Don't Trust A Killer

  He stalked toward the study, pulling off his leather gloves and tossing them onto a nearby table. He kept his jacket on, and when he approached the study, he saw the lamp shining near his desk.

  Bree was seated behind his desk.

  And her gun was on top of his desk.

  Kace paused inside the doorway and smiled.

  “You think this is funny?” Bree’s voice seethed. “That’s my gun.”

  “I’m smiling because I’m impressed you found it.”

  “It was hidden beneath the fake bottom of your top desk drawer. Hardly a challenge.”

  He propped his shoulder against the doorframe. “You’re mad.”

  “You broke into my room. Wait, no, you didn’t do it, did you? Why get your hands dirty?”

  He glanced down at his hands. “They’ve been dirty for years.”

  She shot out of his chair. “You sent your flunky Remy to do the deed, didn’t you? You had him search—”

  “Haven’t you just spent the last two hours searching my home?”

  Her lips parted.

  “We’re even.” He nodded. “Why do you think I gave you permission to search? I wanted us to be even. Now, let’s have dinner. I’m starving.” He turned away. “What do you feel—”

  “We are not even.”

  A sigh slipped from him. “No? I’d hoped we would be.” Kace glanced back at her. “Yes, I sent Remy to search your room. I suspected you were FBI. I wanted hard proof. His search ended right before I got the lovely dossier on you. Presto, proof.” Kace shrugged. “Then I felt bad about the search. Especially when your overzealous ex went fucking insane and destroyed the place, so I figured it was only fair for me to let you have a turn exploring my house.”

  She marched away from the desk. “There is nothing fair here. You know there is nothing incriminating in this house!”

  “No?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s where you’re wrong. I just handed you the means to have me locked away.”

  Bree’s gaze darted to the gun that sat on his desk.

  “Breaking and entering,” he murmured. “An FBI agent just found her stolen weapon in my house. You don’t get a better slam dunk than that. You want me locked up? I gave you the means right there.”

  She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Kace…”

  “It’s about building trust.”

  Bree shook her head. “It’s about you breaking into my room!”

  “You lied to me, Bree.” He kept his voice calm and low. He knew how important this scene was. “You deceived me from the very first moment that we met.”

  She strode toward him, stopping only when their bodies were almost touching. Her lavender scent wrapped around him.

  “You were in Fantasy to take me down. So, I had to do my own research. I sent Remy into your room, yes. I wanted to get real evidence on you before I got in over my head.”

  “Over your head?”

  “Sweetheart, isn’t it obvious?” When she didn’t speak, he uncrossed his arms and reached for her hand. Such a small, delicate hand. He lifted it up. Tapped her pinky. “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He wouldn’t smile. But, damn, he liked her.

  “I should lock your ass up,” Bree threatened.

  Kace just nodded. “The local cops have been wanting to do it for years. They’d call you a hero. Maybe even throw you a parade.”

  She didn’t smile at him. “Do you want me to lock you up?”

  “I want you to stop looking at me like I’m a villain. I want you to judge me for yourself.” Okay, now he was getting a little too honest with her. He needed to back up and slow this shit down.

  “I am judging. I have been judging you from the moment we met.” She huffed out an angry breath. “I don’t need someone else to tell me what to think. I can do that on my own.”

  Now he was curious. “Then what do you think of me?”

  “I think you’re dangerous.”

  True enough.

  “I think you’re a powerful man with a lot of enemies.”

  Again, no denying it.

  “You don’t let anyone close because despite what you’re telling me right now, you really don’t want to let others know you too well.”

  All right. They could stop this little game now—

  “You’re cold and you’re calculating, but you’re also protective. You don’t like it when people you consider to be yours get hurt.”

  He didn’t speak.

  “You think I’m yours.”

  He did. Dammit.

  “But I’m not. I’m my own person, and this—this attraction that we have? I know it’s not normal. It’s probably due to the danger, due to the intensity of this case.”

  Is that what she was telling herself? Nah, he didn’t buy it. “Maybe it’s just due to the fact that we want to rip each other’s clothes off.”

