Kill the Competition (46 page)

"Still," he said, in that inarguable one-word way of his.

"Goodnight, then," she said with a little wave and a little jerk of her heart. When she closed the door behind her, she sighed. It was for the best. She was recovering, he was recovering. She was in a bind, and he was trained to come to her rescue. After the commotion passed, he, too, would pass.

She'd taken one step away from the door when the doorbell rang. Thinking he'd gotten word of a new development, she opened the door. His frame filled the opening. His dark hair fell over his forehead, into his eyes. "I changed my mind."

The sexual energy bouncing between them put enough static in the air to lift Downey's fur. Belinda wavered, knowing it wasn't the smartest thing to do, that if she were planning her life, this attraction was leading nowhere. But she wasn't planning her life anymore, and who knew how many more nights of freedom she might have?

She stepped aside to allow him to enter, and they were kissing before the door closed. When he folded her into his arms, she went loose all over, reveling in the sensation of having so much man around her. His maleness overwhelmed her and she had the ridiculous urge to submit to him, to let him take her where he wanted them to go. He lifted her off the ground and pulled her against his—arousal? Radio? Gun?

"Are you still on duty?" she murmured against his mouth.

"No," he managed between hard breaths.

"Then can we lose the uniform?"

He laughed, and she'd never heard a more sexy sound in her life.

The clothes were coming off before they could make it to the living room. Her jacket fell in the foyer, as well as his button-up shirt. Her shoes were next, then his belt. He made a rueful noise when he saw the couch.

"The aluminum foil didn't work," she said, pulling her blouse over her head. "My couch is ruined."

"How about the floor?" His gaze devoured her as he unzipped his pants.

"The floor seems to be in good shape," she agreed, tearing off her pantyhose. They were both on the carpet before their underwear landed.

He appeared to be fascinated with her breasts but not the least bit intimidated. Two tweaks in, she knew she was in the hands of a man who knew how to make things happen. Her body was one long, living nerve. He seemed to be everywhere at once, his mouth, his hands, his... well, the significance of having a large man make love to her was starting to sink in... literally.

Her knees parted like the Red Sea to bring him closer, but a couple of inches in, he set his jaw to restrain himself. "Whatever you got going on down there," he said through clenched teeth, "it's making me crazy."

She was thinking likewise. So maybe the Brazilians were on to something with this inside and out wax job. Pain? What pain?

He groaned into her mouth as he drove inside her, and her eyes rolled back. This... this had to be breaking some rule, it felt too good.

He held himself above her, giving them both a few seconds to take each other in before falling into a delicious glide. She had never been so swept away on pure physical pleasure. He talked in her ear, asking if this felt good and if that felt good. Too soon and not soon enough, she came on a this and he came on a that. He rolled over, pulling her on top to recover. She lay with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, filled with feminine satisfaction that their bodies had interacted so supernaturally.

"Could you be suspended for this?" she asked against his nipple.

"Hell, yes."

"Will you stay anyway?"

"Hell, yes."

A few minutes later, they roused long enough to make omelets and drink the beer that was left. She marveled at the ease between them and resisted thinking past tonight. It was a good thing she had adopted that "men are unnecessary" rule, because Wade Alexander, with his omelet pan and his this and that, would be easy to fall for. But she wasn't going there again. Not yet. Not for a long while.

They took a shower in the dark and made love again on her bed-in-a-bag animal print sheets, then settled down to share one pillow—not an easy feat, considering his size.

Belinda was quiet, studying the white fluted globe over her bed, trying to squash the panic fluttering in her chest beneath his warm hand. This was feeling dangerously good. Nothing this good could last—it would burn itself out. Wade would chalk it up to his rebound fling and move on. She wasn't ready for another relationship either, but her heart was still needy and might not recognize a rebound fling. Might instead mistake the rebound fling for the real thing and incite her to crazy thoughts like picturing her furniture in his house. Or worrying that all those omelets weren't good for his cholesterol.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"You're sighing."

"How many eggs do you eat in a week?"

"Huh?"

"I was thinking maybe... maybe you shouldn't stay."

Silence, then he swung his legs over the side and reached for his shirt. "Okay, I'll leave."

She closed her eyes. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

"I'm a big boy. But it could mean trouble for you if things... get worse. You're right, I shouldn't stay."

She lay still, feeling miserable as she watched him dress. "Do you think things will get worse—for me, I mean? Should I get a lawyer, tell my parents?"

"Hardeman will turn up soon. Then you should be off the hook." He gave her a flat smile. "For everything."

"But—" She bit her tongue.

"But what?"

"What if he didn't do it? Is there something you aren't telling me? Do you have proof?"

"Not definitive proof," he said, then expelled a sigh. "Are you still hung up on the guy?"

She sat up and pulled the covers to her neck. "What? Of course not."

"You seem more concerned about his innocence than your own."

She wanted to say she hoped Julian was innocent to prove her judgment wasn't so off-base, that she wouldn't just crawl into a dry sauna with a serial killer, but she didn't think it would come out sounding very elegant. And then a thunderbolt hit her.

"I'm your revenge," she said quietly.

He turned his head. "What?"

