A whisper of sadness blew through his soul as he lowered himself to the edge of her bed, leaned forward, and rested his forearms against his knees. Not that she’d changed their room—he actually liked what she’d done—but that she’d done so to banish him from her private space. His thoughts drifted to her boyfriend, the one he’d met at the hospital, and even though he told himself not to go there, he couldn’t stop wondering if she’d brought him here, if he’d slept in this bed, how many men she’d let in this room to expel all the memories of their marriage from this place.
The shower shut off, and he sat up straighter, his pulse ticking up again as he looked toward the door and waited. A little voice in the back of his head echoed it was time to go, that she’d be pissed if she came out and saw him, but he ignored it because he’d listened to that voice long enough. This time he was determined to do the right thing, even if his conscience screamed not to.
The door pulled open, and steam poured from the room just before Raegan appeared. A plush white towel was wrapped around her damp body and tucked together at her breasts. She held another in her hand, scrubbing the wetness from her hair.
She made it two steps into the bedroom before she saw him, jerked back with a yelp, and dropped the hand towel at her feet. “Goddamn it, Alec! You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry.” He pushed to his feet, trying to ignore the water droplets on her bare shoulders and the way her damp auburn hair hung in waves to the middle of her back.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” She tucked the towel tighter together at her breasts and held it closed with her hand. “I thought I told you to leave.”
“You did. But we need to talk first.”
Her jaw clenched down hard, and she glared at him, but all he could see was the scrapes and bruises on the right side of her face. And all he could think about was who had done that to her when he’d been driving away from her.
She stalked past him to the dresser and yanked out a T-shirt and a pair of sweats from the drawers. “I’m done talking to you.”
He turned to look after her and cringed when he saw the bruise on the back of her left shoulder blade. Hold it together. For her. Don’t lose your shit here, moron. “Ethan said you already went to the cops.”
“I did.” She tossed the clothes on the bed and jerked a pair of underwear from the top drawer of her dresser. Something white and lacy he knew he was going to fantasize about late at night for the next damn year.
Focus, idiot.
He forced his gaze away from the lingerie between her fingertips and up to her face. “Tell me what happened.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t get to know. You don’t get to ask. At least not me. You want to get the information from your brother, go right ahead. Call Jack Bickam if you want to know, but I’m done with this. I’m done with your secrets and your moodiness and your telling me what to do.” She pointed the lingerie at him. “You’re the one who walked away from me. From us. I was stupid to ask for your help on these cases. I know that now. You don’t care about them. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about anything but wallowing in your own misery. So go ahead.” She grabbed her clothing from the bed and stalked past him back toward the bathroom. “Go ahead and wallow but leave me the hell out of it. I’ve had way more than enough for this lifetime.”
He grasped her by the arm so she couldn’t shut the bathroom door and close him out. “You think I don’t care?”
Her eyes narrowed, not the soft green he remembered but this time flickering with a flame he sensed was about to ignite. The same flame suddenly flaring hot inside him. “I know you don’t.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know everything. And thanks to you, I also know that the only reason we ever got married was because of Em—”
Grasping her by the other arm, he pulled her up against him and kissed her to cut her off. He couldn’t let her say it. They were the words he’d regretted from the moment they’d left his lips.
Her eyes flew wide. She dropped the clothing and pressed both hands against his chest, lurching back from his mouth. “You also don’t get to kiss me, you jerk. I’m not your wife anymore. You made sure of that. And this isn’t your room, so get the hell out of my apart—”
He yanked her close and kissed her again, didn’t know how else to get her to stop talking, knew he should probably release her and back away but desperately didn’t want to. Because even though she was spitting mad, even though she hated him and had every right to hate him from now until the end of time, he didn’t feel the same. He never had.
She pushed hard against his chest and stumbled back, breaking his grip on her arms. “I said you don’t get to kiss me like that, you son of a bitch.”
The towel slipped free of its knot and skimmed her body, exposing those luscious breasts he’d kissed and licked and laved so many times he’d lost count. That fire flared hotter inside him, bringing his body to life in a way it hadn’t felt in years. He watched as she grasped the towel at her waist, as she yanked it back up and tucked it tighter around her breasts, blocking the gorgeous sight from his view. Heat rolled through his belly and shot through his veins as he lifted his gaze to her face, as he focused on her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths, and the fervor brewing in her eyes.
Instead of moving farther away, as he expected her to do, she stepped toward him. “I say who kisses me.”
His pulse picked up. He didn’t move. Knew he deserved the right hook or knee to the groin or whatever she was about to do to him. Knew he deserved way worse than that. Her fingers tangled in his shirt. She glared up at him. But she didn’t lash out at him, didn’t try to hurt him. Instead, she lifted to her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Didn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. And then his brain kicked into gear and he realized, she’s kissing me.
Biology overtook reason. Lust replaced common sense. History, passion, and need overwhelmed him, empowered him, spurred him forward. He closed his arms around her and tugged her tight against him. And opened to her kiss, drawing her into his mouth before the world could spiral in and tear her away.
