Her Special Charm (14 page)

Hadn't she worked a miracle on him? Made him remember he had a soul?

The other detectives looked as if they were going to start fawning on her. James took the lead before that happened. “What are you doing here?”

The expression on her face was genial and polite. The same look she'd given Santini. The same one the patrolman had received. Except that Santini and the patrolman hadn't slept with her less than a week ago. He had. Didn't that entitle him to something a little different? To something a little more?

What the hell was wrong with him? He'd purposely stayed away to avoid this very thing. And now he felt slighted because he hadn't received it? He really
was
losing his mind.

Damn it, she made him feel so restless inside, he didn't know if he was coming or going.

“Uncle Bob arranged a field trip for my class,” she told him.

“Uncle Bob?” Santini echoed incredulously. “That would be Bob Walker?”

“One and the same,” she answered cheerfully. Her warm smile washed over the men one by one, coming to settle on James.

Her smile was enigmatic. He had no idea what she was thinking, what to make of it. Other than acknowledging that she drove him crazy.

“Let's go, class, follow Officer Harrelson,” she told them. “There's still a lot to see.”

“Can Detective Munro come with us?” one of the girls pleaded.

“Maybe some other time,” Constance replied before he could come up with an excuse himself. “Police work takes up a lot of his time.”

That stung, he thought, then tried to figure out if she'd meant it to hurt him. Nothing in her manner gave him the slightest clue.

“Where are the bad guys?” one of the students at the front of the line asked as they were being herded away from the detectives.

“In the holding cell,” Officer Harrelson told him. “That's downstairs.”

Some of the boys turned toward Constance eagerly. “Can we go see that next?”

“Maybe a little later,” Constance promised, shepherding the last of them out of the room.

James curbed the desire to follow them. To follow her. To take her aside and ask her where she'd been the last few times he'd called. But that would crack the facade he was trying so hard to maintain.

Still standing by his desk, Santini sighed audibly as the other detectives disbanded and returned to their cubicles.

“That, my friend, is one very fine-looking woman. I swear she gets easier on the eyes every time I see her.”

James shot him a warning glance. “You're drooling on my desk.”

“Can you blame me?” Santini sighed. “If I wasn't married—”

“She still wouldn't be seen with you,” James assured him darkly.

“Why?” There was just a shade of indignation in his voice. “You don't seem to be taking advantage of any opportunities.”

Something protective stirred in his chest. “She's not an opportunity.”

Santini's expression was nothing if not wistful. “She is from where I'm standing. A golden opportunity to get into heaven.”

Sighing, Santini shook his head and went back to his
own cubicle. Leaving James alone with his thoughts. Exactly where he didn't want to be.

 

When he got off duty, James told himself he was going home. And staying there. He did go home, just long enough to walk Stanley. Then he got back into his car and headed uptown.

He had to hold himself in check to keep from pounding on her door. “What the hell was that about?” he demanded when she finally came to open it.

She stepped back to allow him in. She'd been expecting him ever since this afternoon. “You're going to have to be a little more specific than that, James.”

He struggled for a shred of patience. It eluded him. There were things going on inside of him that he couldn't even begin to explain or examine. “What were you doing at the precinct today?”

“I already explained that at the precinct,” she reminded him. “I was taking the class on a field trip.”

“Why not to the zoo?” he asked. “Or the Museum of Natural History? Or the Museum of Modern Art?” There were so many other places besides the precinct. So many places where he wouldn't be reminded of just how much he missed her.

“Because the students have already been there.” She noticed he looked harried. Tired. She wanted to run her fingers along his face to comfort him. She wasn't sure how long she could restrain the impulse. “And, more importantly, because so many of them have members of their families in gangs, I wanted them to see what the
inside of a police station looked like without first having to go through a booking. I was hoping to impress them with the strength and intelligence of the people they'd be going up against if they considered slipping into a life of crime.” She found it strange to be talking about ten-year-olds this way, but criminal intent took hold early on the mean streets and she intended to out-maneuver it any way she could.

