Smoke and Mirrors (19 page)

With one long finger he gently stroked the length of her cheekbone. "It made you cry—that makes it important."

Her heart vaulted to her throat. "Not now."

He studied her a moment, pulled her back into his arms. Rather than a return to the mindless passion of before, he simply held her, rocked her,
blanketed
her with his warmth.

Time stood still. And for a fleeting eternity, the world lost meaning. There was only Derek, the way he made her feel.

Feel. When she got down to it, therein lay the heart of the matter. Derek brought her senses to life, her heart and soul beating in an urgent, insistent rhythm.

And for that one precious moment, feeling was all that mattered.

* * *

A sliver of sunlight slashed in through the partially open drapes and fell across Cass's nude body. Derek's bare chest rose and fell beneath her ear, yet instead of slipping from his arms and exploring the secret bedroom chamber, she nestled closer.

She was in way over her head. And God help her, she didn't want out.

It didn't make any sense. How could a man touch her so deeply, give her so much compassion and support, and yet have no scruples, no regard for right and wrong?

The question, its answer, taunted her.

She lay sprawled over Derek like a concubine adorning her master—her leg slung over his, head on his chest, arm draped over his abdomen. An odd intimacy had descended over them, a peaceful cloak of rightness. She refused to let reality intrude.

The first time had been fast and frenzied, an explosion of passion too long denied. She'd known it was going to happen the second he found her in his office. Someday, she supposed, she would come to terms with whether that was why she'd been there in the first place.

He'd carried her to the paneled wall at the far corner of his office. Groggy and dazed and not thinking at all, much less like a cop, she'd almost gasped when he fumbled with a gilded frame and sent a walnut panel sliding open. He'd stepped through the doorway and into a darkened room. A bedroom, she realized. One she'd never known existed, that could hold the key to her investigation.

But none of that mattered then, just as it didn't matter now.

Everything blurred after that. The lighting of the candles, the removal of their clothing, the long, sudsy bath in an enormous marble tub, the hours of thorough, deliberate, erotic lovemaking. Like an out-of-body experience, she'd hung on for the ride, the sensations too intense, too shattering for a mere dream. Everything they'd done had been real. Any doubt of that diminished when she opened her eyes and found herself sprawled over his body.

"Do you have any idea how good you feel?"

Derek's
groggy
voice surprised her. She glanced up into his eyes, felt warmth spread through her. "If it's half as good as you feel
,
we might never leave this bed."

He laughed. "Fine by me."

The warm honey of desire started all over again. "What we just did is illegal in several states—you know that, don't you?"

A wicked smile curved his mouth, lit his eyes. "Then arrest me."

The words hit Cass like brass knuckles. She stiffened, battled back a reality she didn't want to acknowledge.

Tensing, Derek slid from under her and lay on his side, facing her. Whiskers covered his jaw, sensuality glowed in his eyes. "What is it? Why the frown?"

"Nothing." The lie squeezed her heart.

His expression sharpened. "Like hell, nothing." He sat up abruptly and swore under his breath.

"What?" she asked, sitting as
well.
She clutched the sheet to her breasts.

"This." He gestured to the tangled sheets, the remnants of clothing strewn across the floor. "Deny it all you like, tell me nothing's wrong, but I can see it in your eyes. The doubt, the regret. The realization that you deserve better."

Shock speared through Cass. She couldn't believe how quickly he'd gone from sensuous lover to judge and jury. "Better?" she asked. "Than what?"

An unnerving intensity glittered in his eyes. "Me. Last night." He swore again. "I didn't want it to be like that. I didn't want to take you on the office floor. I wanted silk for you. I wanted champagne."

His words floored her. Simply knocked her flat.

"Funny," she whispered. "You gave perfection."

He winced.

"There were two of us in that room last night," she went on, before he could say anything else. "
You,
and me. And I'd have to say, we definitely took each other."

"Cass—"

She fought the memory, accepted the implication. She'd crossed the line, knowingly and willingly. "It was bound to happen, as inevitable as earthquakes along fault lines."

He lifted a hand to her face, gently stroked the hair back behind her ear. "Then why do you look like you want to cry?"

Because she did. She didn't know how he did it, how he saw beneath the surface to the truth inside. The fact that he did alarmed her. What else would he see
,
if he kept looking?

What would he discover?

What would he touch and caress?

What would he heal next?

That was easy. He wouldn't discover anything, touch anything,
heal
anything.

She wouldn't let him.

She couldn't.

"You're a good man," she told him. They had no future, but she couldn't let him doubt himself. Too many others had cast stones his way. "You're strong and caring, compassionate."

"I'm afraid you've got me confused with a Boy Scout," he said darkly.

She bit back a broken laugh. "You helped me face a pain I've tried to wall away. I don't want you to regret what happened between us. It was inevitable."

"But?"

"But I don't know where we go from here."

"We can go anywhere we want to."

"Last night was incredible," she said with a sad smile. "Unbelievable. More than I ever dreamed possible. But it doesn't change the truth of
who
and what we are."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're a provocative woman, I'm a healthy man. What's the problem?"

"You and your brother own this hotel."

Derek laughed. "And?"

"Mixing business and pleasure isn't smart." The double edge of her words cut deeply. "Lines exist for a reason. Crossing them only leads to trouble."

