Playing with Fire (17 page)

The past was gone; all that remained was the moment, the muscle beneath her fingertips, and the ache that had settled between her legs. Need began to swirl low in her abdomen. She wanted more, and she wanted it now.

“Don’t,” he ordered softly, a second before she moved against him. He rested his forehead against hers and bracketed her hips, holding her motionless.

Then one of his hands strayed to the waist ties of her scrubs. His knuckles brushed against her skin, forcing her to suck in a sharp breath. Maggie held it, waiting, wanting him to get it over with. But he teased her until the suspense was almost unbearable. Then with one tug he pulled anticipation through her and the held breath escaped her as a ragged sigh.

Closing her eyes, Maggie tried to center herself, tried not to want him so much it hurt. But centering didn’t help. Blood still pounded through her veins, creating an unrelenting pulse at the apex of her thighs. When his hand dipped lower, she was lost.

Beau felt her tremble, felt her hands move to his shoulders, and her legs shift to give him access. But he took his time, exploring slowly. He liked her tiny, impatient moans and the way her fingers alternately tensed and relaxed each time he moved lower. So when his fingertips brushed against springy curls, he stopped. Let her
rise to meet his touch. And then he slid a finger over the sensitive nub and into the hot, moist folds, into Maggie.

“You’re already wet.” He breathed the words as part of a groan.

“So do some—
ah
—thing about it.” Her voice broke in the middle as he took her advice and did something. He gave her another intimate preview of what was to come.

But she wasn’t the only one unsettled as he stroked her. Beau wanted more. He wanted her heat to sheath him. As he pulled his hand away he kissed her again, breaking it once to yank his T-shirt over his head and once to get rid of her scrub top. The pants hung provocatively, showing the curve of her waist and the gentle flare of one hip.

Through the gossamer of her bra he saw the peaks of her nipples and then felt them as twin points of heat against him. When he kissed her this time, his hands found the hooks of her bra, and it soon joined the pile of clothing at their feet. He was aroused and amazed at how easily she melted into him. As if she were made to fit his body.

Her hands moved between them. The badge and his belt followed her bra. He didn’t give her a chance to work on the jeans. He slid his mouth down the column of her neck, across the curve of her breast, toward the peak that nestled against the palm of his hand. Maggie arched into him, silently offering herself.

He’d been right that first day in his office. Her nipples were the color of ripening peaches. His hand lifted her as he traced her aureole and pulled the nipple into his mouth. He could feel her reaction, the tightening of her
body, the short, sharp breaths. And his body responded, feeding off of her anticipation. Need throbbed low in his gut. With one last flick of his tongue against the peak, Beau tugged the waistband of her pants, and straightened.

Maggie’s eyes snapped open as the scrubs fell to the floor, leaving her all but naked in front of him. Her eyes locked with Beau’s, and the hunger in them almost scared her. Slowly, deliberately his hand moved to his jeans, drawing her attention. As she watched, he unbuttoned the waistband, a clear erotic signal of his intent. He wasn’t even touching her, and yet she felt the heat building between her legs again, felt herself dampened even more.

“Get on the bed, Maggie.” It wasn’t an order; it was a warning. No turning back.

She eased back onto the bed. When Beau pulled a foil packet out of his wallet, she wasn’t surprised. He was a man who took care of the hard, necessary details of life.

Reading her mind in that eerie way of his, he said, “Since I kissed you.”

Maggie had known then too. That kiss had wrapped itself around their souls. When he shed the rest of his clothes and joined her on the bed, she lost the ability to think beyond the feel of his hard, naked body against hers. All that separated them was a pair of white silk panties.

The pelt of hair across his chest fascinated her. It tapered to a thin line down his stomach. She followed the line, forcing her hand between them until she could grasp him, sliding her hand over his shaft. Sheathing him. Learning the feel of him. Imagining.

Beau gritted his teeth and stripped her panties from her. He rolled her onto her back, settling himself between her legs, the top of his shaft barely pushing into her. He wanted to sink himself so deep that he could never separate himself from her. But that would end it all before it began. The trip wire inside him was stretched so taut that he wasn’t certain he could control the explosion that threatened.

