One Good Man (8 page)

It was made for the way she’d used it last night, and he was surer than he was about never wanting to eat alligator, that she could use it for even more. Those things, all intimately imagined, were giving his body hell.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone tell me that I taste good,” she finally replied, and as he glanced over, he saw her face color with the implications of what she’d just said. “Though I’m sure it had something to do with the JB.”

Nice recovery, he thought, amused, though they both knew he hadn’t been talking about the booze. “I swear, Jamie. If it had been any other time or place…”

He let the sentence trail, not sure why he was giving even more air to the subject instead of allowing it to breathe its last and drift off to die. Unless that wasn’t what he wanted, to let it go, to forget.

“Yeah. You said that last night,” she reminded him.

“I wasn’t sure you heard me.”

“I was drunk, but I was right there.”

“I know.” Where she’d been, the way she’d tasted, how she’d felt in his hands would stick with him a long, long time. “I just wanted to make sure we were clear.”

“Oh,” she said, then after a pause, went on to ask, “Why aren’t you in a relationship? I mean, I’m assuming you’re not…”

“I’m not, no, and I guess for the same reason I’m not married. My mother nags about grandchildren, but I’d rather not tackle parenthood on my own.” His line of work had convinced him of that, as had his childhood. Sure, some single parents did a better job than two, but he wasn’t cut out to try it.

Smiling, Jamie tucked her feet beneath her to sit cross-legged. “Your mother and my mother must be reading from the same script.”

He wondered if what she’d been through had changed how she felt about starting a family. Maybe she’d never wanted one at all. Maybe she wanted one now more than ever. He didn’t ask because he didn’t want to stir things that had settled.

But then she went on. “The married-with-children thing is a long-running joke between me and my mother. She takes the blame for me being single.”

Coming up on a slow-moving vehicle, Kell eased the SUV’s cruise control to coast before changing lanes. It gave him time to let what Jamie had said sink in. “Why would she think it’s her fault?”

“Because of her hovering.”

Strange, he mused, passing the car on his right, the sun that shone through the window glinting red through Jamie’s hair. “She seemed concerned, protective even, but I didn’t get a sense of her hovering. Or of you letting her.”

Jamie laughed, a wonderful sound, fearless and full of life. “Trust me. There’s no letting involved. She does it. I put up with it. And we love each other to death. End of story.”

“Love makes all the difference,” he heard himself saying before he thought better of going soft. “Between crowding and caring, I mean.”

“It can still be crazy-making,” she said, the smile on her face wry.

Kell understood. He had a few crazy-making memories of his own. “I lucked out being the oldest. My mom still had Terry and Brennan at home to fuss over. Then Brennan left for school and Terry got the full baby-of-the-family treatment.”

Jamie chuckled. “And you weren’t jealous at all.”

“Jealous?” He shook his head. He didn’t begrudge either of his brothers anything. “But I did miss the attention.” And then he heard himself admitting, “I liked being spoiled. Still do.”

Several seconds passed before Jamie responded, and Kell began to wonder what the hell he was doing. Getting the kiss out of the way had been one thing. Turning the conversation back to the personal was another, and not very smart.

He did not like the direction the attraction between them was driving him. He’d told her twice now another time, another place, and was thinking he should tattoo a reminder on the inside of his eyelids, a road sign telling him where not to go before he found himself unable to shift gears.

Finally, she moved, shifting in her seat, her voice low when she said, “The right woman will do that, you know. Spoil you.”

It wouldn’t do any good to pretend she was talking about someone’s mother when she was talking about all the things he’d wanted from her last night, the things he’d denied himself, the things he could’ve had right there in her driveway.

He couldn’t let himself think she was making him an offer, or read anything into the one she’d made him last night. She was a case he was working. That’s all they had between them. “Yeah? The right woman and a Faustian bargain?”

She sat back with a huff. “No wonder you’re still on your own.”

He wanted to laugh, to tease her, to play until they reached their destination, but mostly he was desperate for a way out of this detour, so he grabbed the opening she’d given him instead. “I’m not so good at leaving my work at the office. I’ve never thought it would be fair to saddle someone with my life, what I have to deal with, what I see. I’m not always the best of company.”

He knew she would understand his concern. Because of what she’d lived through, it had to be something she’d considered. He didn’t for a minute believe she’d never been in a relationship, though he wouldn’t be surprised if her lovers had been only casual.

Anything more would mean letting someone in, and neither one of them lived in a place that was very inviting. Jamie lived with the horror of her past, and would for the rest of her life; even if the killer was caught and put away, she’d carry with her what had happened.

And Kell…He carried his cases in his head; his subconscious was always stewing on the ones he’d back-burnered while he feverishly stirred those that were hot, leaving very few of his brain cells for anything else.

Funny when he thought about it, but in a lot of ways, he and Jamie were two of a kind, their lives forever bound to the heinous offenses of others. It sucked in so many ways.

“So it’s easier to be a martyr than to trust a woman to have what it takes to deal. Is that it?”

Biting down on a lot of words best left unsaid, Kell maneuvered toward the Midland exit. He knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut, because now he was going to have to go on the defensive, and that was not the mood he’d been working so hard to set. “It’s not about being a martyr. Or about trusting or not.”

“Then what’s it about?” she demanded, because she obviously couldn’t leave the subject alone.

He decided to turn it back on her, let her spin it from her own point of view. “Don’t you find it hard to let men get close?”

She looked away from him and stared out her side window as they passed the Midland city-limits sign. And then she crossed one leg over the other and scooted closer to the door. Since she’d answered with her body, he didn’t expect her to give him a verbal response.