James realized this afternoon hadn't been about him; it had been about them, about her students. The lady was one of a kind.

And all he could think about was how much he'd missed her these last few days. How very much he wanted to be with her.

How much he wanted her.

It got the better of him.

Too weak to resist the flood of feelings that were all but drowning him, James caught her up in his arms and kissed her. Kissed her as if his very soul would expire in the next ten seconds if he didn't.

Because part of him believed that this was true.

E
ven as James swept Constance into his arms, even as the kiss took hold and his head began to spin, he was angry. Angry because he had no say in what was happening to him.

All control had been summarily yanked from him and he was just a puppet, a conduit through which these sensations, these tormenting feelings, traveled. He wanted to be able to walk away at any time, not be held hostage, not feel this gut-wrenching, overwhelming need to make love with this woman fate had put in his path.

Nothing was simple anymore, nothing straightforward. Before Constance, he'd functioned. He did his
job, went home, took care of his dog, went to bed. End of story. That had been all he'd required.

Now, now there was this insatiable appetite, these desires, these dreams that gave him no peace, that seemed to complicate every waking and sleeping moment of his life.

Why couldn't he just call an end to it?

He would, he decided. He would. Soon. For his own survival.

But not right now.

Because now was meant for her.

The gentle tempo they'd established by the end of the last time they'd made love had vanished like so many beads of moisture in the August sun. In its place was an urgency even more intense than the very first time they'd made love. It was there, gnawing away at his sensibilities, his restraint, because he knew what was waiting for him, knew the extreme euphoria coming together with her generated in his blood. He was beyond eager to lose himself within its confines.

Within her.

Swiftly, her tank top and shorts found their way to the floor. James stripped off his own shirt and began to shuck his jeans down along his hips when he felt her mouth curving against his.

Was she smiling?

Laughing?

Nerves and insecurity bonded together. Pulling his head back, he eyed Constance quizzically. She
was
smiling.

She framed his face with her hands, loving him so much it physically hurt her heart. The cameo still worked. She had begun to lose faith. “And here I thought you didn't like me anymore.”

This was a time for disclaimers, for bailing out. She'd given him a golden opportunity, but he couldn't make himself take it. Not when every fiber of his being was so centered on her.

“Like you?” he rasped, his voice barely squeezing itself out past his emotions. “Lady, I can't get enough of you.”

She wrapped her arms, her body, around his, sealing herself to him. Heat flared at all the points that came together, exciting her. The room swam. Her eyes were only on his.

“That's good, because the feeling's very mutual.”

Not standing on protocol, she brought her mouth up to his and anything else that might have been said died unspoken.

They let their actions do the talking for them.

He caressed her over and over again, stroking her silken skin, memorizing the soft curves and gentle dips her body took. Familiarizing himself with every inch of her. Because he knew in his heart that this was going to have to last him a very long time.

As she began to reciprocate, he thought he was going to lose what little grip he still had over himself. A moment later, when her fingers took possession of him, desire slammed against him so hard it all but jarred his teeth loose. Digging deep within himself, he somehow
found the strength to hold back a little while longer. Even when she began to slide her fingertips down the length of him, he managed.

Just.

But he was only human and there were limits. James caught hold of her wrist, stilling her fingers, his eyes warning her to stop. When she looked at him, dazed, he took the opportunity to reverse their positions, pushing her down flat on her back. She wiggled beneath him in tantalizing anticipation.

Wanting her to remember this as the best time, he showed her just how many ways a woman could be driven to the brink and over, only to be brought back and taken there again.

She understood now the definition of sweet agony. She lost count of how many times she'd felt the explosions. Her body was quivering beneath his. Slick, exhausted. And somehow, miraculously, still wanting. But that was his doing because she wanted to become one with him again.

