Hold on to Me (21 page)

Fire danced in the wake of his touch, and his mouth dampened the back of her knee, the small of her back, her nape once more. One hand covered her stomach, the other slid between her thighs, a long finger dipping inside her, tantalizing, driving her crazy.

“Tick, please.” She pushed into him. A second finger joined the first, but it wasn’t enough—she needed more, all of him, the connection of having him within her. Heat flushed her stomach, suffusing her body.

“God, you’re wet. And so damn hot.” He bit her shoulder, a light graze of teeth against skin. “I guess you’re clean,” he mumbled, erection pressed to her. “Still gonna knock my technique?”

“No.” With his fingers pushing her toward the edge? She shook her head, hair brushing his throat. The steamy line of his chest pressed to her spine, the rough cradle of his denim clad legs cupping her—he was all over her and still she wanted more, wanted them so close she didn’t know where she ended and he began. “I need you inside me, Calvert.”

A breeze tinged with earth and river swept over them, the cool air tightening her breasts further. He nuzzled the sensitive skin beneath her ear, increasing the wet pulsing between her thighs, sliding his thumb over her clitoris. “Like I needed to touch you earlier?”

The pressure intensified, and she gasped, wanting the end to come with him hard inside her, as deep and hard inside her as he could get. “Just…hurry.”

His maddening fingers left her and she shivered, trembling, every nerve ending sensitized, every sensation heightened. A zipper rasped, cellophane crinkled, denim rustled. A harsh intake of breath behind her, and he grasped her waist, widening her stance once more. She held her own breath, anticipation intensifying, and he entered her on a slow, driving thrust that filled the aching within.

She closed her eyes at the hard perfection of him. Her body throbbed and trembled around him, ready to tumble over the edge just from one stroke. “Oh, God, Calvert.”

He withdrew and plunged deeper, a hand slipping from her waist to plunder and tease between her legs. She tossed her head in a restless side-to-side motion, the exquisite sensation of him driving into her too much, his fingers vibrating over too-sensitive areas, until she thought she’d scream with the need for release.

“Tell me, Cait,” he murmured near her ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” The torn whisper didn’t sound like her and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I want you, all of you.”

“Like that?” He adjusted his stance, tilting her so his next thrust was impossibly intense. Shivers coursed through her.

“
Tick
, yes.” She let her head fall back and he dragged his open lips across her neck to her shoulder, biting gently. “Please…”

When she came, the painful pleasure firing through her, she clamped the cry down, much as she could feel her own muscles clamping on his hardened length. He gasped a chuckle and tightened his hold on her, wrapping her close, maintaining the rhythm of his thrusts until her orgasm faded. She sagged into him, legs quivering like jelly and refusing to support her.

He laughed, winded and hoarse, against her shoulder. “Holy hell, you’re going to kill me.”

Unable to speak, she struggled for air, clutching his denim-clad thighs. The zipper at his open fly scratched against tender skin, but was nothing compared to the aftershock rocking her. Finally, she blew out a slow breath, eyes closed, sliding her palms over his legs. He kissed the side of her neck and shifted his hips, still hard within her.

A sweet emotion curled in her, and she turned her head to brush her mouth over his cheek.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered, a dark, deep drawl.

“Yes.” She curved a hand along his jaw, entire being infused with his warmth, with him. “Whatever you want, Lamar Eugene.”

Disengaging from her body, he took her hand and drew her inside.

In the bedroom, he stripped off his jeans and reached to turn on the lamp. Caitlin, standing by his bed, blinked at the muted light, a new unease running over her. One hand drifted down to conceal the physical proof of the damage Fuller had inflicted. “Tick—”

“Sshh.” Under his kiss, her nervousness faded, disappearing completely as he pushed her gently onto the mattress and followed her down, as he parted her thighs and entered her again, setting a deep, steady rhythm that made her forget everything but him.

When it was over, with thrums of pleasure still running through her body, Caitlin tried to regain her ability to breathe. Lying where he’d collapsed against her, Tick gasped, his face pressed into her throat. Filled by a surge of happiness so strong she wanted to laugh aloud, she caressed the strong line of his back. Oh, she’d missed this, missed
him
.

He traced the curve of her jaw with a fingertip. “You’re beautiful.”

