Take the Key and Lock Her Up (37 page)

He stood and took her hand in his. “I’ll tuck you in and hopefully by the time you
wake up I’ll have figured out who’s after us.”

When he started toward the hall, she tugged her hand out of his grasp. He stopped
and looked at her in question.

“Hold me,” she whispered. “Please.”

He hesitated, obviously surprised by the sudden change in her, but he put his arms
around her anyway and pulled her against his chest. Emily reveled in the feel of him,
the clean masculine scent of him, the strength of his arms holding her close. Her
mind, and her heart, were still reeling from her discoveries about what he’d done,
the sacrifices he’d made, to save people who would probably never even know he was
the one who’d saved them. It wasn’t like he could hang around and receive their praise.
The nature of his job required—demanded—secrecy. Yet even without accolades he continued
to risk his life to help so many people.

She snuggled more tightly against him and smoothed her hands up his chest, wishing
she could just as easily smooth away the hurt and pain he’d suffered in the past.
It just seemed natural to continue sliding her hands up and around the back of his
neck, fitting her curves to his hardness.

The sudden tension in his body and the feel of his heart slamming in his chest sent
a surge of excitement pulsing straight to her belly. One of his hands moved down her
spine to rest on the upper curve of her bottom. Her breasts tightened almost painfully
and heat pooled between her legs with a suddenness that was startling.

When she’d asked him to hold her, it was because of her longing to comfort the tortured
man she’d read about in his dossier. But now, she was thinking of an entirely different
kind of comfort. Rather than feel guilt or doubts, like she had the last time they’d
held each other like this, all she felt was a sense of how incredibly right it was
to be held in his arms. And a growing hunger for something
more
.

She gently eased out of his arms and took his hand in hers again. “I believe you were
going to tuck me in?”

His gaze dropped to her lips and he cleared his throat. “Of course.”

He pulled her along with him down the hall. He didn’t take her to the master bedroom,
for which she was grateful. She didn’t want to lie down on someone else’s dirty sheets.
Instead, he took her to a guest room. But when he pulled back the covers and encouraged
her to lie down, she shook her head.

“No, Dev. I don’t want you to hurt your shoulder. You’re the one who needs to lie
down. I’ll do all the work.”

Uncertainty filled his eyes. “Emily, I don’t think—”

She pressed her hand against his lips. “No thinking. There’s time enough for that
later. Sit.” She gently shoved him toward the bed. As if in a daze, he sat on the
mattress facing her.

“This isn’t a good—”

“Nuh-uh. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the master bedroom
next door and made a beeline toward the closest nightstand. Sure enough, she found
exactly what she’d expected—and hoped—to find. She opened the box and took out one
of the foil packets. She was halfway to the door when she changed her mind and ran
back to the nightstand. She pulled out one more packet, then shoved the box into the
drawer and went back to the guest room.

Devlin was just starting to push himself up from the mattress when she stepped into
the room.

“Don’t you dare. Sit down.” She gently pushed him back again. She produced the foil
packets, setting them on the table next to the bed.

His breathing kicked up a notch as he stared at the packets.

Emily had been thinking about this moment for so long that she looked forward to the
actual event both with excitement and relief. She knew there was no future for them.
Even understanding better now why he’d done the things he’d done and what he’d done,
their worlds were still too far apart. She would need time to sort through all the
ramifications of what he did for a living, to decide if she could accept it. But she
feared she might never truly be able to, and that would lead to fights, to unhappiness.

Knowing they didn’t have long made her almost frenzied as she slid out of her jeans,
then whipped her T-shirt up over her head. It wasn’t until she reached behind her
and unclasped her bra that she looked up and realized he still hadn’t moved. He was
wearing all of his clothes, while she was wearing nothing but a pair of black lace
panties.

Her boldness died a quick death and the flush of embarrassment warmed her skin. She
covered her breasts with her hands. Had she misjudged him? Could that kiss at the
diner have been an act? Had all the little touches, looks, been to get her to go along
with his plans?

