Primal Force (21 page)

Jori sucked in air, trying to catch a breath and control the moment. But his hips pumped deeper and rougher and quicker than her thrusts had been. He was in charge and determined not to let her find another moment of command of herself. All she could do was bend forward, brace a hand on each of his wide shoulders, and ride him for all she was worth. When she shattered again, the million little pieces of bliss rippled out from their joining, over every inch of her and out through her fingertips and toes. It was a full-body release.

Law made love like he did everything else, full-out and with everything in him. When he came it was with a pounding fury just short of pain. And the sound that came from him was part ferocity, part desperation, and a whole lot of ecstasy.

And that, a faint thought warned him, could be trouble. Because now all that hope and fear and longing were bound up in the woman gone liquid in his arms.

*   *   *

“Do you really think it's possible to learn the truth?”

Law blinked, rising up out of a dark quiet peace he'd never known before. How long it lasted he didn't know. But it felt precious and he didn't want to lose it, or the woman who'd given it to him. He lifted her up and draped her across his naked body.

She put out a hand to stop him. “Wait. Your poor bruised body.”

“Can take a lot more than what you can dish out.” He settled her tighter against him, locking his heel behind her knee to hold her in place. He smoothed a hand repeatedly down her back, as if she were the only blanket he'd ever need.

Her body on his body—it felt so good.

She lay her cheek on his chest, her unbound hair sliding over his torso. She was the best thing he'd ever held in his arms. How was he ever going to walk away? But she'd asked him a serious question.

“I can't promise I will answer every question. But my gut tells me there's a lot to learn.”

She raised her head and placed a hand on either side of his face. “I trust you.”

Don't.
He wanted to warn her but the word wouldn't get past his teeth this time.

For the first time in his life, he wanted the truth about himself—that he was insensitive, untrustworthy, possessed of a quick temper, and selfish—to be a lie. Thirty-one years was a lot of life to live down. Maybe he couldn't do it.

He hadn't told her everything. He didn't tell her that he knew who had searched his cabin. Sam's reaction hadn't meant anything to him at the time. But after a while, he realized the dog had been taught to search for intruders. No intruder. No reaction. Instead, she'd alerted. That must mean she recognized that someone besides him and Jori had been there. Even though the intruder was gone, his scent remained.

It was enough to send him back through the records until he discovered something that he hadn't checked on the first time because it seemed unimportant: the name of the state trooper who had come upon Brody's wreck. Trooper Ronald Becker.

It was The Pecker who had come to his cabin looking for something. And Sam knew it. Law smiled to himself. A guilty conscience was a terrible foe. He would never have made the connection between Rogers's death and Becker if Becker hadn't sought him out first. By coming into the Springdale office, Becker had not only put Law on alert, he'd given Sam a chance to learn his scent.

But what was Becker after? And what was his connection to Tice Industries?

Jori sighed in her sleep and hung a hand over his shoulder as she snuggled closer.

Law sighed as well, thinking he'd better let her get her rest. Besides, he wasn't done thinking.

He was going to have to be very careful as they went forward. If Becker was on the Tice payroll—even off the books—there would be clues. And rumors of someone in law enforcement on the take. Those rumors were always spoken as hints with no attribution. The Thin Blue Line of law enforcement conduct held true, but it was also permeable. It allowed the truth through even as it shielded it.

Law smiled in the dark, the scent of the hunt strong in his nostrils. He was a detective, a hunter of bad men. Becker's actions confirmed that he was up to something. He didn't yet know what. In a case like this, it was best to seed the ground with innuendo and wait to see who reacted. Jori's brother's wedding would be the place where he started.

After a minute Jori's hand crept between their bellies. “Just for the record. I never got involved in lady love. I'm too partial to this.” The way she handled his package, all possessive and greedy, left no doubt.

