Face-Off (7 page)

Truth was, she was sexually starved. She hadn't had a man in her life for a while and seeing a specimen of pretty much solid testosterone was reminding all her girlie bits that they'd been starved for too long. That's all it was.

Running helped calm her but it couldn't quench the restless heat coursing through her body.

She jogged back to her apartment, took a long shower.

While she was combing out her hair, her door buzzer went.

She wasn't expecting anyone. She put on her robe and answered the intercom.

“Sam, it's me.”

There was only one “me” who could fire her up at the mere sound of his voice uttering a few words over an intercom.

A sweet, familiar ache began low in her belly. “Come on up,” she said.

G
REG HAD NO IDEA WHAT
he was doing entering this woman's apartment. He'd argued with himself back and forth since they'd parted in the restaurant parking lot.

But she was like an addictive drug. One taste of her was never going to be enough.

So he'd gone to her place. He knew where it was, like he knew a lot of things about her in the peripheral part of his brain. He wondered if she'd kept the same casual tabs on him over the years.

She wasn't home. He'd been so keyed up to see her, talk to her, something, that the disappointment felt like a blow.

He'd been about to drive away when he saw her jogging toward him, her form still trim, though she'd become a little curvier with time.

He gave her fifteen minutes to shower, thought that ought to be long enough for anyone. Then he called up.

When she answered, he didn't know what to say. Had no idea why he was there. But she didn't seem to care. She'd invited him up, and here he was, outside her door.

He took a deep breath. Raised a hand to knock and to his horror realized it wasn't quite steady. He'd faced down
deranged, drugged-up killers, been called to scenes of terrible tragedy, and had always kept a steady head and hand.

Now he was going shaky over a woman? A woman who'd dumped him and pissed all over his broken heart?

He must be losing it.

But that didn't stop him from rapping urgently on her door.

She opened it. She stood before him in a silk robe that barely covered her thighs. The V-neck gave him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. Her hair was a damp mess falling down her back.

He stepped inside.

She shut the door.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, then she leaned forward, rose to her toes and put her lips on his. And just like that, lust sucker punched him.

He had his arms around her before he could even think about stopping himself, about restraint, brains, consequences, going down this self-destructive road again with this woman who was as much a part of him and his past as his right arm. With her body rubbing up against him, damp and smelling of all those female potions, and the underlying womanly scent of her, how could he think?

Why would he want to?

Their mouths were greedy for each other, crazy. They kissed the way starving people might eat. His hands were in her hair, fisting in the still damp strands.

She had her hands under the leather jacket he hadn't taken off, pushing it off his shoulders. He stopped to shrug the thing off, to help her yank his shirt over his head.

She touched his naked chest, dipping her head to lick at him. He plunged under that robe, feeling for her, for
her breasts that were round and plump and perfect. Oh, so familiar, and yet somehow new. She moaned when he cupped her, nipped at him, and kept going south.

His blood was pounding, need driving him to take, to give. To possess.

Her hands were working at his belt, but his raging erection and his impatience made it torture.

He pushed her hands away, not wanting to waste the time.

He kicked off his shoes, dragged off his socks, and, while she watched him with those amazing big blue-green eyes of hers, yanked his jeans and shorts off in one less-than-smooth move.

Her gaze traveled up and down, drinking him in and he felt a tiny sizzle of embarrassment along with a need stronger than any he'd ever known.

Sam knew she'd never wanted a man more. Not any man. This man. She loved the darkness of his skin, the tight, hard abs, and the glorious cock standing stiff and proud.

His eyes were dark, liquid, heavy with wanting that matched her own. His breathing was ragged. He reached for her and she loved the play of muscles in his arms. There was a scar she'd never seen before on his right bicep. Later, she knew, she'd ask about it. But not now. For now she kissed the jagged spot.

He reached for the belt of her robe, holding her gaze with his, and when he unwrapped her, she felt not as though she and her body had aged a decade since he'd last set eyes on her, but as though she were brand-new.

