Caught (7 page)

“No!” Megan suddenly murmured in her sleep.

She tossed her head to the side, her hair falling in a waterfall of golden tresses across her cheek. Damn, it had been a mistake to go back to his parents' place. Abandoned, falling apart, and the stench of death still lingering. But it was a place that would always be a part of him, a reminder of his origins, his failure. Every time he visited, he felt angry, determined, and many times, enlightened.

But what in the hell had Ivan been doing there?

Could he be hiding there now?
No, he must have left.

Another moan filtered through his thoughts, soft and deep. It struck him that she sounded like a woman being made love to. His dick jumped at the thought.

Stiff as a flagpole almost instantly, Cody tried pushing her off his lap, but Meg whimpered again, and he felt a pang of sympathy.

Okay, he could do this. Comfort her. She'd wanted a hug before, maybe she just wanted that now.

He ran an awkward hand down her hair, attempting to soothe her. Not to touch her hair or any of that stuff; he'd always tried to touch her as little as possible. But tonight she was whimpering and he wasn't deaf—he heard her moans. He ran his hand down her hair again—silky delicious hair, not that he was really noticing. “Shh. Relax. Go to sleep.”

She whimpered again, and Cody shut his eyes tight, trying to block out the sound. Damn it was hard. He pitched himself to the darkest day of his life, the only thing that could bring him out of any sensual haze.

It had been awful, that day. He'd been sharing looks with her for weeks. Heated looks. And he'd been standing closer only to find out that she didn't move away. Cody was certain, certain, that she liked him.

“She wants me,” Ivan had taunted that evening. “It's me she wants, not you.”

“Shut up,” Cody had said. “You're just jealous she's walking with me tomorrow and not you.”

“I'm not jealous. You can't even get her to kiss you.”

“Of course I can, you dimwit,” Cody assured him, but really, he wasn't so sure. She was different than the other girls; special. He didn't want to screw it up.

“I could make her have sex with me,” Ivan offered.

“I can make her have sex with me, too,” Cody countered, angry, “and when she has sex with me she'll be mine, all mine, no one else can ever touch her, especially you.”

“Ten dollars you can't get her to do it tonight.”

Cody had been pissed, but he'd been challenged and he'd shaken that asshole's hand.

For ten fucking dollars.

Now he could never bring himself to imagine being with her; he felt like that moment would be tainted, forever, because he'd shaken his brother's dirty hand and had boasted that he'd lose his virginity and take Megan's for ten dollars.

He remembered leading her into the woods and how they began arguing about something. He didn't remember what, it was so inconsequential. Something about him being too quiet and acting weird, according to her. Apparently he wasn't good at appeasing perceptive females either, because she said, “You know what, Cody? I don't feel like walking with you today after all.”

They walked back through the woods back to the house, and that's when they saw them.

In the living room that adjoined the kitchen.

His parents, in a pool of their own blood. The family cat.

Every living breathing thing in that house had been killed.

And at the ages of sixteen and fourteen, they witnessed their first murder.

One week later, he was taken in by his mother's Texan relatives, and Cody left town. He thought that he'd died the day he'd seen his parents' murdered bodies.

But he'd been wrong.

Some part, some small part of him, had been clinging to life. That last part had died the day Megan watched him drive away through that window.

He stopped dreaming. He stopped wanting to live. He stopped thinking. He became an animal. Was labeled aggressive in school. Antisocial. Rebellious, even though he was still naively innocent—every act of vandalism he committed, he later came to clean, every property he damaged in his raging fits would be mended the next day. It was a need to make things right that kept him coming back, and a need to hurt something that made him do something wrong. And it was that need that made him come back to Phoenix, Arizona, to the dry weather, the cacti, the Southwestern flair homes, every year on the anniversary of his parents' death, and then later, to make a home here. And make things right.

He hadn't intended to look for Megan, at least, not at first.

He supposed she'd put the past behind her and didn't need to see his big ugly coyote face every day as reminder. But then he saw her, that day at the cemetery, and when she spotted him across the graves of his parents, he knew she had not forgotten him.

