The Marriage Profile (10 page)

The fear in her eyes as she replayed the scene for him had Justin's gut tightening and anger fueling his blood. He clutched his hands into fists at his side and waited for her to continue.

“When she started to cry. They…they drugged her to keep her quiet. It wasn't her mother,” she told him. “No mother would put her child through that. Not for any reason.”

She stared at him, obviously waiting for him to challenge what she'd said. He didn't because he believed her. Every word of it. He didn't doubt for a second that it had happened just as she had described. A part of him wanted to reason that it was Angela's uncanny instincts and training as a cop as he'd done so often in the past. But he knew to do so now would be to lie to himself. “All right,” he said finally. “So where's this picture you wanted me to see?”

“It's right here,” she said, and reached for the sketch pad. Her fingers shook as she fumbled through the pages.

“May I?” Justin asked, and took the pad from her. He sat down at the table and began to view her sketches. The first one was of a horse poised on its hindquarters. He
flipped to the next drawing of a black-and-white pinto strutting.

“I saw the horses first,” she explained from behind him. “The drawings aren't very good, but I think you get the general idea.”

She was wrong. They were good. As a man who'd been incapable of drawing a straight line without a ruler, he'd always been in awe of Angela's ability to sketch and paint. Judging from these sketches, he could see her skill had only improved with time. He turned to the next picture. In this one she'd drawn the same horses again but had put them in a circle with a fence surrounding them. He studied the picture a moment longer, then moved on to the next one. “What's this?” he asked at the sight of what appeared to be some type of coin.

“I'm not sure, and I don't know that it has anything to do with the kidnapping. I—I just had these quick flashes and jotted them down.”

She leaned over his shoulder, her hand brushing against his as she reached for the sketch pad, and the innocent contact had his entire body on instant alert. Doing his best to ignore her scent, he allowed her to skip through the rest of the drawings until she found what she was looking for.

“This is what I wanted you to see,” she told him, her words a warm breath against his neck.

When he turned his head, looked up at her, she seemed to sense the same sparks he did because she moved over to the side of the table and waited for him to look at the picture. Justin stared at the drawing of a house. It was small, with a winding road and a wooden fence that looked almost primitive. There was another house or small building in the rear that could have been a shed, a barn or a garage.

“I realize the drawing is poor, but does it look at all familiar? Do you ever remember seeing a place like that?”

He could hear the hope in her voice and hated to dash that hope. But he had no choice. “First off, there's nothing wrong with the drawing. You're a very talented artist, Angela.”

“Thank you, but—”

“And yes, the place does look familiar,” he began. Before she got excited, he stood. He caught her hands, held them in his own as he met her gaze. “But there are probably at least a hundred places that look like that one or are pretty close to it in Lone Star County alone.”

“But what about the horses?”

“What about them?”

“Maybe the house is on some kind of a ranch that has a place to train horses. Look,” she said, pulling her hands free to go back to the sketch pad. “See how they're moving in some kind of a circle? Maybe it's a track where they train horses to race.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, not having the heart to dash her hopes completely. “But that still leaves a lot of territory to cover. This is Texas. Do you have any idea how many ranches there are with training facilities for horses?”

“Probably a lot.”

“A lot,” he repeated. “But at least with this,” he said, indicating her sketches, “we have a start.”

She smiled at him then, a real smile that brightened her eyes and wrapped itself around his heart. “Thank you for believing me about the visions, and for not treating me like I'm some kind of nutcase.”

Justin tipped up her chin so that he could see her eyes, and so that she could see his. “I've never thought of you as a nutcase,” he told her. “And while I'll admit that I don't understand any of this psychic stuff and I'd probably
be more comfortable if you'd told me you just had a gut feeling about that place, none of that changes the fact that I believe you. I've always believed in you, Angel. How could you not know that? Did I do such a lousy job as your husband that you didn't know how special I thought you were? How special I still think you are?”

She shook her head. “It wasn't you,” she told him, tears in her eyes. “It was me. I didn't believe in myself. So how could I expect you to believe in me?”

