Dead Ringer (33 page)

She closed her eyes on a sigh. He'd always be true to his word. That was what she liked about him.

She rubbed her hands down one muscled thigh. His feet and toes were damp from the rain, but strong and powerful, like the rest of him. She came back up the other leg slowly, letting her hands wander over every part of him. But when her ringers skimmed the ridge near his right hip, they stopped and retraced their path along the edges of a long scar.

"What's this?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing." She kissed the puckered line and he trembled. "What happened?"

"Long story," he whispered, pulling her up and stopping the questions with a kiss. "Another time." He brought her hand to his mouth, and she forgot about everything but the way blue fire intensified in his eyes.

The blanket fell away and her breasts swung freely. He touched them with a sigh of pleasure. The nipples stiffened, peaking under his attention, and he raised his mouth to them. Slowly he ran his tongue in warm wet circles, and she arched back so that his liquid touch was the only contact between them. Desire swirled inside her, hotter and higher, like nothing she'd ever felt before. Fear jabbed-
don't lose control
-but it faded as he buried his head between her breasts and held her as if she were sweet and precious.

And when he raised his head and claimed her mouth, she gave it to him willingly, wildly, wanting to drink in his goodness and make it her own.

"I can't wait anymore," she said breathlessly.

"Then don't."

She slid over him and they fused into each other.

A gasp escaped her as she sheathed him completely, the feeling a wonder and surprise. They moved together gradually, the rhythm drugging and powerful. She groaned, her hips working. God, she never wanted to stop. He felt so good.
Finn.
God.

Sweat slicked his shoulders and his neck. His jaw was tight with holding himself back. But she couldn't stop the dance, she had to go on and on, riding faster, the blaze sizzling inside her. He held on to her breasts, squeezing and fondling and sending flames shooting into the deepest part of her.

"That's it," he whispered hoarsely. "Come on, Angel. Spread your wings for me."

And suddenly the inferno was too much; she couldn't stop herself. Party lights shattered inside her, bright and glittery and alive in the darkness.

Breathing hard, she collapsed against his chest. His arms went around her, holding her, stroking. He kissed her forehead at the hairline, and she lay quiet in the circle of his arms.

And then the voice in her head started.
You lost control, party girl.
The words hissed and rattled.
You lost control to a loose cannon. To the first man you couldn 't manage. You can't even manage your own response to him.

She tensed, heart racing, but for an entirely different reason now. Fear settled like a shard of ice at the base of her spine.

And then, as if he'd heard the voice himself, Finn spoke softly. "It's all right." He stroked her back, soothing, gentling. "You're okay. I won't hurt you. We can stop anytime."

His hands glided over her, slow and easy. They made no demands, just gave warm, sure comfort. And as they moved, the tension oozed out of her until she lay languid again. Safe in his arms.

Safe.

Something she'd never felt before with a man.

Safe and free.

A great weightlessness settled over her, boundless and buoyant, like floating
on the
ocean. No more manipulation. She didn't have to control Finn to protect herself. Because he would never ask more of her than she was willing to give.

That's what love is, party girl

Not a power play, but a meeting of respect and caring between two equals.

Two equals like her and Finn.

She felt dizzy, light-headed with new knowledge. Carefully, she rolled to one side, still joined with him. "I don't want to stop," she whispered. "I want you to show me what the mighty TCF can do."

Slipping beneath him, she felt the pleasure of a man above, the broad width of his body, his shoulders and arms, so much more powerful than her own. Power leashed to protect and safeguard. To love and care for.

She smiled up at him and his blue eyes warmed. His tongue washed her lips, igniting a slow burn inside her, and she opened her mouth to him, tasting and exploring.

His hips moved in languorous rhythm, and she could feel him still hard inside her. She pressed him down over her, wanting him close and tight, wanting to make this beautiful and wonderful for him.

He started slow, supporting himself on his arms. His muscles bunched and strained, but he lingered, steady and exquisite. She quivered and he bent down to her, kissing her with sweetness, his tongue laving her with gentleness.

