Hard Evidence

  They crossed the bridge onto Speer as the first fat flakes of snow began to fall.

  "Left at Eleventh…" He forced in another breath. "And left onto Mariposa."

  She followed his directions, tearing around the corner onto Mariposa, then slamming on the brakes to keep from hitting a FedEx truck that sat parked in the middle of the lane.

  He bit back a groan, took another painful breath, and pointed to his house. "Slow down… almost there."

  He pressed the button on his dash, saw his garage door roll up, warm, yellow light spilling out into the dusk.

  "Th-this isn't a hospital or a clinic!" She turned into the driveway, slid the truck into the garage. "Where are we?"

  He punched the button to close the door behind them, shutting out wind and snow. 'The Batcave."

  Blood still spiked with adrenaline, Tessa watched Julian punch a code into a keypad and unlock the door leading from his garage to what must be his home. He leaned heavily against the door frame as he worked, his forehead pressed against the wall, and she knew he was in pain. She could tell from the lines on his face, from his unsteady breathing, from the way his fist clenched white-knuckled around his keys. He pushed the door open, sagging against the wall for a moment as she stepped past him and into an unfurnished kitchen.

  This was her fault. It was her fault.

  Her stomach twisted until she felt almost sick.

  She'd left the paper when she ought to have stayed put. Julian had come looking for her, setting aside his other responsibilities to keep her safe. Then he'd put himself in the line of fire, deliberately taking rounds meant for her. She'd felt the bullets hit him, felt his body jerk with the terrible impact, and she'd thought for sure he would die.

  He had to be wearing Kevlar. That was the only explanation. There were five holes torn in the back of his jacket, but no blood. He ought to be dead or dying, but he was strong enough to walk and clearheaded enough to give her directions.

  He walked over to a dark leather sofa and sat, his brow furrowed. "Help me… get it off."

  Tessa dropped her purse, let her coat fall to the floor, and hurried to kneel before him. She peeled off his jacket, tossed it over the arm of the sofa, then unfastened his harness and draped it with his .357 carefully on top of the jacket. Then she tugged his T-shirt free of his jeans and helped him get it over his head.

  He was wearing Kevlar.

  Not certain what to do, she pulled on the Velcro straps, unaware she was crying until his thumb wiped a tear from her cheek. She looked up to find him watching her intently, his eyes strangely dark. Then his hands closed over hers to guide her as she unfastened the vest and lifted it from his shoulders. He moaned as if in relief and instantly seemed to breathe easier.

  She'd just stood to hang it over the arm of the sofa—it was far heavier than she'd imagined—when she saw his back.

  Huge, black bruises.

  Each the size of her open palm, five swollen bruises marred the skin of his back. In the center of each was a clear sign of impact, each like a crimson bull's eye. No wonder it hurt him to breathe. The damage surely went deep into his muscles.

  The bullets had hit him full-on. They just hadn't penetrated.

  She thought of Officer Taylor and knew that if Julian's vest had failed he would, without a doubt, be lying dead on the street.

  And all at once the shock of what had happened hit her.

  She sank down on the sofa beside him and ran her hand over the muscular planes of his back, wanting to soothe, afraid of hurting him. "Oh, Julian! God, I'm so sorry! It's my fault! You could have been—"

  Then, no longer able to speak through her tears, she did the first thing that came to her.

  She leaned down and kissed one of the bruises.

  His body stiffened, and she saw that his eyes were squeezed shut.

  Kicking off her shoes, she ducked down again and kissed a trail across his skin from bruise to bruise, wishing she could heal them, wishing she could take away whatever pain he was feeling. She was the cause of this, and she wanted somehow to fix it.

  How it happened she didn't know, but she found herself brushing her lips slowly over the hard curve of his shoulder, nibbling his earlobe, kissing the stubble-rough line of his jaw. He smelled of leather and soap and man, his skin hot against her lips. He felt so wonderfully warm and alive. They were both miraculously alive.

  Then a strong arm encircled her waist and held her fast. He looked at her, a confused expression on his face. "Are you crying for me?"