“I guess it comes back to that issue of trust again, doesn't it?”

“It was myself I didn't trust. Not you,” she whispered. “I always trusted you.”

Her tears ripped at him. “Don't cry,” he pleaded, unable to bear the sight of her hurting. “I hate seeing you cry.”

She took the handkerchief he offered. After hopping atop the worktable, she swiped at her wet cheeks and then handed him back his handkerchief. “There,” she said, lifting her face up for inspection. “See? No more tears.”

“Not quite,” he said, noting the lone tear that clung to one of her lashes. He moved closer and caught the tear with his thumb. He was so close he could see the damp spikes of her lashes, note the trail made by the tears on her cheeks, smell the scent of apricots in her hair.

Her grin faded.

So did his.

Alarm bells went off in Justin's head, telling him to get out of there, not to look into those liquid blue eyes, not to stroke his thumb along her cheek. Ignoring the warnings, he lowered his head to within a whisper of hers. “This is a mistake,” he said, more to himself than to her.

“Absolutely.”

“I should go.”

“Yes,” she told him just before she fitted her mouth to his.

One taste, Justin promised himself as he drank her in. One taste would take the edge off this craving for her. One taste, and he'd stop. But after one taste, he wanted more.

Angela must have felt the same way because she slid her fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss. Desire became a fire in his belly, in his blood. Her hunger fed his. He raced his hands over her curves, ached with need as she raced her hands over him. With every touch, with every sigh, the flames burned hotter, faster, brighter. And when Angela opened her lips under his, the fire inside him exploded.

Angling his head, Justin took the kiss deeper. Mouths fused. Tongues tempted, teased, mated. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself against him. And with each move, each stroke of her tongue, each nip of her teeth, new aches and new hungers flared to life inside him. Somewhere in the back of his mind the last shreds of reasoning whispered that this was madness. That this was Angela, his ex-wife. That they were working on a kidnapping case together, and the minute it was over she'd be gone. Back to San Antonio. Back to her job. Back to the life she'd wanted without him.

He was searching for the strength to stop when she tore her mouth free and attacked the buttons of his shirt. She yanked his shirttail from his jeans. “Angela,” he said, and sucked in his breath at the feel of her fingers on his skin.

“Touch me,” she demanded, and flicked her tongue across his throat. “I want to feel your hands on me.”

Groaning, he took her mouth. Pulling her shirt from her jeans, he made short work of the buttons, then flipped open the clasp at the front of her bra. He pushed the fabric aside and stroked her nipples with his thumbs. She gasped, and
the sound sent a new wave of need ripping through him at lightning speed. The sight of her nipples pebbled and dusky brought him to a flash point. He wanted to drink her in, swallow her whole. And because he did, he forced himself to go slow.

Lowering his head, he circled one nipple, then the other, with his tongue. He heard the hitch in her breath, felt her tremble at his touch, felt her nails bite into his shoulders. Sweat beaded his brow with the effort it took not to rush her. With a patience that cost him dearly, he continued to lave the tender flesh. And then he closed his teeth over the swollen nipple.

“Justin,” she cried out.

Yanking him by the hair, she forced his head up. He caught a glimpse of wild eyes the color of smoke. And then she was fastening her mouth to his, kissing him again.

Her hands were everywhere—in his hair, racing down his back, sculpting a swift path over his chest, down his belly to fight with the buckle of his belt. She tore at the snap of his jeans, fumbled with the tab of his zipper.

“Angel,” he called out, strangling back a groan as her fingers brushed his straining shaft.

If she heard him, she gave no indication. She continued to pepper his face with kisses while she fought to get his zipper down.

Her eagerness inflamed him. He wanted her. Wanted her more than he'd ever wanted another woman in his life. And he came within a breath of stripping off her jeans and taking her right there. But they weren't two reckless teenagers in the throes of first passion. This was Angela. This was his ex-wife. She deserved better. So did he.

Justin gulped in a breath and somehow found the strength to stop. Capturing her fingers, he brought them up
to his lips and kissed them with a gentleness he was far from feeling.

