Fallen (27 page)

“God, Lydia,” he murmured, his lips dipping to her throat. With a small moan, Lydia tilted her head back to give him fuller access. His hands cupped her breasts, weighing them, his thumbs brushing back and forth over her hardened buds. They ached with need.

She gave no resistance. The familiarity of his hard body, this situation—Lydia felt dizzy with the carnal desire that had abandoned her for so long.

Ryan finished the work she had started, undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt and allowing it to join the discarded T-shirt at their feet. Her palms slid over his firm pectorals, her fingers splaying through the coarse sprinkling of chest hair. Lydia rose on tiptoe to kiss the broad line of his collarbone, her fingers caressing the Celtic warrior tattoo that curled around his right biceps and onto his shoulder. Then her hands were at his waist, her suddenly clumsy fingers struggling with his belt. Ryan assisted her in undoing the buckle, then stripped the leather away. His mouth on hers again, he tugged away the sleep shorts until she stood nude in front of him.

His eyes drank her in. Ryan removed his shoes and the rest of his clothing. Her breath left her lungs as, holding her by the waist, he lowered her to the bed. The cool sheets chilled her fevered skin as he followed her down, his weight on her a welcome comfort. He bent his head hungrily to her breasts, covering each of them in turn with his mouth, the stubble on his jaw abrading her and sending a hot craving through her. Lydia threaded her fingers through the soft hair at his nape, arching upward in encouragement as he sampled each erect peak, sucking her.

He lay between her legs, and she spread herself for him, writhing against his hand as he caressed her.

“Lydia,” he whispered roughly. She saw him swallow in the darkness as he stared down at her. He pressed kisses onto her shoulder, her cheekbone. Impatient, Lydia’s mouth sought his, and she groaned as his tongue delved in, exploring. She was half-mad with the desire to be filled, wanting him to soothe the emptiness inside her. Ryan held her hips with his hands, stilling her. Then he entered her in a single, hard stroke, causing Lydia to cry out at the shock of it.

Her body, unused for so long, stretched to accommodate him. Lydia felt her eyes mist as he whispered endearments against her ear, telling her again that everything would be all right.

She wrapped her legs around his hips as he began to move inside her. They found their rhythm as if they had mated only yesterday, something instinctual and unforgotten between them. His slow, steady thrusts turned her body into liquid heat. For a long time Ryan pinned her to the bed and drove into her, drove everything from her mind but their lovemaking. Unsure of how much more she could take, Lydia begged him for release, but he hushed her with his mouth, his lips demanding her submission. She ran her hands over his back, her nails gently rasping over his skin as she danced on the edge of a climax. His thrusts were faster now, too, his urgency increasing.

Her orgasm shattered her, rippling around him and causing him to cry out as he came closely behind her. She felt his heat spill into her. Ryan buried his forehead against her shoulder, spent, breathing hard.

A short time later he had moved beside her, lying on his side and holding her spooned against him, her bottom pressing into his stomach and his arm draped over her. The curve of her shoulder drew his lips.

“We were always good like this,” he murmured against her skin.

Lydia’s toes stroked slowly up and down his shin. She felt warm and boneless in his embrace. They lay bathed in the city’s glow. She cupped his larger fingers inside hers and held his hand against her breasts. Regret caused an ache inside her.

“I shouldn’t have gone to New Orleans,” she admitted softly in the darkness. Emotion thickened her words. “I’m so sorry for that, Ryan. It was unfair and unthinkably cruel.”

She could feel his chest gently rising and falling behind her.

“You did what was right for you. I don’t blame you.”

“I tried to come home …” She needed him to understand. Her voice trembled, and she swallowed. “I tried to stay. But I … I just couldn’t put the pieces back together without him.”

He held her more tightly and whispered, “I know.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

He had been
awake for a while. Ryan sat on the edge of the mattress, watching as Lydia slept. She appeared vulnerable, curled up like a kitten, her skin porcelain and dark hair spilling onto her pillow. Maybe Adam was right about his masochistic side but, God help him, he still loved her, deeply.

