Head Over Heels

He met her gaze. “We’re more than just messing around na**d friends,” he said.

She did her best to squelch the burst of emotion those words caused. “Then talk to me.”

He made a restless movement with his shoulders, like he was to-the-bone exhausted. “If you’re mad at me,” she murmured, “I think I deserve to know why.”

He stared at the wet paint on the wall above her head. “It’s not you I’m mad at.”

“Then who?”

“Me.” He drew a careful breath. “I’m between a rock and a hard place here with what I can say.”

“Okay.”

“It’s DEA business. We’ve been waiting on a break. I’m on call now, but thanks to me being out of range tonight, our lead went underground and took any evidence with him.”

Chloe closed her eyes, stricken with guilt. This was because he’d been at the mud springs checking on her and her sisters. “Oh, Sawyer. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

His gaze swiveled to hers, and he studied her meditatively. “That’s your only question?”

“No, I have at least a dozen, but I’m working on not being an impulsive pain in your ass.”

With a quiet laugh to himself, he asked, “How is it you’re so good for me, and yet so bad at the same time?”

Well, if that didn’t reach out and punch her in the gut. “It’s a special talent of mine,” she managed.

His gaze roamed her face, and she hated this, hated standing here waiting for him to tell her that they were through. Because that’s where this was going, she knew it. She felt it. Everything about his voice and expression told her so, and she knew that she should have left when she had the chance, left and pretended she’d never found contentment and security in his arms.

“You asked if there was something you could do for me,” he said quietly.

She nodded numbly.

“You could come here.”

Without hesitation, she moved closer, pressing her cheek against his warm, na**d chest, finding comfort in the strong, steady beat of his heart against her ear, as his arms surrounded her hard. “I’m not the man you think I am, Chloe,” he said into her hair.

“Wrong,” she said and pulled him closer. “You are exactly who I thought you were.” She kissed him, hard. He responded by pressing her up against the one dry wall, holding her there with two hundred pounds of solid, hard muscle. And he was hard, everywhere.

“Feeling better, then?” she whispered.

“I’m feeling something. Where’s your inhaler, Chloe?”

“In my purse by your front door. I just used it.” She slid her arms up around his neck and again pulled his head down to hers. “As a precaution.” The wall behind her was giving her a chill, but Sawyer’s mouth was hot and urgent on her throat. The hard curves of his back burned warm against her fingers. “I’m sorry about tonight, Sawyer. So sorry.”

“It can’t happen again. Not ever again.”

The words skittered down her spine, causing a shiver. Because it was going to be over. She’d known that. A part of her had always known that. But it was going to destroy her.

Tomorrow.

For now, right now, she still had this, had tonight. He wanted her, that much she knew, and she wanted him.

More than she’d ever wanted anyone in her entire life.

Not willing to waste another second of it, she slid her hand between them to unsnap his jeans. He lifted his head, his gaze searching hers. His expression softened, and he took over, stripping out of his jeans. He was commando, and she took him in, one taut muscle at a time.

Heart-stopping.

Breathtaking.

He unzipped her sweatshirt and groaned at the strip of skin he exposed from the pulse point of her throat to the hip-hugging waistband of her jeans. Then he tugged the sweatshirt off, letting it fall to the floor on top of his jeans. Her bra went next. “Turn around.”

When she didn’t move fast enough, he spun her so that she faced the mirror, setting her hands on the countertop like he was going to frisk her. Instead, he pressed up close behind her.

Together they looked at her body in the mirror.

She could feel his warm breath on her neck, coming a little faster than his usual hibernation rate of breathing, and it gave her a little thrill. “What?” he murmured when she shuddered, bending to kiss her neck.

She gasped as his hands skimmed up her torso to cup her bare breasts, his fingers plucking at her nipples. “I make you feel things,” she said.

He rocked into her. “Yeah. You sure as hell do.” He unfastened her jeans and nudged them down along with her panties, kicking all the fallen clothes away from their feet. His hands settled hers on the counter again, one foot nudging her legs farther apart. When he had her arranged to suit him, he put his hands on her h*ps and met her gaze in the mirror.

“Are you going to search me now?” she teased.

“Mm.” He skimmed one hand up her belly to cup a breast, the other between her thighs. “I could look at you all day,” he said.

She soaked up the warmth of both his words and his big body behind hers. “Look later.” She wriggled. “Do now.”

He didn’t hesitate. He plunged into her, and she cried out in sheer, mindless pleasure, gripping the counter with white knuckles as she thrust back against him.

With a groan, he pushed even deeper. “Open your eyes.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d closed them, but they flew open now and met his in the mirror.

They were hot and demanding, much like the man.

“You want this, Chloe?”

“Yes. God yes.”

Cursing beneath his strained breath, he bent her over the counter, one hand on her hip, the other between her thighs, using it to drive her straight to the edge. There were no other words for what he did to her. He controlled their movements, and he knew what he was doing. In no time, she was flying, sobbing his name as she came. Pulling her head back, he kissed her deep as he followed her over.

Her legs were wobbling, and he felt like her only anchor in a spinning world. They sank to their knees there on the bathroom floor, his arms hard around her as if maybe she was his anchor as well.

After a few minutes, he kissed her sweaty temple. “Okay?”

If she didn’t let herself think. “If I say no, can we do it again?”

He let out a low chuckle and leaned over her, pushing damp hair from her face. “You’re breathing pretty hard.”

“Yes, but that’s your doing,” she said.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He rose to his feet in one quick, economical movement, scooping her up in his arms.