She swallowed hard at the reverence in his rough whisper. The same finger traveled over her lips and across her cheek, stopping to stroke the skin below her ear. He kissed her neck, temple, cheekbone and finally her lips. “So, so beautiful.”

Caitlin closed her eyes, letting his drawl wash over her, soaking in the pure emotion in his words. She let her hands wander up his arms, pressing into his shoulders, his muscles bunching and trembling under her touch.

He kissed her, mouth finding hers again in a caress containing more affection than desire. He slid his palms along her skin, skimming her waist and easing up her rib cage before he pulled away.

“I want to see you,” he whispered, voice raw as he stared at her, his eyes glittering. He smoothed his lips against her shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

Digging into his hair, she closed her eyes and held him. Tears burned behind her lids. She wasn’t perfect, not in the way that counted, the way that would really matter to him.

He whispered kisses over the line of her ribs with long, lazy movements, moving lower.

The scars.

For all she knew, he’d already seen them. Hell, she knew he had in the living room earlier. Somehow, knowing he would see them now was worse. She reached for him, to pull him up to her before he saw the disfigurements, but the harsh hiss of his indrawn breath stopped her. She cringed. He cradled the jut of her hip bones, and the warmth of his cheek rested against the damaged flesh.

“God, precious, I’m so sorry this happened to you, so sorry I wasn’t there.”

She couldn’t bear the concern in his voice. Dread settled into an icy lump in her stomach, dissipating the warmth left by their lovemaking. She pushed away, up against the pillows, completely separated from him now.

“Don’t.”

A confused frown drew his brows together over worried brown eyes. “Cait, they don’t matter.”

How could he say that? Sitting, she pulled up her knees and reached for the sheet, the mingled scent of their bodies embracing her. He could say it because he didn’t realize what they represented. Didn’t realize exactly how those scars stood between them.

“Oh, hell.” Frustration shook his voice.

Fighting the chill invading her limbs, she pulled the sheet higher. “What?”

Sitting at the edge of the mattress, he didn’t look at her, his face set in grim lines. “The damned condom broke. I’ll be right back.”

After he left the bed, she rolled to her side. Water ran in the bathroom. Black night hovered beyond the window, the rumpled bed reflected in the glass. Her pleasure disappeared, like water evaporating under a hot summer sun. She’d assured him he wouldn’t be sorry in the morning, but could she really do that? She swallowed the tightness gripping her throat and willed the tears away.

His form appeared in the reflection, distorted by the old wavy glass. She closed her eyes, and the bed dipped behind her. He covered her stomach with one hand, kissed her shoulder. “Cait? I’m sorry about that—”

“It’s all right.” She fought against the compulsion to turn into his touch. “It happens.”

He shifted to lie down, his arm across her chest as he pulled her down with him. “You don’t have to worry about an STD.”

Like he had to tell her that. If that had been a worry, he wouldn’t have taken her to bed. Surely he realized she knew that much about him. “You either.”

With gentle pressure, he turned her in his easy embrace, his expression intense as he stared down. “If you get pregnant—”

“No worries there, either.” She pushed away from him. “I’m not going to get pregnant.”

He stared at her a long moment. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” She clenched her fists until her knuckles burned and her nails bit into her skin. “It’s not in my future, Calvert.”

Just saying the words hurt. She’d surprised him, the sudden tension in his body betraying him. “Not ever?”

“Not ever.”

“And that’s not negotiable?”

Throat too tight to form words, she shook her head. Arguing with the facts—the removal of an ovary and Fallopian tube, a uterus so damaged by Fuller’s attack her doctor doubted it would support a pregnancy past the second trimester, if she made it that far—was pointless.

She sucked in a deep breath and swallowed. “The attack…he damaged me.”

“Don’t say that.” He cradled her nape, his eyes fierce. “Not like that.”

“The chances that I could conceive are small and I probably wouldn’t be able to carry a baby to term if I did.”

He caressed her chin with long, gentle fingers. “I guess you think that changes things.”

She tugged free of his easy hold. “There’s more—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” she scoffed. “It has to and we both know it does matter. It’s already changed things. You’re different. I can feel it.”

“I don’t want to rush things. I’m learning not to push with you, precious.” A wry smile curved his mouth. “Why don’t we do this one step at a time? I’ll promise not to push; you promise not to pull away all the time.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Yeah, you have. Somewhere I can’t follow.” He stroked her face. “Come back to me, Cait, and hold on to me, just for tonight.”