She had not forgotten him, or that night long ago, the one they would never forget.

“No,” she gasped now, and when she squirmed, her ear grazed his groin—more exactly, the muscle awakening there—and Cody bit back a growl as pleasure shot up his spine.

She snuggled with her nose, caressing that aching part of him without knowledge, and it was so unexpected that his grip loosened on the papers he'd been holding. They cascaded to the floor, all at once, in a whisper.

He murmured in a breathless prayer, “God don't do this to me,” and gave up, dropping his head back and taking a deep breath. He wanted to push her away. No. He wanted to pull her closer. Wrap her legs around him. And make her forget every man but him. Make her forget every pain with the pleasure he could give her.

Before he could control himself, his palm cupped the soft, perfectly round swell of her right breast, just to discover that it fit so right in his … no!! What the hell was the matter with him? He yanked his hand away and, shocked, glanced down: saw that she still had her eyes closed.

The breath shuddered out of him as he eased away from her and set her back on the sofa.

“Banks, Megan … Meg,” he said, his voice laced with warning. “Stop … making noises.”

She did not stir, but parted her lips to let go a sigh. And those lips, holy God, they were so wet and pink.

He growled.

“You better wake up and tell me to get the hell away from you,” he said, his starving eyes fastened on her parted lips. He had wondered many times what they would feel like. Taste like. And then he'd cursed at himself for wanting to know. He'd caused her enough grief. He was
cursed.

But now it didn't matter, it was difficult to feel anything other than hot inside, and itchy in his skin, and hungry. Now he saw her lips and if he did not take them soon, if he did not taste her with his own, he would die all over again like the day he'd been taken away.

He bent over, feeling their breaths mingle, thinking this was so so goddamned wrong, even if Cody wanted her like nobody else in their lives would want her.

With an unsteady hand, he reached out and ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, and his heart started to pound as he tested the soft, silken puffiness of that lip.

If only she weren't so pretty, her lips so soft, so pink …

He lowered his mouth to graze hers, softly, so that she would not wake, murmuring, “This never happened, Meg.”

But it had, it
was
happening.

Just a graze.

Though he wanted so much more he felt like yelling down the damned hotel until she gave all of herself up to him. Feeling a growl trapped in his throat, he brushed her lips one last time, softly, igniting the hunger inside him so badly it took an inhuman effort to pull back, get up without waking her, and step away. “Ahh, shit!”

Storming across the room, he escaped through the connecting door, breathing hard as he bolted the lock behind him.

He needed much more than a cold shower.

But he couldn't have what he wanted.

So the cold shower would have to do.

*   *   *

She woke up afraid.

A sense of being watched crept over her again. Her bones felt cold.

Afraid she was becoming paranoid, Megan hugged the couch pillow tight to her chest and groggily glanced around the hotel room. Her mind flashed to Cody, honing in on his smile. His blue eyes that made her think of Hawaii when they sparkled warmly like that. Where was he?

She set the pillow down and stood, spotting him by the door.

She smiled at him, feeling herself blush. “Hey,” she said sleepily. He had not moved an inch, was still and silent. “What time is it?” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw it was 4:10
A.M.
“So early. Don't you sleep?”

She saw a smile form on his lips, and it filled her with pleasure, but she wanted more than smiles. Wanted the clean, cool forest scent of his hair filling her lungs.

Watching her strangely, he ran his fingers down his tie as though its weight was a burden on his chest. As she watched his hands, she could only think of how rough his fingertips were and how they would feel if they ever reached the tender parts of her skin.

He took a step forward, moving differently, not as stealthily as he normally did. But slowly. Very, eerily slowly. Megan held her breath, her head swimming with anticipation. The shadows pulsed, the breath of each somehow synchronized to begin when the other ended.

“I want you,” he said gruffly.

Her heart skipped, and for a moment she could only stare while holding her breath, unsure she'd heard right.

