Last Call (6 page)

God, how she wanted him.

Past tense,
Rhys
.
You don't
want him now.

"And no one is going to hurt you," he said.
"That is something I won't allow."

"You can't know that, Nick," she said
softly.

"Maybe not," he conceded, toying with a strand
of her hair. "But I can promise you one thing. This time we go down
together."

As opposed to last time when you
walked out without a word?

His eyes darkened as if he read her thoughts.
"Rhys—"

A change of subject was in order.

"Okay if I take a shower?" A bath would have
been better but she didn't trust hotels to sanitize quite to her
standards. Besides, she didn't need to lounge naked in Nick's
general vicinity.

Some of his tension drained. "Yeah, that would
be a good idea. You need help?"

She glanced from his jaw, where the growing
stubble begged for her touch, to his eyes. They twinkled
impishly.

"I'll manage."

Thirty minutes later, she'd washed away the
dirt, residual smoke and a lot of her aches. She wrapped herself in
a thick robe provided by the hotel and left the bathroom, feeling
exposed even with the robe tied tightly around her
middle.

When she stepped from the bathroom, Nick
glanced up from a chair by the drawn curtains. He traded one
expression for another until settling on a polite mask betraying
nothing of his thoughts. "Bandages okay?"

She nodded. Using the pain to maintain focus,
she'd peeled off the dressing and let the soap and shampoo wash
over the wound. She especially now needed to maintain that grip on
reality with nothing but a double bed standing between her and
Nick.

"Your turn," she said.

His brow lifted.

"For the shower."

"I need to keep an eye on you," he said, but
he got up anyway.

Was he serious? If his words were a dig, they
hit their target. "For God's sake," she said. "I think we came from
the same place — one, I might add, where we were equals. I'm not
stupid."

He crossed the room and paused at the door to
the bathroom. "I know you're not," he conceded. "Thing is, I've
never been afraid of stupidity. It's the ones who are too smart for
their own good who scare me. And you, Rhys, scare the hell out of
me."

Stunned, she froze. She wanted to ask him why
— to find out what brought that wistful tone to his voice — but
before she could open her mouth, he disappeared into the bathroom,
pulling shut the door.

Which left her thinking about how very naked
he would be on the other side.

Chapter Five

When Nick left the bathroom, he found Rhys
asleep on the bed, the covers tucked to her chin. Her long hair
sprawled wildly around her head and gleamed in the dim light. She'd
probably never been more beautiful, except maybe in that moment at
the warehouse he'd discerned the rise and fall of her chest when
he'd thought her dead.

He fought to remind himself she was hiding
something, but nagging inconsistencies in her story couldn't
discredit what had been building between them for years.

On feelings he refused to label.

He figured it out when he left.
Hell, he'd left eight months ago
because
he'd figured it out. Because
he couldn't do his job with those personal feelings clouding his
vision. Because as he held her while blood pulsed from the hole
he'd blasted into her, he realized he couldn't be objective where
she was concerned. In all likelihood those emotions, before he'd
put a name to them, had put a man in the ground.

When Nick heard Rhys's injuries had ended her
career, a small part of him had actually felt relief. Maybe that
would keep her safe because he sure as hell couldn't.

And the guilt had eaten him up ever
since.

Rhys stretched, favoring her injured arm even
in her sleep. Nick fought mightily the urge to crawl onto the bed
and envelope her. Claim her.

No
.

The van driver had been looking at
Rhys when he said Detective, so logic stood to reason he spoke to
her. Of that, Nick was almost positive. Which begged two questions:
how could the man know Rhys? And if he did — if he'd been in on
things with Cutter — why would he address her that way? Nick hadn't
forgotten how the man who'd referred to Rhys as Nick's girlfriend
had addressed
him
as Detective, but that didn't negate his suspicions. Whoever
contacted him knew of his past. Per Cutter's assurance, the driver
wasn't supposed to know anything about Nick or Rhys, including
their affiliation with PD. Something just didn't feel
right.

Too exhausted to make sense of anything, Nick
spared a cursory glance at the chairs bookending the table by the
window before dismissing the idea of claiming one. Which left just
one alternative, unless he was willing to sleep on the floor — an
option he'd consider had Rhys been more of a stranger to him. But
whatever they were, they weren't strangers, so he took a chance and
climbed on the bed next to her and crawled under the coverlet,
staying on top of the sheet to give her a modicum of privacy. Or
himself a line of defense if she gave him hell for sharing her
bed.

Hell was all he got.

Rhys taunted him in her sleep. Months he'd
dreamed of her, his only consolation in knowing he'd done the right
thing by letting her go. Now, in a cruel twist of fate, he'd almost
lost her again only to finally land in her bed, so teasingly close
it made him ache. The scent of hotel shampoo assaulted him with her
every restless move. He longed to comfort her but couldn't bring
himself to breach the narrow veil of trust between them.

As the early signs of morning crept through a
crack in the drapes, Nick dozed. Laying on his side so he faced
her, he watched her through half-closed lids; through one such
narrow glimpse, he saw her eyes were on him. A glimpse into that
familiar blue, and a quick surge of adrenaline took some of the
sleep from his brain.

Before he could speak, she reached for him.
She touched his face, her fingertips tracing his jaw.

