Stolen Heat (18 page)

She pulled the headboard away from the wall, half expecting to see it alive with creepy-crawlies, but there was nothing.

“Kat, lie down.”

She stared at the headboard some more. Bit her lip. Felt like crawling out of her own skin.

God, this was awful.

“Kat.” He sat up straighter. And softened his voice enough to make her look his way. “Come back to bed. Nothing’s going to bite you. Not even me. I promise.”

Dammit. He knew what was bothering her. And she was a complete idiot for letting it get to her like this.

Thankful he couldn’t see her bright red cheeks, she settled back onto the mattress, knowing there was no way in hell she’d be able to sleep.

She closed her eyes tight. Opened them. Bit her lip hard so she couldn’t sigh and stared at the ceiling.

“Ditching the shoes might help,” he said into the dark.

Right. Yeah. Like shoes on wasn’t a dead giveaway she was ready to bolt.

Kat toed them off and sat up to move them by her pack on the floor. She lay down again. Waited. Rolled to her side. Eased onto her belly. Rolled back again as quietly as she could.

Oh, man. This just wasn’t working.

The sheets rustled as Pete moved on his side of the bed. Then she felt him scoot close to her. Her adrenaline jumped, and she stilled quickly.

“Lift your head.”

Not knowing what he wanted, she obeyed, all sorts of thoughts going through her head. Was he giving her his pillow? Taking hers away? Kicking her out of the bed after all because she kept tossing around like a mix-master?

Then she felt his arm slide under her nape, and he pulled her close so she was suddenly snuggled up to his side.

He was warm and hard against her skin, yet safe and unbelievably comfortable. And when he tugged her closer so her head rested against his chest, she didn’t fight it. Instead she let out a little sigh of contentment and finally felt her body begin to relax.

It was wrong on so many levels, but oh, it felt right.

His hand ran over her hair in a soft, barely there caress. “Close your eyes. You need sleep.”

She was suddenly more tired than she’d been in years, the weight of every one of her decisions weighing heavily on her shoulders. She chanced a glance up to his face and through the dim light coming from a crack in the curtains saw his eyes were closed, yet he continued to stroke her hair and her neck, to run his hand down her arm in a soft, gentle motion that was so at odds with the way he’d treated her over the past few hours, it confused her. Way more than thinking he wanted to use sex to punish her.

She finally couldn’t stand it anymore. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Momentary lapse in judgment,” he mumbled.

There was humor in his voice, and dammit, it made her smile.

“Besides,” he went on, “I figure if you don’t get to sleep, then I don’t get to sleep, and it’ll be bad news all around if we’re both bleary-eyed in the morning.”

What he didn’t say, and what tugged on her heart, was that this was how she’d often fallen asleep with him in Cairo. Snuggled up tight and warm. Usually after making love, but not always. When she’d been stressed or antsy about her job, when things hadn’t been going well between them, being in his arms had always calmed her. And he remembered.

Kat looked down at his bare skin. Watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Thought about the events of the day. There was no reason for him to come back for her in the park, but he had. He could have walked away after they lost their tail in the city, but he hadn’t. He didn’t have to be holding her now, but he was.

And then out of nowhere, she remembered the flowers. Big bouquets of lilies and roses and spears of white freesia. And him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“ ‘s okay,” he mumbled in that sleepy, sexy voice. “Long as you stop tossing. I’m good.”

She smiled in the dark. “No. Not for that. Though thank you for that, too.” She sobered. “I meant thank you for the flowers.”

His hand stilled in her hair, and his chest rose and fell a few more times. She knew he was dozing off, but that was okay.

“Flowers?” he asked in a slur out of nowhere, as if his brain had finally caught up with the conversation and didn’t want to give up to sleep yet. “What flowers?”

“The ones you sent to my mother’s funeral.”

Silence. Then, “You were there?”

A pang of regret snaked through her, and she closed her eyes. Her adoptive mother had been a nurse for over thirty years and healthy as an ox. Kat had never thought someone as strong as Jane Meyer could fall to something as ordinary as a heart attack. Or as fast.

She should have been with her mother the day she’d collapsed, not hiding in upstate New York like a scared rat. Maybe she would have gotten Jane to the hospital in time. Maybe the doctors would have been able to revive her. Maybe she’d still be here now.

