It was clear to her Nick still loved his wife deeply and needed more time before he was ready to move into another relationship. Erin wasn't sure why that knowledge disturbed her so much. A relationship was the last thing she needed in her own life. It was the last thing Nick needed. Neither of them were ready. The realization should have relieved her, but it didn't.
"This might sound odd in light of everything you've gone through, Nick, but I think you're actually a very lucky man."
"How's that?"
"A lot of people go through life never knowing what love is. Somehow, I think that's the ultimate failure."
"Or maybe the ultimate failure is watching that love slip away when there's not a damn thing you can do about it."
"When it comes to matters of the heart, most times control doesn't enter the picture," she pointed out.
He cocked his head, his eyes darkening as his gaze racked over her. "If you want to keep your sanity, you keep your control no matter what."
Erin sensed they were no longer talking in generalities, but about the spark that threatened to burst into flames every time he looked at her, every time he spoke her name, every time he touched her.
"Maybe control isn't everything it's cracked up to be," she whispered.
Nick looked alarmed for an instant, then his mouth curved into an amused half smile. "I think those painkillers gave you a loose tongue, McNeal."
Embarrassment washed over her. She wasn't sure why she'd said it, but she didn't think it was the medication. Maybe because she wanted to deal with whatever was happening between them. Tonight seemed to be the night for clearing the air. The problem was she didn't think either of them were thinking about clearing the air at the moment. There were too many emotions. Too many ghosts. Too many sensations coming all at once, and she was as overloaded as a circuit breaker in an electrical storm.
"The doctor gave me a mild muscle relaxant, and for your information my head's as clear as a bell," she said.
"Well, that's a relief. I wouldn't want to take advantage of you if you were mentally incapacitated."
The words sent a nervous laugh tumbling out of her when she realized that was exactly how she felt every time she was with him. Mentally incapacitated—and bound and determined to make a mistake that would cost her greatly.
"You're eyes are dilated," he whispered.
"I don't think that's because of the muscle relaxers, either." Raising her hand, she touched his jaw with her fingertips.
He winced at the contact, his gaze darkening, intensifying. "Ah, McNeal, I should have known you liked to play with fire."
"Is that what I'm doing?"
"That's exactly what you're doing, and we're both loony to be even considering it. I don't think either of us needs to get burned." Intertwining their fingers, he slowly lowered her hand, then released her. "I'd better go before we both become pyromaniacs."
"Or risk spontaneous combustion," she whispered, but her words held no conviction. Maybe because the thought of that kind of heat intrigued her more than it should have. Maybe because she wasn't sure what she wanted. The only thing she knew for certain was that his touch was electric, and her body was conducting that electricity to every pleasure center in her brain.
Logic told her to get up and see him to the door. He was right. But they weren't just playing with fire; they were playing with a stick of dynamite with a short fuse that would leave them both in pieces if it exploded. Nothing but heartache would come from any of this.
But when his gaze met hers, she knew the race was done. She had no idea who'd won or lost. Oddly, she no longer cared. The only thing that mattered now were the short, dangerous inched separating them, and who was going to bridge the gap.
Leaning closer, Nick drew her to him with slow, agonizing deliberation. Erin let herself be guided, anticipation and dread locked in mortal combat. His lips touched hers with devastating gentleness. A warning blasted in her brain even as need twisted inside her. Then his mouth was warm and firm against hers as he coaxed her into submission.
He's in love with a memory.
The warning faded beneath the onslaught of pleasure. When he probed her mouth with his tongue, she opened, wanting more. Growling low in his throat, he went in deep, tasting her, devouring the last of her restraint.
Sensation assaulted every inch of her body. Erin felt lost. Afloat in a tiny raft in the midst of a raging sea. On more emotion, one more sensation, and she would be flung over the side, never to be found. But the dark, mysterious depths beckoned her, and she was helpless to resist, like a sea-weary sailor lured by a siren onto treacherous rocks that would send his hip to the bottom of the sea.