She let him pull her closer, tucked into his side, and she wrapped an arm around his waist, wanting to believe. He reached over to flick off the lamp, darkness surrounding them. She traced her thumb over his ribcage, he smoothed his hand over her hair.

Two sleepless hours later, she slipped away from his easy hold and gathered her clothes, dressing in the dim light filtering from the kitchen.

“Tick?” Tying her blouse into a loose knot at the waist, Caitlin perched on the edge of the bed. He’d slept, finally, although she’d felt the tension in him for at least an hour after his plea that she come back to him. He didn’t stir now.

She traced his features, relaxed in sleep, tousled hair falling over his forehead in dark strands. Her heart ached, a hard, clenching pain in her chest. She wouldn’t trade this time with him for anything.

And she wanted more. She wanted everything. Only there was so much still in the way.

One step at a time, he’d said.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his stubbled jaw, letting his clean scent fill her nose. He shifted, mumbled, lashes lifting for a moment. “What?”

Sleepy and rumpled, he was incredibly appealing, and she smiled. She feathered his hair away from his forehead.

“I have to go,” she whispered. “I’ll see you later.”

He nodded, eyes slipping closed again. “Careful, okay?”

She kissed him and made herself pull away. “Always.”

Someone had been outside his house.

Anger simmering under his skin, Tick eyed the footprints at the edge of the clay path. He’d discovered them when he’d set out to check the timed fish feeder on the dock.

He looked around at Cookie and Jeff. He’d called Cookie upon finding the prints and been surprised when the two showed up together. “What do you think?”

Cookie rubbed a hand over his mouth. “A poacher, maybe?”

“Could be.” Tick frowned. The woods surrounding the place were rich in deer and other wildlife but something about those impressions bothered him. It didn’t
feel
like a wayward hunter. He glanced toward the river and his dock, hidden by a bend in the trail. Whoever it was had stopped here, paced a while, leaned against a tree.

Cookie came to stand beside him. He lifted his head, sharp gray eyes trained on the woods stretching away along the riverbed. “Heck of a place to be stumbling about in the dark. One wrong step and you’re in a mess of trouble. Wicked currents.”

“How about I photo and cast ’em?” Jeff’s leather gunbelt creaked as he shifted his weight. “I need the practice and if it is a poacher, you’ll have the evidence for the forestry ranger.”

Tick turned back toward the house. “Y’all want some breakfast—”

The offer strangled in his throat.

Jeff looked at him. “What?”

Facing the house, Tick was looking straight at his driveway, the sun deck…

And the back porch.

Holy hell.

Nausea rose in his belly and for a second he thought he’d actually vomit. Images tumbled through his mind, the sweet surrender of Caitlin’s body to his, her subdued cry when she came. The idea of someone watching that, watching them in those moments of ultimate intimacy…hell, he felt worse than invaded.

He felt violated.

“Tick?” Cookie nudged his shoulder. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” He blinked, surveyed the area where they stood, glanced at the house. Shit. “Come on. We’ll let Jeff play.”

On the porch, he stopped at the railing. In the morning light, he could just barely make out Jeff’s form crouched over the task of casting the footprints. At night, one wouldn’t able to see anything there.

But the mercury light would make everything on the porch visible from the woods.

“Freakin’ hell.” He restrained himself from kicking something and shoved the back door open.

“Yeah, you look like freakin’ hell,” Cookie said. He pulled mugs from the cabinet while Tick started the coffee maker with stiff movements. “Did you sleep last night?”

“Not really.” He’d slept, in short bursts between making love to Caitlin. And after that conversation about her probable inability to have children, he’d lain awake, staring into the dark until exhaustion took him around five thirty. He dimly remembered her leaving him shortly after.

A cold blend of fear and distaste slithered down his spine. Had whoever’d been in the woods been there when she left?

Arms crossed over his chest, Cookie shook his head. “Me, either. Trying to get my mind around this case.”

Tick pulled the carafe out and stuck his mug under the stream of coffee, then repeated the act with Cookie’s. Taking a cautious sip of the steaming brew, he watched Cookie add an inordinate amount of sugar and cream. “Lord, Cookie, would you like a little coffee with your sugar rush?”