His gaze traveled down her naked body and he made a sound that could only be satisfaction. She felt beautiful, irresistible and so hot she was about to explode.

Maybe she wanted him enough to take him right now
on the polished concrete floor, but for their first time reunited, she really craved the comfort of her big, expensive bed with the soft linen sheets. She took his hand, led him to her bedroom.

With no ceremony at all, he yanked the pretty duvet back and pushed her to the bed. He joined her there, hot and hard everywhere.

He kissed her again, deeper, licking into her mouth, toying with her. Then he kissed his way to her breasts where he spent a good amount of time and she was hot and restless by the time he moved down her belly, not as athletic as his, but he didn't seem to mind.

Before she quite realized his intention, he was pushing her thighs apart with his tough cop's hands and burying his face in her heat.

Surprise, shock, intense pleasure hit her in a big, swamping wave as he proceeded to use his tongue and lips to savor and delight her.

This wasn't like a first time, she realized, when they'd both been so tentative and unsure of what they were doing. Now they knew each other intimately. She hadn't changed that much in a decade and he knew it. He'd learned on her body as she'd learned on his, and there wasn't an inch of her he hadn't explored, toyed with, figuring out what she liked, how the whole sex thing worked.

It had been so much fun. How could she ever have known there'd never be anyone else who could give her this kind of pleasure?

Maybe because she'd loved him as she'd never loved again.

Her head dropped back against the pillows and she gave herself over to the sensations rioting through her body. Shivering heat, little electric thrills, and a gradually building tension. When he pushed a finger inside her and
rubbed unerringly at her G spot, she couldn't hold back the cry that shook her, as her body thrust and rocked against him, spilling over.

“I want you inside me,” she said, feeling desperate to be filled.

“Condoms,” he gasped.

“I'm on the p—” Of course. With all the years and who knew how many lovers between them, it wasn't only pregnancy he wanted to avoid. How sad.

She leaned over to her bedside drawer, plopped a few on the table and helping herself to one, ripped it open. Sheathing him gave her a chance to touch him, to refamiliarize herself with that part of him that had always fascinated her. So different from anything on her own body, and it had given her so much pleasure.

Once more he parted her thighs. Once more she opened for him. This time he looked into her eyes. The intimacy was so shocking she wanted to look away, but she didn't. Couldn't.

He entered her and she felt the slow slide of pleasure as her body took him in. Little pulses from her first orgasm sent tiny shocks through her.

Wanting to be closer, wanting more, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him inside her even as he thrust deeper.

It was a fierce mating, two strong, agile bodies thrusting against a shared past, pushing into the present. He had better control now, she noted hazily, as he toyed with her and pleasured her, bringing her up and up, waiting for her.

Their gazes were locked as she came in a glorious rush, and she felt his body climax in tune with hers. The moment was so sweet she wanted it to last forever.

But nothing lasts forever. Not even memory.

He rolled them so that she was snuggled against him. She could hear the bang of his heart begin to slow, his harsh breathing even, and the heat of his skin fade to warm.

Emotion pricked at her eyelids as the rush of remembered love coursed through her body.

“I—” She was panting, lost in a rush of feelings she couldn't even describe. She what?

“Shh,” he said, kissing her damp forehead.

And with his arms wrapped protectively around her, she drifted off to sleep.

G
REG WOKE UP WITH A
smile on his face and for that moment right before fully waking, let himself bask in the feelings of a warm, sleeping woman curled in his arms, of the scent of her skin in his nostrils and a dark tendril of her hair lapping his shoulder.

By moving his head an inch he could kiss the nape of her neck, one of his favorite spots on her body, and, as he knew all too well, one of hers.

He'd known he wanted her.

And that was all he'd known.

How could he have expected this complicated rush of emotion? Want edged way too close to need where she was concerned, and passion bumped its head against the residual anger he still experienced when he recalled how they'd parted. The harsh words yelled, the insults, the final door slammed.

What was his crime? He'd asked the woman he loved to marry him.

