Man with the Muscle (11 page)

Although he could have followed her right over to that queen-size bed, he released her and retreated to his side of the doorway, giving her the distance she wanted—the distance he needed. Something about this woman—everything about her—made him buzz with energy. He wanted when he was around her—he wanted to talk, to discover, to argue, to kiss, to touch, to protect—he probably wanted a lot more than he should.

She was hugging her arms around her waist when she turned to face him. He locked his feet inside his shoes, fighting how much he wanted to take her in his arms and shield the vulnerable beauty that was peeking out beneath her determined exterior. “How do I know you'll stay in there and not invade my privacy?”

“Lock the door if you still don't trust me. I'll knock it down if anything happens and I need to get to you.”

Her chin jerked up. She studied him from shoulder to shoulder, noted his gun, his badge, his unblinking eyes. Finally, she resigned herself to the fact that he wasn't going anywhere. Not tonight. She clasped the door in both hands.

“Good night, Alex.”

“Good night, Red.”

Once she'd closed the door, Alex unhooked his belt and placed his Glock and its holster on the lamp table within arm's reach of the couch. He peeled off his
tattered sweater and spread it over the throw pillows he stacked at one end. He turned off the lamp and settled onto the couch, getting accustomed to the sounds of the wind in the trees outside, and Rupert Kline coming back into the house and climbing the stairs. He heard Audrey moving in her bedroom, opening a drawer, crawling into bed.

And as clouds gathered outside and the house fell silent, he noted that, although the door between them was shut, Audrey had never locked it.

 

A
UDREY STARTLED AWAKE
at the clap of thunder that punctuated the explosion tearing through her in her nightmare.

Lightning flashed outside her window as she jolted up in bed, her mind racing, her heart thumping against the wall of her chest. She reached over to turn on the lamp beside her, centering herself in the familiarity of her own bedroom.

Seriously, a thunder-snow? While this type of weather wasn't unheard-of in the Midwest, as the seasons fought with each other to change, dumping a mix of rain, sleet and snow while the night sky rumbled overhead, the timing of the violent storm made Audrey wonder if this was still part of her nightmare.

But no, she was alive, she was awake and she was painfully alone.

As her breathing slowed to a healthier rate, she kicked off the covers that had twisted around her hips and tugged down the pant legs of the silk pajamas that had ridden up past her knees. The flashes of the storm peeked through the edges of her drapes, casting strobe-like shadows over the Monet hanging on her walls.
Matching sparks of adrenaline, remnants of the violent images that had haunted her dreams, coursed through her, making the idea of sleep as appealing as it was now elusive. Her one consolation as she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest was that she must not have cried out or Alex Taylor would be in here already.

She'd seen the look in his eyes earlier—dark like the night, yet filled with such a light that she imagined he could see around corners and deep into her soul. Those eyes were as unsettling as they were handsome, and they'd left her with no doubt that, should he see fit, he'd bust down a door that had survived a fire, a tornado and hooch runners during Prohibition.

It was an idea that was equal parts frightening and reassuring and just a little bit exhilarating.

Why couldn't she have dreamed about that? Alex's hard, compact wrestler's body. That teasing grin. His gentle, drugging kisses. Those eyes.

But no—the rumble of thunder drummed along her spine and she shivered. The flashes of light and shadows creeping through her room transformed into the scattered images from her forgotten dreams. Speeding cars. Cold-eyed stares from a man she knew to be a killer. Grabbing hands. Exploding lights.
Are you scared yet? Do the right thing. Or die doing the wrong one.

“Stop it.” Audrey pulled her knees up and wrapped her whole body around the pillow, finding little comfort. Sitting here, wide awake, trembling in the dark, left her little to do but think.

It had taken forever to fall asleep. She was self-conscious about the man on the other side of her door, obsessing about the trial, remembering the threats, reliving the fear. Audrey looked over at the clock on the
table beside her and groaned. Only an hour had passed since she'd last checked the time, shortly after midnight. That didn't bode well for a rested morning. She punched her pillow, lay back down and rolled onto her side. But the intermittent rumble of thunder and her own troubled thoughts kept her from falling back to sleep.

