The Right To Remain Mine (9 page)

        She gasped and bucked against his hand. He let his eyes fall half closed, delighting in her little sounds of pleasure. "I, uh, I…smelled bacon," she was able to rasp between her moans.

        His lids flipped open so he could scowl. "Oh, you want to make cop jokes, huh?" Nudging her further into the mattress, he added, "So, how do you know when a lawyer is lying?"

        "His lips are moving." She rubbed her ass against him like a cat in heat. "How do you know when a cop's gone bad?"

        "No… no idea." His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head. But, damn. She felt so good.

        She must've not been as far gone as he was, however, because she was still able to answer her joke with a stuttered, "A-all the donut shops have been robbed."

        "So, how do you make a lawyer come?" he asked.

        Willow bucked against him. "Oh my God. H-how?"

        He leaned over her to nibble on her ear. "How 'bout I just show you."

~ * ~

        Willow lay on her bed, her back tucked snugly against Malloy's chest. His arm grew heavy on her waist while his breathing slowed and evened.

        Her eyes flew open when she realized he'd fallen asleep on her. She wiggled out from under his hold and rolled over to check his conscious status for herself. Resting her head on the same pillow he was using, she watched him sleep.

        This was so surreal. She'd disliked him for as long as she'd known him. He made her bristle every time he came near. But he'd just given her the most amazing sex of her life... and it was kinky sex at that. Usually kinky sex felt more uncomfortable and awkward than pleasurable and it just didn't get her off, but Raith Malloy blew her away.

        She wanted to jostle him awake and demand to know how he'd done it. But she didn't touch him, a little too unstable to hear any kind of honest answer. Marathon sex like this and sleeping with a man she didn't particularly care for were not part of her daily routine. She had no idea how to act around him now. So she continued to silently watch him.

        She'd been intrigued from the first moment she'd seen him on the front lawn of the courthouse two years ago. He'd looked up and stared at her so intently, she'd almost stumbled over her own feet, except there'd been a slight scowl on his features as if he wanted nothing to do with her—all while pinning her with a hungry gaze.

        Ever since then, he'd been nothing but rude and detestable, belittling her profession, her gender, and even her clothing on occasion. Yet, he was so damn hot, she always came back for more, feeling a little thrill in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw him, anxious for their next challenging exchange.

        Disgusted with herself for being a promiscuous idiot, she rolled over so she wouldn't have to look at him because the more she looked at him the more she wanted to touch him. But his face refused to disappear from her head once she turned away.

        Next to her, he remained warm and real. The smell of his skin, musky and male, proved too tempting. Closing her eyes, she allowed her body to sink closer, craving the briefest of contact.

        He muttered something in his sleep, and without warning, his arm came around her waist once again. Willow sucked in a breath, wondering if he was trying to still her restless movements or what. But he only pulled her flush against him and nestled his face in her hair as he let out a contented sigh and relaxed.

        Blinking rapidly, Willow glanced at his hand possessively wrapped around her hip. The sweetness behind his involuntary cuddling caught her off guard. She stiffened, unsure what to do. Awake, Deputy Raith Malloy was by no means soft or lovable. She didn't want to be sucked into something because he was unconsciously being so affable.

        Then again, he was out cold. He wouldn't know how suddenly charmed she was. And despite his hard and muscled body, he felt really warm and comfortable wrapped securely around her.

        Against her will, her body relaxed and a satisfied sigh slipped out. At the noise, his hot palm stroked her hip as if trying to soothe her. For a moment, she wondered if he was actually awake after all. But then she convinced herself he couldn't be. There was no way he would purposely be this sweet.

        Repeating that thought through her head, she closed her eyes and sank against him. It felt so nice, she was out within seconds.

~ * ~

        The moment her breathing changed, Raith gathered her hair in his hand and moved it out of his face so he wouldn't have to snort any more stray tendrils up his nostrils every time he took a breath. Then he rested his cheek on the back of her sleek bare shoulder and tucked her just a little closer.