The inevitability of her words ripped at her. "Lines are temporary," Derek countered. He ran his hand down her side, from her rib cage to the valley of her waist, down the hill of her hips. "Lines are for the weak, the cowardly. We can change them anytime."

Everything inside Cass tightened. Melted. "It's not that easy."

"Why not? Weren't you the one who just said making love was inevitable?"

He'd done it again, twisted her words into weapons. The man didn't play fair. And because of that, neither could she. The cop in her knew she had to leave as soon as she could, or find a way to investigate the hidden room.

But the woman in her … the woman was beginning to think the cop was a fool.

She struggled to free herself from his arms, but the more she struggled, the more he domineered. "You said you wanted it to be just you and me," she tried, "no friends, no ghosts. I … I can't give you that."

She could have sucker-punched him in the gut and not caused him to withdraw as viciously. "Are you telling me we weren't alone last night? That Randy was with us?"

The allegation provided the perfect deterrent, but the betrayal in his tone, his eyes, kept her from grasping it. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Then—"

"Forget it." Guilt swamped her. She couldn't use Randy's death like that. It wasn't fair to Randy, wasn't fair to Derek. What kind of woman was she to sink that low? To throw the death of her husband into her lover's
face
?

There was only the truth now, as much of it as she could give without ruining everything. "I wanted this, yes. But this attraction between us, the intensity of it frightens me. Randy and I … we never had that," she admitted.

And it scared her to death. Her relationship with Randy had been comfortable and predictable, like an old terry cloth robe.

Derek was silk and fire.

His expression darkened. "What do you mean you never had that? You had a son together."

"We were friends more than lovers," she told him. Doing so seemed important. Vital. "He was a good solid man. We shared goals more than dreams, enjoyed our son together. But making love with him was kind of like brushing your teeth."

"Brushing your teeth?" Derek growled.

"Comfortable," she tried to explain. "Routine." Her heart was beating so fast she could barely speak. "He never…"

"Never what?"

"Looked at me like you do." The admission sounded devastatingly like a defeat.

Derek stilled, as though bracing himself for a punishing blow. "Looked at you like I do? And just how is that?"

Cass hesitated. She didn't know how to put it in words, didn't know if she should. Deepening the intimacy between them was dangerous.

But she could no more stop the pull than she could prevent the sun from rising.

"Like I'm the only woman in the world." The words tore out of her, shredding her heart along the way. "Like if you don't have me, you might just cease to exist."

Derek swore softly. He looked as though she'd gut punched him. "Looks are worth a thousand words, isn't that what they say?"

She bit back a sob. The truth, damn it. The truth was all she had. "I can't even think straight when you look at me like that, when you touch me." Couldn't focus on the case, the fact her job was to mail him to the wall. "I can't be that woman for you, Derek."

"Maybe you already are."

"Derek—"

He pulled her to him, cradled her against his chest. "I know you're scared, Cass." He tilted her head toward his. "I am, too. But I can promise you this. I'm not going to hurt you, not so long as I have a breath left in my body."

In his glittering eyes she saw an honesty and vulnerability that could easily destroy her. "Time, Derek. Please. I need time to figure out what's happening, how to deal with it."

To think, to breathe, to prepare herself for the brutal fallout from the lies she'd told, the truth she couldn't escape.

He frowned, looked as if she'd just asked him for the sun and moon and stars instead. "That's one thing I don't have to give."

"Derek—"

"Only now, Cass. Give me now."

His mouth claimed hers before she could protest. Instead she melted. Her body instinctively softened for him, his homecoming. No turning away, she realized.

Derek would never let her.

And when you got down to the inescapable truth, she was exactly where she wanted to be. In his arms. In his bed.

In love.

* * *

Grandfather Stirling's house rose up against the winter day, creating the illusion of elegance despite the barren trees and gray sky. As a boy, Derek believed the house magical, fantasizing himself lord of the manor, that everything and everyone within its walls was within his control.

That one day he'd have it all.

Now those memories burned. After he finished his business in
Chicago
, he would never be back. It was one of those simple, inevitable facts, something he couldn't change even if he wanted to. His grandfather's house, the future he'd imagined, would never be his. He would never usher his wife through the doors and up the staircase, to the master chamber. He would never love her
there,
never hear the sound of his children's laughter ringing through the halls.

For the first time in too long, Derek found himself second-guessing what he'd never even questioned. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he could make different choices from this point forward. Maybe he shouldn't be so hell-bent on doing things his way, consequences be damned.

Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybe he could bring Cass here. Maybe he could take her in his arms, carry her up the stairs,
love
her as thoroughly as he had the night before. Maybe it could be the sound of their children's laughter ringing through the halls. Maybe—

Maybe he was a fool.

His heart constricted, forcing him to shove the guessing game aside. Cass didn't belong here. He knew what would happen if he brought her for one day, one hour, one second. They'd make memories, unbearable memories that would haunt him long after their candle burned out.

Because it would burn out. It had to.

A sharp onslaught of wind cut through the trees, forcing their outstretched branches to shiver. Derek picked up a twig and rolled it through his fingers, just as memories and doubts rolled and tangled through his head.

"You bastard!"

Derek pivoted toward the angry voice. Brent stormed toward him, his sandy hair wild and
tousled,
his eyes hot.