A Brutal Tenderness (15 page)

Clearwater’s being his usual ass jack self, fluttering his
eyelashes like a girl, and I scowl. “Getting an A in bio!” he brags
as he takes a massive bite out of the apple he’s massacring.

I lift my chin. “Yeah  .  .  . and how many times have you
taken biology?”
Luke throws up three fingers, and I laugh. “So, you could
be teaching the fucking deal,” I say, shrugging, as he tosses an
apple my way. It spins and I catch it in a lazy reflexive swipe.
Adams grunts. “We’ve got the big play soon.”
“Yeah,” I say, chomping on the apple and giving Luke the
eye. I see his expression and lower my apple. “What?”
“It’s gonna get real, Steel,” Luke says.
“You’re a poet and don’t know it,” Clearwater replies,
pleased with himself as he makes a basket with the spent core
from across the room.
Luke flips him the bird and Dec smiles.
I stand, and my partner says from Brock’s point of view, “I
think the fuckwits I’ve fostered in falsehood will be fine with a
one-on-five.”
I blink. “What about Jewell?”
Adams shrugs, taking a slurp of his five-hour energy drink.
“I can’t defend her, it’ll screw things, obviously.”
Right.
“Come on, Steel, you can take those guys,” Clearwater says.
Yeah. But before they get to Jewell?
Dec changes the subject. “Jewell’s bombing bio.” He takes
a pull from his water bottle, picking up his gear for the range.
I nod. That was the plan, put the pressure on Jewell, make
her off-kilter, appearing vulnerable . . . I scrub my face. It’s not
what I want to do to her. It’s what I must do.
To save women in the future and in so doing . . . her as well.
Adams jumps off the cafeteria-style table. “That’s for glasses
not asses,” Dec notes, and Adams gives him the bird again as
our mikes chirp.
My head raises sharply. “Who’s got primary?” Even as I
think it, I should know it.
Beltaine
, I think as Dec replies, “Beltaine.”
The tension eases from my shoulders. Good.
I hear the communication and cock my brows in confusion.
“Why the hell is Maverick heading to the crime scene?”
Adams throws out his palms. “I’m not sure . . . maybe he’s
wanting to do it in the dirt.”
“That’s fucking morbid, even for you, Adams,” Dec says,
giving him a level look.
“He’s not ‘doing’ Jewell, Luke,” I say with barely contained
anger. Luke raises his brows in question.
“Yet,” Clearwater adds.
I seethe, switching gears. “You two clowns go practice, I’m
taking secondary.”
“No, man, Beltaine’s got it,” Clearwater clarifies.
“I know, but you don’t think it’s suspicious as hell that
fucking Maverick is hot to take Jewell to a cemetery?”
“How long has it been since . . .” Clearwater makes a hip
gyration and my feet are moving without a plan.
Toward him.
Clearwater does a cackle. “Hey, man!”
“Don’t fuck with this, Dec,” I warn.
“Better listen to the man,” Adams warns. “He’s in love with
the subject. He’ll rearrange your pretty face, Dec.”
“I’m not in love, dumb shit,” I say, and the lie sits like a bug
on my tongue. Don’t want it, can’t swallow it. Shit.
“In lust, then,” Adams fishes.
I don’t dispute it. Guys don’t talk about feelings. And I’m
not starting now.
I heave a sigh of disgust. Feds are like family, and it feels
like my brothers have just found my secret stash.
Dicks. “Okay.” I scrub my face again. “Like I said, I’m taking
secondary . . .”
“Even though Beltaine is trailing our girl?” Dec asks with a
laugh.
“Even though,” I respond, and the laugh dies in his throat.
“Fine . . . fuck, hand over your job, Steel.” Luke gives me an
incredulous stare.
Not yet, I think. But I’m already gone, my partners staring
at my retreat. They know I’m imploding, but if you’re not a
bomb expert, there’s no stopping the ticktock.
And the clock is running. I can feel the movement inside
myself.

I stand over the grave marker of Tawny Simon and shake my
head . . . just as the reflection off the windshield of Maverick’s
vintage Camaro rounds the corner. I move with lightning
stealth into the shadows of the trees. It won’t do to have him
see me. Though the insane urge to out myself and tear Jewell
from him is a pulse of insistence deep inside me, almost a
physical compulsion, I viciously stomp it out.

