Chapter Twenty-One

Emmet stared at her, and she realized the absurdity of her words. She was fairly sure he would hurt her. Badly. This whole thing was emotional suicide, which was why she’d resisted it for so long. She was about to end ten years of joking, and banter, and healthy competition—all things that had helped them both excel at their jobs. They’d established a professional equilibrium that was tried and true—and she was about throw it all away, forever.

But she didn’t care. All she cared about was that he was back in her room again, and she wanted him to stay. She pulled him down, and he was kissing her with so much pent-up need, and she refused to think about the repercussions. She’d spent years ignoring her attraction to him and keeping her feelings locked tightly away. Ten whole years, but now she didn’t think she could wait another minute to know what it would be like with him.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he yanked it over his head. Then he turned and took off his boots, and her pulse kicked up another notch as she heard the dull thud of them hitting the floor. He took off his jeans and stretched out beside her on the bed in only his black boxer briefs, and she felt a flood of anticipation.

Emmet was in her bed.

He scooted closer, close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin, and she ran her fingers over the muscles of his shoulders and chest. She’d seen him with his shirt off over the years—of course she had—and she’d even seen him change clothes a few times at some rain-soaked, backwater crime scene. But being alone with him and having a chance to actually touch his body was a whole new level of temptation. She grazed her fingers over his chest, feeling the hair there, and he tensed as she traced a path to his navel and lower. She rested her hand on the hard ridge of his erection, and his eyes went dark.

“Is this a bad idea?” she whispered.

He cupped her breast and toyed with her nipple. “You want us to stop?”

“No.”

He kissed her, hard, and relief surged through her as she felt all that energy that told her he wanted this—at least in this moment—just as much as she did. He eased over her, nudging her good leg open with his and settled his weight on her, and she moaned at the heavy heat of him. She ran her hands down his muscular back. He felt so good, every part of him, and she wished she could get on her knees and run her hands over his entire body.

He kissed his way down, pausing to give attention to her breasts—which he seemed to really like, if his approving groan was any indication—before sliding lower. She felt her sunflower shorts gliding down her legs, along with her underwear, and she sat up to watch as he carefully slid them over her boot with a look of intense concentration.

She laughed.

“What?” he asked, dropping her clothes to the floor.

“Just—nothing. You looked so serious.”

His gaze moved over her, and all humor evaporated as the reality of what they were doing crashed over her. She was naked. With Emmet. He was drinking in the sight of her like he wanted to memorize everything.

He crawled over her and planted his elbows above her shoulders.

“You are so hot.” He kissed her mouth, then her chin, then her neck, and butterflies swarmed in her stomach as he made his way down her body.

“Emmet.”

He kept going, and she touched his shoulder.

“Emmet.”

But he wasn’t listening, and then she felt his hot mouth and nearly shot off the bed.

“Oh my God.” She gripped his shoulders. “Emmet.”

“Shh,” he said, but it was more like a breath of air on her thigh, and then his mouth was back, making her crazy.

She needed him to stop. Soon. She wanted him with her when she came. But he was so intent on what he was doing, and so good at it, that she couldn’t form words. The tension started to build inside her, and she felt a twinge of panic that this was going to be over much too fast, and she squeezed his shoulder.

“Emmet, please. Wait.”

He kissed his way back up her body. “You want me to stop?”

“No, just—I want you with me.”

He gazed down at her. “Got it.”

He sat up and reached for his jeans on the floor, and she heard him ripping open a condom. He didn’t need it really, but she kept her mouth shut as he got rid of his boxers.

And then the mattress shifted as he moved between her legs again.

“I don’t want to hurt your ankle.”

“You won’t. Come here.” She rested her hands on his waist and eased him toward her, and his gaze locked on hers as he adjusted her leg and pushed himself inside her. Oh my God. Sensation flooded every nerve ending as he pressed deeper than she’d ever thought possible.

“Nicole?” His voice was strained.

She made a little squeak that didn’t even sound like her, and he started to pull away.

“No.” She hooked her good leg around his hip and pulled him closer. “I like it.”

Heat flared in his eyes, and then he was moving over her, watching her intently with those hazel eyes, as though he needed to see her reaction to everything. She ran her hands over his back, loving his warm skin and the flexing of his muscles under her fingers.

“Oh...”