She was leaving for law school and he understood that the best school was on the other side of the country even as she knew there were good schools a lot closer. But he'd
supported her dream, hadn't he? Had he asked her to stay behind?

No, he had not. He'd sucked up his disappointment. Considered briefly traveling out with her, but he couldn't train to be a Vancouver cop anywhere but in Vancouver. It wasn't like he had a choice.

So, she'd made the choice for both of them. And because he loved her, because he didn't want to be separated from her, and he'd wanted her to know that she'd be taking his heart and his hopes and his future with her on that plane, he'd spent all his savings on a ring.

And booked a fancy place for dinner. He thought with a wince that he might have even sprung for red roses, but he was twenty-two. What did he know?

Nothing about that night had gone as planned.

From the second they got to the restaurant he'd started feeling strange. She talked about her new school and how nervous she was about classes and profs and whether she'd be able to keep up, whether she was as smart as she'd always thought she was, whether she had any aptitude for the law.

He'd felt her slipping away.

Maybe that's why he'd fumbled the next part so badly that he still felt squirmy when he thought about it. He'd said something really smooth, like maybe when she came home she'd be too smart for him.

She'd looked at him with surprise. “I thought you were proud of me.”

“I am. But I don't want you to get so full of being a lawyer that you forget what's important.”

Hurt and a shade of annoyance shaded her eyes. “Are you saying I'm full of myself?” She put her knife and fork down, never a good sign in a woman who loved food.

“No.” What was he trying to say? “I love you.”

Her expression relaxed. “I love you, too.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “It won't be long until Christmas.”

“We've never been apart longer than a week. Not since eighth grade.”

“I know. I'm really going to miss you.” She bit her lip. “I can't afford to come home for Thanksgiving as well as Christmas. But maybe you could fly out for a few days?”

“I start my training course in September. Not sure I'll be able to go.”

The ring was burning a hole in his pocket and all he could think about was the joy on her face when she saw it.

“We only have a few days left before I leave.” Her voice dropped to husky in a way he loved. “We'd better not waste them.”

He thought he would love this woman for the rest of his life. She was his first, his only, and he knew deep in his bones that he'd never want another woman, not with Sam in his life. His buddies had joked around that once Sam was on the other side of the country, he'd be a free man. But he didn't feel that way. Didn't want to be free.

For damn sure didn't want her thinking she was free.

“I know what I want to do,” he said, leaning forward, taking her hand.

She leaned in a little, smiled at him with those big ocean-colored eyes. “Is it very kinky?” she purred. He gulped.
Now or never.
His hand was a little unsteady as he pulled out the ring box. Put it on the table in front of her. “I want to tell all our friends that we'll be getting married as soon as you finish school.” He paused for a second. Wondered why they need to wait so long. “Sooner if you want.”

She'd stared at that ring box as though it were a live grenade, or a poisonous spider, or an engagement ring from a guy you had no intention of marrying.

Where was the welling of tears in her eyes? The amazed squeal? The excitement?

“Are you asking me to marry you?” she whispered.

“Yeah. I am. I can't wait to tell everybody. They'll be so stoked.”

She looked up and as their gazes connected he didn't see love there, but doubt. “But I'm moving to Toronto for three years.”

“I know.”

“Why wouldn't you wait until I was done school?”

“Because I want to know that every guy on campus will see that ring and know you're taken,” he'd blurted. Which wasn't at all what he'd meant to say, but she'd rattled him. Where were the tears? The throwing herself in his arms and promising eternal love? Where was the chick-flick moment he'd imagined?

She hadn't even lifted the box to take a peek. She'd stared at him, her eyes now big and sad. “You don't trust me.”

“It's not you I don't trust. It's guys.”

Which he now realized wasn't the smartest thing he could have said.

“So, are you going to wear an engagement ring too?” she'd demanded in that pissy voice she got when they talked about feminism and stuff. Like there was only one right answer and he was never going to come up with it. “I know how women like a hot cop.”

