Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) Page 20

  A scream roared through his mind and emerged as a high-pitched keening noise that he shut down before it could travel on the wind and give him away. They were supposed to be together.

  He looked up at the window and pain morphed into anger. He’d wanted to be the one to save her. To worship her. He smashed his fist against the bark. She was supposed to be working on a fucking homicide, not fucking the FBI.

  Fury vibrated through his muscles. God, he wanted to punish her. To hurt her. To make her see him. Beg him for forgiveness. To tell him he was the only one she wanted—the only one she’d ever want. The temptation to go in there and kill them both was almost overwhelming. But he held himself back. The fed wouldn’t be here long.

  If he could kill the bastard and get away with it, he would. But murdering an FBI agent would bring down the wrath of the federal authorities, and then he’d never get Erin.

  He wasn’t stupid. Or impetuous.

  But he was done waiting.

  She was his. And she deserved to be punished.

  He closed his eyes, and the memory flashed through his brain like a retinal scar. His father screaming at his mother a split-second before he killed her. He swore he could feel the spatter of blood hitting his cheek as his mother’s head exploded.

  That’s how he’d known Erin was the one. To share an experience so profound had been a sign that she was the woman he’d been waiting for, and he’d do everything it took to win her.

  But first he was going to make her wish she was dead.

  Blood dissolved on his tongue as he sucked his battered knuckles. How did he get her attention? How did he make her hurt as seriously as he was hurting? An image from the trial flashed through his brain, and he knew exactly what he needed to do. Make her regret taking her eye off the prize. Make her realize mistakes had repercussions, and repercussions could hurt just as much as any whore’s betrayal.

  * * *

  Erin couldn’t believe how her entire being buzzed with a strange mix of satisfaction and arousal. She’d been nervous that she’d forgotten how to do this, and that it couldn’t possibly be as amazing as she remembered. But it had been.

  Every sensation felt brand-new and mesmerizing. She trailed kisses down his throat, nibbling the thick cord that ran down the side of his neck. The contrast of the darker tone of his skin against her much paler body made her think of sandy beaches and hot sun. His body was honed and fit, showcasing muscles that made her want to touch and taste. She ran her fingers through silky hair, over powerful shoulders, strong collarbones, and defined abs covered in warm tanned skin. Even his navel made her want to dip her tongue to taste.

  Her fingers skimmed a rough spot. A scar. She hadn’t noticed it last time, but that night had been about reclaiming her life, and she hadn’t thought much beyond Darsh’s wicked smile and crazy good looks.

  She’d used him without any thought as to his emotions.

  “What happened here?” Her voice was gruff.

  He shifted his arm to see what she was looking at. “Bullet.”

  “I can see that.” She kissed the scar and rolled onto the side, lifting his arm to see the exit wound. Ouch. “Marines? Or FBI?” She kissed the puckered flesh. He reared up and tried to grab her, but she pulled away.

  “Baghdad. Small arms fire.”

  She wanted to know more about him, about what made him get up in the morning and strap on his federal armor.

  “Thankfully it wasn’t bad enough to get me sent home.” His grin sliced the air.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because the team medic sewed me up in the field, and I didn’t tell my CO until it was almost healed. It was just a flesh wound.” He dismissed it.

  He’d been inches from death but had been more worried about losing his place in the fight than the prospect of dying. There was something ridiculously attractive about people prepared to sacrifice themselves in the service of their country. Something that melted a woman’s heart no matter how impermeable she tried to make it.

  Death could happen to anyone on any given day, especially to soldiers, cops, or firefighters, but it was slightly more of a hazard in battle. She found another scar on his hip and kissed that, too. Teasing him with her hair because she could tell he liked the feel of it against his skin.

  His cock twitched, and he tensed when she kissed along his length. Though she wanted nothing more than to take him inside, she didn’t.