Out of all the craziness she'd gone through since Gretchen's murder, she could count on one hand the number of times she'd felt any real sense of calm or balance in her life. The first time, Alex Taylor had been offering her a handkerchief and holding her hand, another… She turned her lips into the cool cotton of her pillow case and remembered how warm and supple and completely seductive Alex's kiss had been.

There'd been one sane voice, one salvation through all of her waking nightmare of the threats and the trial—and he'd been talked down to by her friends and relegated to sleeping on a couch. Shamed by the way Alex had been treated by her guests downstairs, Audrey peeked over to see a dim light shining beneath the crack of her door.

Maybe she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep tonight.

And maybe the need to offer an apology wasn't the only reason she slipped from beneath the covers and padded across the room.

When she quietly opened the door, Audrey wasn't surprised to see Alex sitting up in the next room.

“Did the storm wake you?” he asked, his voice a hushed echo of the thunder rumbling outside.

“My guilty conscience did. Couldn't you sleep, either?”

“I'm on guard duty, remember?”

The fractured images from her nightmare scattered into the recesses of her mind as something embarrassingly feminine and far too basic pumped into her blood at the sight of his half-naked body. He unfolded himself from the couch, creating ripples of awareness through the sitting room. There was much to appreciate about his sculpted pecs with their dusting of blue-black hair. His stomach was flat, his arms and shoulders heavily muscled. And the most intriguing thing was that, even though he stood only a few inches taller than she, everything about him was supremely masculine and perfectly balanced, from the leather bands on either wrist to the thin stripe of dark hair that disappeared behind the open snap of his jeans.

But she hadn't come out here to give her hormones a rush. She hugged her arms around her middle and rubbed her arms, the unexpected warmth firing inside her creating a chill along the surface of her skin. “I want to apologize for Harper's behavior.”

“Why?” He tossed the magazine he'd been reading onto the couch. “You weren't the one throwing out the insults.”

“He's not himself. He's still grieving over Gretchen's murder, and he's turned to me as a friend in need.”

Alex propped his hands on his hips, refusing to accept her apology. “You're grieving, too. You've got your own problems to deal with. Who's taking care of you?”

“I take care of me.” It was a valiant statement, but she wasn't even convincing herself.

“Why did you really come out here?” His eyes were fathomless in the shadows, his voice barely a whisper. Yet everything about Alex's words resonated deep in her bones. “What do you need tonight, Audrey?”

She ran through her list—polite apologies, thank-yous, fear of failing at the trial and letting Demetrius Smith and his lawyer make a mockery of her, fear that others around her would get hurt by her quest, guilt that a friend had died and she'd been too busy to be a very good friend to her at the end. But those dark, all-seeing eyes saw deeper inside. “I want to let down my guard for a few hours. I don't want to be responsible for anyone or anything. I just want to…be taken care of for a little while.” The admission ended on half a laugh that just might be masking a few tears. She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, God, I do sound like a pampered princess, don't I?”

“You sound like an honest woman.” He crossed the room with such purpose that Audrey instinctively backed away. But he caught her before she reached the doorway, tugged on her fingers and swung her up into his arms.

“Alex!” She tumbled against heat and strength and found herself not knowing exactly where to put her hands or even if she was pushing away or holding on. His chest hair tickled her palm. His bare skin was hot to the touch. A muscle flexed when she touched him there. He grinned when she touched him there. “Alex?”

“Shh. Around my neck is just fine.”

She lightly wound her arms around his neck and held on as he carried her into her bedroom. Although certain traitorous parts of her had one idea in mind, Alex was taking her at her word, giving her what she'd asked for, what she needed. He laid her on the bed and tucked the covers up around her chin. After a gentle press of his fingertip to her lips, he left the room. Audrey had pushed herself up onto her elbows, wondering at his game, when
he returned with his gun and badge. The edge of her bed sank beneath his weight as he leaned over to place his ID and weapon within easy reach.

