Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (15 page)

“Shh.” He rocked her and cradled her head on his shoulder. “We’ll replace your stuff. Insurance might cover some of the cash.”

“Don’t have insurance.” Her breathing hitched again. “Don’t care about that…”

“You’re not lightheaded or dizzy again are you?” His concern brought on several more sobs.

“No. Not me. J-Jerry.”

Razor stiffened beneath her. “Who’s Jerry? The fire chief said everyone made it out.”

“My rat. He probably cooked, didn’t he?”

His shoulders bounced beneath her clutching fingers.

“Are you
laughing
?”

“No. Definitely not.” And by definitely not he meant hell yes.

“James!” Tears overflowed, tracking across her soot-streaked face. She no longer cared. Too tired to dash them, she let them pour. Stupid as it might sound, the varmint had been the closest thing to a friend she’d had since she left her father’s house, and Gerard, behind.

“You’re something else, you know that? Somebody tries to kill you and you’re worried about a rat.” He angled her face until she held his gaze. For all his teasing, the melted-chocolate of his eyes seemed solemn. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Izzy.”

She tried to tug him closer. The cover wrapping them tight wouldn’t permit her to lift her arms. It didn’t matter, though. He leaned in, sipping from her lips in the seductive rhythm he’d taught her this morning.

Malcolm had never enjoyed making out. He’d peck her cheek in public when required. The handful of times she’d attempted to capture his mouth, he’d avoided her like the plague.

Razor didn’t seem to have any of the same reservations. He savored her like fine wine before settling in for something more intense. This time the tears she shed were borne of joy. For years she’d feared she would never know this euphoric exchange during her lifetime. She’d doubted her ability to please a man. What if she was good to look at but not good to love or good to fuck?

Certainly her husband had lost interest in record time after their wedding.

Shoving the awful memories from her mind, she opened to Razor, facilitating his navigation of the swells of pleasure she floated on. When she licked a spot at the corner of his mouth, he showered her with moans of encouragement.

Beneath the concealment of their blanket, his hand skimmed from her hip, up her ribs, to cover her breast. The tip hardened at his exploratory touch, filling her chest with a sweet ache the likes of which she’d never experienced before. Every cell in her body came alive when infused with his energy.

The press of his obvious arousal at her hip had her squirming in his hold, attempting to straddle him as she had in the studio. His cock had felt huge against her pussy, even through their jeans. Right now, she desired nothing more than to steal another hint of forbidden pleasure.

“I see you two are recovering.” A smooth masculine jest broke her out of the moment.

Razor flinched, his arms steeling so quick the motion would have shoved her away had they not been tethered. Was he embarrassed to be seen with her?

Hell, she
was
a married woman. How would it make him look to be caught playing tonsil hockey with her? Again.

“JRad. Great timing.” Despite his grumpy greeting, Razor didn’t object when she peeled the cover from her shoulders and separated them. The cool night air did nothing to temper the boiling of her blood. “Isabella, this is Jeremy Radisson. He’s one of the best e-nerds in the business. JRad, Isabella.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” The cop’s grey eyes turned sympathetic as his gaze crossed hers. No matter what he thought of Razor’s lack of judgment, he didn’t vent his disapproval at her, unlike the men most familiar to her. Both her father and her husband had legendary tempers. When they fell in a mood, anyone and everyone could be subjected to their wrath.

“A pleasure.”

Both cops chuckled. She refused to act impolite no matter the circumstances of their introduction.

“I came to tell you, you’re free to leave. The arson team is ramping up. There’s nothing more you can do here. We’d prefer Isabella stay with someone who can guard her. The chief says you’re to take her home with you. Matt and Clint will stake out. A team has run through your apartment already. You’re clear.”

Razor scrubbed his hands over his face. “You’re cool with bunking at my place?”

“If you don’t mind having me there.” She took several awkward steps toward her car, which miraculously hadn’t been damaged, before he responded.

“You’re welcome anytime, Izzy. Anytime.” A smile began to cross his lips when he continued, “A few things…”

“Conditions?”

“Yeah. Number one, we gotta salvage those steak dinners. Two, I only have one bed. Three, I really,
really
want to…”

She held her breath while he made her suffer. Would he ask for something she couldn’t give?

