CHAPTER 6
I need you.
Those three little words tore at Sam as he raced to Angie’s apartment. Why the hell hadn’t he just gone over there when he’d gotten her earlier message?
That she hadn’t answered her phone shouldn’t have stopped him.
That she scared him shouldn’t have stopped him.
He drove faster. He was a professional, and as a professional he willingly headed into situations similar to this all the time. It was his job.
But the cool, calm, professional cop he was inside had vanished and been replaced by a man—a terrified, protective, angry man he hardly recognized.
Why had this happened to Angie, a woman who deserved hearts and flowers and a white picket fence, not this sheer terror?
Damn it, she’d already been hurt. Josephine had told him that much. Hurt by a man who’d tried to mold her into his idea of the perfect woman.
How could someone do that to the vibrant, sweet, open Angie?
Shame furled in his belly as he remembered his first impression of her. Scattered. Flighty. Naive.
She wasn’t any of those things.
Please don’t let her be hurt, he prayed, and vowed right then and there to never add to that hurt of hers. And it wasn’t ego that told him he could do exactly that. Even he couldn’t deny there was something…undeniable between them.
That he’d lost all perspective when it came to her didn’t escape him. He was a man darkly driven and intensely private. He was a man who had no right to be thinking about hearts and flowers and a white picket fence.
He was a cop, through and through, and he’d learned the hard way through his mother, then his ex-wife, that no one could get close to him.
No one ever would.
How many times had he heard that cops didn’t make good relationship material?
Yes, there was more to life than work, he knew this, but he also knew it wasn’t worth the headache. God, please, let her be okay.
Getting to her place was the longest four minutes in history, but finally he came around the last corner to her building.
Her entire apartment was ablaze with lights. And no squad car out front, which meant, despite his call to dispatch, she was still alone inside.
Her front door was ajar. Pulling his gun, he pushed the door all the way open.
Her bookshelf had been dumped, her television and portable CD player broken on the floor. And despite the fact he could hear water running somewhere, there was no sign of life. “Angie?”
From the small living room he could see into the even smaller kitchen. The cupboards had been opened, emptied. The plants in hand-painted ceramic bins had been purposely slammed to the floor and lay broken among her dishes and glasses.
He’d seen enough to know that someone had tried to scare her, and undoubtedly it had worked.
Silent now, with terror chasing chills along his spine, he headed down the hall. Bedroom trashed. And empty.
The bathroom door was shut, beyond which he could hear running water. With a palm to the door, he shoved it open, gun ready.
The small room was the only one in the house not messed with. The tub curtain was drawn closed, which was odd, given that he could hear the spout running behind it.
Battle ready, he yanked the curtain open and steadied his gun.
Only to drop it to his side a split second later with a soft, harsh oath. “Angie.”
She was down in the far corner of the tub, eyes wide as saucers. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
His heart all but cracked as he reached in and turned off the water. Ice-cold. Gently he pulled her out of the tub and ran his hands down her frozen arms. He could hardly breathe. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Talk to me.” Cupping her face, he tilted it up. “Are you hurt?”
“N-no.”
Thank God. He struggled for his professionalism, barely found it. “You’re cold.” He went and grabbed the comforter off her bed, then pulled it around her.
“I got prank calls.”
“What did they say?”
“Mostly that I’m to stop calling the cops.”
He went still. “Which you didn’t do.”
“Nope.”
“So this was to scare you. What else did he say?”
“Back off.” She managed a wry half smile. “I get the distinct impression I’ve hurt your suspect’s feelings.” She rubbed her forehead as if her head hurt.
He resisted, barely, the urge to haul her close. “Tell me what happened tonight.”
She sighed and looked around as if she was still surprised to see the mess. “I came home from class, let myself in and…” She lifted a shoulder and turned away.
“You what?”
“This and that…you know, ever since the holdup, I’ve…had a little trouble sleeping.”
His gut clenched, thinking of her here. All alone. Frightened.
“I’ve been flipping on all the lights at night. That’s the first thing I did tonight.”
“There’s no shame in that,” he said to her back.