Victim number eleven lies beneath earth that is still damp
from the last rain. I watch Jewell climb out of the awkwardly
low car as she and Mitch climb the small knoll to stand beside
the marker.

The mystery of their presence baffles me. What the hell
are they doing here? Is it some kind of macabre date? I’d love
to take that arrogant pretty boy by the shirt and shake some
answers out of him.

Love to.
I grit my teeth as Jewell turns into him, wrapping her
arms around his middle, and he gives a creepy little half smile,
returning the gesture. He’s just . . . the hell with it. I palm my
cell and the screen lights, I begin to tap out a text to our guy
who can fix me with a check on this bastard, but when I see
Maverick stick his tongue down Jewell’s throat, I almost bust
my cover right then, keeping my position from training alone.
I don’t realize that I move into the semi-open until Jewell
turns to get into Maverick’s car and catches sight of me, her
graceful hand gripping the top of the car’s window.
Fuck. Smart, Cas.
I’m already halfway to China by the time I hear Maverick
yell her name. She can’t get hold of me, even I can’t think of
an excuse that will ring true. I sprint the quarter mile to where
the Harley’s stowed, thankful I’ve muffled the hog to keep my
presence shrouded, and start it up, hopping on and smoothly
pulling away all in one motion.
My discovery is a near thing. My feelings for Jewell have
put a reckless spin on my behavior.
Like a tumbleweed in the high desert
careening out of control in the unseen wind.

Clearwater’s voice rings in my ear as I grab my jacket and peel
out on my bike again, taking primary.
“He was trying to bury the salami for sure!”
I turn to Dec, knowing I’m going to punch his teeth down
his throat.
“Don’t incite him, Agent Clearwater,” Luke Adams says.
“Cas won’t act . . . will you?”
I see the challenge in his eyes and respond by rote. “Not
unless the subject appears to be in immediate peril for her life.”
My partner and smart-ass Clearwater look at me. I hang my
head, taking deep breaths and not for the first time. Finally, I
meet their stares. “I will not interfere.”
Luke walks away, and I grab his arm and say, “Don’t go to
O’Rourke.” My command rings likes a plea in the small room.
Luke appears to be in pain. “Don’t fucking make me, Steel.
No woman is worth what you’re putting yourself through.” His
eyes nail me. “Don’t let Faith’s death make this thing you’ve got
for the subject be like a redemption . . .”
I know the difference, and if this is redemption, I have a
taste of hell. Wanting her so bad I can hardly breathe, think . . .
my job is certainly compromised. If I can just hang on a little
longer, the case will break wide open and we can catch the
miserable fuck, and Jewell  .  .  . well, Jewell and I can move
forward.
If I can.
If she will.
I hang in the miserable heat of the highest point of the
auditorium. The black curtains, which are fine camouflage, are
suffocating as hell. My mouth hangs open as I watch Jewell
attack dancing like an enemy.
I know what is flipping her switch. The same damn thing
that’s flipping mine.
Clearwater says that she left that pit of passion of the inside
of Maverick’s car in a huff.
He wants in and she isn’t putting out.
That’s my girl.
My lips
curl at what can only be a major case of blue balls for Maverick.
Can’t think of it happening to a better man.
Clearly, Jewell’s working it out through dance. My eyes
track her as she spins across the room in a diagonal line only
she sees, follows. It makes me dizzy just watching her.
I know she’s pissed at me, probably at that man-whore
Maverick as well. It’s been a week since my last text. It’s not for
her, it’s not playing hard to get. I’m fucking hard all right. It’s
all about me.
I can’t be next to her right now. If I am, I’ll attack. My
partner’s right—I’ve got to keep my distance to keep my cool.
But I’ll never let her go. I breathe out through my mouth as
that gut-wrenching self-realization sizzles through me, causing
a physical reaction.
It’s becoming a fucking trend.
Jewell twirls and Boel steps into her powerful spinning,
grabbing her as if they’re planning it and lifts her, the
momentum of her forward motion giving him a head start as
she rises above his head.
I swallow when she slides down the front of his body and
think of how it would be to hold her above my head like that.
Would she trust me?
Do I trust myself?
No.
That’s when I make the fatal mistake. I stop thinking and
something else takes over.
I mark Jewell’s progress as she strides out of the auditorium
with a purpose, a grin plastered on Boel’s face.
Her anger pleases the sadistic fuck.
It’s then that I realize Boel is waiting for her to dance with
him like that. Wanting it.
For him, it must all be about passion.
Awakening it.
Fuck distance. I abandon my perch and stalk after Jewell
like she’s prey. Right now I’m not doing what’s best for the
Bureau . . . the case. I can’t keep the promises I make to myself.
I want something too.
Jewell.
Can I do what’s right and also satisfy my desire to possess
her?

