Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic) (11 page)

If he hadn’t stepped into the bathroom at that moment, he would have caught the intense heat racing up her face. Maybe she’d asked for that response, or maybe it was exactly what she wanted. The banter and humor helped diffuse the bad situation.

Sometimes Stone pissed her off with his too cocky attitude, but his tender side had softened her cold heart. She willed her body to move once he turned on the shower. She wouldn’t think of him naked and soapy. Nope. She wouldn’t let his muscular, hard body cross her mind. Wasn’t going to happen. Then why was she so wet between her legs? Dammit.

Her leg bumped the end of the king-sized bed. It might be large enough for both of them, but there was no way she wanted to be that close to him for hours on end. Besides, she’d get no sleep listening to him breathe, feeling the indent of his body on the bed as he rolled over, or wondering if he’d accidentally wrap an arm around her and pull her tight. How amazing would it be to run her fingers over his rippled abs or have his body pressed tight against hers?

Dear Lord. How long had it been since she’d lusted after a man? A lot more than the six months since her divorce to Carlton.
Stop it.
Even if he was on the up-and-up, Stone was her bodyguard, paid for by the United States government. FBI employees didn’t have sex with witnesses, or touch them, or pull them against their hard chests.

She scanned the room once more. There wasn’t even enough room for a cot, so they’d have to share. Poor Stone. Every time she rolled over, she might wake him, and God knows they both needed their sleep.

She shoved aside the thrill that snuck into her belly and willed her logical side to take over.

While he did his thing in the bathroom, she slipped under the covers. Her pajamas were flannel. Unattractive and anything but alluring. Good. He’d want to keep his hands to himself.

She ran her fingers along the cool sheets. The clean, crisp cotton made her temporarily forget her dilemma. Fresh linens and a soft bed were better medicine than any pain drugs.

With the television on for background noise, she begged her body to relax. Too bad her mind wouldn’t stop the fantasy of the naked man in the shower.
Think Caravello.
Her inappropriate lust immediately disappeared. At least one good thing had come from that trial.

Stone must have stayed inside the bathroom a long time, for when she awoke, the lights were off, the television on mute and he was in the chair by the desk. The picture’s glow cast a soft shadow on him. Fully dressed, he was stretched out on the padded chair, much like the first time she’d seen him. He shifted to his other hip, a position that didn’t look comfortable.

“Stone?”

He jumped up and looked right, then left, until his gaze landed on her. “You okay?”

His concern warmed her heart. “Yes. I just wanted to know if you’d rather sleep in the bed.”

He took a step forward, then stopped. “You sure? That chair was rather uncomfortable.”

“Positive.”

He smiled. “My back thanks you.”

Was that all? Or was he afraid what he might do if they snuggled in the same bed? Did the FBI have rules against sleeping with those they protected?

Why couldn’t she ignore what her body wanted? And why now did she suddenly trust him? Was it the way he couldn’t seem to contain the anger about Marcadis’ death? Maybe. What she wouldn’t give to be able to stop analyzing every one of his sentences, every look, every movement.

He took off his shoes before planting himself on top of the spread. He was such a gentleman. With his arms crossed, his face relaxed. She’d been about to say he could slip under the covers to get more comfortable but didn’t want to push the boundaries, or test her resolve.

She clicked off the television. “Good night.”

“Good night, Susan.” His voice came out as soft as melted chocolate, but she refused to read anything into his tone. He’d just woken up, or so she wanted to believe.

She rolled on her side, her back to him and listened to his deep breaths. He didn’t squirm, didn’t roll, didn’t do much of anything, but she’d bet her twenty bucks he was thinking about her.

Her speeding mind refused to slow. “I saw you had a tattoo.”

“Hard not to notice.”

“Smartass.” She rolled over. They were face to face, less than a foot apart, almost close enough to kiss. “What was above the barbed wire?”

“A daisy.”

She nearly choked. “A daisy?”

“Too feminine for you?” He was teasing her again.

She gave in and let the enjoyment roll over her like water to a drought-ridden plant. “Not on you.” And that was the truth. She dared to lean closer but resisted the urge to touch his arm. “The flower looked lopsided.”

“That’s because the flower only has four petals. One at eleven o’clock, one at ten, nine, and eight.”

She let out a chuckle. She loved playing “he loves me, he loves me not.”

“Why only four petals? Would more have cost too much?” She guessed from the way he admired their first town house that he didn’t live in luxury.

“That’s not the reason. I was in four foster homes before I turned eighteen. Hence the four petals.”

Every muscle stilled as sympathy swamped her. “You were in four foster homes? How?” She swallowed her maternal instinct.

He glanced away. “It’s not important enough to discuss.”

She bit back a response. He closed his eyes. He must understand about loneliness and lack of family then. She refused to be put off. “Why a daisy? And not a four-leaf clover?”

Blood thrummed in her head as she awaited his answer. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Oh, crap. Had the daisy been a girlfriend’s favorite flower? Had she been the one woman who’d gotten away?

His tense jaw implied he wasn’t sure how much to tell. He rolled back to face her. “The first foster home I went to was run by nuns. Sister Mary Louise was kind to me, the first person in my life who treated me with respect. She loved daisies.”

Relief ran through her. She tried to imagine what life in an orphanage was like but failed. “What happened?” To the nun, to the love between them, to the little boy?

“Nothing. When a family offered to take me a few months later, she let me go.” Bitterness tainted his words.

He rolled his back to her.

Had he expected a nun to adopt him? How young had he been when he lost his family? He probably wouldn’t tell. From the way his voice wavered, his past had caused him intense pain.

