Drawing on every ounce of self-control, he pulled the quilt from the foot of her bed and covered her with it. She was almost asleep while he suspected he would do little sleeping tonight He stood up. Watched her draw deep even breaths. Noted the way her dark lashes lay on her creamy skin like fans. He bent down and kissed her cheek.
„Sleep now,“ he whispered. He started to straighten, but her hand shot out and clamped over his wrist with surprising strength.
She half rolled to look up at him, her green eyes intense. „Don’t go.“ His eyes, damn them, dipped lower, taking in her breasts, silently cursing the utilitarian white bra that hid them from his view. He needed to get out of here. Now.
He shook his head. „I’ll sleep on the floor outside your door. You’ll be safe.“
„Don’t go.“ Her grip tightened. „Please.“
„Kristen, I…“ He exhaled, and gently pried her fingers from his wrist. „You need to sleep. And I can’t stay here. I promised you.“
„I know.“ She grabbed a handful of his shirt, swung up, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her free hand captured his, and she brought his palm to her lips.
And he couldn’t contain the groan. „Kristen, let me go. Now.“
„No.“ She took his hand, placed it over her heart which pounded. „You can’t possibly understand… I never thought I’d ever feel this way.“ She looked up and her eyes weren’t afraid or wary or hurt. They were alive and bewitching. Compelling. Not taking her eyes from his, she moved his hand inch by inch until his palm covered white cotton. Covered his hand with her own, pressing his fingers until he held her breast cupped in his hand. „It’s you,“ she breathed, so softly he almost didn’t hear. Dropping her hand to her lap, her eyes slid closed.
And God help him, he couldn’t say no. Gently he pushed her back against the bed and joined her there, his hand now freely exploring, his thumb seeking out the hard tip that the white cotton couldn’t hide. „You are so beautiful,“ he whispered and bent to kiss her lips. Her hand came up and smoothed the hair at the nape of his neck so he deepened the kiss and felt her sigh. He moved his hand to her other breast and she arched to meet him. She was fluid grace and intoxicating innocence all at once and he knew whatever her past, whatever had turned her from the impulsive, spontaneous girl she’d once been to the wary woman he’d met just five days before, what she was feeling now was brand new. He bent his head to her breast and kissed her through her bra and her gasp made him feel proud, like he’d done something totally remarkable. And maybe he had.
She pulled his head closer and he opened his mouth, tonguing her stiff nipple, wishing there was nothing between his mouth and her skin. Then her hand left his head, tugged at the cotton and there wasn’t. He drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked.
And she moaned his name. His pounding heart exploded. He wanted her. Wanted her naked, wanted to feel her sheathed around him. Wanted to feel her tighten, convulsing, his name on her lips. Before he realized his intentions, his hand was sliding lower, his fingers questing, finding. Claiming.
A startled little gasp surprised him and he raised his head. Confused panic warred with the passion in her eyes. „Sshh,“ he soothed. „It’s just my hand. That’s all. I’ll stop.“
Her eyes narrowed and her hand once again covered his, keeping him from making good on his offer. „No, you won’t“
His lips quirked. She’d taken the reins. Good for her. „Whatever you say, lady.“
„Don’t call me lady.“ Then she closed her eyes, her lips pressed together. Her hand fell away from his, clutching the quilt. She frowned, focusing so hard he had to smile. He rubbed the heel of his hand across the hard bone of her pubis, watched her face change, soften, watched pleasure chase the frown away. She was beautiful like this, discovering her own capacity for passion. He fondled her through her slacks, saying nothing, showing her how good she could feel. Her eyes flew open and in them he saw amazement and urgency.
„Don’t stop,“ she whispered.
He gritted his teeth against the sudden surge of his own body. Not now. This time is Kristen’s. „I won’t.“ He didn’t, and she moved her hips, lifting against his hand, her breath coming in hard pants. She braced one foot on the mattress so she could push harder and then her body froze. Her hand dropped the quilt and clamped over his, pressing, pressing, and Abe knew he’d never seen anything sexier than Kristen caught up in climax. She slumped back, still panting. His body hurt, his erection straining for release. But even the power of his own need was nothing compared to the look in her eyes when her lashes lifted.
„I did it“ It was an awed whisper. „I really did it.“
He had to smile despite the throbbing in his groin. „Yes, you did.“
„Thank you.“ It was more than simple gratitude. This was a watershed moment in her life and he was humbled to have shared it with her. He could only hope she had another, more advanced watershed moment very soon. He wasn’t sure his body could stand the strain of watching her again without participating a little more actively.
He tugged her bra up to cover her breast and pushed the tousled curls away from her face. „You’re welcome.“
She shuddered out a breath. „You didn’t…“
He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. „I didn’t. But it’s okay.“
She bit her lip. „I’m sorry.“
He laid a finger against her lips. „Be quiet. I’m fine.“
„Abe…“ Tears filled her eyes and her breath hitched. „I’m sorry, I – “
„Sshh.“ He gathered her in his arms, settling her on his lap for the second time that evening. He’d had expected this response, but still her tears tore at his heart. She pressed her cheek against his chest and her shoulders shook.
„I was so afraid.“
He kissed the top of her head. „Of me?“
She shook her head. „Not you. That I’d never…“ She lifted a shoulder. „You know.“
He knew and he silently cursed whoever had made her lose confidence in her own body, who’d hurt her so badly that she’d all but buried whoever she’d once been.
Hurt her. What a pathetic euphemism that was. He was a cop, he’d seen everything and still he had trouble saying the word he knew she’d never forget. Rape. She’d been raped. He made himself think the word, forced himself to stay calm when what he really wanted to do was find out who’d done it and tear his guts out with his bare hands, and felt a flash of respect, gratitude to the killer who’d already removed one rapist from the planet. It was wrong to feel that way, but at the moment, if he knew who’d hurt the woman in his arms, he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t capable of cold-blooded retribution murder himself.
„Do you want to talk about it now?“ he asked quietly and her body tensed.
She shook her head again, more vehemently this time. „No, not now. Not now.“
Abe hugged her close. „Then sleep.“
Monday, February 23,
1:30 a.m.
He’d lost control before, with Conti. That couldn’t, wouldn’t happen again. Not that the beast didn’t deserve it, and a lot more. But it was dangerous. He’d left evidence behind on Conti’s body, of that he was certain, but apart from dipping the man in a vat of lye, he didn’t know how to rectify the situation. What was, was.
You could have just buried him and left his family to wonder, he thought. But that would have robbed him of precious closure. The world knew that Conti had been punished for his crimes against Paula Garcia, her unborn son, the American justice system, and last but far from least, Kristen Mayhew. Perhaps now the scum that paraded through her court would think twice before publicly defaming her name.