Reilly set the poker on the bricks lining the hearth. “They’re pretty great. What about your friends or family? Isn’t someone wondering where you are?”
Carey slid to the floor, letting her back rest against the couch. She stretched her legs in front of her, her feet in reaching distance of Reilly. She should tell him in no uncertain terms she wasn’t going to talk about her life. He’d promised he wouldn’t press her about her past and she wasn’t naïve. They couldn’t share secrets. Their relationship needed boundaries. He was a detective, committed to working on the right side of the law, and she was the daughter of a crime lord. If she told him about her family and the things they had done, the crimes they’d committed, Reilly would look at her with disgust on his face. That was something she could live without. “You mean, is anyone looking for me besides two criminals?”
Compassion softened his face. “You’re safe here, Carey. I’m going to take care of you.”
Carey shifted. This was the reason she hadn’t gotten close to anyone in the last eleven months. It created too many complications, like trusting someone, relying on them to help, opening up to them. Carey worried constantly that sharing something could get her or someone else killed.
Her father had trusted Mark with his life. Her father had bestowed his blessing on his only daughter to marry Mark, and then Mark had betrayed him.
Not that her father was an innocent who’d been forced into the life he’d led. In the endless hours of solitude, Carey had tried to resolve the logical side of her brain that understood her father was involved in a violent lifestyle and the emotional side of her brain that loved her father and couldn’t imagine him doing harm to anyone.
“I don’t want to talk about the case.” At his nod of agreement, she continued. “I’ve been alone for a long time. I’ve gotten used to it,” she said. A lie. She was numb to it at times, refusing to cry over her fate. But she wasn’t used to it.
“How long have you been running?” Reilly asked.
She didn’t want to give exact times. He was smart. He’d dig around until he could put the pieces together, missing persons who looked like her from a given time frame. “Longer than I thought possible. But now that I’m far away from that life, I realized, in one way or another, I’ve been alone most of my life.”
Reilly inclined his head and remained quiet, his focus on her, encouraging her to continue. It felt good to talk to him, to talk to someone who wasn’t trying to get something from her or use her to get closer to her father or Mark.
She could stick to the ancient past. Before Mark. That was safe. “My mother left us when I was two. She moved to Las Vegas to dance in a show on the strip. I definitely did not inherit her gracefulness. I took dance lessons once in high school and I bruised my partner’s feet.”
“Everyone’s awkward as a teenager. I bet you’re much better now. I bet you dance beautifully.”
Carey clamped her mouth over her rebuttal. Mark had taken her to dance lessons in a rare display of romantic interest, in preparation for their wedding. More times than not, he had stormed out of class in frustration because she couldn’t remember the steps, she didn’t move in the right direction and she counted off beat.
Reilly reached for a remote sitting on the side table behind him. He pressed a few buttons and the speakers in the corners of the room piped soft holiday music. He came to his feet and extended his hand to her. “Dance with me. Please.”
She frowned and shook her head, even as she found herself reaching for his hand. “A man who grew up in a house with music in the living room will put me to shame.”
He pulled her upright, bringing her body close to his, his hips inches from her stomach. Every nerve ending in her body tingled in awareness.
“It’s just you and me. No one will see.”
Her heartbeat skipped, faltered.
He tucked her into the circle of his arms, holding her around the waist and clasping her left hand in his, pressing her hand to his chest. Reilly swayed slightly, his body in time with the music. “Just relax,” he whispered. “Close your eyes and let me lead you.”
His eyes were closed, so she shut hers and let his strong arms guide her. She was no Ginger Rogers, but at least she didn’t step on his feet. He wasn’t planted in one space, either. He moved, his hips brushing her body, his knee touching the inside of her thigh. Her skin prickled with sensation and her pulse scrambled to catch up with her racing heart.
He did the work and she was along for the ride. As Reilly moved, he hummed quietly, and she leaned closer to hear him, basking in the heat of his body. The deep timbre of his voice shivered along her spine and he adjusted his arms around her, closing the inches between them. Achy, hungry desire amplified inside her.