Tears stung Kat’s eyes, but she forced them back. Regrets. Yeah. She had them. She had enough to last a lifetime and then some.

“No. Not for the service,” she managed. “But I was there before. At the funeral home when no one was around. I saw them then. They were beautiful.”

Silence hung between them like a steel barrier, and then he said softly, “I didn’t see you.”

Her heart bumped. He’d been there?

“It was a nice service. You…you would have liked it.”

Kat’s chest squeezed tight, and her throat grew thick. In the quiet she didn’t know what to say. And she was thankful when he went on and she didn’t have to say anything.

“There were a lot of people. Standing room only. Your mother had a lot of friends. I think the whole staff of the hospital was there. Big gray-haired guy—Dr. Carter?—spoke about the first time she brought you in with her on one of her shifts. Scrawny ten-year-old with a heap of attitude, that was what he remembered about you. He thought for sure she was making a mistake by adopting a kid who’d been through so many foster homes and in and out of that orphanage. And when she made you sit at the
nurses’ station all night with a history book to read while she worked, he told her that was cruel and unusual punishment, even for her, and that you’d turn out to be the worst kid ever.”

Kat smiled as she listened. Remembered back. At the time she’d thought that was cruel and unusual punishment herself. It’d taken her a long time to trust Jane, and she knew now the trust issues she had as an adult stemmed from her early childhood, but when she’d finally opened herself up to her new mother, she’d found the family she’d always dreamed of.

“Addie Walker talked about how Jane didn’t have money for a sitter and how she hoped taking you to the hospital with her night after night would get you interested in medicine. She wanted you to become a doctor. But you were too focused on history by that point and were more interested in the dead than the living. Then when you got accepted into your doctorate program, she ran up to Dr. Carter and waved your acceptance letter in his face. Told him the scrawny, obnoxious Meyer kid was going to be a doctor after all.”

A wave of adoration rushed through Kat as she listened. She hadn’t known her mother had done that to the cranky old doctor, and her heart squeezed tight. Her mother had been her biggest advocate. Whenever Kat had thought she couldn’t do something, Jane Meyer had set her straight.
You’re smart. And you’re resourceful. Where you came from doesn’t matter. You’ll find a way.

And she had. Most of the time.

“They told a lot of stories about her,” Pete said into the darkness. “About you. It was strange being there. Sort of like the memorial service she had for you after…”

Kat’s heart pinched again, this time with her own discomfort. Because hearing him say it suddenly made it all real. She’d never thought about the fact Janie Meyer would have had a memorial service for her only daughter, but of
course she would have. Even in her grief, she would have had a big party with all her friends to celebrate her daughter’s life.

But what also hit her, as she laid there next to him, listening to his words, was that he’d been at that one, too. He’d gone to Points Bluff, Washington, population 1,257, two hours from Spokane, not only for her mother’s funeral, but for
her
memorial service. Even after that horrible last argument in Cairo. After he’d walked out the door without looking back.

He’d gone to comfort her mother. A woman he’d never met and had no obligation toward.

Words lodged in her through. “Pete—”

“I’m really tired, Kat.” His voice changed. Hardened. Grew distant. “We have a big day tomorrow, and I need to sleep. You do, too.”

He was right, but the fact he’d cut her off stung.

He didn’t make a move to push her to her side of the bed, and she didn’t volunteer to go. So she closed her eyes and breathed deep, inhaling the scents of soap and fresh cotton and his unique musky scent. Reveled in it for a few more hours at least.

She must have slept, though she had no idea how much time passed. When Pete moved his leg on the mattress, she startled awake.

Bleary-eyed, she looked over him toward the digital clock on the bedside table and felt her heart drop. 2:34 a.m. If she was going to escape, she had to do it now.

She slowly pushed up on her elbow, pausing when the mattress creaked. One look confirmed Pete was still sleeping. His head was tipped her way, his mouth slightly open. The little bit of light coming through the slit in the curtains highlighted blond hair falling across his forehead, the shadow of beard on his jaw. Even his long eyelashes, blond at the root, darkening to a warm brown at the tips. She listened to the steady draw of his breath, watched as
his bare, muscular chest rose and fell, and felt a little of her heart break all over again.

