True Lies (18 page)

He caught her by the shoulders. In the colorless silver of the moonlight the angles of his face seemed honed from living steel. “Do you believe no one else has ever been a victim of circumstances that were out of their control, that you're the only one who’s had a rough ride from life?”

“You're the one who let my plane blow up, not me.”

“Yes, I let it go. It can be replaced. You can’t.”

She pressed her palms against his shirt front. The wet flannel rose and fell with each straining breath he drew. She could feel his restraint slipping away but she was in no condition to help him.

Bruce slid his hands down her arms and cupped her elbows, pulling her forward, forcing her up on her toes. “Do you feel this, Emma? Feel the heat between us?”

She gasped. His body was hard, vibrating with a primitive, unmistakable need. And just like that, she felt a response, equally primitive, equally unmistakable.

“Part of you may hate me, but there’s a part of you that’s got nothing to do with the grudge or vendetta or whatever it is that you've got going with the law. You know that. You've known it from the start.”

Yes, she’d known it. “But you're—”

“Dammit, Emma! We're
alive!
“ He jerked her against him. “Even the hate is better than nothing.”

A piece of wreckage that had landed on the shore fell over with a tinny creak. At the sound, something snapped inside her. The events of only minutes ago kaleidoscoped in her mind, suddenly crystallizing into focus. The bomb, the landing, the explosion... “You carried me to safety.”

He splayed his hand over the small of her back and held her closer. “Yes.”

“You sheltered me with your body.”

“And you fought me.”

Only now was she beginning to realize how close, how very close, she had come to death. “Oh, my God. Bruce, we both could have been killed. If you hadn’t checked those packages we wouldn’t have had a chance. If you hadn’t caught me when I tried to swim back to the plane I would have... I would...oh,
God!
“

“I wasn’t going to let it happen. I couldn’t. Not again.”

She felt the strength of his grip, the sheer virility of his presence, and her breath caught. “You saved my life.”

“Damn right, I saved your life.”

Desperately she pressed herself against him, flattening her breasts to his chest, feeling his heat and his heartbeat. His arms were like bands of steel around her back. His cheek was like a butterfly’s kiss on the top of her head. Her pulse tripped and sped until it matched the rhythm of his. “How can you hold me like this?”

“I have to. Right now, I need to hold you as much as you need to be held.”

“After everything we've said to each other, everything we've done...”

“It doesn’t matter how much you fight me, Emma. Or how much I fight myself. I still care for you. I have from the very first. I don’t think anything’s going to change that.”

“And you don’t want to care, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to admire you, or respect you, or understand you, but I do. Despite everything that’s going on, I do.” He moved his feet apart, drawing her even closer. “You're ripping me apart inside.”

“Because you're a cop.”

“Yes. That’s what I am. That’s all I want to be.”

She molded herself to his hardness, savoring each breath she drew, reveling in his familiar scent. Hate, anger, grief, all those emotions were swept up in the primal urge that flooded her body. The bond, the connection that had been there from the start, flared with a power that made her tremble. “You're also a man.”

Tension, energy barely leashed, sang through his frame. “Do you know what’s happening, Emma? Do you realize what we're doing?”

“We're living, and breathing and feeling.”

His hands dropped to her hips, pulling her closer. “There’s no door you can bolt out here.”

“There’s nothing out here. Nothing but you and me. Everything else has been blown away.”

“Emma.” It was a demand, a warning, a plea.

“We could have died, Bruce. But we didn’t. We're alive. Nothing else matters.”

He shuddered. His embrace tightened.

Recklessly, she spread her fingers and ran her palms over his shoulders, molding his wet shirt to the powerful breadth beneath. She slid her palms down his arms, exploring the hard muscles that had been able to lift her and protect her so effortlessly. He was so solid, so strong, so...male. Her feelings were too raw to deny the instinctive pull between them. The twisting, wrenching response that surged through her blood was as inescapable and inevitable as time.

A wordless groan rumbled from his chest. And then he was caught by the same storm. He lowered his head and kissed her. Only it wasn’t a kiss. It was a melding, a joining. It was the essence of every kiss they’d shared before. The comfort, the tenderness, the anger and the lust, they were all there, finally unleashed, out of control.

