speaking to men she was attracted to before, but something about Remy made ‘smooth’ almost impossible for her.

Something washed across Remy’s face, something that was profound with a defenselessness she’d never seen.  While continuing to stare at her hand, cleaning his wound, he frowned.

“We kissed?” he asked.

Violet’s head shot up.  Against all of her will, her heart broke a little.  “Of course you don’t remember.”  He’d been so high on those pills.  Her eyes searched his for a moment before looking back down at his wound with a small scoff.  She felt like an idiot.

Remy finally looked up to her face, and his eyes searched every dip and curve.  Her big eyes, long lashes—like half-moons resting against her cheekbones and mocha skin--perfectly offset by full, pink lips.  His stomach curled in knots as he became riveted by her lips, rocked back to the perfection of them trapped between his own as he kissed her, suckled at her, sampled her sweet flavor.  He yearned for more, even then.

“No,” he answered.  “I don’t remember.”

“Forget I said anything,” Violet mumbled.

She looked like the air had been completely deflated from a balloon in her head, and Remy planned to leave it that way.  Whatever was happening between them was becoming hard to deny.  He had to stop it before it spiraled.

He feared it already had.

He’d woken up several times the night before with his hard dick planted firmly against the swells of her amazing, plump ass.  The shorts she’d had on had shifted somewhere in the dead of night, leaving her sweet pussy all but exposed to him. One quick thrust, and he would’ve been inside her, surrounded by her, feeling her body swallow him whole in the way he’d been dreaming about since the moment he’d held her against him for the first time.

Even knowing the seductive, dangerous power of her sweet channel mere inches from his throbbing dick, he hadn’t been able to muster up the will, or the strength, to move away, and he’d scared himself.  For a moment, he scared himself so badly, having no idea how he could find the strength to resist slipping right inside her.

The suffocating urge to wake her up with his dick planted deep had been white hot, it had been real, and he’d come unbelievably close.  Dangerously close.