When Maggie arched, taking him another inch inside her heat, Beau groaned. Fast or slow didn’t matter. Right now he had to be as deep as he could get. Right now she was his. Pleasure spiked and receded as he slid home, burying himself in the tight, hot glove.

Maggie gasped as Beau filled her completely, stretching her, forcing a moan of relief from her. “Yes.”

Slowly he stoked, leaning down to kiss her, to capture a nipple. And then the rhythm changed. Maggie met each thrust, showing him what she wanted. What she needed. Beau surrendered. He drove hard and fast, bringing them both to the edge. Maggie’s head tossed as she tried to hold back, but each stroke sent another shower of light over her body until she ignited.

This time her moan was a no, ripped from her as satisfaction burst through her. Her climax wrested Beau’s from his iron control. He thrust deep and let the pleasure take him.

He spent himself in Maggie, claiming her without words. For the first time in his life making a choice without regard to logic or reason.

Maggie drifted back to her body in stages. First, she became aware of Beau’s weight pressing her into the soft mattress, the sound of their breathing, and finally the hum of the fan as it circulated the sultry Louisiana air. Physical reality was the easiest to accept.

The emotional reality rocked her. When she’d asked him how terrible making love with him could be, she’d never imagined this. Never imagined he could destroy her defenses so completely, or that the longing he created in her body would spill over into her heart.

Everything had changed, and nothing had changed. She was still the only one who believed she was innocent. He still had a badge pinned to his soul. And someone was still trying to destroy her life.

“You okay?” he asked, rising up on his forearms.

No, she wasn’t okay. She was shaky, but pretending was easier than the truth. So she swallowed and nodded. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”

His eyes narrowed, and she thought he might challenge
her, but he left that fight for another time and rolled away. His jeans scraped against the old hardwood as he scooped them up and left the room. A few seconds later, the bathroom door clicked shut. As quickly as she could, Maggie gathered her own clothes and headed for her bedroom. She wasn’t about to face him in wrinkled scrubs or wrapped in a sheet.

She didn’t want to face him at all. He was too observant, and she didn’t want him to realize she’d done more than fall into bed.

Maggie was afraid she’d fallen in love with the worst possible man.

Beau filled his hands with cold water and splashed his face. Maybe the shock of the water would bring him to his senses. Nothing else seemed to be working. When he grabbed a towel from the rack, Maggie’s scent assailed him. By now the faint gardenia fragrance was as familiar to him as his own aftershave. He dried his face and dropped the towel on the vanity.

Leaning on his hands against the countertop, he stared into the mirror.

The man who stared back looked like a smart guy. Too bad looks were deceiving. That man had just risked his career and compromised his investigation because a woman had become more important to him than anything else.

The idiot had even left his weapon within reach of a suspect. Worse, the idiot had just left his heart within reach of a suspect. Not that Maggie would take it. Not Maggie. He couldn’t imagine that she’d ever asked for
anything in her life. She didn’t like disappointment, which meant she’d keep her emotional expectations low. But even the most disciplined loner slipped now and then. Maggie had slipped today—right into his arms, silently asking him to erase the loneliness by wrapping her up in sensation until she couldn’t think about anything else.

Beau had no illusions; he knew he’d simply been in the wrong place at the right time. As far as Maggie was concerned, what happened between them was an accident—an indiscretion that had served its purpose. Now that the crisis was over, she’d start to backslide, convince herself that all they’d had was sex. Plain and simple sex. She’d lower her sights and protect her emotions. Control was too important to Maggie to risk losing her heart. Now that the deed was done, she’d be running scared.

Fighting for others was different. She could do that and never break a sweat. She could tear a hospital up over nurses’ rights. She could take on a doctor if her patient was slighted, but Maggie wouldn’t ask for kindness for herself or admit that she needed anyone.

She might not know it yet, but she needed him. If not personally, then professionally. Maggie had no idea how much trouble she was in. Unfortunately, he did.

Beau opened the bathroom door, wearing only his jeans, and started toward the guest room. A whisper of noise from her bedroom stopped him cold. He leaned against the wall beside the closed door, rapping once. “Maggie?”