Nick cupped her face. Angling her head, he kissed her deeply, possessively. Erin reached for him, her arms encircling his neck. Her hand swept down the length of his back, feeling hard-as-steel muscle quivering with restraint.
"This isn't a very good idea," he murmured. "But you're so damn irresistible."
His voice barely reached her through the roar of blood in her ears. Before her befuddled brain could register a reply, his mouth swooped down again. He kissed her with ruthless skill until she was shaking and weak with desire. Never taking his mouth from hers, he lifted her, easing her more fully onto the sofa. Erin leaned back into the pillows, her every sense honed as he came down on top of her.
A gasp escaped her when he lay full length against her. Bracing himself with his arms to keep his weight from crushing her, he deepened the kiss, ravaging her mouth. She opened to him, her tongue warring with his. Lust rippled low in her belly when she felt his hardness against her hip. Heat spiked lower, burning her until she thought she could no longer bear it. Instinct took over. She opened her legs. He moved in, arching against her. Her body reacted with dizzying intensity. Her control fled. She felt intoxicated, as if she were high on some powerful drug she would never get enough of.
A thousand reasons why she shouldn't make love to this man stormed her brain. He was everything she didn't want. Too strong. Too protective. He couldn't handle her being a cop. He only wanted sex, not a real, lasting relationship. But for Pete's sake, she wanted sex. Anything to staunch the fire that threatened to burn out of control.
Erin knew better than to give in to desire, but the need in her heart and the heat in her body destroyed the voice of reason. She relinquished control, felt it tumble away, and gave her body over to the flames.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Nick had forgotten just how powerful lust could be. And he knew what he was feeling for Erin McNeal was only lust. Simple, uncomplicated, no-strings-attached lust. He was a red-blooded American male who'd been celibate for too long. Of course he wanted her. She was attractive. They were both just tired of fighting it. That was all this was about.
If that was the case, a little voice asked, why did all the other emotions banging around inside him scare the living daylights out of him? Why did he lose sleep thinking about her? Worrying about her? Caring about her, for God's sake? Why did the knowledge that he couldn't keep her safe terrify him so?
Shoving the thoughts ruthlessly aside, he deepened the kiss, exploring the wet silkiness of her mouth. She felt incredibly good beneath him. Pliant. Warm. So soft he ached with the need to feel her bare flesh beneath his hands. The need sent his fingers to the buttons of her uniform shirt. His hands shook so badly he couldn't manage them. Frustration poured through him.
"Let me," she whispered, and began working the buttons.
Her shirt parted, and a lacy white bra came into view. He cupped her breasts, found them small and utterly exquisite.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, and brushed his thumb over the hardened peaks of her nipples.
Erin cried out, her body bucking beneath him. Nick clenched his jaw, struggling to keep a grip on control. He wanted to take his time with her. He wasn't a fast lover. Had never been that way. But nothing was the same with this woman. She drove him too close to the edge, too quickly. He wasn't
even undressed yet and already felt on the verge of ending what promised to be one of the most erotic experiences of his life.
Lifting the edge of her bra, he eased it up and over her breasts. Urgency burned him. Nick broke the kiss. He wanted to taste her. Wanted her flesh in his mouth. Her body writhing beneath him.
She nearly came up off the sofa when his mouth closed around her nipple. She arched and cried out his name. He suckled, but the intimate contact wasn't enough. He wanted more. Wanted to be inside her. Needed her more than the very air he breathed.
Breaking contact, he trailed kisses up her throat to her mouth. He kissed her deeply, losing himself in her sweetness, telling himself this was part of the ritual, and that it didn't have to mean anything to either of them.
With shaking hands he fumbled with her belt, managed to get it open. He groaned when he felt her own hands around him, driving him wild. Need cut through him like shears through gossamer fabric. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her neck. He lowered her zipper, found her belly flat and firm beneath his palm. She tensed when his fingers found her curls, but he didn't stop. He kissed her, his tongue entering her mouth the same moment his finger slipped inside her. Hot, wet silk surrounded him.