She looked up at him, her brows creased in question, her eyes glazed with confusion.

He dragged in another breath, tried to clear his scorched senses and said, “Angel, sweetheart, we can't do this. We have to stop.”

A
ngela blinked as Justin's words roared like thunder in her ears.

“Angel, I never thought—I wasn't planning—”

She shook her head, tried to clear her overloaded senses, not wanting to believe what Justin was saying, desperate to believe she'd misunderstood him.

“We can't.”

But she hadn't misunderstood, she realized as she heard the rejection in his voice, read the regret in his green eyes. Justin didn't want her. She'd all but thrown herself at him, and he didn't want her. A strangled cry escaped her lips as pain and humiliation ripped through her. Suddenly aware of her near-naked state, she jerked her hands free and clutched at her shirt. Blinking back tears, she fumbled with the buttons, not even bothering to refasten her bra.

“Aw, hell!”

Ignoring him, Angela tried to get her fingers to stop shaking long enough for her to button her shirt.

“Angel, look at me,” he pleaded.

But she didn't dare look at him, afraid of what she'd see if she did. Her eyes burned with the effort it took not to cry. But if the tears started, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop them. And she had no intention of letting Justin Wainwright know just how deeply his rejection had hurt her.

“Dammit, look at me,” Justin commanded. And when
she continued to ignore him, he grabbed her by the shoulders and repeated, “I said, look at me!”

She yanked her gaze up to his. “I don't take orders from you, Wainwright,” she spat out, temper taking the edge off her pain. “Now, get your hands off of me.”

“Not until you let me explain.”

“There's nothing to explain,” she informed him.

“Yes, there is.”

“Not as far as I'm concerned,” she replied, and tried to shrug off his grasp without any success. “I made a mistake—one that I very much regret. And since I'm feeling like a bit of a fool at the moment, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave.”

“No.”

His flat refusal threw her. She'd never been one to remain angry for long. It simply wasn't in her nature. And already her temper was ebbing, giving way to the hurt. Tears welled up in her eyes again. She blinked hard, tried to keep them at bay. She'd sooner chew nails than let Justin see her crying over him. “Fine. Then you stay, and I'll leave.”

When she tried to move past him, he blocked her path.

“Justin, please, I'm not up for this,” she told him, wanting to crawl in a hole somewhere when she heard her voice crack. She swallowed and tried again. “You've had your fun. If humiliating me was your intention, you've succeeded. I wanted to make love with you, and you turned me down. There, I've said it. You win. So now, please just go.”

“You think what happened between us a minute ago is some kind of game to me? That I stopped because I don't want you?” he demanded, the fury in his voice no match for the storm in his eyes.

“I…” She spied the muscle ticking angrily in his jaw,
noted the flat line of his mouth. “Isn't that why you stopped?”

“No, that is not why I stopped,” he said with a fierceness that made her tremble. “I stopped because I didn't come here tonight prepared for anything like this to happen between us, and I didn't have any way to protect you.”

Surprise replaced the bitter taste of his rejection and went a long way in soothing the hurt. He had stopped because he'd been concerned for her, had feared he would put her at risk? That he would do so and not simply expect her to be responsible for herself sent a wave of warmth flooding through Angela. In that moment she knew without a doubt that she still loved Justin.

“How could you think, even for a minute, that I don't want you?” He tightened his fingers on her shoulders, dragged her so close that Angela could see the flecks of black in his green eyes. “How could you not see that I want you so damn much I can hardly breathe?”

Angela's pulse leapt at his admission. “I'm sorry,” she told him, and wrapped her arms around him.

He groaned and held her hard against him. “You're not the only one.” He sighed and loosened the embrace. “I'd better get out of here before I do something totally stupid and irresponsible and try to convince us both that just this one time won't matter.” He stroked his hand over her hair, pressed a kiss to her head. “Next time, I promise you I'll be prepared.”

But what if there isn't a next time?