“…drive your car.”

JRad laughed, grasping his trim waist at the ridiculous request. “You’re unbelievable, rookie.”

“Hey, how many people do you know who can say they’ve driven an Enzo? She’s gorgeous. Powerful and superior in every way.”

When he described the Ferrari with such fire in his eyes, Isabella would have done anything to transform into that hunk of metal and glass. No one had ever desired her so badly. Or maybe Razor did?

She took a step in his direction, her fingers itching to explore, licking her lips at the idea of one more stolen kiss. He beamed at her, not running from the link pulsing between them. In fact, he’d started to drift in her direction.

“This is Peggy Springfield with breaking news. I’m on the scene of an apartment fire at Seventeenth and Lakeview.”

Isabella watched Razor’s eyes dilate until his pupils eclipsed his irises. The booming narration of the reporter, who’d managed to breach the police crime scene lines, grew louder by the second. Isabella froze, terrified to turn around and draw attention. Too late.

“Mrs. Carrington. Can you corroborate reports suggesting it was your apartment targeted in this arson attack?”

Before she could bark out, “No comment,” Razor had tucked her against his side. He pivoted, sheltering her with the bulk of his body. From beneath his arm, she watched a wall of intimidating male flesh coalesce to provide instant sanctuary for them both.

Mason, Tyler, Matt, Clint, Jeremy and several firefighters assembled within moments to stand shoulder to shoulder, feet spread, arms crossed over ripped chests, blocking the woman’s approach. Mason twisted, shouting, “Get her out of here.”

Isabella crouched to snag the handle of their Carnot’s bag, now somewhat crumpled. She succumbed to the pressure of Razor’s hand on her spine. As they crossed to her car she caught Jeremy’s mellow lecture providing a quasi-official statement. “Ms. Buchanan is not involved in the incident at this time. We have begun the early stages of investigation. The chief will issue a press release at such time as there are concrete findings to report.”

The rest of his subtle smack down dissipated when Razor ushered her into the passenger seat of her father’s car. She’d almost forgotten the terrible news she’d received in the elegant bathroom of Carnot’s. George had informed her that although all the paperwork for the car had been in the glove compartment, he couldn’t sell the thing unless her father signed the title over to her.

The genuine regret in his apology had meant the world to her as he’d explained the legal details of the transaction. Embarrassment had choked her. Oblivious to something so basic, she’d wasted the kind man’s time, though he’d sworn it’d created no imposition.

Her options had narrowed considerably with the blow and ever further after she’d observed her pathetic start at a new life going up in smoke. Now it seemed she had to choose. Trust in the man fate had paired her with or surrender before anyone else paid the price. Remaining free, without making progress, would doom others to a life of terror she couldn’t feign ignorance toward. Her conscious couldn’t endure trading her happiness at the price of their misery.

One person could be behind tonight’s attack. He’d meant to threaten her, to show her she hadn’t won. He wanted her back and he’d go to any lengths to drive her home.

Too bad Malcolm cared only for the cash she could net him. In some twisted way, it would have seemed better if he’d stalked her because he cared. If he had a single shred of affection for her she’d return willingly, even knowing what he demanded.

She shuddered in the imported Italian leather seat.

Razor slid his hand from the gear shifter to her knee for a reassuring squeeze. His kindness sealed her fate. She couldn’t, in good faith, subject this man to more danger than she’d already put him in. Her survival instinct refused to allow her to accept the life her husband mandated she lead. Hell, her own father had fallen to Malcolm’s guile. No one could stop him.

Lights from oncoming traffic and the city around them dazzled Isabella’s unfocused eyes. Her insides felt as heavy as if they were cast in lead. Her earlier folly smacked her in the face. Telling Razor the truth was selfish. Negligent. She’d have to continue to lie to protect her new friends and hope a solution presented itself. Their gracious acceptance and protection meant the world to her. No way would she risk bringing them harm.

She had no hope for herself. Once Malcolm realized she would never cave, he’d eliminate her to keep her quiet. He’d proven the extremes he’d employ this evening.

Her time was limited. She should make the most of it tonight. In the morning she’d have to slip away before anyone innocent became tangled in her mess.