Erin cried out, her body going rigid beneath him. He stroked her, barely hearing her call his name over the roar of blood through his veins.
This wasn't just sex.
The thought blindsided him.
Pulling back just enough to see her face, he looked down at her, felt something vital shift in his gut. Simultaneously, panic swirled low and deep in his chest.
She gazed back at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes soft with desire. Perspiration dampened her forehead. Her mouth was kiss bruised and wet. Good Lord, he wanted her, more than anything.
Nick closed his eyes, stunned by the depth of feelings raging through him. He didn't want just a single night of lovemaking, he realized. He wanted a lot more than merely her body. He wanted all of her. Heart. Soul. Her very spirit. God help him, he cared for her.
The swirl of panic grew into a tornado.
He'd broken his own cardinal rule. A rule that had been nonnegotiable for three long years. A rule he'd embraced and lived by since loving and losing his wife.
Erin McNeal was exactly the kind of woman he didn't need. She would finish the job of turning his life upside down. She would rip out his heart and not even realize what she'd done. She would hurt Stephanie—his sweet, innocent child who'd already been hurt so terribly.
The old pain surfaced, like a slick of oil spreading over water. The need to protect his heart—and his daughter's—warred with something more complex. The combination made him feel sick and cold and as old as the world.
Gently, he pulled away from Erin and rose. His groin throbbed with the need to be inside her. Frustration clawed at him. His heart ached with the realization of what he'd allowed to happen. How could he have let himself care about this woman?
Aware of the rush of blood through his veins, the dizziness swirling in his head, Nick stood with his back to her and willed his head to clear. He couldn't look at her. Not when he was painfully aroused and holding on to control by a thread.
"Nick?"
He set his jaw against the urge to turn around and go to her. He wouldn't do that to himself. He wouldn't do that to Stephanie. "Stay away from me, McNeal."
He heard her rise behind him. He winced when her hand settled on his shoulder. "What's wrong?" she asked.
Slowly, he turned to her. The sight of her gutted him. Her eyes were soft with desire, cautious with uncertainty. Her uniform shirt was unbuttoned, and he saw her bra and the swell of encased flesh. Her mouth was red and swollen from his kisses. Her scent surrounded him like a sweet elixir.
He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he was almost willing to put himself through the agony she would surely bring him. Almost.
He wasn't strong enough to survive another loss.
Steeling himself against the sight of her, he said, "I've got to go."
"Nick…"
Spurred by the knowledge that if she touched him again, he wouldn't have the strength to walk away, he started for the door. "Effective immediately, you're on administrative leave."
"Administrative leave?" she echoed incredulously. "Wait a minute!"
He didn't stop. "In the interim, one of my deputies or I will take turns watching your apartment."
"Watching my apartment?"
"Someone has declared open season on you, or have you forgotten about that?"
"No, but—"
"You'll still receive full pay. I'll notify you when you can come back to work."
"I don't accept those terms!"
He prayed she wouldn't come after him. He wasn't sure what he would do if she touched him. Pull her against him and kiss her until they were both senseless, probably. Or maybe ease her down to the floor and make wild, passionate love to her until neither of them could move.
Quickening his pace, he flung open the door. The urge to glance back at her was strong, but he didn't do it. He didn't want to see the hurt in her eyes. He didn't want to know he was the one who'd put it there. He stepped into the hall. She called out his name. He slammed the door behind him.
* * *
"Chief?"
Nick jerked at the sound of Hector's voice. He looked up from the paperwork on his desk to see his deputy standing in the doorway of his office, staring at him as if he'd shaved his head and put a ring in his nose.
"Didn't you hear your line buzzing?" Hector asked.
Nick frowned at the phone on his desk, noticing the blinking light. It wasn't the first time in the twenty-four hours since he'd last seen Erin that he'd zoned out. "Who is it?" he growled.