“I let you get close. I would’ve let you get even closer if you hadn’t put a stop to things.”

He knew that. The reminder was not exactly welcome when he was trying to forget what he’d said no to. “I’m not talking about…sex.”

“I know. You’re talking about emotional intimacy. Caring and affection and eventually love. And, yes, I have found that hard. Mostly because I’m very careful when talking about my past.” She paused, pushing the hair she’d left hanging loose away from her face. Color tinted her cheekbones, as if her admission didn’t come easy. “It’s been a deal breaker more than once. Men ask, I refuse to answer, they think I’m hiding something. They’re right, but I’m not going to risk exposing myself just so some guy feels better about what he’s getting into. A guy wants something long-term, he should be willing to accept my timetable for sharing what happened.”

A knot of anger balled like a fist in Kell’s stomach. He knew men like the ones she was describing, men who demanded everything go their way, men who made it hard for women to cut the rest of the male gender a break, a few of whom deserved to be strung up by what passed for their balls.

He started to tell her she deserved better, that the right man would be there for her past, present and future, but stopped. He didn’t want the sentiment to come out sounding as patronizing as he feared it would. Besides, he felt strangely protective, possessive even, and didn’t buy it when he told himself it was all about the case.

Before he could round up what he was feeling and force it into some kind of sense, Jamie took a deep breath and went on. “The thing is, making an intense connection with someone who knows those things about me, even one tangled up with a dark night, a bottle of JB and a killer kiss…Let’s just say, it’s not something I’m going to walk away from. And I’m sorry you felt you had to.”

Kell was only human, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He swerved the SUV into a parking lot, slammed on the brakes and shoved the transmission to park. His chest heaving, he stared straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel so he didn’t reach for her. “A little late to be spelling out the rules, don’t you think?”

She gave a sarcastic grunt. “Better late than never. Besides, last night I was too self-involved to think you might need a playbook.”

That didn’t sit well. His blood began to boil. “I know all the plays, Jamie. I just don’t like running them when I’m the only one with his head in the game.”

Jamie was leaning toward him, a move that gave him a really good look down the front of her shirt. A gentleman would have looked away.

Kell was no gentleman. He unhooked her seat belt and pulled her to sprawl across his lap, reached for her breasts and brought his mouth down hard on hers. She pushed his hands away and unbuttoned her blouse. He felt her smile as his erection swelled to bump her thigh, and he wasn’t sure which of them groaned the loudest.

The fire they’d set last night had burned. This fire exploded, an incendiary rush of heat and flame that sucked them both into its back draft. Jamie’s mouth was hungry, her lips and teeth and tongue involved, her free hand warm against his cheek and holding him still.

This was wrong. So very wrong. But there was no way Kell was going to move when nothing in his life had felt this right. Jamie was a case, a victim of a crime, his job. He had no business wanting her at all, much less in ways that had him losing his mind. Yet he didn’t care.

How could he when she fit him and wanted him and kept him from being able to draw enough breath? Men dreamed of this. Men paid for this. Hell, men killed for this. And here it was his, and all he’d done was broil her a steak and share her Jim Beam beneath the light of the moon.

Her breast in his palm was sweetly heavy, rounded like a peach, ripe and firm. He cupped and molded, leaving the fabric of her bra as a barrier teasing them both. She wiggled against him, pressed against him, nipped at his lower lip to tell him to move it out of the way. He kissed her harder instead, gripping tightly to the little bit of sanity he hadn’t surrendered.

Her mouth. It was wet and warm, and she tasted like the coffee she’d sipped as they’d traveled, tasted, too, like a feverish panic and…fear. When he slowed the kiss, softening the pressure of his mouth, pulling back, she trembled and moved her hands to his shoulders to hold on.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jamie.” He whispered the words against her cheek. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”

“Safe’s not exactly what I’m feeling,” she said, and tried to laugh, releasing her grip as if knowing he was close enough for now.

“If you’re feeling what I’m feeling…” He watched as she buttoned her shirt, her skin flushed, her fingers fumbling, her expression as dazed and confused as he was feeling. They were headed down a dangerous road here, with neither one of them in a position to enjoy more than the physical trip…or were they?

Was that the danger he was sensing? An emotional connection neither one of them could have anticipated and braced for?

He gave her a hand as she returned to her seat and belted herself in. He then put the vehicle in gear and pulled out of the lot into traffic. He was so screwed. Sex between them was one thing. The complication of hearts and minds was another. The first he could deal with. The second…not now.

Maneuvering through the streets toward their destination, he did his best to put what had happened out of his mind. When he failed at that as miserably as he had at keeping his distance, he forced himself to visualize the crime scene photos from the murders at the Sonora Nites Diner.

It was what he should have been focusing on all along. His work. The job. Solving the case. Using Jamie to do it.

“Is that where we’re going?” she asked, and Kell looked up in time to realize he was about to miss his turn.

He pulled into the parking lot and drove around to the rear of the building. They’d be using an office away from the high-traffic area of the station, one set up to look more like a cozy den with the high-tech recording equipment discreetly mounted on a bookshelf between leather-bound volumes, bronze sculptures and dishes of potpourri.

Glancing over at her as he shifted the SUV into park, he gentled his voice and asked, “Are you ready for this?”

“No.” Her voice cold and flat, a mere whisper of fear, she unbuckled her seat belt, climbed down from the vehicle and slammed the door. And there was nothing gentle in the way she did it at all.