He'd known her long enough to realize when her mood was dangerous. But he'd been too angry, too humiliated, too hurt that she had so misunderstood him, and he'd picked up the ring box and stuffed it back in his pocket.

“Forget it. Just forget it.”

He'd called for the check and they'd left the restaurant, him with a sour taste in his mouth. The eatery was still there, still one of the top restaurants in town. He'd never been back.

The fight they'd had after they left had been their worst ever. When they were done throwing insults at each other—and they both knew each other's weaknesses too well—not only were they not getting married, they weren't even talking.

He held out, stubborn and angry, for five days.

The day that Sam was getting on a plane to Toronto was marked with a big black ring on the family calendar. His mother asked about having Sam and her family over for a goodbye dinner and he came up with some excuse.

Each day he waited for the phone to ring. For Sam to show up and tell him she'd overreacted. She was sorry.

And each day ended with him going to bed in howling frustration.

At last it arrived. The day with the big black ring around it.

She was leaving.

In a panic, he realized that she wasn't going to come crawling back. If he wanted her, he had to go and do the groveling, even though he hadn't done anything wrong.

Truth was he didn't even care, he couldn't let her go without saying goodbye, without trying to make things right. In a panic he'd rushed to her house, but he was too late. They'd already left for the airport.

He'd wanted to write, and didn't have a clue what to say. Waited for her to get hold of him, and his in-box remained Sam-less.

Now here he was, back in her bed, and as the old fa
miliar feelings rushed through him his smile faded. He wondered how he could have been so stupid.

He felt like a drug addict who manages to stay clean and sober for a decade and then one day thinks he's strong enough for one drink. One toke. One hit.

And finds himself as deeply addicted as ever. No twenty-eight-day program would ever help him now.

A decade of sobriety and he was starting down a slippery downward path. If he didn't act fast, he'd be lost forever.

The sleeping woman beside him stirred. She was even more gorgeous than she'd been at twenty-two if that was possible. Her mouth was a little firmer and there was a tiny fan of crows' feet around her eyes that were new to him, but she had grown into herself. Instead of bravado, she now had true confidence. Her body had filled out nicely and in all the right places. She looked, smelled, tasted fantastic…familiar.

Greg raised a hand to smooth her hair back off her face and let it drop, not wanting to wake her. She was so peaceful sleeping. Not arguing or stating her case or in some way trying to piss him off. He realized how much he'd missed her.

Not just the sex, which had never been as good.

He'd wondered over the years if his memory might be faulty because no woman, and there'd been a few, had ever felt as right in his bed as Sam. Maybe he'd never experienced the highs he and Sam had reached together because they were each other's first, and he'd built that time up in his memory to some lofty height that reality could never achieve.

Making love with her again had been—if possible—better than he remembered. They both had a little more maturity and experience but it was something beyond that.
Something elemental with them, as though they knew each other's bodies and needs as well as they knew their own. Instinctively. It was weird. But in a good way.

He lay on his side, watching her sleep. It wasn't just the sex, there was some magical quality between them that had always been there. That he'd never believed he'd find again.

What was it? And why with this woman and only this one?

A pain pierced his chest so quickly he thought for a second he was having a heart attack.

And in a way he supposed he was. Because the truth, when it hit him, was inescapable.

He was still in love with this woman. Had loved her since before he understood what love was, had believed in them enough to propose marriage when she headed off for university.

He'd so carefully avoided her for years and his plan had been working. He got on with his life, she got on with hers and if they happened to bump into each other—between high-school weddings and the fact that her brother was his best friend—they dealt.

When it did happen that they found themselves in the same house or garden or wedding chapel, he'd made sure they had the minimum possible contact.

So why, today, had he thrown away a decade of self-protection?

Since when had he become self-destructive?

And now that he was on this dangerous path, now that he'd fallen so spectacularly off the wagon, what the hell was he going to do about it?

He knew there was only one thing he could do.

With a weight of sadness that felt like an anvil on his chest, he pressed a whisper-soft kiss on her shoulder blade and then rolled soundlessly out of bed.