To the Edge (29 page)

But they weren't alone, no matter how badly she wanted them to be.

She was still drifting on intoxicating, erotic images of them together when the song ended on a lingering note.

His feet stilled long before his body stopped moving against hers. The sudden silence around them made her achingly aware that it was over.

So did his face when he pulled away.

Mistake,
he said without speaking as his expression once again turned to stone and his eyes hid his thoughts like twin curtains.

Well,
she thought, disappointed. There was reality for you. It forced you to deal with the here and now. The reality was, if they'd met under different circumstances and she hadn't been forced into getting to know him, she would never have given him a second look. The reality was that while he was sexually attracted to her, he could barely abide her on any other level.

Those absolutes cooled her head as they walked in silence back to their table. Yes, they cooled her head, but not her blood. Her hands trembled as she slipped back into her suit jacket. Her legs felt roughly the consistency of thick latte as they walked out of Mama's, little sparks of sexual heat sizzling along her nerve endings like live wires, little yearnings to know what it would be like to be made love to by him still fluttering inside her chest.

Nolan was past making excuses. He was past self-recriminations and ready to face the truth. He wanted this woman.

As he drove north away from Mama's back toward West Palm, he admitted to himself that he wanted Jillian like nothing he'd ever wanted in his life. He wanted to breathe in the scent of her, lose his hands in the silk of her hair, lose his mind pumping deep inside that gorgeous body.

He wanted his mouth on her. Everywhere. He wanted to feel his tongue glide across her nipple, listen to her moan, listen to her breathless sighs as he slid between her thighs and stroked and sucked until she was mindless with wanting him. He wanted to make love to her until she was screaming his name. Until he was screaming hers.

He wanted her hard and fast.

He wanted her often and in ways that would probably make her blush.

And he wanted her with a blistering intensity he'd never felt for another woman.

He sucked in a deep breath of warm night air as it rushed in through his open window. Flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. He'd never felt this out of control. He loved it. And he hated it.

That was as honest as he could get. And it was the honesty that made him face the reality he'd never wanted to admit.

Jillian... hell, she did things to him, brought out things in him he'd not only buried, but he'd never known existed. He'd never deluded himself about women. In high school it had all been about testosterone. In college it had all been about partying. And in the Rangers—he'd seen what the life did to relationships—it had been all about avoiding that kind of trouble.

When some sweet doe-eyed girl started making noises about forever, he was gone before he got sucked in too deep. And he made sure the women in his life knew the score. Sex. That's all it had ever been for him. A little bump and grind between the sheets ... everybody was happy, and everybody walked out before morning.

In a different life, in a different time, he'd be all over that scenario with Jillian. But if ever there was a life, if ever there was a time, where he could be with her in that way, it wasn't now.

Let's get real. It would
never
be now for someone like him with someone like her. And yet, for a while there, on the dance floor, with her slumberous cat green eyes gazing up at him, with her body soft and pliant against his, he'd actually considered taking her to bed just to get her out of his system.

As if tonight was the first time he'd thought of it. Late at night, in stark moments of insanity, with her sleeping down the hall, he'd thought about it then, too. A lot.

But he knew about her kind of woman and sex. A woman like Jillian indulged in sex for more than physical gratification. She'd expect all that touchy-feely stuff afterward about feeling closer and more connected. He didn't do touchy-feely. And he didn't connect on any level but the in-and-out kind where it made him feel good and her feel good and they agreed to disconnect before morning.

With another kind of woman, yeah. A woman who understood he was a bad bet on the best day. It was the best- and the worst-case scenario. He liked sex, but the catch-22 was he'd never really liked the women who accepted his terms. They were shallow and unfeeling... and didn't that just say a whole helluva lot about him?

Jillian wasn't that kind of woman. She was smart and funny and—hell. She was a regular Girl Scout. A Girl Scout who truly didn't know the score. And the real kicker: He liked her. He respected her. And he couldn't use her like that.

That was what really sucked in all of this. Of all the good-time girls he'd had and all the good girls he'd walked away from because they thought they loved him, how was it possible that at
this
time in
this
situation he was thinking about wanting more? More than sex. More than ... what?

His palms began to sweat. He felt that swift, sinking spiral of anxiety that always preceded him into combat. A warning that he was about to go someplace he'd never been before, someplace he'd be better off steering clear the hell away from.

He was not falling in love with her. No way. Hell, he didn't even know what love was. He did know it was something he was incapable of feeling.

So no. Not love.

Not here. Not now.

And not with her.

He signaled for the off-ramp and cruised onto Okeechobee.

And felt like he was letting go of something ... vital.

In spite of it, in spite of all the things he wanted to do with her,
because
of all the things he wanted to do to her, it wasn't going to happen.

He was going to stick with the plan. Do his job. Forget about the kiss they'd shared. Forget about the dance that still shot an arrow of lust to his groin. The only thing he was going to do for Jillian Kincaid was keep her alive.

The scene that met them when they arrived at City Place redefined his mission with a stark clarity that had him digging deep for control and filled Jillian's eyes with terror.

Jillian saw it before he did as Nolan turned off Okeechobee onto Sapodilla Avenue.

Her hand flew to his arm, latched on. "Oh, my God." Nolan followed her gaze, saw what had her so upset, and swore. A half-dozen squad cars and an ambulance lined the street that ran directly in front of City Place. Instead of driving around to the parking garage, Nolan pulled up behind a squad car.