  The first time with Darsh had held an element of risk and danger, like walking on hot coals or touching an open flame. This time she wanted to take it slow. She tested them both by delaying what they each so desperately wanted again. She tugged on his shoulder until he rolled over and lay on his front. She traced the strong column of his spine and the indents around each vertebra, the sharp angles of his shoulder blades. It was so unusual to have access to another body, and his was so finely made. She wanted to enjoy every inch. She kneaded her fingers into his tense shoulders, and he groaned.

  “You’re so stiff.” She dug her thumbs into a knot of muscle.

  His big hand reached back to cup her thigh. “I’ve got something else you can massage—”

  She pressed deeper into the tight muscles, and he growled and sank into the bed. “You’re killing me.”

  “Suck it up, G-man. I dated a physio back in college who took some massage courses. He taught me a few things.”

  “I bet he did.” He laughed but sounded almost in pain.

  “About massage.” She stilled. What did he actually think of her? That she did this every other week? That her bedroom had a revolving door? Sure, she’d told him she hadn’t had sex in three years, but why should he believe her? “I never had sex with him. We got close, but…”

  He sat up, and she fell back onto the mattress beside him. He stretched out on top of her and brushed her hair back from her forehead with both hands. “You don’t need to give me a blow-by-blow of your love life. I’m not judging you for hooking up with me that night in Quantico—or tonight for that matter. In fact, I’m not judging you at all.”

  The way he stared at her was like he could see all the way to her soul.

  She bit her lip. “I know it’s stupid. I know I should own it. But, gah, I don’t want you thinking I sleep around.”

  “I don’t, but even if I did, I wouldn’t judge you for it. You think I’m a saint?” He dipped his mouth and captured her bottom lip, tugged, and then kissed the sting better. “You need to get over it.”

  She laughed. “I can’t. It’s ingrained—like the blonde hair and blue eyes.” She tensed, painfully aware of the irony of her laying here naked and telling him she wasn’t easy.

  “Okay, let me guess, you’ve slept with, hmm,” his eyes narrowed as he stared at her face, “three guys in your entire lifetime. The first was some guy in college. The second was your husband. And the third was me…”

  “How’d you know that?” She frowned. “About the guy in college? I never told anyone about that loser.”

  “I’m a behavioral analyst.” He laughed at her expression. “Look, it’s obvious you don’t just dive into the sack with anyone. Cops talk. I’ve already had two guys tell me not to bother hitting on you unless I want my ego crushed. And you’re too hot for someone not to have pulled every trick in the book to get you into bed, and college boys are good at it—not as good as Marines though.” His dark eyes shone with humor. “That’s an open secret in the military. Don’t fall for all the Special Forces hype. Those guys are more in love with their tools than with women”—his eyes brimmed with amusement—“but, getting back to your sordid exploits, when you realized the college kid was a worthless piece of shit, you dumped him and waited until you met someone you thought you could fall in love with, only he turned out to be another piece of shit. God,”—he rubbed his nose against hers—“you have lousy taste in men.” His hand moved lower and made her gasp. “I should be insulted,” he said, drawing a finger over her slick flesh and making her back arch off the bed
in shocked pleasure.

  “I’m trying to improve my batting average,” she managed to get out. “No pressure.”

  “Pretty sure I can beat two duds.” He ran his tongue over the tip of her breasts, and she knew he was right. She couldn’t believe how easily he brought her to a state of frantic arousal, like he knew exactly how she needed to be touched before she did.

  As long as she didn’t fall in love with this one, she told herself sternly. She didn’t want to think about the dark abyss that had been falling in love with her husband.

  She caught Darsh’s face in her hands and kissed him deeply. She’d forgotten how good it was to feel a man’s weight on top of her. She planted her heels on the bed, and her hips arched. His mouth was on her breast, his hand stroking over her, arousing, but never really touching her. Paying her back with some of her teasing and making her want to groan with frustration.