“I … want
you
,” she hastily returned, her heart hammering.
This is it
, a part of her screamed in excitement, while another could not believe it, couldn't give credit to this happening.

Cody wants me, Cody wants me, he really wants me!

He reached out and pulled her close, and his scent was different. Her nose twitched as she attempted to place the strange scent, struggling to find the essence of Cody in it, but it was difficult to retain an idea when he started stroking her rump. Shock raced through her system, and then, slow as ice melting, she relaxed against him and moaned. “Please,” she murmured. “Please kiss me … please…” she heard herself say.

He held her face and kissed her while pushing his fingers deep into her hair, his tongue rough and hungry. His taste … so unexpected. She opened her eyes, confused, but he groaned and the sound undid her, so she closed them once more and let him sweep her away. Something inside of her whispered,
this can't be. He's stronger than this. You'll wake up soon, and he'll be in the other room, and you'll be alone.

But she silenced that voice with a moan of pleasure, another whispered “please” as she sank her nails into his shoulders and rocked against him.

Way in the back of her mind, she heard footfalls in the adjoining room, then a bang on the door, followed by a crash as the door thrust open. And still Cody deepened the kiss, as though proving to her that nothing would tear him apart from her.

Megan shuddered wantonly. His attention had been so desired, so cherished, she wanted to beat whoever was coming in—get lost in Cody's kiss. But she couldn't. The intruder made Cody stop kissing her, and suddenly he instead wrapped his arms around her windpipe. “I wouldn't if I were you,” he told the one who'd broken through the door, in a voice so cold, Megan felt a chill down to her ankles. Was Cody threatening to throttle her?

Then she saw that the man by the door was Ivan. And he was … bare-chested. Wearing only something like checkered sleep pants. His hair was wet, his chest gleaming with moisture. “You're
not
me,” he growled, in a voice so deadly, Megan feared for Cody's life. But for a full second, she became riveted by Ivan's phisique.

He looked … muscular.

Too muscular.

When she'd pressed against him right now, Cody didn't feel as hard as Ivan looked as he walked over. And he moved, wow, like a killer. Like a trained killer.

Goodness but jail had done him wrong. They had made him into a killing machine, and he had eyes only for Cody. Murdering blue eyes.

Noticing that his hold on her throat had loosened, Megan pushed him aside. “Cody, run! Go get your gun!”

But before Cody could move, Ivan knocked him to his knees and pushed him to the ground. “Son of a bitch,” he hissed, grabbing his hair and slamming his forehead on the carpet. “Having fun in my closet?
Huh?
Having fun
watching her
while you play with my
fucking ties
?” He tightened the tie on his neck with a yank and Cody began choking.

Panicked, Megan didn't register what Ivan was saying, only registered what she saw: Cody being killed by his tie, just like his colleagues joked he would.

She had to do something. She lunged at wet, bare-chested Ivan and pummeled his ribs so hard he turned around to face her with a look of utter annoyance, and when he did, she launched a kung fu kick in the air, slamming it right in his nuts. He bowled over with a yell.

Megan twisted around and reached for Cody on the floor, who seized the moment and punched Ivan one, two, three times, then broke into a run. She was about to follow when a bloodied Ivan caught her hand and pulled her back with a growl of displeasure. She was about to hit him again when he snarled, “Don't … Even … Think it!”

She blinked, registering the glimmering blue eyes that flashed pure anger at her. Long-lashed blue eyes.
Cody's
blue eyes. Cody's … wet chest?

“THAT SICK FUCK WITH THE TIE”—he gritted through his teeth as he tried to stand, still bent over from the pain—“WAS NOT”—he put both his hands on his knees, dragging in hard breaths—“ME.”

 

FIVE

Megan wasn't talking.

Her throat was clogged with emotion and she doubted she could take any more of this crap for much longer. When Cody had grabbed her stuff back at the hotel, haphazardly put on a suit, but not a tie, and informed her that they were going to Zach's house, she didn't protest.