For a brief moment, she was tempted to ask if she could give him a hug to help fight his demons, but who was she to give comfort? She was tempted to touch his skin and smell his scent, but if she did, would she want more?

Dear Lord. She’d never asked if he had a girlfriend or a wife at home. Given his job took him out of town for unknown periods of time, she doubted any woman who loved him would put up with that schedule.

Armed with the new knowledge he’d grown up in foster care, she decided he probably never developed attachments. Receiving or even giving comfort would be foreign to him. He was a protector, the one to decide when to care, what to give of himself.

Then again, most serial killers came from dysfunctional homes, but Stone wasn’t like them. In her heart, she knew he wasn’t out to kill her. As he told her many times, if he’d wanted her dead, he’d have killed her already.

This new aspect of his life lowered her defenses. He had a good heart, but one that had not known much stability or love. How then had he decided to live a life of service?

His breaths evened out, and he emitted soft puffs of air. He’d fallen asleep. Good.

She wanted to talk with him about what made him tick, but tonight’s explanation of his tattoo might be more than he’d shared with anyone in a while. He would never know how much they had in common. He acted distant and detached, yet focused on bringing justice to the world.

She did, too. In fact, her coworkers told her to her face she was a cold bitch. Later, she’d overheard one attorney say it was no wonder Carlton had strayed. She probably sucked in bed.

That wasn’t true. She just hadn’t found anyone she wanted to give her soul to. Her mom had loved her growing up, but over the years her mother had turned to alcohol, more so after Craig’s accident and then again after Dad died. Her daddy had doted on her, but again, only when he was home and not working at the office in order to protect the world from criminals. Yet her life was bliss compared to Stone’s.

What she wouldn’t give to get a hold of his good friend T-Squared to find out the lowdown on the enigmatic Stone Watson.

He shifted his weight in the bed and a rush of hormones startled her. She was running for her life and had to pay attention to everyone around her, but all she could think about lately was Stone.

She tried to ignore the image of the little boy desperate for affection and focused on relaxing but sleep didn’t come. Her mind bounced between the fire, the dead jurors, and Stone. Mostly on Stone and how much pain he’d gone through in his life.

She scooted closer to his side. His weight held down the sheet, preventing her from getting too close. The metaphor didn’t escape her notice. She leaned in closer. His skin smelled of minty soap. She reached out to touch his silky hair. Quicker than she could react, he reached across his shoulder and grabbed her wrist.

Her heart stopped for a moment and her throat clogged. Did he have eyes on the side of his head? How had he known she wanted to touch him?

“Need something?” he said in a carefree voice.

Had he been waiting for her to make the first move? She could have sworn he’d been asleep a moment ago.

Before she could think, he let go of her wrist. She cleared her throat. “Just checking you were still there.”
Very lame
.

This time he laughed. “If you want me to get under the covers so we can cuddle, just say the word.”

Exactly what she wanted. “No!”

“Thought so. Get some sleep. We’ll need it.”

Like that would ever happen now. She’d crossed the boundary of propriety this time and wasn’t sure if she wanted to step over the line again.

Chapter Nine

Stone got up at dawn and did his bathroom routine before Susan awoke. He failed to erase the image of her sweet face holding on to his every word as he let her glimpse what his life had been like after his mom died. Susan didn’t judge, didn’t criticize, didn’t show signs of pity. She just listened to him, as if he were the most important person in the room. Yes, she wanted more details, but he couldn’t talk about his life yet. Not until he knew she trusted him completely.

He searched his brain for the last time he’d told anyone about his tattoo. Tom had seen the image but never asked what the flower meant.

Stone stood over her bed. Susan looked more at peace than he’d ever seen her. She was prettier, younger, more vulnerable. Something inside him nearly cracked at the connection they’d made last night, but he shoved down his emotions. Even though he’d had several girlfriends, there was something special about Susan. He liked her assertiveness, her bravery, her can-do outlook on life.

Even before he shared his story, he’d been interested in her, despite the fact she constantly challenged him, then rejected him, but when she reached out to touch him last night, his self control had nearly broken. He was just kidding with her about getting under the covers and snuggling, but if she’d wanted to, that meant she trusted him, and trust was what he sought.

Her lids fluttered, and he stepped back. What if she had agreed to the touching, the cuddling, and maybe even kissing? Hell if he knew. He probably would have jumped out of bed and slept in the chair. Getting involved would cloud his vision, his focus, his ability to keep her alive.

Not wanting to further address his reaction to the adorable woman, he stepped outside, telling himself he needed to check the parking lot for mysterious men with submachine guns pointed at the door.

The air was chillier than he’d expected for a Florida morning. Only one couple was up and about. He stayed outside for several minutes until he thought he heard Susan call his name.

She wasn’t in the bed when he went back inside, but the running water told him she’d taken his place in the bathroom. Just as well. He needed to touch base with T-Squared, and it might be better if she didn’t hear the conversation. He clicked open his phone, the cell becoming like a third arm. He longed for the day when he could talk to his colleagues in person.

“Hiya, Stone.”

Tom sounded way too chipper. He must have just gotten home. “How did Harrison, Richard, and the rest of gang react to Marcadis’ death?”

“Like you’d expect. The shit hit the fan. Richard looked like he was having a heart attack. I think he was tempted to fly down to North Carolina and protect one of the last two jurors himself. Harrison stayed calm for a while, then started ordering us to do things. I left, so I don’t know what transpired after that.”

“What’s the Bureau’s plan of attack?”

“Thomason insisted we post bodyguards at each of the remaining jurors’ places. They’re on their way to Atlanta and Brevard right now.”

“That’s great.”