She was doing the right thing. Leaving now before it was too late. Before he was more embroiled in this whole mess. She now knew Busir was just a hired thug, that this went higher than she’d thought, into the SCA, possibly into INTERPOL. If this was ever going to be over, she had to figure out who was behind it all. What she’d seen and how it all meshed together. She knew where she had to start, and she knew she didn’t want Pete tagging along. Not when she was starting to question his involvement from the very beginning. What if she’d been wrong about him?

He’d gone to see her mother.

She was trapped miserably between her heart and mind as she closed her eyes, fought back the tears, opened them again and stared down at his features. But even with that debate still raging, she knew, deep in her heart, that he was the one. The love of her life. The happily-ever-after she’d never have. It didn’t matter what he’d done or who he’d been before they’d been together. When he’d been hers, he’d been everything she’d ever wanted.

She held her breath as she leaned close to brush her lips softly over his. Just a whisper of a touch. Just one last kiss.

Through wet eyes she moved to climb off the bed.

And gasped.

“I don’t think so.”

Kat’s pulse jumped against her skin where Pete gripped her wrist. In the dark, he could see the whites of her eyes glow like halos all around her dark irises.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She opened her mouth to answer. Stared at him. Closed it quickly.

She hadn’t thought he was awake, he realized. And granted, he hadn’t been. Not until she’d laid her lips on his.

Then he’d come immediately awake. Had grown instantly aware.

She trembled beneath his touch. He sat up slowly, let his eyes adjust to the dark, raked in the sight of her there in front of him. Hair tousled from sleep, dirt-streaked, white T-shirt she hadn’t rinsed out in the bathroom creased from where she’d slept on it. Eyes sultry and filled with a yearning he’d recognize anywhere.

His blood rushed hot in response even though he knew it was a bad idea.

She drew in shallow breaths, but she didn’t once look away from him, didn’t ease back, didn’t try to get out of his hold. And he saw then the same thing he’d seen in the diner earlier. A decision that flashed in her eyes and sucked him in.

He knew that look.

Bad idea. Really fucking bad idea.

He let go of her wrist. Made a move to slide away from her. But didn’t make it more than a fraction of an inch.

Her body sank into him. Her lips brushed his. Once. Twice. As soft as before but with an urgency he’d missed in his groggy state.

He tensed. Thought about pushing her away. Knew he couldn’t.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

That heart he was sure had cracked and shattered years ago swelled inside his chest with the first taste. And shoving away the thousand reasons this was wrong, he let her draw him into her warm, wet mouth. Deep, deeper. Until he felt her body quiver, felt her firm breasts press against his bare chest, felt her muscles tighten and loosen and her heart jump beneath her ribs.

He didn’t think. Just savored her in his mouth. Ran his hands over her back and around to her waist. Pulled her closer. The position was awkward, so he gripped her hips, lifted her easily, guided her to straddle his lap so he could kiss her deeper yet. Then nearly came when she settled herself on her knees over him and lowered until she was sitting on his throbbing erection.

And ah, hell, being with her like this was like coming home. Like leaving the dark and coming into the light. Like finding where you were meant to be.

Neither of them spoke. The heater hummed in the background. Every now and then a car passed on the freeway outside. But all he could focus on was the roar in his head that screamed,
now, now, now,
followed by a tightness in his chest that warned,
take it easy.

He listened, though it nearly killed him. Moved slowly. His hands slid to the edge of her tee, up under to the bare skin of her abdomen, higher until his knuckles brushed her bra. All the while he kissed her, licked into her mouth and bathed himself in the sweet taste of her on his tongue again.

She was hot, and he was burning. She was soft where he was hard as stone. He broke the kiss long enough to pull the T-shirt over her head and drop it on the floor, nearly groaned at the sight of her practical cotton bra. No bells and whistles, no lace or see-through cups. Sturdy. Practical. Like her.

Her heavy-lidded eyes stayed on his as he worked the bra free. The back hook gave with a soft pop. She drew in a breath, then helped him by wriggling out of the straps. It fell into his hands, landed next to her T-shirt on the floor. He licked his lips in anticipation as he cupped her perfect breasts, flicked his thumb across her nipple and watched as her eyes slid closed and her head fell back in pleasure.

That roar returned, louder than ever. He kissed her jaw, scraped his teeth along her throat, worked his way south. With one hand supporting her, he lowered her onto her back so her head was near the foot of the mattress, then resumed his foray across her body.