“You like that?” His breath was hot against her ear.

She tried to respond, but her ability to form words was rapidly disappearing. She pulled him closer with every surge as the need inside her built and built until her vision started to blur. This was Emmet. Emmet, whose body she’d known so well for so long, but she’d never known him like this. Being fused together with him felt both strange and totally natural at the same time. Everything he did felt so amazingly good, and the hazy look in his eyes told her he felt it, too.

He leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth and suddenly it was too much, and she cried out and came apart. He gripped her hips and kept going through wave after wave, and then he made a final, shuddering push and collapsed.

For a moment she just lay beneath him, absorbing the solid weight of his body. Then he pushed himself up.

“You okay?”

She closed her eyes and made a little rasp.

He pulled out and rolled onto his back, dropping his arm over his eyes. “Fuck.”

Nicole melted into the bed—a puddle of relief and pleasure. She wasn’t sure she could speak. The aftershocks pulsed through her, but she still couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

She turned to look over at him. He stared up at her ceiling, arms at his sides now, and she studied his profile.

He looked at her. An endless beat passed as she tried to think of what to say.

Then he smiled slightly. He sat up and got out of bed, and she watched him, overcome with awe as he crossed her bedroom in the dark. He disappeared down the hallway, and when he came back a few minutes later, he had her crutches. He propped them against the nightstand.

“You need anything?” he asked, reaching for his jeans.

He was leaving.

A cold feeling swept over her, and she realized she was utterly unprepared for how shitty this would feel. She sat up and reached for the sheet.

“I’m good,” she said, tucking it under her arms.

He dug his wallet out of his pocket and put it on the nightstand.

Oh. So... maybe he wasn’t leaving? Maybe he was just putting the condoms by the bed?

He lifted the sheet and slid in beside her, and the pang of hurt from three seconds ago dissolved completely.

God, she was a mess already.

She sat up on her elbow, her head still spinning as she stared at him in the dimness. How had this happened tonight, of all nights? When he’d showed up at her door, she’d been spitting mad. Now her body felt charged, and every nerve ending seemed to be singing with glee.

Of courseEmmet would be good at sex. Why was she surprised? He was a natural athlete, and he was good at reading people. What she hadn’t expected was the way he watched her so closely the whole time, every move, as though her response truly mattered to him.

He lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that look?”

She bit her lip. Then she traced her finger down his front. “Again.”

He laughed. “Right now?”

She nodded.

“You have to give me a minute.”

He pulled her down and settled her beside him, tucking her head against his chest in a way that put a little ache inside her. His skin was damp from exertion, and she closed her eyes and reveled in it.

“You need a pain pill?” he asked.

“I’m not taking them.” She stroked her finger down his chest, over his six-pack abs, then back up again. “They make my brain muddled.” She looked up at him. “I don’t want to make impulsive and ill-advised decisions.”

He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Too late.”

His tone was joking, but there was some truth in the words.

She shifted on the bed and tweaked her ankle. “Ouch.”

“Nicole. Take a damn pill.”

“I’m fine.”

She closed her eyes and counted to ten, and the flash of pain faded to a dull throb. Emmet lay beside her in the dark and she listened to the steady thrum of his heart.

She sat up on her elbow again and looked at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you think this is a mistake?”

He groaned and closed his eyes. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

She just watched him, waiting for an answer.

He sighed and looked at her. “Maybe.”

Her stomach knotted. It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. But at least it was honest. Their relationship was fraught with complications, and always had been. The attraction was there, and the friendship, but everything else about this made their situation thorny.

At least he was being straightforward and not giving her some line so he could stay in her bed awhile longer.

She rested her hand on his stomach. “Will you promise me one thing?”

His eyebrows tipped up.

“Don’t tell everyone.”

His brow furrowed. “I won’t.”

“I mean it.” She wanted him to understand how important this was to her. “If people find out, you look like a hero, but for me it’s a career wrecker. I have enough problems getting the guys at work to take me seriously.”

“Wow. You must think I’m a real asshole.”

She could tell by his voice, he was pissed.

“No. I don’t. But I know how things are.”

He sighed. Then he turned and got out of bed.

Nowwas he leaving? She watched him with a hollow feeling in her stomach as he walked out of the room. She heard shuffling in the kitchen, and he came back with a glass of water and her medicine. He set the glass down, then twisted the cap off the pill bottle and shook one out.