  And in his eyes she saw not a hardened undercover cop, but a vulnerable man who had never known his mother's love.

  She answered in the only way she could, taking his mouth with hers. For a moment, he let her have control, allowing her to shape the kiss, yielding to her rhythm, his lips soft, warm, compliant. But touching him like this only made her want him more, and she slipped her tongue inside his mouth to taste him, flicking the velvet of his tongue tentatively with hers.

  The contact seemed to ignite him. He groaned, fisted a hand in her hair, and thrust his tongue deep, taking over with a ferocity that bordered on violence.

  Oh, yes!

  This is what she wanted—to feel him alive and strong, his mouth ravishing hers, his body hard against her. For so long she'd denied herself, afraid to fall again. But she knew it was too late. She had already fallen for Julian—and fallen hard. In the aftermath of near death, life pumping thick and insistent through her veins, she wanted him more than she wanted to breathe, her need for him so urgent that it staggered her.

  She twined her fingers in his hair, met his intensity with her own demanding hunger. It was just a kiss, just lips and teeth and tongues, and yet it carried her to the edge, the heat between her legs turning to cream, her nipples tight and aching against the lace of her bra.

  And then his mouth left hers, and he spoke in a rough, breathless voice, his blue eyes as dark as midnight. "No interruptions this time, honey. You're mine."

  Chapter 18

  His control already shattered, Julian forced her down onto the sofa, the pain of bruised muscles all but forgotten in a rush of pumping blood and blind need. He ripped off her hose and panties as he went, catching her surprised gasp with a deep kiss. She was soft and warm and tasted sweet, her heart pounding hard against his chest.

  He needed to be inside her. He had to be inside her.

  She arched against him, whimpered into his mouth, her hands sliding out of his hair to run impatiently over his bare pecs, her fingers threading through his chest hair, spreading fire over his skin. Balancing his weight on one arm, he jerked her skirt up to her hips, forced her legs apart with his own, freed his aching cock, and guided it to her cleft.

  Raining kisses on her face, he pushed his hips forward, nudged the tip of his cock into her slick heat. She was impossibly tight, her inner muscles resisting his invasion, almost as if—

  The possibility hit him like a fist.

  A virgin? She couldn't be!

  She made a little sound, something between a squeak and a moan, and he saw she was biting her lower Up. Was he hurting her? .

  "Oh, no, honey, no! Please tell me you've done this before!" Even as he asked, he thrust himself deeper inside her, his body only too eager to take what his mind rejected.

  "Once."

  Once?

  Holyfuck!

  Fighting for the restraint he'd already lost, he pressed his lips against her temple and slowly withdrew. "Easy, Tessa."

  He spread her legs further apart, wrapped one silky calf around his waist, lifted the other to rest on the back of the couch, positioning her to ease penetration. Then he entered her again, and again withdrew. Again and again he pushed into her and pulled back, stretching her a bit more each time, until his body shook with the need to be completely inside her.

  Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged, the leg around his waist drawing him closer, urging him on.

  Unable to hold back any longer, he buried himself to
the hilt, felt her contract around him like a fist. Wet. Tight. Perfect. "Jesus Christ!"

  She moaned, a sound of raw sexual pleasure, her nails digging into his shoulders, her hips lifting to meet him.

  And then he was moving, thrusting in and out of her, the snug, slippery friction driving him dangerously close to the brink. Determined to hold off as long as he could, he fought to relax, tried to fall into an easy rhythm, but she felt too damned good. He felt his balls draw tight and knew he was going to come—and far too soon. He couldn't hold back.

  But then he saw her beautiful face, her eyes half closed, her skin flushed pink, her lips parted, and he knew he could hold back. For her. For Tessa.

  "Oh, Julian! I never thought it could be… oh!"

  Tessa couldn't believe what she was feeling—the delicious fullness, the sweet stretch, the silky stroke as Julian moved over her, against her, deep inside her. He felt huge and thick and hard as steel, each thrust making her ache for the next. This was the sex of her daydreams, the sex her friends raved about, the sex she'd read about in novels.

  Was this really happening?