She grabbed her T-shirt and jeans from the floor, intent on running into the bathroom
and hiding until she could face him again. But when she tried to turn, the jeans and
T-shirt were tugged out of her hands. She froze as Devlin’s strong arms closed around
her, pulling her back against his chest. Except that she couldn’t really feel his
chest because of the Kevlar vest beneath his shirt. She shivered in the air conditioning.

And then he started to move. His large, warm hands slid across her belly, rubbing
slow, sensual circles that began to warm her from the inside out. He slid them down,
down, and ran just the tips of his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties. But
instead of continuing their downward slide, he changed direction and slid his hands
up, up, up until he was cupping the undersides of her breasts. And then her breasts
were filling his hands.

He shuddered against her and lowered his head, kissing the side of her neck. “Don’t
move,” he whispered. He stepped back, but she knew he was still there. She heard the
whisper of cloth, a pained grunt. She started to turn, to help him.

“No,” he whispered, his voice huskier, deeper than usual. “Don’t turn around.”

Not knowing what he would do next, where he would touch her, kicked up her excitement
but made her frustrated at the same time. But then he was back, his warm skin branding
her body from her shoulders to her calves. Every inch of him pressed against her,
including several very impressive inches prodding against her bottom.

She started to take off her underwear, but again, he stopped her with a hoarsely whispered,
“Let me.” His hands covered hers, but instead of sliding her underwear down her thighs
by himself, they did it together, his hand guiding hers, forcing her to caress her
own body as they bent together as one. His body followed hers, moving as she moved,
his thighs pushing the backs of her thighs, lifting her back on top of him until by
the time they pushed her panties all the way to her ankles she was sitting in his
lap, completely cocooned within the circle of his legs, his arms, his mouth as he
kissed her neck again.

Sitting there, her bottom on the tops of his thighs, crouched on the floor, she should
have felt awkward. Instead, she felt surrounded, cherished, protected. He scooted
back a little, his hands dropping from around her, the cool air conditioning whispering
across her heated skin. She was about to ask him why he’d moved away when she heard
the sound of a foil packet being ripped open and felt his hands brushing against her.
He was putting the condom on. Was he going to take her like this? On the floor? From
behind?

The answer was the slide of his hands beneath her bottom, lifting her, a slight shift
of his hips. The feel of him, thick and hard, pressing against her sent a flash of
heat straight to the center of her. She wanted him so much, wanted to feel him inside
her, filling her. But he didn’t enter her. Instead, he leaned down and worshipped
her neck with his lips, tasting her, kissing her.

His lips moved to her ear, his warm breath lifting tendrils of hair. “Are you sure
about this, Em? You’re a cop. You’ll always be a cop. And I’m a—”

“Wonderful man,” she finished for him. “Don’t make me beg.”

He shuddered and fitted himself to her opening, wrapping his arm around her waist.
And then, finally, he began to push inside her with exquisite slowness, stretching,
filling her. She whimpered at the pleasure-pain of it. He was a large man in every
way, and the angle of penetration allowed him to go so deep she wasn’t sure she could
handle it. He pulled back and then pushed in more deeply. She tensed.

He immediately stopped. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m . . . incredible. You’re just . . . larger than I expected.”

He laughed against her neck. “Not too large, I hope.”

“I don’t . . . think so.”

He held her clasped to him, not moving, just filling her, warming her, stretching
her. And then he slid one of his hands down her belly to the apex of her thighs. Gently,
with exquisite tenderness, his fingers slid lower, to her most sensitive spot.

“Ooh,” she gasped as his fingers began to move with maddening slowness, stroking,
pushing against her with just the right pressure.

“Dev . . . ah.” She jerked her head back against his chest, lost in the pleasure he
was giving her. He expertly played her like a fine instrument, strumming her nerve
endings, making the most beautiful music, building her up, up, close, so close.

And then he began to move inside her, sliding in deeper, deeper than she would have
thought possible. It felt so good. So. Damn. Good.

“More,” she begged. “More.”