Chapter Eleven

“Come on, Izzy. We’re here.” Razor bent to scoop her into his arms. She shook her head then climbed from the amazing car without accepting his helping hand. She’d been so quiet on the ride, he didn’t understand what had changed. He had a hunch it couldn’t be good.

“Let me walk.”

“The medic said you should stay off your ankle. Plus, your shoes blew right off your feet.” He clenched his jaw as he considered how close she’d come to disaster. Shit, if it hadn’t been for her philanthropy in feeding Leo, they probably would have come upon the intruders before they’d finished.

That wouldn’t have ended well.

She began to fabricate another lame excuse. Instead of bickering, he shoved their dinner into her arms with her purse, cradled her against his chest and headed for his apartment.

He nodded to Matt as they passed the man’s post at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mason and Tyler had Lacey drop off a few essentials for Isabella. Try to manage a good night’s sleep kids.” The veteran couldn’t claim immunity from the princess’s charm either.

“Thank you for…everything.” She peeked over Razor’s shoulder with a weak smile of gratitude as he continued climbing the stairs. “Goodnight, Matt.”

Razor kneed the door shut a little harder than necessary. He carried Isabella to the couch instead of depositing her inside the entryway. Not that the two strides made much of a difference to her. His grip refused to relax until he absolutely had to relinquish his hold.

He figured he owed Lacey big time when he noticed she’d shoved his dirty laundry into one corner of the room, unpinned his Playboy calendar from the wall and cleared the scarred coffee table of the crushed cans that had littered it when he left this morning.

God, how could something so distant have been a mere twelve hours ago?

Isabella sighed when she rummaged through the floral canvas tote bag beside a note with her name on it. Shampoo, conditioner, lotion, pajamas and God knew what other feminine junk filled the sack. “Could I use your bathroom? I’d do anything for a shower right now.”

If she’d been any other woman he’d gone home with, Razor would have had a nasty suggestion or twenty starting with the two of them soaping each other’s backs. Maybe the fact that they were in his apartment, where he’d never brought a woman, had him checking his tongue.

Or, shit, maybe he was finally growing up. A little bit. That’s all, he promised himself.

Then again, maybe no woman before had mattered like Izzy did.

When he realized she sat there, gazing at him with questions in her beautiful eyes, he shook his head to clear the pesky thoughts.

“Yeah, of course. You don’t have to ask. My crappy one-bedroom apartment is your crappy one-bedroom apartment.” He spread his arms to gesture to his miserable excuse for a kingdom.

“Hey, it’s a giant improvement from Seventeenth Street.”

“That’s no joke.” He scrubbed his face to try and clear some of the visions flashing in his memory. The cracked sidewalk, Leo, boarded windows, flames shooting into the sky…

“Why? Why there? Why now?” He must be more tired than he realized if the questions slammed through his barriers. So much for the restraint he thought he’d cultivated.

Instead of granting him a smidgeon of insight, Izzy heaved a giant sigh. She slipped the handle of Lacey’s bag onto her grungy shoulder and turned toward his bedroom. All hope he’d harbored that she still intended to talk to him evaporated in an instant. “Is the bathroom this way?”

“First door on the left. There are extra towels under the sink.” Only door on the left, but whatever.

Razor crashed onto the couch with one arm behind his head, grimacing when the alluring scent of her wafted from the cushion. His cock inflated in a flash. He tried to ignore the aftereffects of adrenaline, but the patter of shower spray echoed through the thin walls, reminding him that her luscious body stood bare and dripping less than twenty feet away.

He visualized how her peaches and cream complexion would turn rosy under the warm water, steam curling around the curves of her dainty yet strong calves and thighs. The firm cheeks of her ass would tempt him to lay a teasing spank on them, jiggling the globes a little.

A groan escaped through his clenched jaw as he snuck his hand beneath the waistband of his too-tight jeans. He spread his legs, dangling one sneakered foot off the edge of the cushion to permit his engorged flesh some wiggle room. His fingers dipped into his boxer briefs to fondle his hard-on. They swiped the bead of moisture from the tip and painted it over the swollen head. His fingertips stroked his balls while his palm massaged his shaft, his breathing turning ragged.