His lips closed over one breast, and he drew lazy circles around her nipple, sucked her deep into his mouth until she writhed beneath him.

“Pete,” she whispered.

He loved that needy, sex-charged voice. Loved the way she melted beneath him. Didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until right now. He moved to the other nipple and tasted the sweetness of her skin. She reacted by lifting her foot, kicking her heel into the mattress and digging her fingers into his biceps with a death grip until pain shot through his arm. But the moan that came out of her made up for any discomfort he felt, so he kept driving her harder, closer to the edge, greedy for the sound of her pleasure.

“Pete. Oh…”

“More?” He didn’t wait for an answer, drew her nipple into his mouth, scraped his teeth over the tip until she groaned long and deep. “Or stop?”

“No. No. Don’t stop. Whatever you do…don’t stop.”

Good thing, because he wasn’t sure he could. Even if she begged.

Sliding lower, he kissed his way down her belly. He flipped open the top button of her jeans with the other hand and brushed his lips over the sensitive skin beneath her waistband.

She moaned again, arched her back in approval. He quickly released the other three buttons, then with both hands, pulled the jeans from her hips and slipped them off her legs.

And groaned himself when he saw she was naked beneath her denim.

Her tummy was flat, her hips a gentle flare that fit her shape. Her legs long and lean and athletic. She was everything he remembered and more. Toned and fit and muscular where before she’d been merely slim skin and bones. She worked out now. Hard by the looks of it. A woman’s body on the girl he’d loved and lost a lifetime ago.

“Pete?”

Her soft voice pulled at him, and he looked up to find her watching him with confusion and the slightest bit of worry in her dark eyes.

He climbed over her, fueled by some need he didn’t want to name, braced his hands on the mattress and lowered to take her mouth again. She cradled his face in her palms and kissed him back. Long and slow and deep.

His hand found her breast again, then lowered to her hip, her thigh, and finally to that sweet, sweet spot between her legs. She opened for him on a sigh, groaned into his mouth as he slid his fingers into her folds and found her burning, slick center.

Oh, she was wet.

Her breath hitched when he rubbed over her tight knot. He circled and swirled, took her higher. When she
kicked her head back and moaned, he closed his mouth over her neck and licked the sweet, dewy column of her throat the way he knew she liked until her body tensed and her muscles quivered with her release.

She was quiet. So quiet. But he knew the signs. Knew her body so well. Even after all this time. As she slid down the other side of her climax, he shucked his jeans, reached for his wallet on the nightstand and pulled out a condom, then used his knees to push her thighs wider to make room for him.

Her hand snaked out. “Let me.”

It nearly killed him, but he waited. Gritted his teeth as she rolled the latex on, groaned out loud when she wrapped him fully in her hand and stroked up and down his arousal. She found his mouth with hers again as she tugged him closer and lined him up with all her slick, female heat.

Oh, yeah, she was wet. Drenched from her release. And hotter than anything he’d felt before.

“Slow,” she whispered against his lips. “Just…slow.”

He clenched his jaw tight on the verge of thrusting hard and deep inside her. Electricity raced down his spine. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He pushed slowly until just the head of him was buried inside her and then stopped.

She was tight. So damn tight he was afraid he’d hurt her if he moved too fast. Nothing he remembered had ever been like this.

He looked down to find her lids were closed tightly, her lips compressed. He wondered just how long it had been for her.

Quite a while. Years maybe.

If she’d left him for Slade, she hadn’t been seeing the guy recently. Hadn’t been seeing anyone recently.

And he was a son of a bitch for being thrilled by that knowledge.

“Kat,” he whispered. “I don’t want to—”

She gripped his ass with her hands when he would have eased back and kissed him again. “No. Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop. I need…I need…” She shifted her hips so he slid in another inch, groaned at the friction. “You,” she finished on a deep breath.

He dropped his forehead to hers and drew air into his suddenly shaky lungs. When he felt steady, he licked his finger, got it good and wet and slid it between them to find her sweet spot again.

The flick of his finger, the push and pull of his hips soon had her moaning and writhing beneath him. And with one final thrust he was all the way in.

Okay, he’d been wrong.
This
was coming home.