His fingers pressed down on her, hard, as he surged upward and pulled her down on
him at the same time.

She cried out as her entire body seemed to explode around him. He drove into her over
and over until she was weeping with the pleasure of it, the beauty of it.

He drove up into her one last time, pushing her down on him, grinding against her.
She half-turned and pulled him down for a kiss, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth.
He groaned and pumped into her again and again. Suddenly, he tightened inside her,
and then his entire body shuddered.

She drank in his shout of ecstasy and they both collapsed back against the side of
the bed behind them.

A few minutes later, just as her heart had begun to settle down into a normal rhythm,
she felt him hardening again inside her.

He stroked her hair back from the side of her neck and pressed a kiss on her too-warm
flesh. “You’re a drug, Emily. I can’t get enough of you.”

She felt a moment of disappointment when he pulled out of her. But when he tugged
her toward the bed and pressed her back on the mattress, she knew there was nothing
to be disappointed about. He looked like he wanted to devour her. And she very much
wanted to be devoured.

He turned away to grab another foil packet.

For that brief moment of separation, the doubts began to niggle at Emily. This was
so unlike her, to make love to a man when she knew there couldn’t possibly be a future
for the two of them together. But as he turned back toward her, the doubts dissipated.
Now; she would think of only now, of this moment of sharing their bodies and souls
with each other. And if this was the only time they could ever truly be together,
she wanted it to be perfect for him. A memory he could carry with him when his world
was bleak and scary and dark.

She reached down between them and wrapped her hand around the velvety-hard length
of him. He gasped and closed his eyes, his teeth clenching as she gave him one long,
slow stroke. Then another. And another. His eyes opened and he grabbed her hand.

“I need to be inside you, Emily,” he groaned, his voice ragged and raw. “Now.”

He captured her lips in his, fitted himself to her entrance, and surged inside of
her.

Her cry of ecstasy was captured in their wet, open-mouthed kiss. She rode him in a
frenzied rhythm, moaning deep in her throat with every delicious, deep stroke. And
then he reached down between them and caressed the very core of her, dragging cries
of pleasure from her. She’d never felt so alive, so . . . loved.

Her climax washed over her with a suddenness and an intensity that was almost frightening.
Devlin seemed to know exactly what she needed and kissed her and held her through
every last convulsion, every last shiver. And then he began to move again, faster
and harder, as he approached his own climax. As impossible as it seemed, she felt
herself tightening and approaching that same glorious peak all over again. Her body
instinctively seemed to tune itself with his, matching his rhythm, the pressure quickly
building inside her as he pulled out, then sank into her again, and again, until the
climax exploded over both of them and they fell over the edge into oblivion together.

Chapter Twenty-Three

E
MILY STRETCHED HER
arms above her head on the pillow, reveling in the decadent feel of the silk sheets
against her naked skin. When she started to stretch her legs, her sore muscles protested,
making her wince and smile at the same time. She didn’t mind the aches and pains because
of the way she’d gotten them. Devlin.

She turned her head on the pillow, expecting to see him lying beside her, but the
bed was empty. Had she fallen asleep? She didn’t remember him getting up. Tossing
the covers back, she grabbed her discarded clothes off the floor and saw that Devlin’s
clothes were gone—including his Kevlar vest.

A sense of unease sent her pulse pounding. He wouldn’t make such incredible, sweet
love to her and then just . . . leave. Would he? She threw her clothes on and hurried
down the hall to the dining room. Her stomach dropped. Empty. The chairs were neatly
pushed against the table. The papers that had littered the top were gone. Even the
coffee cups had been taken away, the table wiped clean and shiny, as if no one had
been there.

She ran into the adjoining family room. “Devlin? Devlin?” Panic pitched her voice
higher than normal.

“In here.”

She almost collapsed with relief. Following the sound of his voice, she went through
a pair of French doors at the front of the house into what must have been the home
office. A computer sat on a long glass table against one wall, with a phone beside
it and familiar-looking papers sitting on top—the EXIT dossiers.