*   *   *

Much later Sam, who had been discreetly absent during their lovemaking, made her way into the bedroom and up to the head of the bed on Law's side. She stared at him, nose pushed forward. He was sleeping. After a few seconds, satisfied that whatever odors she'd absorbed—Alpha smelling of the woman and her of him—were good ones, she padded down the foot of the bed and climbed up on the mattress. She made two turns and then slid into a prone position.

Half awake, Law reached down and brought the quilt up across all three of them. Sam didn't mind.

When all was quiet again, Argyle appeared. She didn't make a sound. Her weight made no impression when she jumped up on the bed. Her paws left shallow impressions on the quilt as she picked her way carefully among the lumps, human and canine. She was looking for a spot. That perfect spot of heat and comfort that only felines require.

She found it on Law's pillow.

She kneaded the softness a few times, and then rubbed her forehead against his hair to mark her spot. Leaning up and over, she sniffed his breath to see what she'd missed, if anything. Man didn't smell of food. Too bad. Everything else about him was irrelevant. Except his warmth. She still didn't like him but he was warmer than her own female.

She curled softly around his head, bracing her sheathed paws against his crown in case he decided to move, and closed her eyes. Maybe the male had a usefulness after all.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Law didn't know where to look first. Formal occasion, she'd told him. Tuxedo a must. He figured he'd look like a gorilla in a penguin suit. But he wasn't prepared for what formal looked like on her.

The sleek braid Jori most often wore had been swept up into a high shiny ponytail that cascaded down her back in a sexy mane of loose curls on her shoulders. The tiny chandeliers hanging from her ears were catching brilliant bits of light and casting rainbows on the wall. Her dress, a stretchy lace thing the color of pearls, clung to her curves. Bands of fabric hugged the corners of her shoulders, anchoring the plunge of her neckline. Modest yet sexy as hell. That dress made him itch to snag a finger in the crisscross lacing cinching her waist, drag down her zipper, and peel her out of it. But mostly he was fascinated by her legs, looking a mile long in gold sandals with ankle straps and fuck-me heels. Her face was shadowed and mascaraed and lipsticked just enough. He'd known she was a pretty woman. He hadn't realized she was a gorgeous one.

Just as quickly, he realized he would have competition for her attention this evening, and probably every day after.

“Do I look okay?” She did a little turn for him, a hopeful smile on her red mouth.

“Yeah.” He looked away, feeling the rare sensation of intimidation. Hell. He'd already made love to her and knew she liked it. Why was he feeling out of his league when he looked at her now?

This is the real me.
He'd said those words to her about his state police uniform. Was this the real Jordan Garrison, the former sorority college girl at home in expensive clothes, polished makeup, and mile-high stilettos?

“You don't like it.” She sounded surprised, and just a little bit hurt.

“No.” He looked back at her, unable to keep his hunger from showing. “I like it. A lot!”

“Oh.” She said the word softly, as if it hadn't occurred to her before that she might have taken his breath away. She had no idea the power she possessed. He knew he'd get on all fours—threes—and crawl to her if she asked. Which she never would. She wouldn't see her influence over him as power to be used to gain the upper hand. Lucky him. Even so, he rented a damn tux!

He looked to lighten the moment. “Your shoes match.”

Jori looked down and cocked her foot to show off a heel. “I thought, for the occasion, I'd try to be normal.”

She looked up at him, a little secret smile on her face. “Actually, I've made a vow to myself to never wear completely matching clothing.”

“I noticed. Want to tell me why?”

A tiny frown deepened between her eyebrows. “Last time you said it didn't matter.”

“It didn't. Then.”

Jori took a careful breath. She shouldn't read too much into that statement. Yet she felt it, too. Things had changed between them. “Since prison, I can't stand the idea that someone else decides what I wear and can't wear. That was the toughest part inside. Having no control. Once out, I felt the need to do things daily to remind myself that I was back in control.”

Law got that. A little bit of rebellion every day to remind herself that she had her freedom back. “I used to count my fingers and toes after every surgery. Just to be certain nothing else had been taken from me while I was unconscious. Those remaining five ugly toes were sometimes the best sight I'd see all day.”