“Yeah.” Then she let out a little laugh at herself that tore at him, and she pulled the comforter tighter around her. “Then I came into my bedroom and…”
He waited but she didn’t say anything else. “Angie? You what?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. A tinge of embarrassment crept over her face. “I…stripped off my clothes and got into the shower.” She studied her toes. “Do you think they saw me?”
Damn it. “Angie—”
“No. Never mind.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, right?”
“That’s right,” he said gently, stepping closer. “It’s over.” And he would do everything in his power to make sure it stayed over. “What happened next?”
“I stayed in the shower for a really long time.” She lifted her shoulder again. “I sang. Probably scared whoever it was to death, as I’m pretty much tone-deaf.”
Sam couldn’t imagine anything about her scaring anyone.
Except him, of course. He was scared to death of her.
“When I got out,” she continued, “the place had been all messed up.”
“But you never saw anyone? Heard anything?”
“No.” She bit her lower lip, which started to tremble.
Oh, God, the tremble.
Tears would be next. “Angie—”
Without another word, she dropped the comforter and went straight into the arms he hadn’t realized he’d held out. She burrowed close, pressing her icy nose into the crook of his neck, slipping her arms around his waist, fitting against him as if she’d been made for him.
His heart, the one he’d thought impenetrable as stone, squeezed hard. Her hair was wet. Dripping all over him, in fact. And she wore only a towel. Just a little scrap of material. She’d been in the shower, at her most vulnerable. At the thought of what could have happened to her, helpless rage filled him, and he found his arms tightening around her in a way they wouldn’t have done around any other victim.
Against his neck, she swallowed hard. “When I came out, I worried I wasn’t alone, that…” She shuddered and didn’t go on, but she didn’t need to.
He bent his head, put his mouth to her temple. “It’s okay now.” This was no regular victim, this was Angie. She was different, and she had been from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on her. He didn’t think of her as part of the job, no matter how much he wished he could relegate her to that part of his mind. “We’re alone. It’s all right now.”
“I know.” She sniffed but didn’t pull away. “I’m fine. I can handle this.”
Another sniff sounded.
Ah, hell. “Angie…”
“No, really. I’m okay.” But her voice cracked, and she was shaking like a damn blender. “I’m not going…to fall apart.”
“Of course you’re not,” he said, willing it to be true.
“It’s just that… I wanted excitement in my life, you know?” She let out a little hiccup. “But I had something else in mind. Like learning to teach.”
“It’s okay,” he whispered, rubbing his jaw over her hair, wondering who was comforting whom. Because somehow, she’d wormed her way into his heart despite his resolve.
Not good.
In fact, it was really bad. Bad timing. Bad form. Bad everything.
In his experience, women fell into two categories: the kind who couldn’t handle his job—his mother and his ex-wife, for example. And then there were the danger junkies, the woman who wanted a rush of edgy adrenaline to excite their lives.
He didn’t want to think of Angie as a danger junkie, since he understood she was flexing her wings for the first time. She would never use him that way.
As for his job and all that entailed, it didn’t seem to faze her, but he knew, given enough time, it sure as hell would. It fazed everyone sooner or later.
Then her fingers found the skin at the back of his neck. Just a little stroke that woke up every nerve in his body.
Her other hand lay trustingly on his chest.
As he looked down at her fingers, at her, everything within him stilled. He was attracted to her, on some deep level he couldn’t ignore no matter how he tried.
And he was responsible for her—this uninhibited, sparkly-as-hell woman who was so damn warm and thrilled with her new lease on life it almost hurt to even look at her.
The truth was simple: he cared, far more than he wanted to.
Talk about terror.
* * *
Angie didn’t know how long they stood like that, wrapped together, her nearly nude body to his fully clothed one. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
She swallowed hard and tried to put the words in the right order. “Thank you for coming. I meant to call 911 but…”
It didn’t say much for her newfound independence that she’d called him instead, but she figured she was allowed to lean on someone once in a while.
And he certainly had the strength to be leaned on. He had it in spades. God, the way he’d arrived, like the cavalry, all magnificent and edgy-looking, until he’d found her huddled in the bathtub. Then he’d gone so gentle, so…tender. She liked that side of him.
Too much.
“I don’t want to be thanked for this.”
Oh, yes, his voice was calm and assuring, but even Sam couldn’t hide his eyes, which were filled with heat and a fierce, urgent concern.