But before he turned off the light, she saw the puckers of pale circular scars on the back of his right shoulder, like a spider's web standing out in harsh contrast against his olive skin. With her stomach clenching in knots of compassion, she reached up and brushed her fingers across the palm-size wound.

His skin jumped beneath her touch. And then Alex was turning, plucking her hand away and swinging his legs up on top of the covers beside her. “Easy, Red. You asked for comfort, and I'm doing my damnedest to be a good boy here.”

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing too dramatic—laser surgery.” He scooted down onto the pillows and rolled onto his side to face her. “I had a tattoo removed.”

“A good-size one from the look of it. Did it hurt?”

“Not as much as when an old friend tried to cut it off me.”

Audrey hissed at the horrid idea of the pain he must have suffered. She laid her fingers against his cheek, cupping his stubbled jaw. “Alex…”

He covered her hand with his. “It was a gang tat, Audrey. Westside Warriors. I may be the best qualified cop in KCPD to protect you against Smith. Because I grew up in a gang, too.”

He didn't seem surprised when she freed her hand to clutch the sheet and comforter together at her chest between them. Maybe he thought she was judging him, but she was just…stunned. “Did you ever…?”

“Get into trouble?” He rolled onto his back and stared
at the ceiling. “Yeah. Not anything I'm proud of. All juvie stuff. I finally got out the year before the Taylors adopted me. They made me want to stay out.”

“Don't gangs have some kind of violent…reverse initiation…if a member wants to leave?”

“Yeah.”

He didn't elaborate and his stark response left Audrey imagining all kinds of horrible things—like peeling off a tattoo with a knife—and crawling out from under the covers to hug him tightly around his shoulders.

After a moment's hesitation, he folded his arms around her and pulled her squarely on top of him, holding her close for several timeless minutes. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed deeply. Audrey rode the rise and fall of his chest, settling more deeply, more intimately against him with every exhale.

But as his hands slid down toward her bottom, he muttered a curse and pushed her away. “You play hell with my best intentions, counselor.”

Fine. Keep it friendly. Audrey tried to give him his space. But she didn't get far across the bed before he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her back into the sheltering curve of his body, as though he, too, had a few needs that could only be assuaged by the closeness of another human being. He drew gentle, mindless circles across her belly as he spooned behind her, warming the silk and soothing something tight and needy deeper inside. “The point is, I know how Smith thinks. I know how a gang works. I know just how tough and ruthless they can be.”

So he could be that tough and ruthless, too.

“Does that scare you?” he whispered against her ear.

Audrey laid her hand over his, lacing their fingers
together to still the errant caresses. “Having a former juvenile delinquent in bed with the assistant district attorney?”

His chuckle was a warm balm against her skin. “A headline like that couldn't be good for your reputation. A glory-seeker like Lassen would love to print that story.”

“I only worry about headlines if they're a lie or they hurt my father.”

“You're very protective of him.”

“He's all I've got. I want him to know that I can take care of myself out in the world—that he doesn't always have to worry about me. When my mom was dying of cancer, the worries he had ate him up. They aggravated his heart condition.”

“That explains a lot about your need to be independent. Striking out on your own and creating your individual success is your way of taking care of him.”

“Yeah.” He got it. She wasn't sure if that understanding surprised her or not. Alex Taylor seemed to intuit more about her than she even knew herself sometimes. It should have been a disquieting realization to know that someone had gotten so deep into her head. Instead, her body relaxed and she snuggled into the wall of heat at her back. “You're not exactly who I thought you'd be, Alex.”

“I'm a different class of people than Pierce and your society friends, hmm?”

She shook her head. This wasn't about social standing. “You're more complex. When I expected you to be an ass, you gave me your handkerchief and stood up for me.”