Nick shivered though his blood
raged, setting fire to every sexual urge he'd ever repressed in her
honor. And there were plenty. He blinked, unsure if he'd ever seen
such a loving expression. She'd never touched him so intimately,
nor had he ever imagined fingertips on his skin could
be
so
intimate.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to feel
her surround him. But he couldn't bring himself to move. He didn't
want to break this spell between them.

Rhys's eyes drifted closed and her touch lost
some of its intensity. Ever so slowly, her hand slid from his jaw
to his chest, then to the bed between them.

He watched her face, visualizing
her body under the covers. He had every curve memorized, at least
as much as he'd imagined touching her. But nothing had ever come
close to the moment she touched
him
. Ridiculous hope surged — begging
for a chance he had no right to want. He'd walked away. As much as
he'd loved her, he'd given up. It didn't matter why.

Rhys murmured something in her sleep. He tried
not to stare at her lips, but his desire to discern what she said
rallied past common courtesy, and won. "What is it,
Rhys?"

Her eyes flittered open, then closed, but not
before her fingers again found him. Again she murmured something.
Soft rays of light through the carelessly drawn drapes lit her
face, and her sleepy tone — in that moment, in the bed they shared
— wrapped him in a kind of closeness he'd never before known. Yet
he craved it already.

"
Corey
."

She whispered the name as if it held the
weight of the world… and her whole heart, too.

Fuck
.

****

When Rhys awoke, she stared at the unfamiliar
room for several long moments before she remembered where she
was.

And with whom.

Oh, no.

She looked down, relieved she still wore the
robe. The belt had loosened somewhat, but she still had a handle on
modesty, even if Nick had peeked under the covers.

Nick
.
Where was Nick? A brief, frantic search revealed his location —
sprawled in a chair by the table. She tried to steady her breath,
but with his eyes boring into her the battle was already
lost.

A glance at the clock indicated late morning.
With some difficulty, she managed an awkward sitting position. "Why
did you let me sleep so late?"

"You were tired." He gave a tense
shrug, the casual gesture anything but. "I think you gave new
meaning to the phrase
sweet
dreams
."

She recoiled. Had she spoken of him in her
sleep? She searched his face for clues, but found no trace of the
smirk she'd expect had she confessed her feelings. No, something
else was up. "I've been thinking," she said.

"Funny, I thought you were
sleeping."

Rhys glared at him. "I've
been
thinking
. I
want to see the news coverage. Did you say there was a press
conference?"

"Yep. If you were dead, you'd have still been
warm when they put it out there."

She shook her head. "That doesn't make
sense."

"Agreed." He studied her, his mouth etched
into a frown.

"Did you recognize who gave the announcement?"
He'd been gone eight months, but the department turnover was pretty
low.

"No, I didn't," he admitted, strained. "I was
a little distracted by the news of your death."

"Fair enough. Look, the only way we're going
to figure this out is by digging, and I can't dig from a hotel
room."

One of his eyebrows lifted. "From where do you
propose we dig?"

"Your place."

"My place? You really think that's a good
idea?"

She shrugged. "We can't go to my apartment so
that kind of leaves yours. I need a computer."

"Um, that kind of leaves neither. I don't want
to take any chances with this, Rhys. I told you before that someone
had my phone number before anyone knew I was back. I don't know who
we're up against and I don't know why."

"And we're not going to find out sitting in a
hotel room."

He didn't flinch. "I've got Cutter on
it."

She frowned, inwardly sidestepping the twinge
of discomfort that seemed to follow Nick's association with Cutter.
"You seem to forget Cutter isn't ours this time."

"Yeah, well, guess what, Rhys. I no longer
have any contacts in this town. Next time you get yourself killed
and your body snatched, perhaps you could suggest someone else to
get tied up in it with you."

Rhys straightened. "What the hell is your
problem?"

He stared at her, his face set in an angry
scowl, unspoken words abandoned on his lips.

She sighed. When had things gotten
so awkward between them? They used to be so in sync they
even
argued
in
tune, and now they couldn't even get that right. She clutched her
pillow in frustration, fighting the desire to throw it.

But the urge didn't wane, and why should it?
Her jaw tightened. He had a lot of nerve being angry with her about
anything. He started this by leaving town, and in doing so hadn't
given her a chance to finish it. All thoughts of suppression
passed. She threw the pillow, and it smacked him hard in the
face.

When it fell away, they both sat motionless
for several long seconds. Then he stood, his expression unreadable.
He was standing over her in two quick strides, his body heat
scorching.

She absolutely, fully, and completely expected
he'd stop there. But he didn't.

Before Rhys knew what hit her, he'd lowered
himself over her until she was caught between him and the
mattress.

"Tell me to stop." His voice raked
over her, the challenge drawing goose bumps over every inch of her
skin. "
Tell me to stop."

She didn't.

He searched her face, then his eyes fell to
her mouth. Dwelling there. "Damn it," he muttered. His lips touched
hers, gentle at first, then demanding more.

She gave willingly.

Rhys had never been so close to losing
control. She wanted to touch every part of him, but finally settled
for his nape, drawing him closer. The kisses continued, tumbling
from one to the next without boundaries. She tasted her name on his
lips and melted when he settled between her legs, his jeans rough
against her thighs where the robe had fallen away.

Naked. She was naked under that open robe, and
had never been so infinitely hot in her life.

They broke apart, both breathing
hard.