  Her body felt like someone had poured gasoline all over her libido, and he’d just lit the match. The slight grain of stubble on his jaw scraped over her skin, the sensation incredibly erotic. He shifted, and she thought he’d gone to grab a condom, but instead, he moved between her legs and his mouth brushed her inner thighs. The rasping of his beard added a layer of sensation to the experience. A thousand pleasure points exploded over her skin. Her orgasm ricocheted through her so fast she was spinning through the universe and screaming out his name.

  He smiled against her thighs and then he picked up a condom that he’d pulled from God knew where and covered himself. He crawled up her body, kissing every inch along the way before the tip of him was pressed against her entrance. He kissed her deep and carnal, and she tasted herself on his lips.

  He paused. “You sure about this?”

  That he was asking this again, when he was cradled between her open thighs, made her want him even more. “Yes.”

  He pushed inside, and she dug her nails into his back, reveling in the feeling of being completely full. God, she’d missed this. Missed the weight, the friction, the delicious glide of skin against skin. Slowly he pulled out and entered her again, hot and slick. Her body clung to his like he was the only safe place in a storm-tossed sea.

  He thrust deeper until he was buried all the way inside. He rested his forehead against hers, then propped himself on his elbows and stared deep into her eyes. “All right?”

  She hadn’t realized how desperately she was clinging to him until he asked. Hesitantly she nodded and let go of some of the tension. “Incredible.”

  He kissed her again, slowly, as if letting her get used to their intimacy. Sex against the wall had been thrilling and exciting, but this was letting him even closer, and he knew it. He was moving unhurriedly, kissing her over and over, stretching his body over hers without giving her too much of his weight. Teasing her nipples with the rough hairs on his chest. His hands held her face in place so he had full access to her mouth. Controlling the kiss, plundering her lips, taking what he wanted and giving her everything he had. It should have scared her, but it didn’t.

  Moonlight struck the side of his face, outlining the masculine brow, the sharp nose. He looked so tense, so focused…

  “You’re so beautiful,” she told him.

  “That’s my line.” He rolled them so she was on top. Ran his hands down her sides and then up over her breasts, cupping their soft weight in his palms. She loved how he made her feel, like she really was beautiful. Slowly he started moving beneath her, small thrusts driving her insane with the need to take more. Stretching her, filling her, making her toes curl with pleasure, but not enough to push her over the edge. The callouses on his fingers grazed her skin in a way that made her back arch. So good. She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten the long, winding path that could lead to the perfect climax.

  He reared up and tugged her hair back, exposing her throat and taking advantage of the position to thrust just a little bit harder. His other arm banded her waist, pulling her against him as he drove her insane. Moving not quite hard enough or deep enough to tip either of them over the edge, but feeling so good she never wanted it to stop. Her body knew the rhythm, and she matched him perfectly. She put a twist into the shift of her hips, and his fingers dug deeper.

  “The first time I saw you, I thought you looked like an angel.” He held her hair bunched tight in his fist, and she desperately tried to get closer even though he wasn’t letting her move as much as she wanted. “There was no way I was leaving that bar without you.” His voice was gruff when he admitted that.

  “Unless you’d known I was married.”

  His gaze held hers even as he kept driving her upwards on that elusive hunt for release. “You’re not married anymore.” He let her hair go and shifted them again so she was on her back and he was on his knees. His movements became faster, deeper. A fine layer of sweat formed on his forehead.

  “I can’t wait much longer,” he gritted out.

  “What are you waiting for?” she gasped. It felt so good. So good.

  His eyes heated. “You.”

  He hit the spot that made her cry out again in panicked pleasure. Suddenly she was flooded by sensation, each nerve bursting like a firework through her body as white light exploded behind her eyes. His shout of completion chased her as she catapulted through some alternative dimension before landing right back in his arms.

  He gathered her to him, holding her close for a few heartbeats while the world righted itself. Then he gently extricated himself, got rid of the condom, and came back to bed, pulling her tight against his body to combat the sudden chill in the room.

