Cut Throat (2 page)

The glow of headlights from the heavy flow of traffic was refracted by the rain, while the constant swish of wipers gave the night streets a garish appearance. Wilson thought of the comfort waiting for him inside Cat’s cozy apartment and refused to consider the fact that her welcome might not be as warm.

When he pulled into the parking lot and circled her building in search of a space, he couldn’t help but notice that the lights were on in her apartment. Now it came down to the crunch. She was home, but would she welcome him in or send him packing with a sharp word and a glare from her cold, blue eyes?

He parked, grabbed the pizza and beer, and headed for the door. He would know soon enough how warm his welcome would be.

Cat was on her hands and knees in the back of her closet, searching for the matching boot to the one already sitting next to her suitcase, when she thought she heard the doorbell ring. Frowning, she rocked back on her heels and listened again.

There!

This time she heard the chimes clearly and frowned. “Who in the—”

Wilson.

She knew without a doubt that it was Wilson McKay. He was the only person who visited her and the only one she knew who would come without calling. Probably because he figured she wouldn’t answer the door if she knew he was coming, and she almost didn’t answer it now. Despite her instincts telling her to leave him standing there, she headed for the living room, hating herself for the spurt of excitement she was feeling. She didn’t really have time for this, but ignoring him might raise more suspicion than if she just let him in and got it over with. At least, that was what she was telling herself as she reached the front door. A quick peek through the peephole was all she needed to see that her guess had been right. It was Wilson—and to her disgust, the sight of him made her pulse skip.

“Hey,” she said, as she opened the door.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. She was in a good mood.

“Hey, yourself,” he said, and before she could dodge him, he leaned in and kissed her square on the mouth.

Her eyes were flashing as he pulled back. He couldn’t tell if she was pissed or enjoying the passion he’d put in the kiss.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, offering the pizza.

Cat inhaled deeply, surprised by the hunger pangs she was feeling.

“No, and for that reason only, you can come in,” she said, then lifted the pizza box from his hands and headed to the kitchen, knowing he would follow.

“I should have called,” Wilson said, as he set the six-pack of beer on the kitchen counter.

Cat set the pizza box down and turned to face him. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. Truth had served him well thus far in life. He figured he might as well continue the process.

“I figured you would tell me no.”

Cat frowned. She hadn’t expected his honesty. Now she had no choice but to respond in kind.

“You would have been right,” she said.

Despite a stab of regret, he grinned and shrugged.

“So I saved us both some guilt and anxiety. Do you want your beer in a glass or straight from the can?”

Cat thought of the trip she was about to make and decided against anything alcoholic. Without answering, she handed him a glass, then filled one for herself with ice and Pepsi and laid out two plates.

Wilson reached for the roll of paper towels. He tore off a couple of sheets to use as napkins and then got a shaker of red-pepper flakes from the cabinet where she kept her spices.

Cat was torn between admiring his good looks and being a bit intrigued with the tiny gold hoop earring he wore in his left ear. As usual, his hair was a style in progress. He wore it in a buzz cut that always seemed to be a week past needing a trim. There was a small scar beneath his right eye and enough of a bump on his nose to know it had been broken more than once. His shoulders were broad, his legs long and muscular, his belly hard and flat.

Cat was well aware of how fit he was beneath the denim and leather, and was thinking of what would come later—after pizza and beer. She wouldn’t lie to herself and pretend she didn’t want him, because she did. They would have sex. Wilson McKay was damn good at it, and she wasn’t a fool. No sane, single, red-blooded woman would turn down a roll in the hay with someone who exuded sex appeal like Wilson McKay. But the moment she thought of having sex with him, she remembered the half-filled suitcase and the chaos in her bedroom.

Shit.

“Uh…Wilson…go ahead and sit down. I’ll be right back.”

She flew out of the kitchen and down the hall without looking back. When she got to her bedroom, she stuffed things back in drawers, tossed others in the bottom of her closet and shoved the half-filled suitcase under her bed. She gave the bedspread a couple of brief yanks to smooth out the wrinkles and then went back to the kitchen.

Wilson was standing right where she’d left him with a curious expression on his face.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Who? Me? Yes…I’m fine,” she muttered, and then pasted a big smile on her face, grabbed a piece of pizza from the box and took a big bite. “Yum.”

Wilson arched an eyebrow. “Yum?”

“Have some,” she said, and pointed to the box.

Wilson knew something was going on, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to talk about it. Finally he stifled his curiosity and sat down, picked up a piece of pizza and took a bite. He chewed, then swallowed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, and toasted her with the slice. “Yum back at’cha,” he said as he took another bite.

Cat grinned in spite of herself. When Wilson McKay wanted to, he could be intriguing—even endearing. Still, there were rules in her world he kept trying to break.

They finished the pizza without serious conversation, but when they began cleaning up, Wilson excused himself briefly to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t until he was coming back down the hallway that he happened to glance into her office and saw the bare walls.

Shocked, he stopped, then stepped inside.

He’d seen the office as it had been before, the walls papered with wanted posters. Now there was nothing left but nude walls peppered with pinholes, and he knew what that meant. Through an odd stroke of fate, in running down her best friend’s killer, she’d found another, as well. He thought of the walls Cat Dupree kept up between her and the world, and wondered how much thinner they were tonight with the absence of those posters.

The banging of a cabinet door reminded him where he was, and he knew that Cat would view his curiosity as meddling. He slipped out of her office as quickly as he’d entered.