Emma parted her lips and welcomed the thrust of his tongue, pressing herself closer, craving more. The kiss that was more than a kiss drew the breath from her lungs and the strength from her knees until her senses spun. The world narrowed to just this place, this moment, this incredible yearning.

Gasping for air, he dragged his mouth from hers. “Emma. Emma.” He whispered her name against her skin as he trailed kisses across her jaw. His teeth grazed her neck and she shuddered. When he loosened his hold so that he could fit his hand between them, she leaned back and offered him her breast.

He covered it swiftly, greedily, cupping it in his palm, kneading it with his fingers, sending shafts of sensation to every secret part of her body. She moaned at the force of her response, as helpless to stop the sound from escaping as she was to halt the mindless passion that leapt to match his. His fingers moved to open her shirt. She didn’t stop him, she helped him. She fumbled with the clammy cloth, gasping at the jolts of pleasure as each button slid tightly through its hole. She pulled it apart with no thought beyond the moment, baring herself to the moonlight and to the mad, glorious urgency that possessed her.

The sound he made was deep, rough, indiscernible. He fastened his hands at her waist and lifted her, swinging her around until her back was to the largest of the boulders beside them. He sat her on the edge, slipped his arm behind her for support and buried his face between her breasts. At the touch of his lips on her flesh she cried out. Thrusting her fingers into his hair, she held him closer, arching her back, as greedy as him.

“I want you, Emma,” he breathed against her skin. “Just this once, I want to forget who we are.”

“Just this once,” she echoed, shutting out the hopelessness of asking for anything more.

He caught her nipple between his teeth. Pleasure-pain ripped away the last shreds of her control. She moaned and dug her nails into his neck. His tongue swirled and soothed, his lips surrounded, and he sucked her into his mouth. The stars spun overhead and Emma had to close her eyes against the wave of dizziness. Bruce drew back and the cool air puckered the wet nipple to excruciating sensitivity. He took the other one, flicking it with his tongue, drawing sobs and groans that she barely recognized as her own.

She curled forward, her blood pounding, her hands shaking, and reached for the collar of his shirt. She had no patience left. Wet fabric ripped as she pulled it apart and spread her fingers over his chest. She traced the rippling hardness of his stomach, sliding her palm down and down in a sensual path of discovery. When she reached his belt she didn’t stop, she couldn’t. She drew the leather through the metal buckle and let it fall aside, unsnapped the stud on his waistband and lowered his zipper.

The word he whispered was short and crude and suited the wildness of what was happening between them. He braced his hands on her thighs and straightened to his full height, tilting his pelvis to help her reach him. She ran her fingertips down the straining length, then grasped him in both hands. Her lips parted, her head fell back, and a wave of overwhelming urgency made her sway. He caught her and lifted her from the boulder, bringing her to her feet in front of him.

“I can’t stop,” he murmured, running his hands feverishly over her hips and between her legs. “Please, Emma.” He unfastened her jeans and peeled the damp denim past her knees. “I need this. I need you.”

She was beyond rational thought. Her response came from the level of instinct. It was an affirmation of life, of survival, of the strength they shared. It was as impossible to deny now as it had been the first time he had touched her. She kicked off her jeans and underwear and hooked her arms behind his neck. Shamelessly, savagely, she climbed onto him. He grasped her buttocks and lifted her, driving himself upward as he brought her down.

The explosion that rocked them was as powerful, as shattering and as violent as the one that had destroyed the Cessna. Emma screamed and clung to Bruce’s shoulders as wave after wave crashed over her. His fingers clenched, sliding her upward for a heart-stopping instant. She twined her legs around his waist and screamed again as he buried himself fully and released his own passion with a long, shuddering groan.

Minutes passed. Or maybe only seconds. Time suspended, then was counted off by their ragged breaths. Emma dragged her mouth over his neck, nuzzling her way past his collar. One of her breasts was squeezed to his bare chest, the other was shielded by someone’s shirt, whether it was his or her own, she couldn’t tell. Cool air whispered a chill over her naked thighs. She felt drained, exhausted, and she could no longer keep her ankles locked. Gingerly she let her feet slide downward.