The voice inside Angela sent a shiver of unease through her, and before she allowed reason to dictate her heart, she blurted out, “Stay.”

“Aw, sweetheart, don't do this to me.”

“But it's all right. I mean, there wouldn't be anything irresponsible about your staying.”

Justin eased her away from him a bit. His eyes searched her face, and Angela knew that he was remembering that she'd been unable to tolerate the oral contraceptives in the early days of their marriage. As they'd both learned later, she'd had no reason to worry since she'd been unable to conceive. “Are you saying that you're on the pill now?”

“No,” she said, lowering her gaze. “That's not what I meant.” The truth was she didn't know if she still had an adverse reaction to the contraceptives or not. Since she hadn't been involved with anyone since their divorce, she'd seen no reason to worry about it.

He frowned. “Then I don't understand.”

“Don't you remember all the fertility treatments and the in-vitro procedures I went through when we tried to have a baby?” And none of them had worked. Nothing had. Between her recurring endometriosis and her low ovulation she'd been told her chances of ever conceiving were slim to none. It's why after the last procedure failed she'd decided to let Justin go.

“I remember.”

“Well, nothing's changed. My doctor in San Antonio said the same thing all the specialists did. That it's not likely I'll ever be able to conceive a child normally.” Angela swallowed. “What I'm trying to tell you is that I don't want to wait. I want to make love with you now. Tonight.”

“Angela—”

“Please, Justin. Make love with me.”

She waited a heartbeat, two, and when he said nothing, she knew that she had lost. He was going to refuse her. Disappointment gave way to resignation. Justin was a man who lived by the book. He followed orders, obeyed rules. He believed in things like responsibility, honor and doing what was right. He was not a man who made reckless decisions. He was not going to make one now. Not for
himself or for her. She couldn't blame him. His noble streak was one of the things that made him who he was, and it was also one of the reasons that she loved him, she reminded herself as she started to turn away.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Angela's gaze shot to his, and what she read there made her heart pound. Taking her face in his hands, he lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her. Deeply. Tenderly. Thoroughly.

Overcome with emotion, Angela roped her arms around his neck and tried to show him what she hadn't dared to tell him. That she loved him. That she had always loved him. Only him. That she'd missed him. That she wanted him. One kiss spun into another, and then another still, each one deeper, hotter, hungrier than the one before.

Still drugged by his kisses, wanting him to kiss her again, she didn't protest when Justin lifted her and sat her atop the desk. Slowly he began to unbutton her shirt. The heat in his eyes as he looked at her sent a trill of excitement up her spine. The hands that cupped her breasts were hard and calloused, not the hands of a man who sat behind a desk and pushed papers. They were the hands of a man who worked hard, be it helping to herd cattle at the ranch or by risking his own life to keep the county and its people safe. But there was such a gentleness in the way he touched her that it made Angela tremble. She was a grown woman, she reasoned. She'd been married to this man, was no stranger to his touch. Yet each caress, each kiss was somehow sweeter, more special than she'd remembered.

“You're so beautiful, so perfect,” he whispered, and took her into his mouth.

The heat that had started in her belly before he'd even kissed her now ran like molten lava through her system. His teeth closed over her nipple, and Angela clutched his
head to her, shivered as the waves of pleasure-pain coursed through her. When he lifted his head, the hunger in his eyes sent desire skyrocketing through her.

Justin took her mouth again, savaged it. Tongues tangled. Teeth scraped. Fingers stroked, kneaded. He had her out of her jeans and panties with a speed that would have shocked her had she not been just as impatient to get him out of his clothes. She had just managed to get his zipper down when he cupped her mound and slid his finger inside her. Angela gasped and nearly came apart at the seams.

“Easy, sweetheart.”

Flushed, embarrassed at how near the brink she was, she knew a brief moment of annoyance at the smile in his voice. But then he stroked her again. And she couldn't think, could barely breathe. Her vision blurred. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out as waves of pleasure whispered just out of reach. After a moment when she could breathe again, Angela decided that two could play this game. Easing her hand inside his briefs, she closed her fist around him. And then it was her turn to smile as a groan rumbled through him.