“Kit-Kat,” he whispered against her mouth. He wanted to remember the feel of her clenched around his length. Wanted to memorize each sigh and sound and movement she made so when he was ninety he could look back and remember how he’d felt at this moment.

Whole. Not broken. Not empty. Nothing but complete.

Then she was moving beneath him, and all thought rushed right out of his brain. He matched her thrusts until the little tugs were long strokes and they were both sweaty and breathless from exertion.

He had to grit his teeth to hold off his climax, but the instant he felt her muscles clench around him and her back bow in pleasure, he let go. Erupted deep inside her on a long groan. And in the process let go of six years of emptiness and anger and bitter betrayal.

He just didn’t know if it would be enough to get past what had happened between them.

Six years earlier
Cairo

By the end of the first week, Pete knew he was in trouble.

Shannon had made herself scarce as soon as Pete had
arrived in Cairo, staying with Kat’s friend Sawil Ramirez two floors up, but it hadn’t cut the tension. When Pete wasn’t making love to Kat, they were walking on eggshells around each other.

He hated the strain. Hated the way she was censoring what she said and did around him. He knew she was afraid to talk about anything serious for fear of another eruption like the last time they’d been together.

It nearly killed him, because there were things they needed to get out in the open, but he decided not to push her. Instead, he smiled when she told her silly jokes, held her hand as they played tourist and scoured the Abdeen Palace and the Sharia al-Muski street market, even managed to laugh when they took a belly dancing class that made him feel like a complete idiot. But always in the back of his head was the weight of what he needed to tell her and the fear she may not be as thrilled with his plans for the future as he was.

Her dig would be over in three months—at least for her. They’d talked briefly about what she planned to do when her time was up. She’d given up her apartment in Maryland when she’d come to Cairo, so she didn’t have one to go back to. After a year away, she wanted to go home to Washington and see her mother for a while, and then she needed to get busy on her dissertation. She could do that anywhere, he knew. She didn’t need to be back in Maryland to write. In his head, he’d already worked out the details.

Convincing her to come to Miami, though, was small potatoes compared to what he had to convince her about himself. And after a week, he felt like he was running out of time.

She rolled over in bed and snuggled into him on a sigh, and as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer, he told himself he’d do it today. She’d taken a week off to be with him, and she had to go out to the site this
morning to work, but tonight, when she came home, he planned to lay it all out for her. Strip himself bare and hope what she felt for him was strong enough to overlook everything he’d done.

“You smell good,” she said in that sleepy, sexy voice of hers he loved hearing.

“You feel good.”

She smiled against his neck, slinked on top of him in all her naked glory and pressed her lips against his throat. His blood pulsed. He grew rock hard as the St. Jude medal she always wore fell against his chest. “How good?”

He groaned at the feel of her silky wetness already sliding against his length, placed his hands on her thighs and spread her legs so she could settle herself on his erection. “Like paradise. Let me take you there.”

Their lovemaking was slow and sensuous. But reserved. He felt it in the same way he’d felt it for the last seven days. She was holding back, and the urgency to break through her barrier only reinforced what he needed to do tonight.

“I could get used to you being around like this,” she mumbled later when she collapsed onto his chest, slick with sweat and breathless.

“Could you?”

She nodded slowly.

“Good. Because I plan on being around. A lot.”

She went still. Then pressed her lips against his chest before climbing off and heading for the shower. “What’s your plan for the day while I’m gone?”

Pete pushed himself up in the pillows and watched as she brushed her teeth, telling himself her avoidance technique wasn’t a bad sign. Not completely. “I thought I’d veg on your couch, rot my mind with Egyptian television and drink what’s left of that crappy beer in your refrigerator.”

She turned, toothbrush in mouth, and smiled. “Sounds like a full day.”

His eyes ran over her naked flesh. “After the way you’ve worn me out the last few nights, I need the rest.”

Her reaction was masked as she turned back to the sink, rinsed and grabbed a towel from the rack. “Then you’d better rest up for tonight. We’re having dinner with Shannon and Sawil. And after, I plan on wearing you out all over again.”

He said good-bye to her at the door with a long, lingering kiss he hoped she’d think about as much as he knew he would, then watched her leave from the window. When he was alone, he looked around the sparse living room she’d called home the past year and wondered if she’d like his house in Miami. He did, but what if she wanted something smaller? Or less modern? Shit, she was an Egyptologist. She liked old things.