"I'm your revenge on Julian." She touched her temples. "He slept with your wife, you thought Julian was hung up on me, so you slept with me."

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head.

"Get out." She set her jaw, reeling from her own gullibility.

"Belinda—"

"Get out now." She looked away until she heard his footsteps on the stairs, in the foyer, the door open and close, then she slipped on her robe to go down and turn the dead bolt. She sat on the bottom step for a good half hour, rocking to stave off the lake of tears behind her eyes. Downey came to keep her company, settling next to her with little mewling noises.

Their lovemaking hadn't meant anything, so why should his betrayal hurt? She wasn't looking for a relationship, and now she didn't have one.

Fine. Everything was just fine.

Oh, except for the murder rap and the missing contracts and the unemployment line she was likely to be facing soon. She opened her mouth for enough air to fuel a marathon crying jag, and the doorbell rang.

She gulped back a sob, wondering what Wade could possibly have to say, hating herself for wanting to see him again. Already. Pathetic.

Belinda inhaled and exhaled deeply, then turned the dead bolt and opened the door. Moonlight streamed in around his head—she couldn't see his face.

"Hello, Belinda."

Her heart stood still. "Julian."

Chapter 31

Her throat convulsed. "Wh-what are you doing here, Julian?"

"I need to talk to you. Can I come in?"

She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "It's late, Julian. Why don't you call me tomorrow, or come by my office?" She started to close the door.

"No," he said, blocking the doorframe with his body and forcing his way into the foyer. The light fell on his gaunt face, highlighting beard stubble and his glassy green eyes. "I have to talk to you now."

Primal fear seized her. She had to get to the bathroom, lock herself in. She whirled to run up the stairs. Julian grabbed the back of her robe. She screamed, then fell hard on her chin. Despite the stars in her head, she kicked at him and clawed at the stairs.

"Be still!" he bellowed. "I just want to talk to you. You remind me so much of Jeanie. I loved her." He covered her body with his, pinning her facedown on the rough carpet. The steps jabbed her painfully. His breathing rasped in her ear, his wet mouth sliding on her cheek. She felt faint and gasped for breath under his considerable weight.

"I just want to tell you something," he wheezed. "I was in Margo's office the day she died. I went to see that bitch because she killed Jeanie, I just know it. I went to confront her, to make her conf—unhhh!"

His weight was suddenly gone. She gulped air into her aching lungs, then collapsed in a fit of coughing and flopped over on her back. The door stood open and she realized that someone had Julian facedown in the foyer. Wade.

"Are you okay?" he shouted.

"Yes," she managed, then dragged herself up and pawed for the light switch. She blinked against the sudden illumination that showed Julian struggling beneath Wade's knee in his back. Wade was reading him his rights, placing him under arrest for assault. He cuffed Julian and left him on the floor, then turned back to her, his jaw set, his eyes grave. "Did he... hurt you?"

"No," she said. "I'm fine, just a couple of bruises." She jammed her fingers into her hair and choked back a sob. "He told me he was in Margo's office the day she died. He said he went there to confront her about Jeanie."

"That bitch killed my Jeanie," Julian shouted.

"Shut up, Hardeman," Wade yelled. "You'll have your chance to tell your story."

He looked back to Belinda. "I need to take him in. Will you be okay?"

She pressed her lips together, then nodded.

Wade looked as if he wanted to say something, wanted to do something. "I should have been here to protect you."

"You were."

"Still, I'm sorry for... everything."

"Me too."

"Try to get some sleep. Someone will find you tomorrow to get a statement."

Someone.
She nodded, then watched him drag Julian to his feet and lead him to the cruiser. He put the man in the backseat, then stood outside the car, talking on his radio for a few minutes before climbing in and driving away.

Belinda was so limp with relief and exhaustion that she could barely pull herself back up the stairs. Her clock read 2:20 a.m. The nightmare was over for her, just beginning for Julian. Three lives wasted—Jeanie's, Margo's, and now his. Swallowing against the nausea in her stomach, she acknowledged with knee-bending gravity that she might have been next. She collapsed into the bed and Downey yowled, then tunneled her way out from under the bedclothes to lick Belinda's face. It was a kind gesture, meant to soothe, but she lay there for an hour with adrenaline coursing through her body before turning her well-groomed face into the pillow to drift asleep.
 

The pillow smelled like Wade.

* * *

Belinda jogged down the stairs, poking in earrings. She was going to be late for the carpool again, but she suspected the girls wouldn't mind sitting in the driveway for a few minutes, considering the news she had for them about Julian being apprehended.

It was a beautiful day. She was eager to get to the office and start repairing the damage to her credibility. If Mr. Archer would give her a chance, she'd make the Payton acquisition work. Chances were, if the company had problems, Archer would be able to buy it at a much cheaper price. Either Margo had been getting a kickback from someone at Payton to push through the deal, or she had simply been dead set on getting it done in her own timeframe.

Belinda was in such a good mood, she was determined that not even last night's carnal lapse with Wade was going to pull her down.

The doorbell rang as she grabbed a Slim-Fast drink from the fridge. Still in her stocking feet and mascara-less, she swung open the door. And just like that, her day got better.