A Love Worth Living (2 page)

“Condom?”

He reached for the bedside table, grabbed one, and maneuvered it on. Her lithe body shivered above him as he grabbed her hips and thrust into her. She moaned and started rolling little figure eights with her hips.

His eyes rolled back in his head, but only for a second. Any longer, and he would have regretted it for the rest of his life—he didn’t want to miss a second of Carrie, goddess in the flesh, taking her pleasure from him.

When she reached behind her to stroke his balls, his upward thrusts stuttered and he lost their rhythm. His fingers dug into her hips, and the deviant part of him clenched her so tight that he hoped she’d have little bruises dotting her pale skin the next day, so she couldn’t forget this night.

She rode him faster, took him deeper. He swore. “Damn it, slow down, Care. I want this to last.”

And he meant it too, until she cried out. “I’m so close, David. Don’t stop!”

He leaned up to her perky breasts and took one erect nipple into his mouth. She cupped his head and pulled him tighter against herself.

Her sheath contracted around him and she cried out, the sound like sensual fingers plunging into his chest and squeezing his heart. He sank into that delicious feeling and wished he knew for sure when he’d get to experience this again.

David wrapped himself so tightly in his hopes for a future with Carrie that his orgasm snuck up and swept him under until spots flashed across his vision.

Part of him felt cheated by her impatience. He wanted to savor her body, to make love to her for hours until she went crazy and forgot about everything, aside from him.

David flopped back onto the bed and reached for Carrie, eager to feel her in his arms the whole night. Months of waiting, and she was his. Finally. Possession roared through him and cemented his half-formed hopes about a future with her.

Or so he thought, until a puff of cool air reclaimed his attention.

Carrie stood next to the bed, looking down at him. He let a lazy grin break across his face, unable to contain his joy. “Going somewhere?”

She snagged her bra and panties from the floor and started dressing. “I need to go. Early day tomorrow.”

David sat upright to watch her, half-illuminated by the glow of the streetlights filtering through his blinds. “I’ll make sure to set an alarm.” His words didn’t slow her down, and his stomach pinched.

“Thanks…” she said, gesturing at him, “…for everything.” Fully dressed, she headed for the door.

No way in hell was she leaving with nothing more than a
thank-you
. He jumped from the bed, threw on his boxers, and grabbed her shoulder when she was halfway down the hall to his front door. He pulled her around to face him. “Stay.”

Her eyes grew wide and soft, though her jaw was set in the stubborn line he had grown to love. “David, really, thank you again but—”

His lips captured hers in a feral kiss that encompassed his lust, his anger and his frustration. He pressed her against the wall, and one of her hands tangled in his hair. Just as he was on the verge of carrying her back to bed like a caveman claiming his woman, she released his hair and shoved against his chest. He backed off to search her face.

Stone-cold once more. He looked at her for any trace of emotion, long seconds passing before he got a glimpse of something—pain? regret?—in her eyes. Without another word, she turned from him and left, letting the door close behind her with a quiet finality.

But she couldn’t avoid him for long. That was the problem with sleeping with a coworker.

Chapter Two

Forensic anthropology was Carrie’s dream job. She spoke for the dead and found justice for the victims of tragic crimes. And though she loved her work, the next day was pure hell.

When her alarm screeched at 5:00 a.m., Carrie had been so tempted to take the day off like her boss had suggested, especially given her lack of sleep, but she had paperwork to process and a debriefing to write up.

In her most recent case, they’d pulled the bodies of hundreds of children from a mass grave in Rwanda. They’d found evidence that children—alive—had been thrown on top of older corpses before being shot.

Crying children had filled her nightmares last night. Some begged for their mothers, others begged for mercy. All of them broke her heart.

Her own tears had woken her more than once. But she knew the routine, knew the disturbing images would fade over the next few weeks and she’d get a couple of nights of uninterrupted sleep before another case got to her.

Though she longed for comfort, she couldn’t let David, or anyone else, see her so vulnerable.

She recalled his tenderness last night and winced as guilt pricked at her. Part of her had wanted him to come after her, drag her back to bed and hold her through her nightmares, but she knew the chances of that happening were slim. She had the track record to prove it—men rarely stayed once her baggage got unpacked, and it was easier to keep things casual and short-term from the beginning, which was exactly why she’d gone without intimacy for so long. Longer than she liked to admit.

Though she felt bad for the way the night ended, she had no regrets about sleeping with him. She’d needed to feel alive, and David was always so vital. So passionate. It was one of the things she liked most about him. Despite her best intentions to keep him at a distance, he’d wormed his way into her life. Thoughts of him had been her one cold comfort while in Rwanda.

And for those glorious long minutes while he was inside her, Carrie had been unburdened. Joyous. She sank her head down onto her stack of paperwork for a moment as regret filled her almost to the point of tears. Love—even mere attachment—left one too vulnerable to pain when death came knocking. She refused to put herself—or David—through such trauma.

A knock on her door jolted her out of those maudlin thoughts.

She was surprised such an interruption hadn’t come earlier, considering she’d hidden in her office all day to avoid David. Sleeping with their firm’s psychologist didn’t seem as wise a decision now that she was actually in the office.

With a resigned sigh, she braced herself for whomever was on the other side of the door. “Come in.”

Dr. Gunnerson, her mentor and the company founder, took one long, keen look at her and shook his head. “I figured you’d be here today.”

Carrie brushed her hair out of her face. The bags under her eyes didn’t need the added shadow. “Of course I’m here. I have reports to file.” She gestured to the towering pile of folders balanced on the corner of her otherwise sterile desk. “See what happens when I’m gone for weeks?”

