CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Korine’s voice stopped him. “Hatcher?”
His pulse pounded.
Then she eased open the shower door and waved for him to join her.
Heat surged through him as he shucked his clothes and stepped inside the shower. She was wet and warm and glowing from the soap bubbles dotting her naked body.
He lifted a hand and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, and a shy smile lit her eyes. Shy but needy.
That hungry look . . . nearly drove him to his knees.
She ran her soapy hands over his chest, triggering a hundred delicious sensations to ignite within him. Her touch shredded his reservations, and he reached for her.
But she shook her head and pressed one hand to his chest to slow things down. His chest rose and fell on a strained breath, and he stood ramrod straight, his cock jutting out, hard and thick and aching. His hands itched to touch her all over. His lips craved hers.
Instead of kissing him, though, she soaped her hands and slid them over his chest. Slowly she moved behind him and gave his back the same treatment. Her hands massaged his shoulders, then trailed lower to bathe his hips and thighs.
Soap bubbles dotted her bare skin as she faced him again. Her nipples stood erect, drawing his hands to her. This time she let him touch her, let him tease the silky, slick globes before she cupped his sex in her hand. She stroked him, up and down, over and over, until his cock thickened.
He couldn’t take any more.
He wanted her.
But he wanted to pleasure her more than he needed his own release.
She started to stoop down to take him in her mouth, but he captured her hands and forced her against the wall.
It was payback time.
He shoved her hands above her head, watching her carefully to make sure she still wanted him. A smile blended with the hunger in her eyes, and she ran her foot along the inside of his calf.
His legs nearly gave way.
“Korine?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I want you, Hatcher.”
Those words were pure music to his ears.
He kneed her thighs apart and rubbed his body against hers as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that started slow but turned fiery within seconds. She plunged her tongue in his mouth, teasing and taunting him. He clenched her hands above her in one of his, then trailed kisses down her neck, tasting the water and her silky skin. His other hand slid to her hips and he yanked her closer to him, stroking her inner thighs with his cock.
She threw her head back and moaned, and he tugged one nipple into his mouth and suckled her. She struggled to free her hands, but he held them firmly and tortured her other breast with his tongue and teeth. Finally, he released her so he could kneel in front of her.
Water cascaded down her body and his back as he teased her thighs apart, then closed his lips over her sensitive nub.
She groaned and pulled at him, but one taste only whetted his appetite for more, and he plunged his tongue inside her and teased her clit until her honeyed release dampened his lips.
“Hatcher, please,” Korine said in a ragged whisper.
Body hot with desire, he stood, opened the shower door, grabbed a condom from the drawer, ripped it open, and tugged it on.
She helped him, her fingers stirring the blood in his cock until he thought he would burst with pain and pleasure.
A second later, she parted her thighs, then guided him inside her. He stroked and rubbed her while she cried out and her orgasm claimed her.
Needing more, to be deeper, he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he impaled her. Her warm body clenched his cock inside her, milking him as she rode him hard and fast.
Korine clung to Hatcher and gyrated her hips. Erotic sensations splintered her, making her mindless with pleasure.
The warm water made their bodies slicker, the friction intensifying with each thrust. She nibbled at his neck and tightened her legs around him, wanting him deeper, closer.
Their bodies slapped together in a sensual rhythm that spiked her blood and made her increase the tempo, drawing him deeper inside her as she climaxed again.
He gripped her hips, thrusting in and out and moaning her name as he came.
She buried her head against his wet chest, panting, overcome with sensations and emotions. He spent himself inside her, their bodies still entwined as their orgasms rocked through them.
Slowly, her breathing turned normal, and the water grew cold. Shivering against Hatcher, she managed to turn the water off, then she glided down his body until her feet touched the floor.
He opened the shower door, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, then snagged one for himself.
She hugged the towel to herself, brushing water from her hair first, then quickly drying her body. Hatcher stepped onto the floor mat, disposed of the condom, then dried his own hair and tied the towel around his waist.
He looked flushed and sated and so damn handsome that tears pricked at her eyes. His breathing was still choppy, his body hot and hard. She feared she’d see regret in his eyes, maybe even anger, but the passion that had driven him to join her lingered, his eyes dark with need.
His need spurred her own, and she placed her hand against his cheek and kissed him tenderly.
He bit at her lip, then scooped her up and carried her to his bed. Her rational mind whispered for her to protect herself. To stop this insanity.
But she shut out that voice.
Today had been difficult. The dolls. Worrying about her brother. Arresting the women.
Leaving Hatcher’s bed was impossible.
He shoved back the covers and laid her on the sheets. Still quivering from their lovemaking, she tossed the damp towel to the floor and opened her arms to him.
He threw his towel onto the chair in the corner, opened his bedside table, snatched another condom, placed it on the table. Then he crawled in bed beside her, pulled her into his arms, and wrapped his hot body around her.
Hatcher was drowning in pleasure.
Korine was so sexy and loving, so tender and passionate, that he didn’t want the night to end.
They made love again and again, then fell into an exhausted sleep.
But an hour later, the nightmare came again. Felicia dangling from that tree. Felicia screaming for help, pleading for him to save her.
Felicia’s blood trickling down her neck and breasts and pinging to the ground. Her last breath as she cried his name and death claimed her.
Riddled with emotions, he slipped from bed, dragged on his jeans, and started into the hallway. Korine’s cell phone was on the dresser, a text lighting the screen. Assuming it was about the case or her brother and it might be important, he glanced at the text. The room suddenly grew hot as he read the message,
It was from Bellows. Asking about him—how was he doing? Was he drinking?
