Sin on the Strip (16 page)

She slid open her eyes. “Are you using God's name in vain?”

“Hell no, I'm offering thanks.”

She laughed. The blessed sound was a relief to his ears, the tightening of her abs a torture to his cock. He scraped his teeth along her jaw, over her ear and down her neck. He took his time, enjoying her body as she shuddered. Heated from the steamed shower, their skin sizzled wherever they touched. He hadn't used a towel but now sweat misted his back, reminding him of the day they'd met, the day he'd jumped to the wrong conclusions, the day he couldn't have been more wrong about her. But when those long, beautiful legs wrapped around his hips, he lost it.

Christian started slow, taking an inch then giving, taking two, then three, never separating their bodies. He wanted sex with Maggie to be down and dirty, but the bandages on her face demanded he be gentle.

“Beck?” She pressed her palm to his cheek. The concern in her eyes, her vulnerability, reminded him he was here for her.

He wanted her to forget all the crap that had gone on today, her murdered dancers, discovering that a serial killer stalked her employees, the damn, awful bruises on her face. “I don't want to hurt you.” He stared at the bandages.

It worried him to think she purposely put her life in danger. What if there was no one around to bail her out? How long before it got to him and he'd have to cut her from his life? Would she care? It wouldn't make it easier on either of them, but he wanted her to care. He wanted her to because he did. He hadn't lied when he told her he understood why she'd gone after that girl. Hell, he understood so much, he even told her about Claire. But it didn't mean he wanted her to keep doing it, to keep risking her life. He was being selfish. He knew that. He knew that, like Claire, some of those kids had no one. And still, it killed him to think of yet another scumbag laying his hands on Maggie.

“I'm tougher than I look.” Just who was she trying to convince, him or her?

Maybe this wasn't forever, but they had now. He withdrew then buried himself again and again, the heat from her body a welcome torment. They may not have forever, but with the time they did have, he wasn't going to think about tomorrow.

Christian drew her arms over her head. The mission style bed had slats for a headboard and he told her to hang on. Her breasts lifted and he took his time suckling one pink nipple then the other. Her stomach muscles contracted. Each glorious squeeze brought him one step closer to heaven. She was going to make him come if she didn't stop. He threw his head back and growled. Sliding a hand beneath her, he tilted her hips. Braced on an elbow and a hand, his knees supporting his weight, he drove into her.

Maggie released the headboard and slipped her arms beneath his. She clung to him, pulling his weight down on her. Even though she'd eliminated the space between them, her face pressed against his heart, it wasn't enough. On top of her and in her, it wasn't enough. He couldn't explain the feeling. He only knew that if anyone tried to take her away from him, he'd kill them.

They rocked together. Maggie tipped her head back and gazed at him, and he knew. Those magnetic blue eyes said it all. Mind, body and, if possible, soul, right here in this moment they belonged together. No words spoken, staring into each other's eyes, their shallow breath the only sound, they came. Soaring above the confines of earth and sky, beyond the limits of flesh and bone, down to the very essence of life, they shattered, in the end to merge as one.

A solitary tear slid down her battered cheek.

Christian pressed his lips on the wet trail. In the short time he'd known her, an emotion he chose not to name imbedded a handprint on his heart. He was done for.

M
aggie considered opening her eyes as she enjoyed those first moments between blissful oblivion and awareness. She lingered in that dreamy place, tumbling back and forth between sleep and consciousness. The weight of the blankets a soothing comfort, she wanted a few more minutes of nothingness. She snuggled into her warm pillow, trying to hang on to her recurring dream. Mr. Chocolate kissing her awake throughout the night.

Then her knee bumped something hard and reality truck-slammed her awake.

No dream. No pillow.
His
beating heart beneath her ear.

She held her breath, every vivid detail about last night ramming her heart into overdrive. She'd slept with Beck! Of all the reckless stunts she'd pulled, this one beat them all.

She opened her eyes then clamped them shut again, an all-too-sculpted chest too easy a distraction. Maybe he was a heavy sleeper. She hoped he was. She released a slow exhale and on one . . . two . . . three, slipped from his arms. Just as her feet hit the floor, and the bruise on her back complained, a warm hand touched her hip.

“Don't go.”

Embarrassed, she reached for the towel on the edge of the bed and forced herself to speak. “I'll be back.” Covering herself, she made her way to the bathroom, careful not to slam the door behind her.

Maggie crossed her arms over her heart in an absurd attempt to stop it from imploding in her chest. Afraid her knees would buckle, she sat on the cold toilet seat. How stupid could she be? Gripped in fear, her eyes darted to the garbage can. She nearly wept with relief at the used condom inside.

Had she lost her mind?

If he hadn't had the common sense to use birth control, where would she be? She was many things, but stupid she was not. Or was she? She'd gone and done it again. Her friends and, God bless him, Horace, were right. Would she ever learn to think before her sorry ass got burned? She had casual sex with a man she barely knew. Okay, she'd give herself some credit. There wasn't anything casual about what he'd done to her last night. But a memorable one-night stand was still wrong.