And then he pulled her into his arms and she felt the length of him all down her body. His hips moved faster. He breathed into her ear and it felt like her own breath. She wanted to give him everything, wanted to lose herself to him, in him. She urged him on, his hips against hers a sea of desire; each stroke crashed against her shore reeling her in deeper and deeper.

"Angel, my God."

His ragged voice nearly sent her over the edge. She did have power over him, the power to please, to bring him mindless bliss. She wrapped her legs around him, brought him in tighter and deeper, all for him, to give him herself, anything he needed. But he held back as though waiting for permission, waiting for her. She felt it in the tense muscles of his arms, saw it on his sweat-slicked chest. She hugged him close, felt him shudder with need, and his desire for her set her on fire. She was a bomb about to go off, a scream about to shatter glass.

"Go," she said, the word a breathless pant. "Take me. Whatever you want."

"Come with me," he ground out.

Any last scraps of self-control vanished. She surrendered to the moment and to him. Utterly, completely, with everything that was in her. Without warning, she disintegrated around him, quaking with pleasure.

* * *

Finn bucked in her arms, his climax breath-stealing, shattering. Dead. He had to be dead. He closed his eyes and breathed her in.
That's right, pal, breathe. Just breathe.
Slowly, gradually, at last his heart settled into a jog instead of a race.

He kissed her on the neck, below the ear. "I always knew you'd be a handful, Angel. But Christ, I didn't think you'd suck my soul from me."

He looked down at her face, so beautiful in the lamplight. Her lips curved in a saucy smile, but her eyes glowed with a different light. "The earth moved for me, too, Sharkman."

He laughed and pecked at her warm, full lips, then slid off to lie beside her.

"What am I going to do with you?" He opened his arms and she settled against him.

"Use me like the dog you are?"

He smiled up at the rock ceiling and gave her a short, tight squeeze. "Maybe. But not for about ten minutes."

"Mmm." She kissed his chest, setting his pulse off again. "I don't know if I can wait ten minutes."

He groaned, the blood thickening again in his groin.

She slipped one soft, fleshy thigh between his, rubbing against the hardening organ. "See? You have no faith in yourself, Sharkman."

"Come here," he growled, pulling her on top of him. He settled inside her, warm and wet and comfortable.

Above him her full breasts swayed softly as she rocked. The sight was excruciatingly exciting, but then, so was the sight of her hips, lusciously curved below his belly, and the place where they joined. Suddenly, need ratcheted up a thousandfold and he wanted to slam into her the way he'd wanted to moments ago. But like then, he bit down on the fierce desire and let her set the pace. It was sweet and languid, and in the end, just as blistering.

They slept for a while afterward, her head on his shoulder. He woke to find her leaning over him, her head braced on one hand, staring as though she were trying to memorize his face.

"Hey, sleepyhead." She ran a ringer over his lips.

"Hey yourself."

She slipped down, nestling against him. Was she all right? Christ, he hoped so because he felt damn fine.

He pulled her close against him. "How you doing, tough guy?"

"Like I was starved and just had dinner."

He grinned up at the ceiling. He knew exactly how she felt. She skimmed a hand down his chest, past his navel and lower.

He groaned. "I need a time-out."

She laughed and her hand hung a right and skimmed the place where Morales's bullet had shattered his hip.

"Tell me about this then."

He captured her fingers, moving it away from the scar.

"It's a long story."

"So you said. But we're having a time-out."

She propped her head on her hand again and gazed down at him. For once the green eyes were soft and compassionate, and they sent a wave of uneasiness crashing against him.

He started to sit up. "We should get out of here." She pushed him back down. "It's still pouring out. I checked while you were sleeping. So suck it up; you're not getting out of this."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"You've already seen mine. You've got a file on me that's probably three inches thick."

"Don't flatter yourself. It's only two inches."

Her free hand found the scar again, fingers rubbing the raised edges. "Appendix?"

"Too low. Besides, that's the other side."

"Liposuction?"