  She forced her eyes open, found him looking down at her through blue eyes that seemed to burn, a look of brutal intensity on his face. His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders, his chest beaded with sweat, his muscles shifting as he drove himself into her, the whole of him fixed on one purpose—making love with her.

  At the sight of him, her inner muscles clenched—hard. "Julian!"

  His lips curved in a lopsided grin. Then he thrust deep, held himself inside her, ground himself against her aching clitoris, making pleasure draw tight in her belly. "I want to feel you come! Come around my cock!"

  And just like that, she did.

  Orgasm surged through her like a tide of molten gold, bright and blazing, the hot shock of it forcing the breath from her lungs in a ragged cry, her muscles clenching greedily around him, the fullness piercingly sweet.

  She heard him whisper her name, felt his pace shift, and knew his control was gone. His hips a piston, he drove himself into her fast and hard, his quick, sure strokes carrying her headlong toward an impossible second climax. Then she felt his body shudder, his groan mingling with her cries, as he let himself go and pleasure drenched them both.

  For a while they lay together in silence, Julian still kissing her, still half hard, still inside her. In truth, he couldn't stop touching her. Or he didn't want to stop. That fact by itself astonished him. What blew his mind even more was the warm knot of emotions in his chest—tenderness, protectiveness… and something else he didn't want to name.

  She'd only had sex once before. It both surprised him and made perfect sense. He hadn't forgotten what she'd said the night he'd almost made love to her on the floor of her apartment.

  The idea of having sex with a man is loads better than the reality.

  Some klutz dick had taken her virginity, perhaps even roughly, and had given her nothing in return. Julian hoped the bastard's balls had since fallen off.

  "Am I too heavy?" He brushed his lips over hers, slowly flexed his hips.

  Her breath caught. "No."

  He hadn't meant to have sex with her. In fact, after the other night, he'd resolved not to touch her again. But he'd never stood a chance against her soft touch, her feminine sweetness, the genuine concern in her eyes. She'd broken him in a matter of minutes—and she'd done it with tears.

  He couldn't remember a woman ever crying for him before.

  But sex was a one-way bridge. They had crossed over, and they could never go back. He'd brought her here, but it would only mean having to leave her standing alone one day. He would hate himself for hurting her, but he would do it anyway. In the end, he'd be no better than the last man who'd left tire tracks on her.

  Except that he had, at least, given her pleasure.

  Oh, Julian! I never thought it could be…!

  He couldn't deny he'd felt a swell of masculine pride at her words. He wasn't the first man to have sex with her, but he was the first to make her come, the first to show her how good sex could be. He couldn't deny that pleased him. Of course, there was still so much to show her where sex was concerned…

  Preferring to concentrate on that idea and not his unsettled emotions, he ducked down, slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasted her again. She was a living, breathing aphrodisiac, and he felt his cock begin to stretch and fill inside her. She felt it, too, her eyes fluttering open in apparent surprise.

  He lifted his head, chuckled, then flexed his hips again, gratified by the uncontrolled tightening of her muscles. She was hypersensitive the way women often were after they came— hypersensitive and oh-so-wet, his ejaculate mingled with the hot honey of her orgasm.

  And that was another thing. He never had unprotected sex. When was the last time he'd had sex without a condom? He couldn't remember—not at the moment anyway.

  He began to grind his hips, but slowly. "Unbutton your blouse."

  Her eyes widened, but she reached down between their bodies and unfastened one pearly white button at a time, until her blouse lay open, revealing her white, lacy bra and the swells of her breasts. He rewarded her with a sudden deep thrust that brought him to her cervix.

  She gasped, and her body arched.against him.

  "Now unhook your bra." His voice sounded rough, even to his own ears.

  Her hands visibly trembling, she reached between her breasts and undid the clasp. The cloth sprang back, leaving her gorgeous breasts bare. They were swollen, her translucent skin glowing pink, the rosy velvet of her nipples already tight and puckered.

  He rewarded her with another deep thrust and was satisfied by her aroused moan. "Now touch yourself."