I know Luke will be showing up with his “friends” to make
a final play to get our boy’s full attention.
I also know I have time. Conflicted doesn’t begin to cover it.
I know what I should do. I know what I want to do.
I have to deal with these contrary needs, resolve them.
I don’t know that I can.
Jewell steps out of the girls’ locker room in record time, and
I step away from the wall I’m leaning against.
I’ve taken a week-long hiatus from Jewell: her body, her
scent, her . . . everything.
I can do this. I can make it right, release her until I see
this investigation through. I don’t need to compromise things
further.
My brain knows this like I take my next breath.
Then it doesn’t come.
Because Jewell’s in my presence and she causes me to stop
thinking.
How did I ever think that what I feel for her isn’t real? That
it’s something I can explain away?
Our eyes lock from across the hall and I don’t know who
moves first, but we’re suddenly locked together, hip to head.
I’m not gentle. I find I can’t be as I devour her mouth with
my own, my hands moving to her ass even as she links her
ankles around my waist.
Oh, dear Jesus . . . no. She grinds herself against my raging
hard-on.
Yes, my body answers for me as I eat at those lips I’ve been
dreaming about all week, denying myself.
I ram Jewell against the wall between the locker room and
a utility closet, one hand bracing the blow as the other spears
apart the braid, her damp hair catching us like a moist curtain
around our joined bodies. “Ah,” she emits in a soft grunt as she
kisses me back.
“Where?” I ask, but I know. I’m barely waiting for
permission here and don’t know that I can, my resolve is
shattered with her body in my arms. I can’t think of anything
but her. Her scent fills my nostrils and they flare in primal
recognition.
Jewell wakes up from her daze enough to say “No!” in a soft
rasp, as she hears the knob rattle on the closet. I move like a
starved man and Jewell’s the meal, as I enter the small janitor’s
room with a low fluorescent under-cabinet light. I just make
her out in the gloom and bend to sweep my hot tongue along
her collarbone.
“Yes!” I answer, kicking the door closed with a boot. Her
taste’s on my tongue, drowning sense, logic, reason.
“Are you fucking him, Jess?”The words burst from my lips. I
have to know if she’s let him have her.
She’s mine and I have to know. Have to.
I hold her against the wall and use my hardness to force
her legs apart as she’s suspended by my erection and hard
hands on her small wrists. The softest part of her yields to me,
and she groans against my mouth and I press my forehead to
hers, thrusting against her, denim to the thin yoga pants she’s
wearing. She strains against me, a line of emotion that mimics
anger even as she pushes to get closer.
“Are you?” I ask again, and Jewell cries out against the surge
of my cock, her hands convulsing around mine.
“No . . . I’m not,” Jewell answers as she grinds back against
me, her eyes flashing in the gloom, and my dick gives a
responsive pulse against her heat. I know I’m gonna go right
here if I don’t slow down. “God, Jess . . . you’re killin’ me,” I say
as my hips give a reactive thrust against her and we both groan,
our heads falling away from each other from the powerful
surge of raw lust.
So help me God, I don’t think I can stop. Jewell has to
say yes to me where she says no to Mitch. Right now. In this
moment. “Say yes,” I say, hearing the near beg in my voice,
beyond embarrassed, beyond fucking caring.
I need in her. Now. I also need her permission.
I feel like my entire world tilts on its axis when she says,
“Yes,” against my throat, her hot breath warming my day-old
stubble, which stands on end from her words . . . her heat . . .
her scent.
I kneel down, shaking from want, from need.
“What are you  .  .  . ?” she asks and gasps when I tear her
panties off and plunge my tongue inside her wet center.
“Oh  .  .  . yes,” she moans, and it’s music, invitation, and
aphrodisiac rolled up into a fine shot of that drug that is Jewell.
I can’t get enough and groan against her slickness when she
puts her small hands on my head.
“Put your feet on my shoulders,” I rumble against the most
sensitive area on a woman, and she does what I tell her as I
nibble and lick against those outer folds. When her legs begin
to shake from my torture of her, the torture of myself, that