She grunted, held on to his shirt tighter, drew a deep breath in through her nose as her tongue found his and stroked. The first lick of wet heat was electric, and he fisted the towel at her back, desperate for more. Turning her away from the bathroom door, he pushed her up against the wall. She groaned and kissed him harder. One sexy bare leg lifted and skimmed his hip. He caught it in his hand as he tipped his head and kissed her, trailing his fingers up the backside of her thigh. Trembling against him, she groaned again and rocked against his growing erection until the only word he heard echoing in his head was “more.”
More of her, more of this, more of them. He stepped back, pulling her with him, wanting to feel her beneath him, above him, around him. Her foot hit the floor. Her fingers drifted up into his hair. Dragging her against him, he changed the angle of the kiss, exploring every inch of her lips and tongue and teeth, needing her with a desperation he’d all but forgotten. The backs of his legs hit the mattress. He tugged her down with him. She fell against his chest as he bounced on his back on the mattress. A grunt echoed from her as she pushed up on her hands and broke their kiss. Wide, glazed green eyes stared down at him with a mixture of anger and heat and need and passion. All the same emotions swirling inside him.
A thousand memories of the two of them together flashed behind his eyes, tugging at that heart he definitely knew he still had now. His throat grew thick. Gently, he brushed a lock of wavy damp hair back from her face and glanced over her beautiful features, bruises and all, as he fought for the right words to tell her what he felt. As he struggled with whatever this was happening between them.
Her gaze dropped to his lips, and the need to taste her again, to lose himself in her sweetness, rebuilt until it was all h
e knew. He skimmed the back of his fingers down her bruised cheek and lifted his mouth back to hers, whispering, “Raegs.”
Her gaze lifted back to his as he drew close, and he watched something shift in her meadow-green irises. Watched her eyes harden, watched her lips thin, watched the blush of passion fade from her cheeks until they were as white as the bedspread beneath him.
She scrambled backward before he could kiss her, climbed off him, and tugged her towel back up around her breasts. Pushing up on one hand, he reached for her to pull her back, but she muttered, “No,” and moved another step away, closer to the safety of her bathroom. “You need to leave, Alec.”
He sat slowly up. Was having trouble thinking. Only knew he didn’t want to let her go. But the waver in her voice kicked some part of his brain into gear, and in a rush he realized she was no longer vibrating with rage and passion but with fear.
“Raegan—”
“No.” She stepped back again, into the bathroom, before he rose fully to his feet. And this time the panic in her voice brought him to a full stop. “Please”—her voice hitched, and she swallowed quickly to hide it, but he heard it just the same—“just leave.”
Oh yeah, he still had a heart because it cracked right there in front of her. Cracked because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her—he’d done that too many times to count—and he was obviously doing it again.
His throat grew so tight it was hard to breathe. He could never make up for the wrongs he’d done her in the past. All he could do was the right thing tonight. “I’m not leaving.”
Her gaze lifted to his. Only this time when their eyes met he didn’t see fear or anger or passion in her mesmerizing eyes. He saw desperation. “I don’t want you here anymore. Can’t you see that? I don’t want or need—”
“I know my father did this to you.” Her words hurt, more than he’d thought they could, but he held his ground. He was done running. Done hiding. Done ignoring the pain he’d caused. He’d done all of that before and it had only prolonged both of their misery. It was time he faced her and the past. And whether or not she wanted to admit it, she needed him now. He wasn’t walking away from her until he knew she was safe. “You’re not staying here alone.”
“I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t want you to protect me. I’m perfectly fine by myself.”
“I’m still staying.” He turned for the door, moving on legs steadier than he expected. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Try to get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He closed the door before she could protest. Before she could rail at him again and throw him out. She was wearing nothing but a towel. He knew she wouldn’t come after him. In fact, he suspected he’d shocked and confused her so much just now that she wouldn’t come out of her bedroom until dawn.
His thoughts were a whir as he moved down the hall. This night had not gone at all as he’d planned. Breathing deeply, he tried to focus on something concrete instead of the emotions still swirling inside him. Like the cases and those missing kids. Reaching back for his phone, he decided to text his friend Hunt to see if he’d found any information on those two kids, but his feet drew to a stop when he neared the second bedroom. Emma’s room.
All thoughts of the cases drifted from his mind. His skin tingled and his fingers twitched at his side. A little voice urged him to walk on by, that tonight of all nights was not the time to test his willpower, but his legs didn’t seem to want to listen. They led him across the carpet, and before he could stop himself, he closed his fingers around the door handle and turned. Then stared into the dark room.
Light from the hall spilled past his feet, and his heart pounded hard and fast as he scanned the bookshelf still stocked with all of Emma’s favorite stories, the rocking horse she’d spent hours playing on beneath the window, the basket in the corner she used to drag to the middle of the floor, dump the toys out of, and climb inside. Everything was the same—the stuffed animals, the books, the pictures on the lavender walls—everything except the bed. Gone was Emma’s white crib, the one he’d spent two days putting together when Raegan had been pregnant, replaced now by a twin-sized big-girl bed with white trim, covered in a new pink-and-green-checked comforter.