“Carey,” he said, each syllable catching on the music.
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze and fell into her lust-charged emotions. The fire in his eyes matched the heat in his voice.
She’d let herself have this one song, just this one to blot out Mark and the Vagabond Killer, and then she’d jolt herself right back into reality. One song wouldn’t cause any harm, would it?
Her body was completely turned over to him. She lifted her mouth, her lips parted in invitation. He wasn’t any more immune to her than she was to him. She saw the kiss in his dark eyes before he lowered his head to deliver it. His lips fell onto hers, brushing, light, giving.
A deep, burning need sliced through her. He brushed his lips over hers, soft and unhurried. He stopped dancing and threw his complete attention to what they were doing, his lips sending shockwaves over her body, his kiss making promises she knew he couldn’t keep. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. You’re mine.
His hands reached into the back of her hair and angled her head to kiss her more deeply. She melted against him, her body to his, his arousal pressed into her stomach. The sensual slide of his hands urged her on, more, faster. She wanted to scream because what he was doing felt so amazing.
His hands moved to her sides. “Is this okay?” he asked, lifting his mouth slightly from hers.
“What?” she asked breathlessly, pressing her lips to his, desperate for his touch, wanting to savor every moment. How long had it been since she’d been in the warm embrace of a man? She knew for certain she’d never kissed a man like Reilly. It had never felt this way.
“Your ribs. Does it hurt when I touch you here?” he asked, brushing his hands down her back.
His touch ignited passion that flared in her belly, spreading to every part of her. “No, no, everything you’re doing feels good.”
He growled low in his throat, a sound echoing hunger. He walked backward to the couch and lowered himself, taking her with him, setting her legs over his hips so she was straddling him.
Kneeling over him, she cupped his face in her palms, lifting his head. She held his gaze and lost herself in his eyes. “You’re a good man, Reilly Truman.” He’d done what no other man had. He’d kept her safe, protected her, risked his safety for hers. When this was over, she wanted him to remember those words. They were the greatest truth she had spoken since she’d met him, no half-truth, no honesty hidden behind semantics. He was an impossibly honorable man—her head knew it and her heart feared it. She could too easily fall for him and trick herself into thinking she’d get a happily ever after.
Knowing this may be the only time they had together sent desperation and hunger spiraling in her veins. Carey ground her hips against his pelvis, the rough fabric of her jeans creating the perfect friction. He set his hands on her hips, sliding her along his hardness, lifting his hips and circling them against her.
Emotions bombarded her from every direction, tenderness, warmth and lust. Her eyelids grew heavy and the pressure between her legs tightened, higher, faster, more. “Reilly.” She tightened her grip on his shoulders and let her head fall back.
He must have heard the plea in her voice, because he thrust harder against her, once, twice, excitement surging inside her, lifting her, shattering her. Blistering hot desire exploded in her body and she climaxed in his arms, her vision momentarily going sparkling white, waves of pleasure pulsing over her.
She slumped against him and he nuzzled the side of her neck.
The music hummed in the background, a soft, melodic tune, taking second to her roaring thoughts. The poignancy of the moment threatened to reach straight to her heart, touch her and irrevocably change her. She snuggled closer in his arms, loving the feeling of them banded around her and trying to put off thinking about the future. She wanted to linger in the now and pretend disaster wasn’t waiting for her.
The song changed to a bright, vocal, upbeat piece. The mood broke and the haze of pleasure faded. Reality hit hard. Letting that happen with Reilly had been a mistake. She didn’t need connections to him complicating her life, making it harder to run. When she left, she couldn’t look back. For his sake she needed to put distance between them.
Reilly was the giver and she was the taker. He had put his life on the line to protect her and she was endangering him. He had asked her to dance and she’d been needy, hungry, begging him for more.
And he’d given, taking nothing for himself.