“Where's the bedroom?” he demanded, his voice hoarse with need, his body taut with impatience.

“Too far,” she whispered just before nipping the lobe of his ear. “Make love to me, Justin. Here. Now.”

He made some sound, part hiss, part moan. She couldn't be sure which. And her heart nearly sank with disappointment when he drew away from her. Then without saying a word, he toed off his boots, shrugged out of his jeans and kicked them aside.

She had to sketch him. The notion popped into her head as she watched him, took in the ripple of muscles, the sun-bronzed skin, the golden hair and gleam in his emerald eyes. Then Justin shed his briefs and the sight of his rigid
shaft thrusting up from the wiry dark gold hair wiped every thought from her brain. As he moved between her thighs, anticipation shivered through her.

“Are you sure?” he asked her, his fierce expression belying the gentleness in his voice.

That even now he would still give her the choice only made her love him more. “I'm sure,” she told him.

He entered her in one swift stroke that had her clutching at his shoulders and her body poised on the brink once more. With his hands anchoring her at the hips and his mouth on hers, he began to move. In and out, long slow strokes, nearly withdrawing completely before entering her again. Each stroke a little harder, a little deeper than the one before. Each one tantalizingly slow and nearly driving her mad with the ripples of sensation. Impatient, Angela arched her back, dug her nails into his skin, urging him to hurry. Justin refused to be hurried.

“Not yet,” he told her, his voice tight, his back slick with sweat.

Knowing Justin as she did, she realized he was holding back for her. He wanted to make this special for her, to ensure her pleasure came before his own. She loved him for that, but she'd never been the patient type. When he slid into her again, she clamped her feminine muscles around him. She knew a moment of satisfaction at his groan, heard his grumbled “Someday I'm going to teach you how much fun it can be to go slow.”

“But not today.”

“No, not today,” he growled before slamming into her again, and again and again. Each thrust was deeper, harder and faster than the one before.

The first waves of sensation hit her, tossed her high, sent pleasure roaring through her like the rushing surf. Wrapping her legs around him, Angela clung to Justin as she
went hurling head- and heart-first into the storm. Moments later, his body stiffened and he thrust into her a final time before he shouted her name and followed her into the stormy seas.

 

“I really had planned to make good on that promise,” Justin told her hours later as he lay in Angela's bed with her draped on top of him.

“Unless I'm mistaken, Sheriff, you did make good on your promise. Several times, in fact,” she informed him. “Of course, if you're sure you don't need more time to recover—”

Justin laughed and flipped her over onto her back. Feeling totally sated and happier than he had in years, he pinned her beneath him and nipped at her sassy mouth. “I was referring to my promise to make love to you slowly.”

“You don't hear me complaining, do you?” she asked, a satisfied smile curving her lips.

He laughed again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in bed with a woman who made him laugh. And quick as a snap he realized that the last time he'd felt this way was when he'd been married to Angela.

“Justin?” She said his name on a stifled yawn.

Sobered by the realization, he stared into her sleepy blue eyes. “I wanted to make it special for you, Angel. You deserve for it to be special.”

She held his face in her hands, gently kissed him and said, “You did make it special. Making love with you was always special.”

Then why had she left him?

He wanted to ask the question, but worried what her answer would be.

She yawned again. “I'm sorry,” she said, her eyelids
fluttering sleepily. “But you wore me out, cowboy. I'm whipped.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Then get some sleep,” he whispered, and started to ease off of her.

“Will you stay?” she asked, reaching for him.

“Yeah, I'll stay,” he promised, and tucked her against his side.

She tangled one of her legs with his and snuggled up against his shoulder. Within moments she was out cold. Smoothing her hair with his fingers, he gathered her in his embrace and contented himself with the sound of her breathing as it settled into the steady rhythm of sleep. While she had changed in some ways, her ability to zonk out at the drop of a hat was not one of them, he thought with a grin. Too bad he couldn't claim that same trait, because he was bone tired and dawn was only a few hours away.