He sighed. He really did not want to do this. "Bullet."

Her fingers stopped. Fear and concern flashed across her face. "Jack's bullet?"

He tensed and turned to her in surprise, "What do you know about that?"

"Jack told me you saved his life once."

Jack.
He saw the face again, the easy grin, the teasing brown eyes. "That's not what happened," he said in a low voice. "Jack exaggerates." A hitch of grief while he remembered. "Exaggerated. He always ... exaggerated."

"Bullshit."

He sat up. She sure knew how to ruin the mood. "Look, this is very old news. Sure you want to hear it?"

She nodded. "Oh, yeah."

An anxious pulse hammered at his head. He shoved a hand through his hair trying to figure out the quickest, least emotional way to explain. "Jack and I were working a case tracking down white supremacists who were funding their activities through the drug trade. We had a lead on the supplier, who turned out to be head of a ring handling distribution throughout the Midwest. The lead was through an informant. An ex-stripper and ex-addict who was the supplier's onetime girlfriend."

The words came out flat and detached, but he couldn't stop the memories from flooding his mind. Suzy's paper-thin body, wracked by crack and heroin, nursing bruises and broken bones, and so pitiful, his heart broke.

Come on, Suzy. Wake up. Walk it off. That's right, baby. You can do it. Hold on. You can do it.

"I helped her get cleaned up, and she gave us a lot of useful information."

Suzy's brown eyes wide and healthy again; a little weight looking good on her now. The new apartment he'd found for her, flowers he'd brought on the kitchen table. Drinking her coffee, proud of her. Of himself. Of what he'd done for her.

The creep broke my arm. You bet I want to get the bastard.

"Using her information as a basis, we went undercover and worked the lead for over a year in a joint operation with the DEA. We were ready to make a move and close down shop. Jack and I went for a final meet and the whole thing exploded."

The smell of that vacant warehouse-concrete and metal and stale, empty air. The glazed smile back on Suzy's face. Nodding off. High again. Her arm around Morales, his around her shoulders, his hand creeping down to stroke her breast. In front of him. Daring him to do something about it.

We know who you are, Mr. Federal Agent. Thanks to your wife, we know everything about you.

Like a knife through his heart.

"Seems my informant had gone back to her old ways and sold us out for a lifetime supply of crack."

I'm tired of living your life, baby. Your stuck-up, boring life.

He' d pushed Jack out of the way and the shot smashed into Finn, an answer to a prayer.

"So you did save Jack's life."

"Saved it?" He snorted. "If it weren't for me, his life wouldn't have been threatened in the first place."

And now he was dead anyway. The thought hung between them.

"It wasn't your fault," she said softly.

He sighed. "Then why do I feel so shitty about it?"

"Because you take things to heart. Feel too much."

"I thought I was an unfeeling bastard."

"That, too." She smiled and kissed his shoulder. "So what happened to her? The informant."

Suzy.
He didn't want to think about that loss, too. "She OD'd while I was still in the hospital."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me, too."

"Are you?' She looked at him curiously. "She betrayed you. She almost got you killed. Why should you care what happened to her?"

Now it came. Full confession.
Father, I have sinned. I have been stupid and blind and fooled by the oldest trick in the book. Love.

But he didn't have to say it. Sudden understanding crossed Angelina's face. "Ohhh, I get it. Oh, my God. Shit. You fell in love with her."

Much worse than that, Angel. "I married her."

Was she laughing? She should be. It was a big fat joke all right. It cost him an official reprimand plus a suspension, and almost got him kicked out for good.

But no, only shock and sympathy showed on her beautiful face. "My God." She lay down, arms behind her head. "Well, that explains a lot."

"A lot of what?"

"A lot of what went on between you and me."

She was right, but he didn't want her to be. "One thing has nothing to do with the other."

"Doesn't it?"

He rolled over so he could see her. Sadness lurked in her eyes. Self-recrimination, too. "You're nothing like her," he said. "Do you hear me? You are not her. I was an asshole and it took me a damn long time to figure that out, but now I have."