She sat forward, and the sheet fell around her waist as she reached for the pill. She swallowed it and he handed her the water. It felt cool on her parched throat, and she tipped the glass back, draining it.

Emmet watched her, and the intense look in his eyes sent a warm shiver through her. She knew what that look meant.

“Now?” she asked.

He nodded.

He rested his knee on the bed and leaned over her. He took the glass and set it on the nightstand.

Nicole slid down flat and gazed up at him in the dimness. She knew the answer to her question. She’d known it before she even asked. This was a mistake. But right now, she didn’t care—she only wanted to feel him again.

“Come here,” she said, and pulled him down for a kiss.

Cassandra turned into her parking lot, darting her gaze at all the shadows. The spaces near the front were taken, so she parked in a dark spot at the edge of the lot.

She gathered up her grocery bags, then looked around again before opening the door.

A man watched from the shadow of an oak tree. Tall, heavyset. A cigarette glowed in his hand. Cassandra didn’t know his name, but he’d been coming around for months, and she was pretty sure he’d moved in with the lady in the unit behind her. The woman didn’t let him smoke, apparently, and he was constantly skulking around outside, watching people coming and going and giving Cassandra the creeps.

Ignoring his stare, she trained her gaze on her door and strode up the sidewalk with her bags. After letting herself into her apartment, she locked the door and slumped back against it.

She could do this.

She had a plan.

She dumped her bags on the kitchen counter and went straight into the bathroom. After splashing water on her face, she went to her bedroom closet and flipped on the light. Rows and rows of empty shelves stared back at her. She grabbed her backpack off the floor and tossed it onto the bed. Turning back toward the closet, she paused in the doorway as a familiar scent wafted over her.

No.

Her heart skipped a beat as she identified the smell: Gucci Pour Homme.

She darted a look at the bed. The cheap comforter barely covered the mattress. She dropped into a crouch to look underneath. Nothing.

Get a grip. You have to get a grip!

She reached under the bed and dragged out the gym bag she’d stashed there. She dropped it onto the bed beside the backpack, then unzipped the main compartment and surveyed the contents.

Jeans. Socks. Wool sweaters that she hadn’t worn in more than a year.

She rummaged through the clothes, and her hand closed around something smooth and hard. She pulled out the pistol and studied it. It felt heavy and awkward in her hand—not surprising, really. It wasn’t hers, and she had never even fired it. It had been a gift from Jess before she’d left.

Just in case, Jess had said.

Cassandra had taken it reluctantly, more worried about having a gun in her possession than actually needing to use it. But then everything went sideways, and she’d realized Jess was right.

A loud knock at the door made her jump and turn around.

Dear God, who would show up here at ten p.m.? She shoved the pistol back under the pile of sweaters. But then she changed her mind.

She crept down the hall, gripping the gun in her hand as she eyed the front door. Maybe it was that detective again. Or maybe it was Reese, wanting to know the plan for Danielle’s funeral. Cassandra had been dodging phone calls all day.

Keeping her body near the wall, she leaned to check the peephole.

Alex Breda. She breathed a sigh of relief.

But her relief disappeared as she realized what this meant. Alex wasn’t a part of her new plan. In fact, he could have nothing to do with it.

He looked straight at the peephole, clearly aware that she was standing on the other side of the door.

She glanced around frantically. She wanted to stash the gun back in her bedroom, but part of her wanted it close.

She stepped over to the counter where she’d dumped her grocery bags and grabbed the box of tampons she’d just bought. She opened the box and tucked the pistol inside, then stashed everything in the bag and slid all the groceries to the back of the counter near the microwave. There. Out of sight but accessible.

She returned to the door and took a deep breath before pulling it open.

Instead of the surfer-boy clothes she’d seen before, tonight Alex wore a dark suit and a dress shirt with the top button open. His charming smile was nowhere.

“Hi,” she said, feigning confused surprise. “What brings you here?”

“I got your message.”

He stood there staring at her, and nerves filled her stomach because she hadn’t expected this now, and she wasn’t prepared. For a tense moment she considered making something up.

He sighed. “Cassandra, I’ve been up since four a.m., I skipped dinner, and I just spent five hours in my car. You want to let me in, please?”

She pulled the door back, and he stepped inside.