“Give me a few minutes!”

“Why? So you can finish that speech about how you
hope we can still be friends? And I tell you I still have to do my job? I don’t think so. Ready or not, Maggie—”

The door swung wide.

“Don’t! I’m not—”

She sat on the edge of the bed, fully clothed in shorts and a sleeveless cotton top. Beau shook his head and shifted to Jean against the jamb. “Not what, Maggie? Not dressed?”

“I’m not ready.”

Her answer struck a nerve in Beau, reminded him that neither of them were in a place to pursue what they’d started. Maggie was still a suspect in a case. Until that situation was resolved, they couldn’t go forward. He couldn’t do a thing about how he felt or how he wanted her to feel.

All he could do would be drive himself crazy remembering how she felt beneath him and wondering how she’d feel on top of him.

“You’re not ready? Well, at least that’s honest. It’s not much but it’s a start,” he said. “So if it’ll make you happy we won’t talk about what just happened in that bedroom down the hall. God knows we have plenty to say without that, but let’s talk outside. I think better in sunshine. I always have.”

Maggie watched him shove away from the doorframe. He was half naked. The button of his jeans wasn’t even fastened. The fact that his body was so casually on display didn’t seem to bother him. It bothered her, and it shouldn’t have. She was a nurse, for God’s sake. The human form was just a set of bones and organs and muscle. Flesh and blood. Nothing more.

Following him onto the gallery, she asked the first
question that came to mind now that her brain had begun to function on logic instead of emotion. “How’d you get past Gwen?”

“Trade secret,” he told her. “You’re gonna need a new latch on that side door though, and I told Gwen to stay in the kitchen. She’s an obedient beast if not friendly.”

Stunned, Maggie paced away from him and turned back. “She let you in? Just like that?”

“Yeah, Maggie. Now, why don’t you follow her lead and let me all the way in? I can’t help you if you don’t start trusting me in increments longer than nanoseconds. You need to talk to someone. Why not me?”

“You mean besides the fact that you’d like to arrest me for two fires I didn’t set?”

“Jesus, Maggie, you’ll let me strip you naked and do whatever I want to your body, but you can’t tell me what scares you so much, you sit in a dark room and cry? You trust me for the one, but not the other?”

“Trust doesn’t have anything to do with it. You can’t help me, Beau, because you can’t change the past.”

“Oh, I know that. Believe me, I know that so well, it chokes me at night sometimes.” He paused for a moment and grabbed the railing. Then he shook his head as though telling himself to move on. “Neither of us can change the past. All we can do is forget it, or face it and let it go.”

“Great little plan, but that’s not going to work for me,” she said softly. “Because you’ve got it backward. The past won’t let me go until I can remember it.”

The unexpected remark jolted Beau. “What are you
talking about?” He straightened. “What don’t you remember?”

In a calm voice, too calm really—as if she were telling a stranger’s story or fiercely guarding against any slip of emotion—she explained, “I don’t remember the fire that killed Sarah Alastair. There’s a big black hole in my life where that night is supposed to be.”

“You mean a type of stress trauma amnesia?”

“Yeah, exactly like that. The shrinks thought the memories would come back eventually, but they never did.”

Beau made the leap of logic and closed his eyes a moment as the pieces clicked into place. “Never came back, that is, until you opened that closet door and discovered the hospital fire. That explains the panic attacks. They’re flashbacks. The first one was that day, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was. So do you get it now, Beau? It’s the past that won’t leave me alone. How are you going to help me with that?”

She turned away and stared toward the levee, toward some distant point. “The memories have turned me inside out today, and all I have are more questions. It’s a jumble of nothing, and I still don’t know. Maybe I never will.”

“You’ll never know what?” he asked, realizing that she hadn’t given him all of the pieces yet.

“I’ll never know what happened that night. If I was the one who set the skillet on the stove. If I was the one who killed Sarah.”

The answer explained so much about Maggie, about her childhood, about how she saw the world. He wanted
to find all the people who’d raised this woman and strangle them. How could they have missed her guilt? How could they let her believe it for one second? How could they not care?