  “You should sleep in the other room,” she murmured, but she snuggled closer anyway.

  He kissed her ear, spooning her body like he’d been made to fit. The pulse in his wrist throbbed against her ribs as he cupped her breast.

  “Go to sleep, Erin.” He nuzzled her ear. The heat of his body soothed her, and exhaustion swept over her like a calming wave before dragging her beneath the surface.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rachel crept out of the front door, careful not to make a sound. Her car was right there, and she started the engine, all the while checking the windows of her home to make sure her parents hadn’t woken up. She doubted they’d heard her leave. They slept in separate bedrooms at the back of the house. Pretended it was because of Dad’s snoring, but no one was fooled.

  Their marriage was another victim of her rape.

  Her throat knotted as she drove away. What had happened to her had destroyed them. So much remorse. So much shame. She wished she could go back and do something differently—not moved from home into a dorm, screamed louder, fought him off—or maybe just never told anyone…

  The secret might have destroyed her, but so had the truth. She never went out except to the crisis center or classes. She didn’t sleep. She was scared all the time. She saw his face above her every night. Hurting her. Every night. Like a devil in her dreams torturing her all the way from the depths of hell.

  She’d felt empowered when the verdict had been read. After Hawke was sent to prison. After the jury told her and Mary that they believed them. That they believed they weren’t lying to get some boy’s attention. The town said otherwise, and the wall of hatred had driven her off social media and made her change her accounts to ones she only shared with her closest friends.

  She wiped at the tears. She hated how weak she’d become. How untrusting.

  Snow drifted out of the sky in indolent spirals. Another big fall was forecast for today. She loved snow—or rather, she loved being tucked up beside a roaring fire surrounded by her parents, and their house. Safe. She shuddered. What did that even mean? Safety was an illusion for the foolish. And the fact she was arguing with herself about it showed exactly how crazy she’d become.

  They said two-to-eight percent of rape allegations were possibly false. The figure was low, but who in the world would lie about being raped? Who’d make up that sort of vicious desecration just to get noticed? Certainly not someone
who’d been raped. Forget the pain and terror of the attack itself, the aftermath was worse. It was like stripping away everything you thought you knew about yourself and reducing it to ashes, lies, illusion.

  Rachel knew she was considered one of the “lucky” ones. She’d studied the stats. Eighty percent of rapes were never reported to the cops. Less than five percent of those were prosecuted, and of those, only 0.2-2.8 percent resulted in convictions where the attacker went to jail. Erin Donovan had made that happen with her belief in Rachel’s statement and dogged police work. It had made Rachel believe in miracles, made her believe that her community had triumphed, at least in legal terms. She’d hoped it had been a sign that the rest of the country was getting serious about the issue of rape on college campuses, but only time would tell.

  And now these murders had brought back all the old fear and insecurity. She shuddered and pushed the uncertainty out of her mind.

  The only positive thing was she’d discovered she could use her experience to help others. Sure she was scared to death, but she was also more empathetic than she used to be. She was damaged, but she had practical knowledge in how a victim could get help. If that was all she took with her from this awful chapter of her life, at least it was something.

  She put on her blinker to head toward Fox Creek Park. She had classes at nine, but she had something very important to attend to first.

  It was quiet, which she preferred. People were either spit-in-her-face hateful, or overly-friendly sympathetic. They all looked at her like they knew her. They didn’t know her.

  Earlier, she’d received a call from one of the guys who helped out at the crisis center. She clenched her fingers around the wheel. Another girl had been attacked, but she was too scared to officially report it. The girl needed to go to the clinic and get checked out. The problem was she was so traumatized she was reluctant to seek treatment.

  The woman needed to think about STDs. Pregnancy. UTIs. Physical damage. A rape kit in case she changed her mind about wanting to nail the bastard at some point in the future. It was important, or Rachel wouldn’t have agreed to get out of bed before the crack of dawn.