"Sorry, folks." One of the uniformed officers stopped them at the front door. "If you don't have business here, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Ms. Kincaid lives here," Nolan said. "What's going on?"

"Kincaid?" The officer consulted his clipboard, slanted Jillian a look, then flipped out his communicator. "You can go up," he said after a brief conversation with someone on the other end.

In the background the muffled charter of police radios competed with the rush of traffic and the strobe lights from the patrol cars and ambulance flashing eerily into the night.

"Who was hurt?" Jillian's fingers dug into his arm. "God, please ... please tell me it's not Eddie."

"Eddie?"

"The security guard. I don't see him anywhere."

"Ah. I'm not supposed to release any information."

"Just tell us if he's all right," Nolan cut in, knowing Jillian would move heaven and earth to find out.

The officer considered with a scowl, then finally caved. "He's got a bump on the head. Slight concussion. Paramedics say he'll be fine. He's awake now and alert."

Beside him, Nolan felt Jillian's body shudder with a breath of relief.

"Look. Detective Laurens can fill you in. He'll meet you upstairs."

Jillian's grip on Nolan's arm tightened. "Detective Laurens is upstairs? At my penthouse?"

The officer cut Nolan a look. He read it for what it was. Whatever was up there was bad. Real bad.

"Come on." Nolan nudged Jillian toward the elevator.

When they reached the penthouse floor, Detective Laurens met them in the hall.

Laurens was a Charles Branson look-alike whose eyes showed his years on the beat and the integrity inherent in a man of his reputation and experience. "Wait. Wait just a second, Ms. Kincaid."

Nolan cupped Jillian's shoulders in his hands and kept her from rushing to the penthouse. "What's going on, Detective?"

"There's been a break-in."

"Oh God." Jillian tried to pull away. Nolan held her fast.

"I'm afraid they pretty much trashed your place."

"Trashed?"

"Look... maybe you ought to just wait a bit until we can—"

"I want to see it," she insisted.

After a considering look at Nolan, Laurens nodded. "OK. But don't touch anything. And I need to warn you. It's ... well, it's pretty obvious that whoever did this is the same person who's been harassing you."

Nolan walked with her to the open door where crime scene tape blocked their way. Together they ducked under the tape and stepped inside.

"Jesus," Nolan swore as he took in the scene.

Beside him, Jillian stood statue still.

Trashed
didn't even come close to what had been done.
Destroyed. Desecrated.
Many similar words came to mind, but the one that pounded at him stood out above all others:
hate
.

Whoever had done this hated Jillian with a passion that bordered on insanity.

In a parked car, at the corner of Okeechobee and Sapodilla, Mary gulped deep breaths of the balmy night air and tried to settle her hammering heart.

What a rush ... destroying what was Jillian's. Defying her to guess who had done it.

Was she crying now?

Was she dying a little even now in her fear, in her terror?

Did she feel horribly alone?

Mary knew all about being alone. The weight of it suddenly pressed down like lead.

She lowered her head to the steering wheel.

And then she sobbed.

For the baby sister she'd lost.

For the comfort she'd never known.

For the pain her mother had caused when Mary had been the only outlet for her wrath.

She lifted her head. Dried her eyes. Then she drove away into the night.

Soon she wouldn't have to cry anymore.

19

She was quiet.
Too quiet,
Nolan
thought as he guided Jillian along the maze of docks toward the slip where the
EDEN
was berthed. On the drive over, she hadn't even asked him where he was taking her or why he was bringing her there.

But then, how quiet was too quiet when a part of your life—your home, which was supposed to be your sanctuary— had just been violently violated?

The moon was full, the sheltered mooring along the Intracoastal waterway silent but for the gentle lap of salt water to the
EDEN'S
fiberglass hull where she rode, along with a hundred or so other vessels with barely a notion of movement. Brine and sea scented the air. A soft breeze felt warm against his skin, barely ruffling the silk of Jillian's hair. And yet he felt her shiver when he cupped her elbow in his hand to steady her.

"Watch your step," he said, negotiating the ramp to the
EDEN
and helping her aboard.

The original plan, after the police had said they could leave, had been to take her to her father at Golden Palms. When he'd said as much, she'd spoken the only word she'd uttered since she'd taken in the carnage of her penthouse.

"No."

He could have argued, but he'd understood. After Sunday lunch with the parents, he'd understood in spades why she couldn't find any refuge there. He hadn't known where else to take her where she'd be safe but here—and he'd had to get her away from the penthouse and the visceral reminder of how badly someone wanted her dead.

He'd called Kincaid on the drive over, broken the news about the break-in. Before Kincaid could start issuing demands, Nolan informed him that for the night Jillian was save but incommunicado. Then he'd disconnected and shut off his cell phone. He figured he'd be out of a job in the morning but until then at least she'd have some peace of mind.

He walked her along the side deck, ducked under the cover of the aft deck, and with his key unlocked the sliding door that led to the main cabin.

"Five steps down." He guided her down the companionway steps. "The last one's a little taller than the others. All right. Just stand tight for a second and I'll get us some light."

Not that he wanted to shed any light on the place. If
memory served him right, he'd left it in a helluva mess
.
Nonstop bingeing was messy business. When he flipped the
switch on the table lamp near the L-shaped sofa and light flooded the cabin, he couldn't hide his surprise. "Holy crap. "