That alone warmed her toward him in a way she doubted he’d understand. It hadn’t been often in her life someone had felt those things for her. She liked it, the fierce concern. She liked it a lot. She also liked the heat. It did something to her insides, made her want to…glow. She’d always shied away from any serious emotional attachments, even with Tony. It made it easier when she didn’t live up to their expectations.
But she wasn’t the same person anymore. She wanted more for herself. So much more. Living life to the fullest meant no more pretending her yearnings didn’t exist.
Sam had probably never in his life had such thoughts. He was strong. His own man. If he wanted something, he went after it, and she admired that. “Are you always so tough?” she wondered softly. “So in control?”
He pulled back, looked at her. “I like to be in control.”
“But why?” She wanted to be distracted, and there could be no better one than learning about this man. “What made you that way?”
He lifted a broad shoulder. “Genes.”
“Your dad?”
“Actually, my mom. She’s the master of control. She’s…never forgiven me for being a cop.”
“Never?”
“Never. But that’s what I am, Angie.” He shocked her by lifting a big hand and wrapping a wet tendril of her hair around his finger. “That’s who I am.” His touch made her want to close her eyes. His voice made her want to burrow back against him. “By definition alone,” he said very, very quietly, “control is everything.”
“But you’re also a man.” A man who was touching her, very lightly, very tenderly. Her insides did a funny dance, and as if he could read his thoughts, his eyes flared at the knowledge there.
“A cop first,” he said, his voice low. Rough. “Don’t confuse it.”
“I won’t, I couldn’t.” She entwined her fingers through the silky hair at the back of his neck. “You’re a cop through and through, I can see that. I accept that.”
“I doubt it.”
“It’s true.” But she could see she’d have to prove that much to him. Maybe he’d been hurt. Betrayed. She had no way of knowing, much as she wanted to. “But this rigid control…this holding back… Sam, life can’t be lived to its fullest that way. It just can’t.”
“I don’t hold back.”
But that’s just what he’d done, from the very first with her. His mouth was so close to hers. Just a shiver, a single breath, and they’d be connected. “Don’t you?” she whispered.
He stared down at her mouth.
Oh yes, she had his attention now. Not as a victim. Or a responsibility. But as a woman. “I know how hard it is. Believe me, Sam, I know how hard it is to let go, because until recently, I’ve lived most of my life denying my own ambitions, my own happiness. It was easier to do so than to face them. Which is really the same as all this rigid control you’ve got, don’t you see?” Her throat felt tight. “I’ve learned it’s much more fulfilling to be a butterfly than a caterpillar. I’m only guessing, because I’m still really new at this, but I know it’s going to be great.”
Still staring at her, he let out one long breath. “You’ll make a great butterfly, Angie. You will. You were made for it. But for me…that sort of thing doesn’t work. Control does.”
“And toughness.”
“And toughness,” he agreed with a hint of a smile. He dropped his hand from her hair. “It’s how I want to be. No exceptions.”
“But—”
He touched her again, put a finger to her lips. “No exceptions,” he repeated.
She didn’t want to look at him, not when she knew her heart was right there in her eyes for him to see. He’d hate that, so she did the first thing that came to her. She closed her eyes and pressed her face back against his throat.
He smelled so good. Like soap and heat and man. And she remembered her new vow, not to let anything stop her from what she wanted, not ever again.
So she was scared, so what? Fear wouldn’t stop her, either, and she leaned into Sam’s heat and strength, letting it surround her.
His arms surrounded her, too, probably because he thought she needed more comfort, but that’s not what she wanted at all.
Not from him.
So she lifted her head, found his mouth with hers and showed him what she did want.
For one long heartbeat, he froze. Very lightly she touched the corner of his mouth with her tongue, then the other corner, and with a low, rough groan, he dragged her closer, whispered her name hoarsely and opened to her.
It was a kiss like nothing she’d ever known. She felt like she was drowning in him, in the pleasure and heat and need of it.
But from the window came the sound of one car pulling up, then another. Telltale blue and red lights flashed, slashing through the room.
Angie’s reinforcements had come, which meant this little interlude, the most amazing she’d ever had, was over.