“Maggie?” Beck rapped lightly on the door. “Darlin', you all right?”

He did that on purpose, knowing darn well what his southern drawl did to her. She'd heard him turn it on thick when he wanted to charm someone. “Fine,” she shouted then changed her tone. “I'm fine, Beck, no worries.” This wasn't his doing. It was hers.

She glanced back at the condom. Her heartbeat returning to normal, she stood and caught her battered reflection in the mirror. She touched the fresh bandage on her face. Beck had changed the dressing while she slept. He'd called her beautiful, said he didn't want to hurt her. And no nightmares had ruined her dreams. Maybe she hadn't done such a stupid thing after all? Perhaps something that good wasn't so wrong? And maybe, just maybe she could end this day with her heart intact.

“Maggie, honey, come out. Let's talk.”

Now he wanted to talk? They should have done that last night. After running a comb through her hair and brushing her teeth, she opened the door and plastered on a honey smile. “Good morning.”

“You okay?”

“I'm fine,” she lied, “but I need coffee. Want some?” she asked, summoning her willpower not to look down, not to notice the bed sheet wrapped loosely around his hips. The bed sheet hanging precariously low. Dang, why did he have to look so good? She dashed for the bedroom door.

His legs were longer, faster, and he blocked her exit. “You're not a very good liar.” He took her hand and led them back to the bed. The last place she wanted to be. He sat her onto his lap and clamped his arms around her. “Just in case you get any ideas about running.”

“Why would you think that?” she asked and bit her lower lip. Sitting on his thighs, they were at eye level, and she had to resist the urge to lean into the sweet smell of him.

“For starters, you're only wearing a towel. Most would get dressed before leaving the bedroom.”

“Nope, not me. I usually drink my coffee naked. The towel is for your benefit.”

“Hmm, don't do me any favors.” Before she could object, he disposed of the towel and pinned her beneath him.

He kissed her like he was starving and she was breakfast, Beck's hunger evident between their legs. When finally he let her breathe, he pulled the blanket over her body.

“I didn't get my morning kiss,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Oh,” she replied, dazed.

“How do you feel?”

“G . . . good,” she stammered. “A little sore, but good.”

“I really want to make love to you again, but I only had the one condom. Unless,” he stroked her cheek, “unless you have some. Or maybe you're on birth control. I'm safe,” he assured her. “My boss orders a test every six months and I haven't been with anyone in a long time.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she said, avoiding his question.

“I don't have much free time to date.”

He drew her closer and she tried not to think about the hard length of him pressed into her hip.

“And you only sleep with women you date?” How she doubted that.

“That's a loaded question.” He ran his thumb over her mouth and wet his lips.

“So do you? Are you?”

His touch made her brain fuzzy. “Huh?”

He lowered his head and kissed her, sweeping his mouth over her cheek and across her lips. His tongue darted out, teasing, encouraging. “Maggie?”

“Mmm?” Her stomach contracted as an ache built between her legs.

He nibbled on her earlobe, numbing her mind before he whispered, “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry.” Maggie jumped up and ran to the closet. Hurrying so he wouldn't see her naked again, she grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a running bra, cringing as the tight band squeezed her back. On her way out of the bedroom he met her at the door, zipping his pants, the only thing he wore. Why couldn't he put his shirt back on?

“What's wrong?” he repeated, arms folded and blocking her exit. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No,” she said, touching his arm. This wasn't his fault.

“If I did anything—”

“I'm just coffee deprived. I think I'm turning into Horace. I'll have to give the stuff up—tomorrow. Kitchen?” She pointed behind him.

Lascivious eyes stared at her as he considered her request, apparently in no hurry to comply. Her skin tingled under his scrutiny. When she thought she couldn't tolerate it any longer, he let her pass.

“Are you always this frazzled in the morning? Or is it me?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand.

“Coffee first.”

In the kitchen, they sat in silence. Propped on stools, she drank her coffee, he kept his eyes glued on her. In the good cop bad cop game the police played, Beck would have been the bad cop. Appearances could be deceiving. Standing half naked in her kitchen, elbows on the granite as he leaned forward, he oozed sexuality. She imagined putting the cup down, sliding between the counter and his body and rubbing herself all over him.

“Are you sure I can't get you a cup?” she asked, trying to break the silence and her erotic daydream.

“Coffee's bad for you.”

“It can be,” she agreed. “Horace was diagnosed with high blood pressure. It took weeks of harassing him to get him to quit. He cheats. He thinks I don't know.”

“The two of you are close, aren't you?”

“He saved my butt a couple times,” she answered indifferently.

Beck lifted an eyebrow.

“Okay,” she admitted “more than a couple of times.”

“How often does stuff like yesterday happen?”

