Dark Waters (2013) (28 page)

“It’s hot,” he warned as he slid the mug into her grip.

It was instant, but tasted fantastic. She met his vivid blue gaze. “Thanks.” For the coffee. For the orgasm. For holding her together and believing she was worth helping, even if it was only because of a promise he’d made her father.

“You’re welcome.” The words buzzed over nerve endings that felt stripped of their usual armor.

He turned back to his bacon and she forced herself to stop watching all that male perfection and take in the other scenery. They were surrounded by trees and hidden to the south by the jeep. There was a path through the poplars to what promised to be a small lake. The sun had the feel of promised heat in its early rays.

“Do you think we’re safe?” she asked quietly.

Brent looked up. “For now.” He snagged three pieces of crispy bacon and stuffed them in a fresh white bread roll. She was drooling by the time he brought it over. She bit into it and the salty heaven made her eyes cross with bliss. She smacked her lips as flavor flooded her mouth. “Where did you learn to cook?”

He was watching her mouth, but he cocked an eyebrow.

“Prison,” she guessed.

“No. Though I’m not sure frying bacon counts as cooking.” He took a bite of his own roll. Chewed. “When Mom left, things got a little lean in the kitchen department,” he admitted. “I figured out the basics.”

“No one ever tried to get you kids into social services?”

He gave her a look that suggested she was crazy.

“How old were you when she left?”

“Six. Finn wasn’t even out of diapers—he was slow that way.” He shot her a grin.

“You don’t hate her?”

He shook his head. “She was a battered wife. A victim.”

“She was your mother,” Anna said fiercely. “She should have taken care of you.”

“The way yours took care of you?” he pointed out.

OK. It
had
been hard when she’d effectively been abandoned by both parents at a time she’d desperately needed them. But she’d been a teen and ultimately it had taught her to stand on her own two feet. “There is no comparison. If your mother had taken you boys with her, then your father wouldn’t have been able to abuse Finn and you wouldn’t have killed him. You wouldn’t have spent twenty years of your life in jail.”

“If she’d taken us with her, he’d have never have stopped looking for her. He was an asshole.” Brent grimaced. “I am not blaming my mother for what I did. That’s chickenshit.”

“Fine, I’ll blame her for you.”

“Too late.” He finished his roll and licked his fingers.

Anna’s eyes widened. “You know where she is?”

“Was.”

“She’s dead?”

Brent nodded, stood, and threw out the dregs of his coffee. “Cancer. Three years ago.”

“Did you go and see her?” Her heart pounded.

He shook his head but refused to meet her gaze.

“What, then?”

At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer. “I hired Jack Panetti to track her down. By the time he found her, she was in a hospice.”

“And?” Getting information out of Brent was like wringing out a rock, but then she remembered how much he’d opened up to her over the last few days, and strove for patience.

The flatness of those blue eyes belied the emotion that shimmered through the air. “She had a new family. Why would I want
to remind her of all the bad times?” he said simply. “She was dying.”

Her hand went to her mouth.

“I’d planned to let Finn know where she was in case he wanted to contact her, but…” He jerked his shoulder. “She died.”

“So you didn’t tell him?”

He shook his head. “We weren’t exactly talking back then.”

“Because?”

He laughed, some of the tension draining from his face. “Because I’m a jackass.”

Aspects of Brent’s life were so tragic and yet he never blamed others. He always took full responsibility. Emotion bombarded her from all directions. A crying jag would help, but she needed to put on her big girl pants and help get them out of the situation she’d gotten them into. “So,” Anna began as she cleared up the breakfast stuff, “where do we go today?”

“I don’t want to risk crossing the border unless I know Holly’s in the same province. I’ll contact Finn later.” He looked toward the lake. “This is a good spot. I think we should just lay low for now.”

“Are you serious?” The idea of not running for a few hours, of pretending everything was normal and they were just on holiday sounded wonderful. “What if the police are after us?”