  She stared up at him, clearly surprised by the idea, but she did as he asked, a look of uncertainty on her face. Her hands cupped her breasts, shaping and kneading them, her gaze fixed on his face. Then her lips curved in a slow, seductive smile, and she caught the tips of her nipples—and tugged them to hard points.

  Something inside Julian roared—or maybe he growled out loud. He lowered his head, nudged her hands aside, and captured one succulent bud in his mouth.

  Her response was immediate. Her breath broke, and her eyes drifted shut, a look of sheer bliss on her face. Her thighs jerked tight against him as he sucked, her back arching off the sofa, lifting her breasts toward his hungry mouth.

  He couldn't remember another woman whose breasts were so responsive, and he knew without a doubt he could make her come just by suckling her. If he weren't already inside her, he might try to do that now. But he was inside her, and no way in hell was he going anywhere until they were both satiated.

  He flicked his tongue back and forth over one taut peak, nipped it with his lips, then shifted his attention to the other, letting his fingers have their way with the one he'd made wet.

  A gasp. A throaty moan. The pull of fingers in his hair. "Oh, God!"

  He kept the motion of his hips slow, wanting to draw out their pleasure. It wasn't easy, especially when he scraped her with his teeth and she began to lift her hips and thrust against him, almost riding him from beneath. He knew what she wanted, but he wasn't going to give it to her—not yet.

  Tessa couldn't take any more. He was using his body as an instrument of torture, his mouth relentless and hot on her nipples, his cock moving with agonizing slowness inside her, inch by excruciating inch. She bucked helplessly against him, trying to make him go faster, trying to drive him deeper, but he only chuckled and pulled back.

  "Lie still."

  She groaned in sexual frustration. "I-I can't!"

  "Yes, you can." He blew across her wet, throbbing nipples.

  She gasped, the shivery sensation sending sparks straight from her breasts to her belly. Her hips curled reflexively, reaching for fulfillment.

  This time he withdrew completely, the tip of his cock just nudging her. "Hold still!"

  She tried to do as he asked, her breath coming in panting gasps a
s he eased himself slowly inside her once again, his tongue circling fire over her nipples, the burn heightened by his teeth—sharp, biting edges that nipped her sensitive tips, then traveled to nibble at the undersides of her breasts. "Oh! Oh, God, Julian!"

  But the closer she got to her climax, the slower he went, prolonging her anguish, leaving her suspended in some kind of sexual purgatory, perched on the edge of an orgasm that hovered just beyond her reach. Every nerve in her body was on fire, the touch of skin against sizzling skin, the scorching flick of his tongue, the steel-hot slide of his cock all but unbearable.

  But when her peak finally came, she wasn't ready for it, excruciating pleasure surging inside her like a wave, swelling and growing stronger as it rolled through her, tossing her along its shimmering crest. Her surprised gasp became a low moan and then a throaty cry as she felt herself being carried helplessly higher and higher. "Julian, Julian, Julian!"

  She arched into him, her fists clenched in his sweat-damp hair, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she tried to ride it out, his slow thrusts prolonging her climax until she sobbed with the intensity of it. And then he was pounding into her, his deep strokes sending her over the edge once more, his body shaking with the force of his own release until he sagged against her, both of them sweaty and spent.

  For a moment she drifted, almost asleep, her body floating.

  Then Julian lifted his head, pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I need to check in."

  "Check in?"

  "A lot of people out there are worried about you."

  Tessa wrapped ice in a clean dish towel to make an ice pack for Julian. She'd seen the way he'd gritted his teeth as he'd raised himself off her and walked toward one of the bedrooms, cell phone in one hand and gun in the other, presumably to call Chief Irving and tell him what an idiot she'd been. The least she could do was try to ease some of his pain and swelling.

  But his kitchen lacked more than a table and chairs. The granite countertops were bare, and most of the cupboards were empty, one holding a few glasses, some plates and bowls and another holding a box of oatmeal, several cans of soup, and an unopened jar of salsa. The fridge contained none of the items she associated with single men—ketchup, mustard, and beer—but only milk and bottled water. She'd been surprised to find ice in the ice maker.