She hardly had the strength to slip her arms around his neck as he moved back up to face her.

“If…your…goal's…death…by…passion…you've…almost…succeeded.” Constance managed to get the statement out in single-word increments.

He raised himself over her, the heat from his body searing into hers. Nearly singeing them both. She felt like home to him. A very dangerous feeling, he warned himself, because that meant he was putting his fate in
someone else's hands. As a detective, as a man, he'd learned he could only be burned that way.

“No goals.”

It was a promise. He couldn't let himself have goals, not when it came to a woman. That was beyond his realm. Beyond his sphere of trust. Eli might have had something special with his wife of forty-three years, but that was just it. Special. Rare.

James didn't see himself as the kind of man who believed he was entitled to something special. And nothing short of that would work. Besides, he knew he wasn't the easiest man to get along with. Someone really special would have to put up with him and not run exasperated and screaming from the room.

None of that mattered right now.

Because the next moment, he was sliding into her, letting the last of his thoughts go to wherever it was that they went when people unwound.

His hands threaded through hers and he raised them over her head. Meeting her eyes, he never looked away as he started to move within her.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as she wrapped her legs around him, felt the urgency of her movement as it became one with his.

They raced together, driving up the tempo until it engulfed them.

Until it brought them what they wanted.

Because he knew that he couldn't allow himself to see her again after tonight, he let the euphoria overtake him, blotting out his mind. It took him a while before
he could regulate his breathing. He was acutely aware that her breasts were moving up and down at an accelerated pace.

She was having her own trouble with her breathing. Combing back her hair with his hand, taking away anything that might begin to obstruct his view of her, he asked, “Did I remember to say hi?”

Her eyes crinkled. She moved just a touch to watch his reaction to her. “No, I don't believe you did.”

“Hi.”

He watched as a smile began in her eyes and filtered down to her mouth, encompassing all of her. Encompassing him.

“Hi,” she responded.

He knew he should be getting up, making some excuse in order to leave. But all he could do was put his arm around her and pull her closer to him on the rug.

Over in the corner, Felicia mercifully continued sleeping, unmindful of the passion she'd just missed.

Constance's breathing grew steadier. She loved the feeling of being tucked against him. Loved feeling his warmth just beneath her cheek.

Raising her head, she placed her hand on his chest and looked at him. Mischief highlighted her mouth. “So, how about those Mets?”

He laughed shortly. “You want to talk stats?”

Lacing her fingers together on his chest, she rested her chin on them, her eyes intent on his. “I want to talk about anything you want to talk about. I just want to hear the sound of your voice.”

He combed his fingers through her hair. Even that sent a shaft of desire through him. There was no end to this feeling, was there? “You make it hard for a man to walk away.”

Something tightened inside of her, bracing. She'd been abandoned before. By people who had no choice in the matter. Neither one of her parents had wanted to die and leave her. And there had been nothing she could do to change the situation, to prevent it.

But she could here.

Somehow, she had to find the way to make him want to stay. The way she needed him to.

“Then don't.” She saw the wary look that entered his eyes and thought she understood what was behind it. “No strings, James. I'm not asking for a commitment. I'm just asking you to stay. And be my friend.”

He laughed then, hooking his arm around her waist. “You treat all your friends this way?”

She tried to keep a straight face. “Just the very, very special ones.”

“And just how big is this ‘special' club?” Even as he asked, he felt a silver of jealousy piercing his skin. It was irrational, but he didn't want there to be others. He wanted her all for himself. And yet, he was trying to walk away.

This was confusing the hell out of him.

“Just one member.” She shifted, her hair brushing along his chest. “You.” Her lips lightly grazed his, then pulled back. Her voice grew lower. Seductive. “Are you planning on talking all night?”

No, what he wanted to do all night, all eternity, was make love with her.

It convinced him, once and for all, that she truly was a witch.

“You were the one who said she wanted to hear the sound of my voice,” he reminded her.