Her legs felt rubbery, but she managed to crawl out of his lap and onto the cushion next to him.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, touching her thigh lightly.
And of course he would have to be sweet and concerned about her. “I’m fine.”
“You say that a lot.”
She didn’t have a choice. If she let herself slip, if she started thinking about the bad things in her life, she’d crumble. She’d had her resolve set to “fine” for months. She reached over and set her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “Most of the time, I am fine.” She didn’t want him to push too hard, or he could break through and see how scared she was beneath her fragile outer shell.
He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut.
“What? You can say whatever. It won’t hurt my feelings,” she said, shoring up her defenses. This was the life she led. The song was over and she had to let go of the fantasy. She was a woman on the run, and she would run as long as she had to to keep the people around her and herself safe.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
No. Anything but more kind words. She wouldn’t weaken. Chips in her armor could not be permitted. “But?”
He rested his head on the cushion of the couch. “No but. You’re beautiful. I don’t know what’s going on in your mind, but I thought you should know what’s going on in mine.”
Carey’s heart took flight and she wondered how much longer she could stay with Reilly and keep her boundaries in place.
Chapter 6
R
eilly ran a shaky hand through his hair. Nothing rattled him. Not staring down the barrel of a gun, not confronting a perp. But this? It was like nothing he’d experienced. The raw passion had caught him off-guard and he couldn’t afford mistakes now.
It was his job to protect her.
Why had he it let it go that far? Why hadn’t he denied her that kiss? That kiss had opened a floodgate and with the water pouring out, it was impossible to stop.
Carey had escaped an abusive situation and was running from a man she believed would hurt her again. Instead of giving her space to think and clear her head, he’d gone and groped her like a teenager in a parked car.
A minute before, she was wild in his arms, and now she sat demurely, her knees pressed together. Another contradiction in her behavior. He guessed the real Carey was somewhere between the two women.
Carey needed him to be strong and steady. Reliable and nonthreatening. He wouldn’t let this go further. He’d only meant to dance with her. She was vulnerable and scared and searching for some stability. Once they’d kissed, they’d both gone up in flames.
As a detective, he would do his job. As a man, he would keep his distance from now on. He wasn’t interested in leading her on, knowing he couldn’t get involved with her. She was the witness in a case. An important case. He’d seen firsthand what could happen when a detective became too close to a case. His former partner had lost his career, cast shadows of doubt over the department and ruined the integrity of an open-and-shut case. Reilly wouldn’t make the same mistake.
Their flirtation ended tonight. No more kisses. No more fantasies of her writhing beneath him. “Are you ready for bed? It’s getting late.”
Carey jumped to her feet. “Bed? You want to go to bed?”
“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, making it clear he wasn’t propositioning her.
Reilly beat back the image of her astride him, her head thrown back, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. This ended here and now. He was stronger than that. More controlled. He was a Truman, and Truman men were disciplined and focused.
Lust exploded in his veins when she stopped at the entrance to the living room and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “It’s dark. You lead the way.”
It took everything he had to leave her in her room and walk to his alone.
* * *
Country breakfast took on a different meaning for Carey when seeing it in action in the Trumans’ sprawling kitchen. It was a casual affair. Food choices lined the counters in dishes of varying shapes and sizes, and everyone grabbed a plate and served themselves buffet-style.
Reilly was the only member of the family missing from the kitchen and she was a little relieved he wasn’t there. After escorting her to her room the night before and an awkward good-night, he’d gone to bed.
There were only two places left at the table—the same places where she and Reilly had sat for dinner. At least if she sat next to him, she wouldn’t have to look across the table at him and wonder what he was thinking or if he was thinking anything about her. Or better, she could finish eating before he made an appearance.
She had other things to think about than Reilly and the dance they’d shared. A dance that had caught them in a whirlwind of passion. As much as she was drawn to Reilly, he and his family didn’t deserve the pain and heartache she’d bring to their lives if she stayed too long. Mark would find her and he would hurt them. She couldn’t allow that to happen.