In that moment, standing at the threshold of his daughter’s quiet room, he realized why Raegan hadn’t moved out of this apartment. Not because she was stubborn or couldn’t face reality, but because she needed to believe that Emma would one day come home. Needed to believe it the way she needed air to breathe. Needed it because that belief was all she had left to keep her going.
Whatever was left whole inside him shattered right in the doorway of his daughter’s darkened bedroom. Because in that moment he also realized that his father wasn’t the real threat to Raegan’s safety. He was.
All because he was a selfish son of a bitch who’d only ever cared about protecting himself.
Half a beer should not leave a person feeling hungover and wrecked, but that was how Raegan felt as she pulled herself out of bed late the next morning, paused in the doorway of her bathroom, and pressed her fingers against her throbbing forehead.
Her back ached, the palms of her hands were scuffed and sore, and while the bruise on her right cheek was no longer swollen, it hurt like a bitch.
Grabbing the glass from the bathroom counter, she filled it with water, pulled open a drawer, and downed two acetaminophen. Then she looked up at her reflection and wished she hadn’t. The bruise wasn’t bad. She could cover it with makeup easily enough. It was the dark circles under her eyes she’d have trouble hiding. Especially from Alec.
Irritation swept through her, followed by a good dose of mortification. The way she’d yelled at him last night tumbled through her mind. And the way she’d kissed him. Rolling her eyes, she moved out of the bathroom and pulled jeans from her dresser drawer. Why the hell had she kissed him?
Because you were mad. Because he kissed you first. Both correct answers, except she knew he hadn’t kissed her because anything between them had changed. He’d kissed her because—she peeled off her sweats and jerked on her jeans—because she’d been wearing nothing but a towel and he was a guy. Because she’d been yelling and he’d been ready to do anything to shut her up. Because he’d been frustrated at the fact she wouldn’t tell him what had happened to her, and he wanted to make that point known.
But those weren’t the real reasons. The real reason hit her as she snapped her bra, pulled up the straps, and grabbed her brown cable-knit sweater from the drawer. The real reason he’d kissed her was because, after that miserable interview yesterday, he’d been feeling angry and self-destructive. And what better way to self-destruct than to make a pass at the woman who reminded you of the worst moment of your life and who you never wanted to be with again?
Her mood dipped even lower as she moved back into her bathroom, slapped on some mascara and lip balm, used powder to hide the bruise, and fluffed her hair with her fingers. She didn’t feel like styling her hair. Didn’t feel like making much of an effort, period. She knew Alec was still in her apartment because she could hear him moving around in the other room, but all she wanted was for him to leave. She didn’t need his help anymore, he really didn’t want to give it, and the sooner they both stopped pretending, the better off they’d be.
Knowing she’d spent as long as she could in her room and that it would soon be noon if she didn’t get moving, she squared her shoulders, turned out of her bathroom, then crossed to the bedroom door and pulled it open. Only to falter when she smelled breakfast sausage and freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air.
Her heart picked up speed as she stepped into the hall, rounded the corner, and moved into the living room. Sizzling sounds echoed from the kitchen, and when she looked across the open space toward the island on the far side, she almost tripped.
Alec stood at her stove, cooking. Something he’d never done, not once in all the time they’d been married. Watching as he moved eggs to a plate, grabbed the toast as
it popped up, and then buttered it, she realized he wasn’t doing it like a guy who was just trying to be nice. He was doing it like a guy who’d done it dozens of times in the past.
An irrational burst of jealousy hit her hard. Who had he made breakfast for in the last two years? And how often was he doing it for that person that he’d gotten so good at it?
He must have heard her because he glanced her way. “There you are. I heard your shower running. This is just about ready. Why don’t you grab some coffee?”
She told herself not to be stupid. It didn’t matter who he cooked for. They weren’t a couple, and it was none of her business anyhow. But her already bad mood took another header.
Clenching her jaw, she moved past him into the kitchen, pulled a cup from the cabinet, and reached for the carafe. Then she watched from the corner of her eye as he moved a plate to the table near the windows that looked out over the city and then came back into the kitchen to stand at her side.
“Sleep good?” he asked as if nothing had happened last night.
Raegan lifted the cup to her lips and sipped, then turned for the table. “No.”
“That’s too bad. I did.” He poured more coffee into his mug. “I forgot how comfortable that couch is.”
A memory flashed. One of Alec snoozing on that same couch with an infant Emma snoring softly on his chest.
Her heart pinched, but she pushed the memory away and sat, focusing in on the eggs and sausage he’d cooked. When he sat next to her with nothing but his coffee, she frowned. “Aren’t you eating?”
“Already did. Dig in before it gets cold.”