His lips thinned. “They’re looking for you.” He handed her a paper. Every drop of blood drained to her toes and she swayed. She was on the front page, her passport image, grim and unsmiling. There was a picture of her home, with a body on a stretcher being wheeled out. No mention of anyone being arrested at the scene, only that no one had seen her since last Friday night. The cops didn’t know if she’d been murdered or if she was the killer. Her insides twisted. The reporter had managed to dig up her father’s dubious past, and his recent death. All her friends and colleagues would know her family’s dirty secrets, but that was the least of her problems.

Laughter moved closer as kids played in the trees. She ducked her head. Brent rummaged inside the nearby jeep and pulled out a large bag of toiletries and towels before slipping the ball cap gently over her dark hair. “You and I are off to the shower block for a little beauty work.” A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. “You might want to grab your bathing suit.”

Ten minutes later she stood in a T-shirt and panties because they hadn’t planned a beach trip when they’d bought their supplies. Brent squinted at the hair dye package. “Why’d they have to write everything so damn small?” he grumbled.

The place felt warm and damp from the previous occupant’s shower.

“Let me see.”

“I’ve got it.” He held the box high above her head. “You did me, now I’m going to do you.”

It felt like someone had just lit the flame under them as his eyes flared and she swallowed hard. His jaw clenched as he went back to reading the instructions. He’d stripped off his shirt and just wore board shorts that clung to his narrow hips and strong thighs. Every muscle was covered by tanned skin, bleached hairs sprinkled over lower arms and legs. Rugged male perfection. All her female parts sat up and drooled.

“No tattoos?” She was trying to get them back on neutral footing, but it wasn’t working because her pulse kept skipping and her hands kept wanting to reach out and touch.

“How do you know I don’t have any tattoos?” His eyes laughed as she grinned at him.

“I saw you naked, remember?”

He frowned and then remembered how they’d first met. “Not my finest moment.
Among other things
,” he mimicked her words from that night less than a week ago and laughed. “Prison tats aren’t my kind of artwork.”

God, he was handsome and unexpectedly good humored. For an ex-con. Even the label felt like a betrayal. He shouldn’t have
served life, he shouldn’t have been convicted. And now she was the one wanted by the cops and he could be arrested for just being with her. But he’d already told her he’d turn himself in if she went to the police, and she didn’t trust them. At least with Holly, she had a chance of telling her story before they locked her up and threw away the key.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t going to happen,” said Brent.

Her eyes flashed to his.

“Come here.” That dimple cut into his cheek as he smiled.

She found herself taking a step closer in the cramped space. He pulled on the plastic gloves, wrapped the towel around her shoulders, and moved her a little closer. He mixed the hair dye and started applying the thick cream to her hair from the roots down. “The great thing about going blonde is you don’t have to pretend to be smart, it’s just an unexpected bonus.” He smiled, his own blond hair darkening in the humidity. His fingers continued to massage her scalp. Once he’d gone over every strand, he covered her hair in the plastic bag provided and stepped back.

Jeez, she felt ridiculous, standing here with a gorgeous man while wearing a plastic bag on her head. But even now, the awareness that fired between them at all the wrong moments sprang to life. Remembering what had happened last night, Anna started trembling.

Brent turned away to wash his hands in the little sink beside the shower stall. “Cold?”

As an active volcano
. “A little,” she said, because she was a coward and didn’t know where they stood, or what he wanted.

Brent got his towel off the peg and wrapped it around her waist. His fingers brushed the sides of her breasts and they both jumped.

“You’d better take it from here.” He took a step back into the shower curtain. His voice deepened and those board shorts were
telling their own story. There she was covered in a T-shirt and two thick towels, with a plastic bag on her head, and he was still turned on?

She didn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified. Maybe his sex life was as screwed up as hers. As he’d spent twenty years in prison, that was probably a given. She sat on the tiny wooden bench. After a few moments, Brent checked his watch and sat beside her. The wood groaned.

His arm touched hers. Shoulder to elbow. The connection would have made her bolt a week ago. Today she let herself relax into it and imagined how normal people lived their lives. “I don’t suppose you brought a Sudoku puzzle?”

Brent shook his head and closed his eyes, leaning back against the bare wall.

“How long do we have left to wait?”

“Twenty-five minutes and eighteen seconds.” He hadn’t even looked at his watch.