        The primal urge to cover her completely into a safe nest under him was unexpected. But there it was. Glad she'd finally fallen unconscious so he could cuddle to his heart's content, he nuzzled his nose into her neck and inhaled her divine fragrance.

        Heaven.

        But even as he held her close, his hands shook. He knew this would happen. He knew just a taste of Willow DeVane would make him weak, would make him want. One time—okay, two times—inside the stubborn, hardhead, amazing woman had turned him into a quivering ball of emotions. She was everything he'd ever dreamed a woman should be. Strong and tough yet soft in all the right places, and so damn sexy it made his throat dry just to look at her. She could take his bullshit and dish it right back. And she cooked orgasmic Italian.

        He tried to convince himself she wasn't anything special so he wouldn't start thinking things he shouldn't. He even pointed out all her negative points in his head. But with her warm, naked body wrapped so trusting and relaxed around his, he wanted to remain in her life forever.

        Yet as he snuggled, his ex-wife's parting words echoed through him. "All you ever cared about was your stupid job. It means more to you than I do. Well, you don't deserve to be loved. By any woman."

        His body went cold.

        Successful, educated, connected women like Willow DeVane didn't settle down and set up house with men like Raith Malloy. If anything, he was only a bit of amusement to her.

        Tomorrow, she'd move on and he'd be yesterday's news.

        So he'd act like it meant nothing too. He'd brush it off and move on, and pretend he didn't give a shit.

        When Willow was seven years old, she attended a funeral with her parents and brother for a fallen officer who died in the line of duty. Over five hundred people attended. She didn't know this number. She didn't know the name of the "dead cop." Nor did she care. She merely huddled among the mourners with her family and wished she had been allowed to stay home and play her new video game instead.

        The sanctuary was packed. Willow and her family hadn't arrived in time to get a pew seat and were squashed in the standing room only area at the rear of the church. After accidentally jabbing Chase in the gut twice, Willow had been moved from next to him and was now crushed between her parents. To count, she'd been hushed four times by not just her mother but once by Daddy too.

        So, to keep from quietly dying of boredom, she blew bubbles with her gum. Chase sent her a dirty look, forcing her to stick her tongue out at him. He—who was only two years older and thought he was so much more mature—rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore her. She sighed and popped a loud bubble, which got her shoulder firmly squeezed by Daddy's large hand.

        Snapping her mouth shut, Willow stopped chewing, hoping they didn't take her gum away. Holding her breath, she looked at the colorful array of uniforms surrounding her and momentarily forgot about the rubbery wad tucked in her cheek.

        Men and women in blue uniforms, brown uniforms, black uniforms, totally white uniforms—you name it—surrounded her family on all sides. Some uniforms had white tops with navy pants or white tops with Black pants, and some uniforms had light blue tops with dark blue pants. Willow had never seen so many cops in one place before. Everyone around her— excluding her family, of course—was decked out in badges, stars, patches and guns.

        They ranged in size from tall and lanky to short and chubby. A lot of men had thick necks and short haircuts. Then again, some were small and wiry. But no matter their shape or size, one thing remained common among all: the seriousness of their expressions as they watched the proceedings up front.

        Willow, being only four feet and two inches tall, couldn't see what was going on. And even if she could have, she still wouldn't have cared all that much. There had been a bunch of singing already and some loud guy had talked for a while. Then there was praying and more singing.

        In that regard, it wasn't all that different from Grampy DeVane's funeral. But there sure hadn't been this many people at Grampy's funeral. Of course, not many had liked Grampy all that much, not even Daddy and certainly not Momma. Willow had to conclude this dead cop must've been a pretty nice guy.

        Forgetting to hide her gum, Willow blew another bubble. And just as she thought she had to scream or wiggle—or something—before the boredom bug bit her right in the butt, the crowd around her shifted. Strangers squished closer; one guy even bumped right into Momma, making her stumble.