He would die wanting her.

Bowing his head, he rubbed his hands over his face as he released a soft breath of uncertainty. He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened between them last night. What it actually meant. If it even meant anything at all other than Lydia had been in need of comfort and he had been here.

If he hadn’t called her, there was a real possibility she wouldn’t have turned to him. That she would have leaned on Varek instead.

Sliding into his boxers and pants, he left the bedroom and went into the kitchen with its granite counters and high-end, stainless steel appliances. The clock on the range indicated it was a little after five in the morning. Bare-chested and barefoot, he located a glass in the cabinet and ran water into it from the faucet. He gulped it down, at the same time noticing the empty wine bottle that sat next to a single goblet on the counter. Ryan couldn’t help it—he wondered if Lydia had been drinking last night. If her lowered inhibitions had led to their having sex. But she had displayed no signs of inebriation. She had been shaken by the phone call but seemed entirely sober.

Seeking activity to dull his thoughts, he rinsed his glass and the goblet before placing them both in the dishwasher. Then he carried the empty bottle to the closet he suspected held the garbage.

A half-dozen more wine bottles were stacked in the recycling bin.

“Your phone rang,” Lydia said, causing him to turn. She’d donned his dress shirt, her slender thighs bare as she held the device out to him. Her eyes moved to the bin, as well. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks, but all she said was, “The screen said it was Mateo. I thought it might be important.”

“Sorry it woke you.” Ryan placed the empty bottle on top of the others with a clink.

“Should I assume you had a few friends over?” he asked, making a point about the bin’s contents as he took the phone. The pained look on her features didn’t escape him. “Because I’d feel better about that.”

She glanced away, changing the topic. “You should call Mateo back—”

“
Look at me
, Lyd.” It took some effort for her cocoa-brown eyes to meet his again. His voice softened. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I don’t even know what you—”

“You’d had too much to drink the night you came to the house,” he reminded. “You were never a big drinker. I thought then that wasn’t like you.”

Her chin tilted upward as her arms crossed over her chest. “So you see a few wine bottles in my garbage and accuse me of being an alcoholic?”

Placing the phone on the counter, he stepped closer. She looked beautiful with indignation simmering under her skin, but he could also see the shadows in her eyes. Ryan was a trained interrogator. Her evasion tactics and defensive body language caused a small knot to form inside him.

“You can talk to me. I’m just worried about you, Lyd,” he emphasized, his voice low.

Lydia sighed, seeming embarrassed. “Don’t be.”

He swallowed, unsure if he wanted to ask the question. “Were you drinking last night?”

This time she looked unwaveringly into his eyes. “No.”

Ryan felt the hard beat of his heart as he studied her face. “I … saw the empty prescription bottle in the bathroom, too.”

She combed her fingers through her hair in an uneasy gesture. “I need them sometimes.”

“Sleeping pills and alcohol are a bad mix,” he scolded.

Her expression was pinched. “I
am
a doctor, Ryan. I know that.”

He didn’t want to leave her like this. He wanted to talk more, to drive to the heart of whatever was hurting her—this situation with Ian Brandt, the stress of her job, her lingering grief. God knew she had a lot on her. But she appeared uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and his cell sprang to life on the counter. Mateo again. It was damn early for him to be calling—not a good sign. He answered with a note of irritation, then rubbed his forehead at what his partner had to say.

“Send me a text with the address. I’ll be there in a half hour.” He disconnected.

“What is it?” Lydia asked.

Tension constricted his lungs. “The rookie officer who shot the panhandler last night—he’s dead. The COD appears to be suicide, but Thompson wants us there due to the recent shootings.”

“God,” Lydia whispered, her face paling. Realizing what she had on, she said, “You’ll need this.”