“Not yet,” Bruce murmured. He slipped his forearm around the small of her back, anchoring her against him. “Not yet.”

She felt a sudden tightness in her throat. Reality was returning. They couldn’t stay like this. They shouldn’t have done this. Oh, God. What
had
they done? Her nipple ached, her nails had broken, she had screamed aloud.
What had they done?
Tension stiffened her body. She twisted away from him, wincing at the tenderness where they had joined. Her feet hit the ground, rock digging sharply into her soles. She staggered.

“Emma?”

She shook her head, covering her face with her hands. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t think about this. They must have been insane.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was hoarse, unrecognizable. Her ears rang with painful clarity, as if she were waking up after a bout of delirium. The sounds of the night were suddenly loud, the crickets shrilled, the soft sigh of pines in the breeze was a roaring howl, the gentle lap of the water against the shore crashed like ocean surf.

A zipper rasped, a stud snapped. He moved toward her. Although he didn’t touch her, she felt his presence. “I don’t know what to say, Emma.”

“Whatever you do, don’t apologize.”

He stood silently for long, agonizing minutes. “I should apologize.”

“This...thing that happened. It was mutual.”

He didn’t dispute that. It was too obvious to dispute. “I was rough. Did I hurt you?”

She tingled and throbbed. She would probably have finger-shaped bruises in the morning, but right now the physical discomfort was minor. “No.”

Still he didn’t move away. She inhaled deeply and lowered her hands. She kept her gaze on the ground. She could see the toes of his running shoes—he hadn’t even taken off his clothes to make love. But they hadn’t made love, not love. No, there was no pretty euphemism to describe what they had just done. It had been as powerful and as primitive as their surroundings. It had been as far removed from anything in her experience as this entire wild situation. She should be ashamed, embarrassed, repulsed....

But she wasn’t.

Her tumbling thoughts steadied all at once. No, she wasn’t ashamed. What they had done was natural. And necessary. There had been no words of love, only words of need. What they had done was honest, probably the first completely honest act since they had met. She raised her chin and met his gaze.

The naked vulnerability on his face stunned her. In the other-worldly dimness of the moonlight, his chiseled features had never looked more handsome, yet his expression was so lost, so completely confused, that she lifted her hand and cupped his cheek before she realized what she was doing.

Swiftly he caught her wrist, turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. His breath tickled her fingers in an unsteady sigh. Without warning, the strength and the fierce passion of this enigmatic man had suddenly been replaced by tenderness.

At the poignant gesture, Emma felt the tentative control she had regained threaten to crumble. They had just shared their bodies, but this was another kind of honesty, one that could be even more devastating. She didn’t want this. She didn’t need this. It couldn’t be excused away. They were skirting the brink of an intimacy far deeper than a mere physical melding. “Don’t,” she whispered.

Bruce kissed each of her fingers, folded them into her palm and closed his hand warmly over her fist. “If I live to be a hundred,” he murmured, “you'll never cease to amaze me, Emma.”

Chapter 10

T
he stars began to fade as streamers of dawn pearled the eastern horizon. A family of wood ducks splashed through the lily pads near the shore, the tiny ripples from their wakes butting against pieces of a charred packing crate. Small rustlings stirred the branches of the looming evergreens that bordered the rock point and birds whistled and trilled to the dissolving shadows. Slowly the clearing took on color and form.

They would need to move soon. Bruce didn’t think that he had slept. He hadn’t wanted to sleep. He hadn’t wanted to miss one second of the time they had stolen. He lay on his side on his half of the canvas tarp, his cheek pillowed on his bent arm, and watched the way the approaching sunrise gave substance to Emma’s face.

Her beauty was undimmed by the tangled hair that fell over her forehead and the dark shadows that tinted the delicate skin under her eyes. The sleeping bag that he’d managed to salvage from the plane was tucked warmly to her chin, yet he still saw, and felt and tasted the lush curves that it covered. In his mind he once more saw the image of Emma standing in front of him, her chin lifted defiantly, her feet braced apart. Clothed in nothing but her gaping shirt, she had been pure, elemental female, still trembling from the sensual storm they had unleashed. She hadn’t cried, she hadn’t condemned him; she had told him it was mutual and then had touched his face.