        Startled, Willow clamped her arms around her father's pant leg. Obviously sensing her fear, he reached down and lifted her high into his arms. And wow, from this height she could see a lot more of the action.

        She glanced down to send Chase a "ha-ha, I'm up here and you're down there" look, which he returned with a scowl, and then she caught sight of why people were moving.

        The funeral was over. Six men in uniform were carrying the casket down the aisle right toward them. Willow grabbed Daddy's neck as he scooted Momma and Chase back a few steps.

        And the cortege passed directly by them. A couple of the men hauling the casket had tears streaming down their red faces. It fascinated Willow to see grown men cry. She had certainly never seen Daddy cry before.

        Behind the casket and in front of the priest trailed a tall, slender woman in a black dress. To one side of her walked an even taller, lanky boy who was, to Willow's estimate, probably seventeen or eighteen years old. He was the most beautiful teen she had ever seen. With glistening super-dark black hair and a chalky white face, he strode with his head up and his hands fisted down at his sides, looking around at the crowd as if daring them to try approaching him.

        On the other side of the woman sobbed a girl, younger than the boy, but still older than Willow. She looked about Chase's age. She held onto the slender woman's hand as they moved silently along.

        The woman lifted a white tissue to the corner of her red-rimmed eyes right before it slid listlessly out of her hand and started to float gracefully to the ground. Willow had a feeling the woman didn't even notice she'd dropped the thing, because the boy next to her stopped and bent to retrieve it. He put the tissue back into the woman's hand and she continued to lift it to her face as if she never even detected its short absence.

        "Who're they?" Willow asked, she guessed a little too loudly since her mother immediately hushed her.

        Frowning, Willow craned her head around to see them better after they moved past. She barely got a glimpse of the back of the boy's shiny black hair.

        "Who are they?" she asked again, whispering this time.

        Momma put her warm hand on Willow's back. "His family," she answered softly.

        "The dead cop's family," Chase clarified and probably would have added "Duh!" if Momma hadn't hushed him too. Willow twisted again in Daddy's arms to get a better look at "the family" and would've fallen right out of his grip if he hadn't caught her and held her tighter. But the boy with the dark hair was gone and so were his momma and sister.

        "That boy's daddy died?" she asked, squeezing her arms around her own daddy's neck.

        She couldn't imagine what she would do without her daddy. Who'd tuck her in at bedtime? Who'd lift her up into his great big strong arms and tell her she was his special girl? Who'd come into her room in the middle of the night when she got scared after a nightmare?

        After pausing to think it through, she decided she wouldn't like having a dead daddy. She frowned and looked again in the direction of the recently passed casket.

        "Why wasn't he crying for his daddy?"

        Her father didn't answer. He merely pulled her close and told her he loved her as he kissed her hair.

~ * ~

        It took forever for them to pile out of the church. After they finally made it to their car, it was off to the cemetery next. Now this part was actually somewhat entertaining, Willow decided. All the things the different officers did to show their support of their fallen comrade were just plain awesome to watch. A big cannon blast followed the gun salute and the guys with bugles and other people folding flags.

        It was like one big parade, except everyone was sad instead of happy.

        Willow was glad to be outside too. Warm for November, the nice cool breeze caressed her cheeks and felt like heaven after being cooped up in that stuffy old church. Plus, she could chew on her gum as loudly as she wanted because all the other background noise muffled her chomping.

        Her family also got a great view of that black-haired boy.

        He was beautiful, even if he did look miserable. The more Willow watched him, the more she thought he should cry. After the graveside service, she finally got her chance to tell him so.

        A huge line of people formed to console the widowed family. The tall slender woman accepted hugs and handshakes and thanked every person for coming. Next to her, her children weren't so thankful. The girl just sobbed louder every time someone tried to talk to her and the boy glared at whoever looked his way. He didn't verbally respond to anyone, but merely gave an occasional nod or shake of the head to answer questions directed his way.