He waited in the living room as she went to the bedroom, returning a minute later with his shirt and other clothing. She had redressed in what she’d had on last night, the shape of her small, round breasts visible through the threadbare T-shirt. There wasn’t time for coffee or even a shower—he’d have to stop by the house afterward, if he could. Nor was there time to talk about last night, about what it meant.

He knew what it meant to him.

His mind flashed on an image of Varek on top of her, doing to her what he had done. It made him crazy.

“You’re working today?” he asked tightly as he slipped on his shirt and buttoned it, then sat on the couch to pull on his socks.

“I’m not on until three.”

“I’m going with you to file the restraining order with the county clerk’s office,” he said, giving no berth for argument. He slid into his shoes and tucked in his shirt, then reclaimed his weapon, shoulder holster and shield from the coffee table. If nothing else, it would serve as a message to Brandt they meant business about him backing off. “I’ve got some accumulated time. I’ll call you as soon as I can clear a few hours.”

The court set a high bar for issuing orders based on claims of harassment. It could be hard to get, especially since there was nothing solid to link Brandt to the mailed wasps or prank calls. Ryan hoped his presence might have some sway. “When Brandt confronted you in the parking lot, did he
physically
threaten you in any way?”

Reluctantly, she admitted he had. Something else she’d initially left out in hopes of this mess blowing over. Ryan pressed his lips together. “What happened?”

Lydia hesitated. “He didn’t hurt me. But he grabbed my arm, and I threatened to call the police. He … said
things
could happen to me before a patrol car arrived.”

Anger restricted his breathing, but his rational side told him it was something they could use, at least. Still, the order would be only temporary, until a court hearing was scheduled. Ryan had been turning over a longer-term solution in his mind.

“Be prepared to relay to the judge
exactly
what transpired.” He felt the scowl on his features. “He’s not me, so maybe you’ll be more forthcoming this time.”

Lydia gave a faint nod, contrite.

He looked at her. Even now, her lips appeared a little swollen. He wanted to kiss her like he had last night. Hell, he wanted to carry her back to bed and make love to her until they were both incapable of thought. Until she promised they would try again. Instead, he went to her and chastely pressed his lips to her forehead, trying not to read more into what had happened between them than he should.
Old habits.
He felt her soft release of breath as she leaned into him, her fingers splaying lightly across his chest. When she looked up at him again, he saw uncertainty in her eyes.

Ryan swallowed. They would talk about last night. Or maybe they wouldn’t. He didn’t know where he stood, and it was disconcerting.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can,” he said before departing.

*

The deceased officer had been on the force less than a year. Todd Parham had been single, living in a rented duplex on Edgewood Avenue. His male roommate had been the one to discover the hanged body. Now late afternoon, Ryan sat at his desk inside the precinct. But the bluish corpse as it was being cut down—rigor mortis just beginning to creep in, bowels and bladder evacuated—remained on his mind.

“COD’s being listed as compression of the carotid and trachea,” Mateo confirmed as he entered from the corridor, returning from the medical examiner’s office. “The ME’s ruling it a suicide. Toxicology won’t be back for days, of course, but there were no defense wounds or scratch marks on the throat to indicate a struggle. It’s looking like he did it without anyone’s help.”

The ruling was what they had expected, but considering the recent murders and lack of a suicide note, they’d had to be sure. Ryan gave a faint nod of acknowledgment, a heaviness inside him. He understood the weight of guilt.

“Thanks for handling the prelim without me,” he said, trying to shake off his thoughts.

“No problem. How’d it go?”

Ryan felt as if he was being pulled in two different directions. He and Mateo had parted ways after leaving Parham’s home, his partner working without him so he could go with Lydia to the courthouse. Ryan had called in favors to get the situation in front of a judge quickly in the busy Fulton County legal system. After what he’d learned about the troubling confrontation in her parking lot, he believed it necessary. “We got the temporary order. It’s being served on Brandt any time now.”