God . . . he closed his eyes and swallowed back a groan. How could he have been such a fool?
Korine was spying on him.
Furious at himself, he strode into the living room. His bottle of whiskey sat on the bar, an empty glass waiting.
Why couldn’t he have resisted her?
His hand shook as he poured the tumbler half-full.
His mouth watered as he lifted it for the first sip. He missed Jack. Missed numbing his pain and problems with the rich, dark taste.
Missed the warm burn as it slid down his throat. The comforting feel as it seeped into his blood and helped him forget his failures.
He carried the tumbler to the porch, stood, and looked out into the woods.
Felicia’s image rose in the murky fog, her hand stretching toward him in that silent plea again, and he turned the drink up and tossed back half of it.
He closed his eyes, savoring the whiskey and waiting for it to begin its magic.
“Hatcher?”
Korine’s soft voice jerked him from the bliss of escape.
Her footsteps padded on the wood floor as she walked up behind him. “Come back to bed.”
The gentle touch of her fingers on his arm was so tempting he turned to face her. She’d put on his shirt and buttoned it. His clothes on her were even sexier than her being naked.
But she was reporting to Bellows, watching him like he was a damned child.
She saw the bourbon in his hand, and disappointment flashed in her eyes.
“If sleeping with me drives you to drink, then I should go.”
He hated the pain in her voice. Pain he’d caused. But anger churned in his belly. “Yeah, run to Bellows and tell him I’m a drunk.”
Her eyes flared at his bitter tone, but he couldn’t make himself apologize. Sleeping with her had always been a mistake. He sure as hell couldn’t afford to care about her.
She bit down on her bottom lip, then took a step away from him.
His phone buzzed, startling them both. Grateful for the interruption, he rushed to answer it.
“Agent McGee, this is Officer Leeks. I was assigned to guard Trace Bellamy at the hospital.”
His pulse picked up a notch. “Is something wrong?”
“The doctor said he’s out of the woods. He’s waking up if you want to talk to him.”
Of course he did. “I’ll be right there.”
Korine was watching him, questions in her eyes. “News on the case?”
“Bellamy is waking up. I’m going to the hospital to talk to him.”
“I’ll get dressed.” She started toward the bedroom, but he wasn’t in the mood, not after seeing that text.
“I’m going alone.”
Her gaze met his, the turmoil deepening. He was cutting her out, and she knew it.
Before he could give in to temptation and take her back to bed, he strode into the bedroom and dressed. She was still standing in his den when he returned. But her phone was in her hand. For a brief second, he thought regret flashed in her eyes.
“We should talk,” she said quietly.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He snagged his keys, stormed out the door, and slammed it behind him.
The sooner he closed this case, the sooner he could request a new partner.
Korine watched Hatcher leave, her blood boiling. What had happened? One minute she and Hatcher were making wild passionate love and had curled in each other’s arms, sleeping. The next, he was up by himself, staring at the woods, drinking.
He had seen that text, too. And he was hurt by it.
She never should have let down her guard. Never should have slept with him again because giving her body to him meant giving her heart.
He didn’t want her heart or her as a partner.
His wife had been clingy and needy. She couldn’t become that kind of woman.
She lifted her chin, fortifying her resolve, and hurried to get dressed. She wouldn’t rely on Hatcher or pressure him for anything.
But she was part of this case, and she wanted to hear what Trace Bellamy said.
Mind made up, she phoned for a taxi.
Just as she was hanging up, her phone buzzed. Probably Hatcher. Maybe Bellamy was awake and had identified his attacker.
She checked the number. Not Hatcher. Her mother’s home.
She glanced at the clock. Four a.m.
A bad sign.
She quickly connected the call. “Esme?”
“You’ve got to come over. Kenny showed up and . . . he’s upset,” her mother’s caregiver said on a ragged breath. “He has your father’s gun.”
Korine’s pulse jumped. “I’ll be right there.”
She grabbed her purse and jacket, then strapped on her gun and holster.
Armed and ready, she stepped outside to wait on the cab.
Five minutes later, it arrived, and she jumped in and gave the driver her mother’s address. Anxiety seized every muscle in her body. It was only a few miles to the house where she’d grown up, but it seemed like it took them hours to get there.
Questions needled her as the driver turned down the drive.
Why did Kenny have her father’s gun? Was it loaded? Would he use it?
She handed the driver some cash, then climbed from the cab and jogged to the front door, bracing herself to defuse the situation inside.
To treat this incident just as she would a call on the job, not like it was personal.
But the moment she opened the door and heard her mother’s shrill scream, fear flooded her.
Praying she didn’t need her weapon, she paused in the foyer to listen. Kenny was shouting something. Her mother was crying.
Kenny’s voice was coming from her father’s study.
The very room he’d died in.
She didn’t want to lose another family member in there.
Easing her weapon from her holster in case she needed it, she held it down by her side and slipped to the doorway.
Her heart stuttered at the sight. Her father’s gun was tucked in Kenny’s pants, and he wielded a hammer in his right hand—the hand he had brought down to smash one of the porcelain dolls on the floor.
The dolls her father had given her.
Her cell phone buzzed with a text before she could step in to intervene. She quickly glanced at it. Cat.
Traced the Facebook Live post to a phone.
Korine choked on a breath.
The address Cat listed was her mother’s house.