Cookie chuckled, stirring. “So Falconetti’s okay, huh?”

Better than okay. Spectacular. Incredible. Mind blowing. And more capable of pissing him off than any woman he’d ever met. More capable of hurting him without trying, too. “What do you mean?”

“She was in bad shape Saturday night, but she didn’t look any the worse for wear yesterday when y’all were liplocked in the Tank and Tummy parking lot.”

“I swear, if I hear one word about that in the county, I’ll—”

“I ain’t going to say anything. I might want to embarrass you, but not her.”

Tick stared at him, struck by the real respect in Cookie’s voice. “You like her, don’t you?”

“She’s all right for a Fibbie. What she sees in you I’ll never understand.” Cookie sucked the end of his coffee spoon and laid it aside. “She did you, didn’t she?”

Tick choked. Coughing, he grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth. “What?”

“You have ‘just got laid’ all over you.” Cookie surveyed him. “And what looks like a good case of mad, too.”

With a glance at the door and the porch behind, Tick sighed. “From where those prints are? You can see everything on my porch.”

“Yeah? And…oh. Shit. So some of the action happened out there.”

“Yeah.” Tick dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t think it was a damn poacher in my woods.”

“Well, that explains why you’re wound so tight. I was wondering, if you’d gotten laid by a woman whose voice is a wet dream, what was up to make you so pissy.”

“Would you stop referring to it that way? I wasn’t looking to get laid. I was looking for—”

“Oh, shit. If you say love and forever, or anything else along those lines, I’ll puke, Lamar. Seriously.”

“Why do I bother trying to talk to you?” Tick said with an irritated grunt. “You’d never get it.”

“Man, I don’t want to get it.” Cookie snorted but sobered quickly. “Having someone watching your house is not good, Tick. It could be our guy, and I doubt he’s got his eyes on you.”

Tick’s head jerked up. He didn’t want to know what Cookie was getting at, although his mind had already gone there, too. “What do you mean?”

Cradling his mug, Cookie settled onto an island stool. “He’s been laughing at us for days, probably, if not weeks. I’m not completely sold on Falconetti’s theory that he’s a cop, but somehow, I think the son of a bitch knows everything we’re doing. Like he’s watching and laughing. In his head, he’s calling us country bumpkin county mounties, probably. Not intimidated by us in the least. Your girl? Now she could be a challenge.”

“She’s not—” Oh, hell, why deny it? He grabbed the cordless phone. And right now, he didn’t actually know where his girl was. Before he could punch in Caitlin’s number, the device shrilled to life. “Calvert.”

“Do you by any chance have my cell?” Her husky voice washed over him, bringing with it a surge of relief. She was annoyed but safe, obviously.

“No, why?”

“When I packed up this morning, I couldn’t find it.” In the background, he heard a rustling—paper, clothing, maybe. Her voice dropped away for a moment and came back. “I thought I’d left it on your porch table, but it wasn’t there. I wondered if maybe you’d picked it up.”

Sheer dread skittered over his nerves. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I haven’t seen it. Where are you?”

“Um…” Again, her voice faded. “My hotel, trying to get dressed. I went for a run. Am I late?”

“No, actually, I’m not at the office yet.” He met Cookie’s steady gaze. “Listen, Cait, I want you to be careful. More careful than you normally would.”

A pause hummed over the line. “Why?”

Lord, he didn’t want to tell her this. “Someone was outside the house last night. In the woods.”

“Outside.” Horrified realization slipped into her tone. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah.” His stomach knotted. “It could just be a poacher, a local kid maybe, but I want you to be…alert.”

“You don’t think it’s a poacher or a kid.”

Lying wasn’t an option. “No. Just be careful, precious.”

“I will. I’ll see you at the station.”

He dropped the phone in the charging cradle and frowned.

“What?”

He looked up and met Cookie’s incisive gaze. “She can’t find her cell. She thought she’d left it on the porch last night. It could be somewhere else but—”

“But we didn’t find Amy or Sharon or Vontressa’s cell phones. Anywhere.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“She can take care of herself, Tick. You know that.”

He did, only…he hadn’t been there once before to stop her being hurt. A shudder worked its way over him.

“So what about the tape?” Cookie jerked his chin toward the television. “Was Johnson on it?”