“Did I stay gone long enough to avoid doing dishes?” he asked, as he sauntered back into the kitchen.

Cat arched an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said, and slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close. As their bodies connected, Cat sighed.

Now it began.

She turned until they were facing each other. “I suppose you think we’re going to have sex.”

Wilson’s eyebrow arched as a muscle suddenly jerked near the right corner of his mouth.

“I don’t have sex with you.”

Cat’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Damn it, Wilson, don’t play word games about—”

He put a finger on her lips. “I make love to you, Catherine.” She slapped his hand away. “While I, on the other hand, have sex.”

“Semantics,” he muttered, then fisted his hand in her hair and pulled gently, tilting her lips to his mouth.

She felt his anger as she slid her arms around his neck; then the kiss deepened, and his anger morphed into lust. That, she could follow.

A low moan slipped up her throat, but when it emerged, it sounded more

like a growl.

“Damn you,” Wilson whispered, and cupped her backside. “Grab hold, or I swear to God that the sex you have with me is going to happen right where we’re standing, with your pants down around your ankles.”

Cat jumped, wrapped her legs around his waist and slammed her mouth against his. She moaned again, but this time because she tasted blood— her own.

Wilson pivoted with her held tight in his arms and strode down the hallway to her bedroom.

“You make me crazy,” he muttered, as he dropped her flat on her bed.

“Shut up and take off your clothes,” Cat said, as she sat up and began undressing.

Wilson’s eyes narrowed angrily. First she didn’t want him here, and now he wasn’t getting to her fast enough? If he had a functioning brain, he would turn around and leave her naked and wanting. But the thought left his mind as she sat up, pulled her sweater up over her head and tossed it on the floor.

He grunted. To hell with pride and dignity.

Within seconds, his clothes were in a pile on the floor and he was standing at the side of the bed.

Cat rolled over onto her hands and knees and crawled over to him, then

rose up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Wilson tunneled his fingers through her hair, then put his arms around her.

“Witch,” he said roughly.

Cat sighed. She loved the feel of him—the hard muscles beneath smooth, warm skin—and she loved the way he made her feel. But she wasn’t going to admit—ever—that she loved the man himself. She locked her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled until she fell backward, pinned to the mattress beneath the weight of his body. At that point she wrapped her legs around his waist again, and this time, she held on.

“So I’m a witch now?”

“Hell, yes,” Wilson said, as he stared down at her, ever conscious of what awaited him in her bed.

“Then…hocus-pocus, Wilson. Time to disappear.”

He grabbed both her wrists, pinned her arms above her head, then thrust into her without warning, taking satisfaction in the shock, then desire, he saw on her face.

“No more you. No more me. Just us. How’s that for a little magic?” “Doesn’t feel so little to me,” Cat murmured, and rocked upward.

Wilson gritted his teeth and stifled a groan, then gave back as good as he got. He drove into her without tact or finesse, and took her to a climax so hard and fast that she choked on a scream.

Cat felt as if every bone in her body had just crumbled to dust. She had never—never in her life—been satisfied so completely in such a hit-andrun fashion.

“Oh, man…oh, Wilson…that was…that was…” “That was for you,” Wilson said. “That was sex.”

He cupped her face with both hands, lowered his head and brushed his lips across her mouth.

Cat inhaled softly.

He swept his lips down the side of her neck, then kissed the valley between her breasts before circling her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

Still reeling from the aftershocks of her climax, Cat was shaken by the sudden urgency she felt to have more.

“Wilson…I—”

“Shh,” he said, and then lifted his head and stared down into her eyes. “You wanted sex. I gave it to you. Now this time is for me. This is what it means to make love.”

Before she could answer, he covered her mouth again, stealing the breath from her body and the good sense from her soul. She would have panicked over what he’d just told her, but he left her no time to think—only feel.

He didn’t leave an inch of her skin untouched as he moved across her body with his hands and his lips. Twice Cat tried to take control of the situation by urging him to take her, and twice he refused with a soft whisper, then a sigh.

“Uh-uh,” he said, and slid his hands beneath her hips and lowered his head.

When he began circling her navel with his tongue, her heart rate accelerated. But when she felt the tip of his tongue sliding down her belly to the juncture of her thighs, she moaned. This was an intimacy involving trust—something she had never had with a sexual partner, something she had never allowed.

Even though she refused to admit there was more between them than a mutual appreciation for sex, she did know he wouldn’t hurt her.

Her muscles began to quiver as the pressure began to build. “Oh…oh, God, Wilson…”

Wilson had intended this as a means of showing Cat the difference between lust and intimacy, but the urgency in her voice and the way her body was trembling was like a drug he couldn’t quit.

Suddenly he felt the muscles in her body winding up, tightening and

tightening toward the inevitable climax. It was the sign he’d been waiting for. He rose up, then slid over and into her body.

The sensation was shattering, and it was only beginning. He took her slowly, burying himself deep, then pausing to savor the sensation. Then Cat moaned, and the sound pushed him over the edge. He rode the feeling as long as he could, and when the orgasm hit, he went with her, coming undone in her arms. When it was over, he lay spent and shaking, unable to move.

A short while later, he glanced over at the windows. Raindrops glittered on the outside of the glass, but it appeared that the storm was over.

Cat moved.

He thought he heard a soft sigh, but then she rolled off him and got out of bed.

“Do you want some coffee before you go?”