sweet edge of release comes knocking. I feel how wet she is for
me, how ready, and I lift my head, the proof of her arousal on
my face, and I free my imprisoned dick. It jumps free with an
almost audible sigh as I lick my face of her.
Loving the taste of her on me, as much a part of me as
anything, I say, “I’m going to fuck you now, Jess.” My face is
devoid of emotion, because it’s too strong to mask. I’m numb
with it, like a great high that won’t quit, a tidal wave that never
lands.
Falling again . . . so falling.
“Okay,” she says and almost makes my load come with
slender fingers wrapped on me. I shudder in an exhaustive sigh,
my chin dipping to my chest.
So right, so fucking right.
The cords of my neck stand out, the mother of all orgasms
coming, and I throw my head back, whispering, “No  .  .  . you
don’t.”
There’s no choice: I either go out of her or in. I’m beyond
the point of no return as I feel the tip of my cock zero in on her
entrance with an accuracy that’s scary.
Jewell spreads her legs and I stop, holding back . . . holding.
It’s so hard it’s painful.
I need her eyes. I grab her ankles, and her mouth parts as I
say, “Watch me, Jess.”
And when our gazes lock I give a single shove, thrusting my
hardness into her softness. I feel her clench around me and I
think about anything but what’s happening, anything to slow
my release. I grit my teeth even as the pleasure of her heat begs
for me to let go inside her.
Not yet
, I shout inside myself,
hold on.
Jewell’s succulent wet pull begs when I’m so deeply inside
her my balls kiss her ass. And I move backward in slow
withdrawal, rocking back inside her again, my eyes on hers. She
meets me perfectly, her small hips lighting against my pelvis.
Our mutual grind makes my jaw go slack, my mouth salivates
as those small hard muscles grip me like a sweeping velvet
glove of slick, sweet friction.
My huge body trembles against her tiny one, and her eyes
peg mine, understanding what I need.
What she needs.
What we both need.
I grab both sides of her face, my elbows planted alongside
her, my cock buried deep. I begin a slow pump, when all my
body wants is to fuck her into the small table I’ve put her on.
But Jewell changes that primal directive. The soft yield of
her body instructs mine and it listens, sweeping in and out,
deeply, urgently . . . owning my moves, claiming my need as I
plant myself inside her. She gives a single wet pulse, a throb so
deep, so strong it brings me before I know it, before I can stop
it, and Jewell shudders against me, my release brining hers, and
she cries out a little.
It sounds like pain.
But that’s what true pleasure is  .  .  . it’s almost painful. A
poignant torture of the senses.
I close my eyes against tears. Not tears of sadness but of
self-realization.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Jewell’s made me love her. Against everything I am, every
choice I’ve made—she forces me.
With her body.
With her gentle nature, her vulnerability.
Her.
I can’t tell Jewell, but I’ll show her.
I gaze down at her, tracing the gorgeous lines of her face,
planting a tender kiss against her fragile jawbone.
I close my eyes.
Mine
, my mind intones and I give in.
My body always knew it, but now it has convinced whatever
small combative intellect remains.
Jewell lets out a sigh of contentment as I slip out of the
perfect confines of her body. I pull her against me, moving her
small body against my bigger one. Our physical forms fit like a
perfect pair of missing parts now unified.
So this is what it feels like, I think in wonder, spreading
soft kisses against Jewell, her temple, her healing cheek, her
beautiful bones that beg for it. On every surface of that face I
love I lay my lips. Her eyelashes flutter and Jewell gives a small
groan of pleasure that pinches my heart, one that feels like it
just relearned how to beat.
And it’s scary as fuck.
Not much rocks my boat.
Jewell’s done more than that . . . she’s sunk my ship.
I find I don’t give a shit and feel myself grinning like a
fool into her upturned face, the small bit of light pooling
and removing enough shadows so I can see her expression of
vulnerability.
It won’t be easy. When two halves of the same whole come
together, they’re not the same, they complement but mostly
they’re opposites.
We’ll work through it together.
My optimism’s about to be put to the test.
Whoever says love is easy should be shot.