“True,” she acknowledged. “But everything in its place.”

Then, before he could answer, Constance brought her mouth within an inch of his again. Tempting him. It seemed incredible, given that they had just made love, but there he had it. She was tempting him.

And he was unable to resist.

Pulling her to him, he kissed her long and hard, with all the passions that she had unearthed within him.

And the dance began again.

 

James sat up, his long legs swinging over the right side of the four-poster bed, the sheet just barely pooling at his waist. Echoes of midnight filled the corners of the sumptuous bedroom where Constance lay asleep beside him.

He was getting further and further entrenched.

The thought throbbed within his brain.

Instead of ending it the night after she and her class had invaded his precinct, he'd somehow found himself coming back again and again, under one pretext or another. Always for one more time before the end.

And the end kept slipping another notch away.

He dragged his hand through his hair, trying to an
chor himself. Trying to find strength. He couldn't allow this to go on. He knew the consequences. Knew that he and Constance would wind up walking the path he and Janice had. The same path his parents had. At some point in time, probably soon, they would be standing in the middle of a battle zone, taking aim at one another, wondering where all the good feelings had gone.

He needed to go before that happened.

It was the only way he could preserve the memory of what they'd shared. He needed to go now before her eyes made him stay. He had to fade away from her like smoke rings in the dark.

She never fully slept when he was next to her. On some level, she was always aware of his body beside hers. Aware when he shifted away. Sleep receded entirely as she felt the bed moving, felt the slight tug on her sheet as he began to rise.

Something inside of her knew he wasn't just getting up to visit to the bathroom. He was leaving. A genteel lady of Southern breeding would have let him.

But she wasn't a lady. She was a woman in love. Hopelessly in love with a man who lit up everything around her like the Fourth of July. Slowly turning, she saw him begin to gather his clothes. Last night they'd made love as if they belonged together. Deliberately, unhurried and with familiarity. They made love as if this was going to continue.

Even as the thought echoed in her brain, she'd warned herself not to grow too complacent. There was a danger in that.

And she'd been right.

She fingered the cameo, drawing on the strength of its original owner. A woman who had never given up believing her love would return to her, even in the face of total and utter hopelessness.

“Don't leave,” she whispered.

His back to her, James stopped. She'd spoken so softly, for a second he'd thought it was just his imagination tormenting him. But when he turned around, he saw that she was awake. And looking at him.

Guilt pressed down on his chest like a huge boulder. “Constance, I've got to—”

She refused to listen, refused to let him tell her that he had to leave. The phone hadn't summoned him back to work. And there was no other excuse she'd willingly accept. He was afraid of what was growing between them. So was she. But not so afraid that she would back away from it.

“Come back to bed,” she coaxed, throwing back the sheet from his side.

Her nude body pressed against the mattress, issuing a silent invitation to him.

Unable to refuse her, James let his clothes drop to the floor again. Without a word, he slid back into bed beside her. To make love with her again.

 

Morning arrived to mock him, pushing the light of day into all the secret corners of his soul.

He knew what he had to do.

They were in the kitchen and she wore a long silk
robe that insisted on opening up at all the wrong moments, tantalizing him. Making him acutely aware that she had on nothing beneath. And that he wanted that body with the same insatiable desire he'd had the night before.

But something about the morning fortified him. Kept him strong and on the path he knew he had to take.

“I'm no good for you, Constance.”

Standing with her back to him at the counter, she tried not to stiffen.

Here it comes
.

Turning, she filled his coffee cup and then set the coffee pot back on the burner.

She kept her smile in place even though nerves scrambled madly inside of her. “Why don't you let me be the judge of what's good for me? I've been doing it longer than you have.”

He wasn't going to let her reason him out of what he knew was right. Because if he did, someday in the not-too-distant future, she would begin to hate him, see his flaws until there was nothing else. And nights like last night would be nothing more than a memory.