Was that disapproval she heard in his question? “It's been a while. I try to keep my work with the group home in-house. I take the kids on outings they may enjoy; movie night, things like that. Occasionally I drive them to appointments, bail them out of messes they dig themselves into with their schools.” Stuff where someone wasn't pulling a knife on her.

“Good,” he sighed “that's good.”

“I thought you weren't going to lecture me.” Had he understood or not?

“I'm not. It's just nice to know incidents like yesterday don't happen every day.”

“Kids like Hannah need help
every day
,” she said defensively. “I may not be a counselor anymore but the streets didn't suddenly turn into pretty rich palaces for troubled teens to live in.”

“I didn't mean it like that. And why are you getting defensive? I know there are a lot more kids like Hannah out there. But excuse me if I'm happy you're not getting your ass kicked
every day
.”

“No, kids like Hannah are.”

Leaving Beck and her frustration behind, Maggie left the kitchen. She heard him on her heels calling out to her as she slammed the bathroom door. She locked it and drowned him out by turning on the showerheads. She glanced back at the garbage can. She
was
stupid. Why did he have to remind her how useless she was too? Stepping into the shower, she let the water rain down on her head.

 

Christian considered waiting for Maggie. Did she regret sleeping with him? God knew he'd woken on several mornings wishing he'd used better judgment the night before. The idea of Maggie having second thoughts made his skin crawl. And before he could rationalize his own emotions, he'd have to understand hers. Standing outside her bathroom door, trying to figure her out, was getting him nowhere. There were holes only she could fill, and it was obvious she wasn't ready to do that.

He decided to leave her a note and give her the privacy she wanted. After finding a yellow sticky pad, he scribbled that he would call her later. To make certain she understood this was not over, he wrote down his hotel room number, his cell and office numbers. Twice he went to knock on the bathroom door and tell her he was leaving and both times he stopped himself. He left realizing she'd done it again, made him feel like an anxious seventeen year old.

Outside, an unmarked navy Buick sat across the street from Maggie's house, an officer behind the wheel sipping coffee. She needed around-the-clock protection. Not just from the killer, but herself. Christian rolled his neck from side to side with the beginnings of another migraine. He may have just made the biggest mistake of his life. He welcomed the police surveillance on Maggie's house, but he intended to be the one watching over her.

Back at his hotel, he tried taking out his frustration in the small gym, but after two hours of hard-core sweat, his headache remained. Not until he passed the pool, with its open atrium ceiling, did it dawn on him. Maybe the weights and treadmill had nothing to do with how good that morning by the pool had been. Maybe the stubborn blonde with the gentle blue eyes had more to do with it than was good for him—or her.

He'd seen how everyone, her staff, friends, the police department, all jumped to defend her, protect her. Shit, he'd only known her for a short time and even he felt the same. But he wasn't in the market for a new best bud. Hell, he wasn't in the market for a lover. He considered their physical attraction to be an intense, very real heat. Was that all there was? He didn't think so, because a part of him, a part as real as that intense heat, wanted to spill his guts to her, then listen as she did the same with him.

Shit, he shouldn't have left her. And maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't have slept with her. She'd been so vulnerable. He'd only wanted to protect her, make things better. He wasn't going to kid himself, he wanted her too, wanted her again, regardless of the cost to himself and that was a frightening thought. He had a killer to bring down and needed a clear head to do it.

Unable to concentrate, he headed back to Maggie's. Not the wisest of moves, but in retrospect, sleeping with her hadn't been either. Honestly, if he had it all to do it again, he'd have more than one condom.

Maggie's house sat on the perimeter of a gated community. Remembering the view, he understood why she'd chosen that particular lot. Vistas overlooking the desert carried hefty price tags but afforded good protection—rocky cliff on one side and a secure iron gate on the other. Knowing that hadn't stopped the spasm in his gut when the surveillance car was nowhere in sight.

Christian pulled alongside the curb, berating his own paranoia. She was going to be the death of him. Obviously, she'd gone out.

So why was every alarm in his head going off? Considering part of Maggie's face was bandaged, why wouldn't he be a little skittish? The idea of anyone laying his fist into Maggie . . . he couldn't think about it. Instead, he chose to remember last night, remember the way her sweet body fit with his.

As he sat there, aroused to the point of being dizzy, he jumped at the pulsing vibration on his groin. He'd forgotten he'd put his phone on vibrate while he worked out. In his front pocket, the sensation was painful. Fumbling with his seatbelt, he managed to unbuckle and retrieve the phone. Not bothering with call display, he managed an angry, “What?”

“Are you still at Maggie's?” Cooper's agitation zapped Christian's erotic daydreams.

“What's wrong?”

“Maggie. She managed to dump my man.”

Her battered face, the bloodstained gauze, came back in vivid color. “Why would she do that?”

“I'm sorry. Have you met Maggie?” His derisive tone got his point across. “Who knows what went through her head.”

“Damn it. It was for her protection.”