Gunnerson pulled the chair back and took a seat. “If you weren’t so stubborn about doing everything yourself, you could have had an assistant to take care of this.”

Too weary to rehash this argument, she smacked her hand down on the table. “I don’t need a secretary. Or an intern. They all mess up my filing system, so I’ll do it myself, thank you.”

He pursed his lips, looking like a very contemplative Santa Claus. “At the very least, take home the files for tomorrow’s deposition and read up.”

She’d almost forgotten she was acting as a forensic expert in a pretrial hearing, until she’d seen the memo on her desk at work. The absent-mindedness infuriated her, but it always took a couple of days of transition back to work for her to run at full steam. A good night’s sleep would help, not that she had one of those coming any time soon.

Reviewing the case notes wouldn’t help her rest, but it needed to be done. The man on trial was accused of the kidnapping, imprisonment, rape and eventual murder of a young girl who lived a town away from him. Her lab had uncovered that the girl had been pregnant and, upon DNA analysis, found the baby belonged to the accused.

She’d only been eighteen—the same age as Carrie when…

No.
Forcibly, she shoved those thoughts into the dank basement of her mind and padlocked the door. If this girl’s family was going to get any justice, she had to be on her game, not caught up in her past.

The long hours she’d spent looking over those remains had torn at her, and though her findings would likely convict the man, they didn’t ease her nightmares. Maybe sending this man to prison would help.

Finally flinching under Gunnerson’s steely stare, she snatched the file from his hands. “I’ll go home early, okay?”

A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Get some sleep tonight. You look like crap.”

Carrie rolled her eyes, used to his unvarnished truth. “Thanks, boss.”

At the door, he turned back to her. “I noticed you left one thing off your to-do list.”

She quirked an eyebrow then stood to pack her things. It was already late in the day, and she needed to scour her notes. Tomorrow’s testimony would be a huge asset to the prosecution.

“Did your debriefing with Dr. Cameron slip your mind? The rest of your team from Rwanda is already scheduled for this week.”

Glad she wasn’t facing him, Carrie let the heat wash over her face. No way was she unburdening herself to David. If anyone could strip her of pretense, he could, as she’d discovered during her initial evaluation when she’d transferred to the DC office of Gunnerson Forensics.

It didn’t help that her hormones had chosen that day to sit up and take notice of a man. He’d been so damn attractive, and his sensitive, penetrating stare practically dared her to unburden herself. A gauntlet thrown—the promise that nothing she said would shock him.

And like each time she saw him at work, she threw the gauntlet back unaccepted, though part of her yearned to see the shock, the horror even, on his face if she let loose the devil on her back.

“You know my policy on shrinks.”

Gunnerson’s eye-roll was thick in his voice. “I distinctly recall your voicing such an opinion quite thoroughly in the past. I also recall seeing the photos from this dig, so I thought I’d offer once again.”

Her throat squeezed and she nodded, but the door had already closed behind him. She snagged the folder with a tentative hand and flipped it open as nausea roiled in her gut. These crime-scene photos had taken up permanent residence in her brain. During her most vulnerable nights over the past year, the images had floated to the surface.

Files like this called for a warm blanket and hot chocolate. Maybe even a nice cat to curl on her lap while she read, which would have been a new addition to her routine. Until Rwanda, she hadn’t given house pets a second thought, but the sweet kitten who had adopted them had wormed its way into her heart.

Maybe she’d borrow Psyche from David after dinner.
No.
That wouldn’t work.

Last night’s events sat leaden in her stomach. Avoiding dinner at David’s would probably be wise. Ditto for the feline lending library.

Cold seeped through her light blouse. She didn’t particularly want to see her empty non-home or run into David, but sleep called. If she stayed much longer, she’d be too tired to drive and would end up napping in her desk chair.

Carrie got into her car and started the engine before panic overtook her. The pretrial proceedings would take up a couple of hours, but what would she do with a day off? She had no life outside of work, something Gunnerson knew well. When she had vacation time, she meticulously planned it out in advance so she was exhausted by the end of the day.

Maybe she’d explore the city, though she didn’t know where to even start—another thing David probably could have helped her with before yesterday.

Her breathing grew ragged, lungs holding her hostage until tears lined her eyes. She never let them drop. Instead, she dug her nails into her palms until the panic subsided. The tears dried up as quickly as they’d come, leaving an ache in her chest like she’d been hit by a semi.

After a moment, she started the car and drove home, intent on staying awake for at least another couple of hours. The victim’s family depended on her.

She was tempted to ignore the case file photos. Reviewing the gory images wouldn’t bring her any measure of relief. But since nothing would provide a respite as strong and pure as her night with David, she vowed to review everything. The goose bumps popping up across her skin provided a visceral reminder of how good they’d been together.

Carrie started counting stoplights to forget everything, aside from the mechanics of driving. She didn’t want to think about the case, or David.

Somehow, she made it to the parking garage, up the elevator and down the hall, and through her apartment door. She dropped her keys and purse onto her foyer table, and then stumbled into the main room of the condo.

She wanted to collapse into an exhausted heap on her couch, which almost bore a permanent imprint of her body from the many nights she’d fallen asleep there, but she had work to do first. She needed fuel.

Her fingers flew over the buttons of her espresso maker to dial up two shots for her hot chocolate. That would keep her going for a bit.

While her espresso dripped down, filling her condo with its invigorating aroma, she nuked an extra-large mug of water and tugged two packets of hot chocolate from the lone cardboard box in her cupboard. As steam rose off her mug, she dumped in the powder, followed by her double shot, and retreated to her couch with mug and spoon in hand.