Regret stirred in Tick’s stomach again. “Yeah. Would you believe I talked to her? Gave her directions.”

“And knowing you, you’re wracked with guilt.”

Voices outside heralded Jeff’s return. Tick glanced through the glass of his kitchen door to see Stanton standing on the brick walk, with Jeff showing him the completed casts.

Eyeing his former partner’s grim expression, Tick frowned. “What is he doing here?”

“He doesn’t look happy,” Cookie said, smirking. “What did you do?”

“Who knows?” He had a good idea, though.

“Probably knows where you’ve been dipping your wick. Can’t stand her, can he?”

“No.” With a sigh, Tick grabbed his mug and crossed to open the door. “Want some coffee, Stanny-boy?”

“Not really.” Stanton strode up the steps.

“I’m going to take a look at those casts.” Cookie shot a less-than-sympathetic look at Tick and rose. “They look like crap from here.”

“They are crap,” Stanton said. “Too smudgy to do anything with.”

Tick settled onto one of the two stools facing the island and waited.

Stanton crossed his arms over his chest and rested a hip against the counter. “Tell me Falconetti’s coming up with something.”

Oh, here they went again. “She’s working on it. She wants to send our evidence to the FBI lab, and she’s right. We’ll get the results back a heck of a lot quicker. Kimberly Johnson’s partner brought us a ton of information last night, and we’ve been wading through—”

“Is she profiling or investigating?”

Tick knew that snide tone and he didn’t like it. “A victimology involves investigating. You know that as well as I do. Back off.”

“You’re sleeping with her again, aren’t you?”

“Stan, that’s really not—”

“Her rental car was here last night and y’all didn’t even bother to move it from the station lot the night before. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s going on. And believe me, Troy Lee is all over this one.”

Irritation licked at Tick’s gut. He didn’t have to explain his actions to anyone. “I’m allowed to have a personal life. You know what that is, right? It’s what I do on my own time.”

Stanton leaned forward. “It’s not what you’re doing, it’s
who
you’re doing. You’re a commanding officer in this department. These guys, not to mention the community, watch every move you make. She’s a visiting agent who hasn’t been here a week yet, and y’all are already in the sack.”

“You’re the sheriff, and you’re doing the public defender.”

A flush darkened Stanton’s face, and his jaw tightened. “That’s not the same thing.”

Tick tried to appear relaxed, not like he wanted to go for his best friend’s throat. “Isn’t it? Where was Autry Holton’s car parked last night? Her drive or yours?”

Stanton slapped a hand on the counter. “Damn it, Tick, we’re not talking about Autry.”

“Why? Because she’s more deserving of respect than Cait is?” The words emerged with cold, deadly precision.

“I did not say that.”

“No, but you sure as hell implied it. Go ahead and say it, Stan. What’s really on your mind?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“You have a weird way of showing it.”

“Would you shut up and listen a minute? You’re getting in over your head, and I’d rather not watch you get kicked in the gut.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you going to do when she leaves?”

The question hit him like the kick to the gut Stanton alluded to. What would he do? “I—”

“Think about it, Tick. She’s a bureau profiler, one of ten. It’s a career that’s taken her a decade to build. What does this place have to offer her?” Stanton’s voice was intense, concerned.

Him. It offered her him, but would that be enough? Damn, he needed a cigarette. “I don’t know.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?”

He was doing the only thing he could—falling for her again and making the most of the time he had. His feelings weren’t going to go away, and he couldn’t let her leave without at least trying to convince her they had a future. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. I really don’t want to, either. It’s like watching you put yourself in the line of fire, knowing you’re going to get your ass blown away and not being able to do anything about it.” Stanton glowered. “Damn it, Tick, this is the same woman who jeopardized your safety when you were down in Mississippi.”

Tick stiffened. “What? She wouldn’t—”

“She called me to try to contact you while you were gone. And she knew the risks involved in getting a message to you. It was hell trying to get her to back off.” Stanton shook his head, disparagement heavy in his voice. “Know what that tells me? That what she wants is more important than protocol, than your life.”

A tap on the door forestalled Tick’s reply and Jeff stuck his head in the room. “Just thought you two would like to know we can hear every word out here. Cookie’s laying odds on who’s going to throw the first punch.”