She fidgeted. The silence seemed to bounce around the brick walls. “Anything you want to talk about?”

He blew out a soft laugh. “No.”

“You sure?”

“I’m just sitting here, trying not to think about sex.”

Her mouth went dry. “How’s that working for you?” Her eyes automatically dropped to his shorts.

He linked his hands and draped them over a rather impressive bulge. Shivers ran over her body that had nothing to do with cold. She was turned on. So turned on, she was having to work hard to not squirm in her damn seat. No one else had ever affected her like this.

He kept his eyes closed. “Actually, for the first time since I was an adolescent boy, the idea of sex in the shower doesn’t terrify me.” Those bright blue eyes caught her watching him and glimmered. “So even though I feel like a dirty old man because you’re,
like, ten—” His lip curled.
Badass
. “I’m still feeling pretty damn good.”

She was twenty-six years old, and he thought the age gap between them was their biggest problem?

“We’re both consenting adults.” She raised a hand to touch his face.

“Don’t.” He grabbed her hand.

“Why not?” she asked softly.

“I’m not the sort of guy that a girl like you should mess around with.” A rogue trickle of moisture ran down his temple.

“A girl like me?” Her spine stiffened and she tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “What sort of girl would that be?”

“A good girl.” His knuckles skimmed her cheek. The energy in his eyes burned. “A woman who recognizes trouble and is smart enough to avoid it.”

“In the normal world, you’d probably be right.” Hurt flickered across his features, but he hid it. He hid a lot of things. “Because in the normal world, you wouldn’t have even let me in the door. But you did. Now you’re stuck with me.”

He raked his hair with his fingers, making it stick up on end. “I’m not just some ‘guy,’ Anna. I’m a fucking killer. A
lifer
.” Anger emanated from him in waves.

“You served your time—”

“I will
never
finish serving my time.” He stared intently into her eyes as if trying to impart some important secret.

And then she got it. “This is all about punishing yourself? You pushing me away physically when I know you want me, because it’s part of some self-imposed payback for killing your father?”

His lips curled into a cruel sneer. “Maybe I don’t want you.”

Christ, he should have terrified her, but she knew he’d never hurt her.

Anna pressed her mouth to his before he could move away, determined to prove he was wrong. She slipped her tongue along his upper lip and felt a tremor move through his shoulders and down his spine. He held still, but if he thought he was fooling either of them, he was nuts because desire swarmed the air so thick she could barely breathe.

And suddenly she was crushed to his chest, his mouth angling across hers and diving deep. Big hands gripping her shoulders, her hips. The towel slipped away, leaving only the thin cotton of her T-shirt and panties covering her.

Her nipples bunched tightly against his chest. She rubbed against him, desperate to touch him, skin on skin. He pulled back, eyes as dark as indigo, and she thought he was going to stop, to tell her he really didn’t want her. Then his gaze lowered and he stretched the thin cotton of her shirt taut across her breasts. A sharp piercing bolt of desire made Anna hold her breath in anticipation.

He lowered his mouth, teasing her through the wet cotton, abrading sensitive flesh until she squirmed and panted and almost ended up on the floor. He pulled her across him so she straddled his thighs. The narrowness of the bench stopped her from getting as close to him as she wanted and she moaned in frustration. Strong hands clamped her hips as he feasted on her breasts, drawing out a sensation that pulled all the way down to her core. She held on tight to his shoulders, wanting to touch him, but knowing if she let go, she’d fall, and if she fell, he’d stop touching her.

She did not want him to stop.

One of his hands moved south and eased inside her panties. Her back arched up as he slid one finger inside her. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“For you,” she gasped, and let her head fall back as he moved his finger inside her, then added another, the fullness testing her. She dug her nails into his shoulders. “I want
you,
Brent.”

They could have been anywhere and she wouldn’t have given a damn. He had her completely at his mercy and it didn’t terrify her.
In fact, she wanted more, she wanted all of him. Then she was flying, spinning out of control, her inner muscles clenching around his fingers in a long rolling explosion of pleasure. She collapsed against him and he wrapped both arms around her and held her tight. She could feel his heart pounding alongside hers, his erection pressed against her stomach.