Jori let herself absorb that confidence without comment. No one needed to tell her Law didn't give away pieces of himself, even the tiny ones, easily or often.

“So, what doesn't match today?”

Jori offered him a flirtatious smile instead of an answer. “You're not dressed.”

He looked down at himself. He wore a stiffly starched shirt hung open over his impressive bare chest, and the pants to his rented tuxedo. Filling one leg was his second-best prosthesis. His bionic wonder was on its way to the manufacturer for repairs. This one didn't fit as well as it should because of the residual swelling. But he wasn't going to meet a Tice on crutches.

“There aren't enough buttons on this shirt. And I don't know what I'm supposed to do with these.” He opened his fist and held out a palm full of studs and cuff links.

Jori smiled. “Want some help?”

He gave her a short upward motion with his head.

His lids fell half shut as she approached him and took a piece of metal from his hand. “These are called studs. They take the place of buttons.”

As she worked the first stud into the hole in his shirt, the knuckles of her hand skimmed the trace of dark hair on Law's chest. He sucked in a shallow breath, not wanting her to know how much her nearness affected him. She smelled of jasmine and vanilla. Jesus. She was killing him.

To keep herself from turning her hand around and skimming the broad shadowy contours half hidden by his shirt, Jori made herself talk. “You really never wore a tux before?”

“Never.”

She slanted a questioning look up at him. “What about prom?”

“What about it?”

“You didn't go?”

“No.”

Jori thought about that answer as she worked the second stud through the shirt fabric. She and her girlfriends had planned for her prom for three solid months. The guy who took her wasn't nearly as interesting to her as getting the right dress and heels. They had pored over the wholesale catalogs in her mother's dress boutique, making sure they each picked out the absolutely most sick dress of all. “Where did you grow up?”

He looked down at her, his lids nearly closed. “The Alabama-Coushatta Reservation in east Texas near Livingston.”

“Reservation?”

“Shocked?”

“No.” Jori studied his face. It gave away no clues. “I know about Native American reservations. I just never met anyone who grew up on one.”

“In your world, I'm not surprised.”

She ignored the jibe. “Didn't your father make a big deal out of his Cajun background?”

Law nodded. “Yeah. He liked to do that. Called himself the original coonass.” Some emotion crossed his face but disappeared too quickly for Jori to read it. “I wasn't reared to share his heritage.” At her raised eyebrows he added, “My mother was a temporary sidetrack for him. One of many.”

“You share his name.”

“Yeah. She got him long enough to make it legal. Most women didn't.”

“So your mother is Alabama-Coushatta?”

“Was. She's dead.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Why? You didn't know her.”

“But I know you.”

Law grunted and looked away. That empathetic impulse of hers had a way of catching him off guard. Her fallback position was open. His was clamshell-shut.

Jori took the last stud from his hand and began working at his chin. His skin was warmer here, and she couldn't help but notice the steady pulse beating in the hollow of his throat. She longed to stroke the pulse point with her finger. But she knew that would prove disastrous to their evening plans.

She moved her gaze a few inches upward. He had shaved very carefully. His jawline was satin-smooth. She lifted a finger to touch the shiny flat scar curving down from the left side of his chin onto his neck.

“Stop.” She met his gaze inches from her own and got a jolt. He looked annoyed, but she knew now that it was an indication of how very much he kept himself under control.

She tucked her lips together as she finished buttoning the stud. He wouldn't like it if she found humor in his predicament.

There would be time after. And after, she was going to do a lot of things to him she could not let herself think about at this moment.

“Now the cuff links.”

He held out his arms. His wrists were thick. The cuffs barely met around them.

When she finished the second cuff, he leaned forward quickly and sniffed her hair. “You smell nice.”

She glanced up, straight into those dark-golden eyes shadowed by a thicket of black lashes. “Thank you.”