"Frank Rossi returning your call."
Waiting until Hector retreated into the main reception area, Nick punched the line. "It's about time you called, Frank. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
"Now, why would I do that, partner?" the other man asked.
"Maybe it has something to do with Erin McNeal."
"My favorite niece," Frank said easily. "Good cop, too. How's she working out?"
"Just fine, if I didn't mind my deputies getting run off the road and shot at. Any idea what that might be about?"
Tense silence buzzed through one hundred miles of fiberoptic cable.
"I figured you might be able to fill me in, since you didn't bother when you sent her down here," Nick snapped. "Who's after her, Frank?"
A curse broke the silence, then Frank sighed. "Is she all right?"
"She's fine. I put her on admin leave. I'm still waiting for an answer."
"I don't have all the answers, Nick."
"Since you obviously know more than I do, let's start with what you do have."
Frank sighed. "You're aware of the shooting she was involved in six months back? The perp she took out in that warehouse the night Danny Perrine was shot?"
"What about it?"
"We had DNA pulled from the blood at the scene. It was a long shot, but we sent it out anyway, hoping for a lucky break. Preliminary results came back, but when we punched the info into the national database we didn't get a match."
The hairs on the back of Nick's neck stood on end. "So, you didn't ID the thug she shot. What does that have to do with someone putting McNeal on their hit list?"
"Erin and Danny Perrine were operating on a tip that night in the warehouse, Nick. There was supposed to be a heroin buy. A couple of pounds. Some cash. In the scope of things, it should have been small time."
Nick wasn't sure he even wanted to hear what Frank was going to say next. He didn't like mysteries when it came to police shootings. He sure as hell didn't like the way this one was shaping up. "Who was the thug?"
"Does the name Damon DiCarlo ring a bell?"
Nick barely heard the last part of the sentence over the pounding of his pulse. "If he's any relation to Vic DiCarlo, I'd say we have a hell of a problem on our hands." r />
"Damon is his son."
It was Nick's turn to curse. Vic DiCarlo was Chicago's version of John Gotti. Ruthless. Powerful. With a reputation for violence that left even veteran cops nauseous. "You kept me in the dark, you son of a bitch."
"Save it, Nick. I'm not finished."
"Why didn't I know about this?"
"You didn't know because I didn't know. Regardless, I thought Erin would be safe down there."
Cold realization crept over Nick like freezing rain down the back of his neck. "Erin shot Vic DiCarlo's son."
"That's what we suspect."
"Why did it take the Chicago PD six months to figure it out, for crying out loud?"
"Damon DiCarlo doesn't have a record," Frank said. "He's never even been arrested. So his DNA wasn't in the database. We had to get a warrant and search his apartment. We finally got something from a hairbrush. To extract DNA, we had to find a hair with a damn root attached. That took some time. After the lab typed it, we had to match it with the blood we found at the scene. That's no easy feat."
"Have you picked him up?"
"We would have picked him up weeks ago and found some other way to collect his DNA, but Damon DiCarlo is missing. The feds have had surveillance teams out looking for weeks, but no one has been able to locate him."
"How long has he been missing?"
"Six months."
Nick cursed again. "What about the old man?"
"He's in Sicily where we can't touch him—"
"He's not in Sicily, Frank."
The other man hesitated. "Intelligence tells us he is."
"I'll bet he's in the States. Maybe even here in Logan Falls. He's after Erin, damn you."
"That's not possible."
Nick ground his teeth. "You put Erin and my entire town at risk."
"The Chicago Police doesn't operate on hunches, Nick. I suspected DiCarlo was involved, but I couldn't act until I had proof."
"What about Erin? Did she know?"
"She suspected. It was Danny Perrine's snitch who tipped them off. Erin didn't have any proof."
Anger lashed through Nick like a bullwhip. He'd deal with Erin and her not confiding in him later. Right now, he needed facts. All of them. "Tell me what I need to know, Frank."