“Sawyer—”

“Save your breath.” They were on the move down the hallway. He snatched up her purse in the entryway and kept moving, right into the kitchen. Flipping on the lights, he set her on the countertop.

It was icy cold on her bare ass, and she squealed. He merely held her there with one hand and rifled through her purse with the other. Yanking out her inhaler, he thrust it into her hands. She took a puff and held it in, watching him.

He’d gone from her lover to the cop in a blink, cool and calm and completely in charge. “Impressive,” she murmured when she exhaled. “You’re good in an emergency. But you do realize that I’m not having an emergency, right? I was just…” She let out a low laugh. “You’re pretty potent, Sheriff. You sent me out of the stratosphere. I’m still coming down, that’s all.”

“I thought—” He shook his head. “I thought you were having an asthma attack because I pushed too hard, rushing you—”

“No.” She ran her hands up and down his tense arms. “I’m sorry I scared you, but I’m fine.”

He stared at her, then backed into a chair, minus some of his usual grace, given that he was na**d, too. “I thought you were in trouble,” he said.

Oh, God. How was she going to give him up? Don’t go there, not now. Tomorrow…She hopped down off the counter, walked over, and straddled him, sliding her fingers into his hair.

His hands went to her ass and squeezed.

With a smile, she bent over him, lightly brushing her lips with his. “I actually forgot I had asthma,” she murmured. “You know that’s only happened with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You must be special to make me forget such a thing.”

Between them, he stirred, and he tightened his grip on her ass, palming her possessively. Still holding her, he rose and turned to eye the kitchen table speculatively.

“Sawyer,” she said on a laugh. There were a few things on the table—a stack of mail, an empty paper plate, his wallet and keys—but with one swipe of his hand it all hit the floor.

A ridiculous flutter went through her belly.

He laid her down on the surface of the table and towered over her, planting his hands on either side of her head. “Let’s see what else I can make you forget.”

Chapter 23

“Just when you think you have

a handle on life, it breaks.”

Chloe Traeger

The next day, Sawyer had just finished reading a kid the riot act for shoplifting his lunch at the convenience store when his phone vibrated. Chloe, he thought, his chest squeezing with the painful reminder of how she’d slipped out of his bed at some point in the middle of the night.

But it wasn’t Chloe. It was Josh calling to tell him that his father had been admitted into the ER for chest pains.

“It’s not a heart attack,” Josh said when he’d met Sawyer in the hallway outside Nolan’s room.

Sawyer took his first breath in the twenty minutes since he’d gotten the phone call. “So what is it?”

“He said he was trying to mow his lawn early this morning when the chest pains came on. He waited until now to come in because he’s Nolan Thompson.”

Sawyer gritted his teeth. “He said he’d hired someone to do that for him,” he muttered, though why he felt inclined to defend himself he couldn’t guess. Nearly everyone in town knew about his rocky relationship with his dad, including Josh.

Josh shrugged. He was looking like it’d been a long day already in wrinkled blue scrubs, a stethoscope hanging around his neck, his dark hair ruffled and dark eyes lined with exhaustion. “It’s anxiety. I’m going to prescribe some mild anti-anxiety meds, but he needs to go low stress.”

“You tell him that?”

Josh gave a tired smile. “Yeah.” He clapped a hand on Sawyer’s shoulder. “Try to take it easy on him.”

Sawyer walked into the room. His father was prone on his back, hooked up to an IV and oxygen, looking frail, small, and old, and yet he still managed to make a sound that perfectly conveyed what he thought at the sight of Sawyer. “Gee, Dad,” he said. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

Nolan closed his eyes. “You’d be sarcastic to your dying father?”

“You’re not dying. You’re going to outlive me out of sheer orneriness.”

His father’s eyes opened and narrowed.

“It’s anxiety, not your heart,” Sawyer told him, standing at the foot of the hospital bed.

“The f**k it is. I was mowing the lawn. No stress in that.”

“And why were you mowing the lawn, Dad?”

“Because I…” Nolan clammed up.

Sawyer was trying his damnedest to ignore The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air rerun blaring on the TV behind him. He had no idea how to proceed here without further infuriating his father. “Dad, I know there’s no kid.”

“He got busy.”

“There’s no kid,” Sawyer repeated.

Nolan frowned. “You’re standing in front of the TV.”

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Move.”

Sawyer felt the helplessness reach up and choke him. It was a new feeling, but it’d become his best friend since Chloe had sneaked out of his bed, and, he suspected, out of his life. What was it she’d once told him—life was too short? She’d been right on. “What do you want from me, Dad?”

“Nothing. Take your f**king bad attitude and get the hell out of here.”

He could have no idea how much Sawyer wanted to do just that. But no more putting this kind of shit off. “Look, I know I disappointed you as a kid. I get that. I disappointed me as a kid.”

For the first time since Sawyer had walked into the room, Nolan met his gaze.

“And I know,” Sawyer went on, “that you did the best you could with me.”

There was a long, painful silence during which Sawyer kicked a chair closer to the side of the bed and sat.

Getting the message that Sawyer wasn’t leaving, Nolan finally cleared his throat. “Maybe I could have done better with you.”

“I don’t know how,” Sawyer admitted. “I was a complete shit. We both know that. In fact, raising me probably put you in here.” He reached for his father’s hand. It was the first time they’d touched in years. “But I’m trying to make up for it. It’d be great if you let me.”

“How?” Nolan asked warily.

“By eating some pride and letting your sorry-ass son help you out once in a while.”

“You’re busy,” Nolan said.

“Not that busy.”

His father said nothing to this. His gaze drifted to the TV again.

Sawyer stood up. “But it can’t be one-sided. You’re going to have to meet me halfway.”