  She stared into his eyes. “I’m not fucking you tonight.”

  “A man can dream.” He turned away. “Come on, baby, I want to make you dinner.”

  “I’m not done.”

  He rolled back his shoulders, but he didn’t look at her. He was a bit worried about the mask he might be wearing—or not wearing. Kace was starting to fear that Bree could look beneath his surface too easily.

  “You project this image to the world. You say you don’t want me to see you as a villain, but I think…I think that is precisely what you do want people to see. Because you don’t think you’re better than that. You think that you’re still the guy who got tried for murder. The guy that all the cops and the Press said was trash.”

  “I don’t like it when you profile me.”

  Her steps hurried toward him. Her hand locked around his arm and Bree spun him back to face her. “Too damn bad.”

  Her eyes were blazing. The woman was beautiful.

  “You’re not that same man. The reporters were wrong. The cops were wrong. You’re not the same, I’m not the same. I’m not the girl who stood over her parents’ dead bodies and then ran from the house.”

  “You ran to survive.”

  “And you became the bad guy to do the exact same thing.”

  Holy shit. She’d just straight-up called him out.

  “So why don’t we both stop pretending?” Bree demanded as she searched his gaze. “If we’re going to work together, really work together, then the games stop. You be honest with me, I’ll be honest with you, and maybe we can stop the sonofabitch out there from killing any other women.”

  They needed to go back over one very important point. “You believe I’m not guilty?”

  “No, I think you’re guilty as all hell.” She smiled at him. Her dimple winked. “But not of these crimes. You didn’t kill those women.”

  “How do you know?” He shouldn’t push. He should just accept the gift that she’d handed him and let it go.

  “Because I built a profile on you. I started that profile before we ever met. Grayson thought you were guilty, but I didn’t. And I took the case because I wanted to prove that I was right, and Grayson…he’s freaking wrong.”

  He was going to kiss her. Going to fuck her. Going to never, ever let her go. She was staring at him, believing in him, and he hadn’t even needed to lie. Well, not lie too much, anyway. She was—

  “Now let’s get that dinner, Kace. Because I am starving.”

  ***

  They were dead. Bree stared down at her parents, soft, desperate cries breaking from her lips. There was so much blood. Her mother’s white robe was covered in blood. And her father—God, what had happened to his neck?

  She reached toward them. “Dad?”

  A blade pressed to her stomach. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  A scream tore from her. Wild and desperate. No, no, she’d never wanted this! She’d never—

  “Bree!” The lights flew on. Kace stood in the doorway, clad in a loose pair of jeans that were unsnapped. His e
yes were blazing, and his face was locked down in hard, dangerous lines.

  Shit, shit. She’d screamed. Another one of the endless nightmares that wouldn’t leave her alone. Bree grabbed for the bed covers and pulled them up to her chest. “I’m fine.” Her voice sounded brittle, even to her own ears.

  “The hell you are.” He rushed forward and sat on the edge of the bed. His hands reached out and wrapped around her shoulders. “What in the hell happened? You sounded scared to death.”

  She didn’t usually talk about the dreams. Not with anyone. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Fuck that sorry shit. This is me.” His hold tightened on her. “You were scared, and I want to know why.”

  Her heart was still racing. “Just a bad dream.”

  But Kace shook his head. “You were afraid. Talk to me.”

  And…she did. When she’d never talked with another man, she told him… “It’s the same nightmare I’ve had for years. My parents are dead. I’m standing in their blood, and then a man shoves a knife into my stomach.”

  He stared at her. Just stared. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “How often does that dream come?”

  “Usually once or twice a month.” Sometimes more often. Especially if she was stressed.

  “And you wake your lovers up with your screams? What do they do to make you feel better?”

  Feel better? What an odd question. “Nothing.”

  “Fucking sonsofbitches.”

  “There are no lovers with me. They don’t stay the night. I don’t—I don’t have a lot of lovers, okay? Grayson and I were a mistake. Before him, it was a guy from grad school. But Max never stayed the night. I didn’t let him.” She tried to focus on deep, even breathing. The non-panicky kind of breathing. “I didn’t want them to hear my screams.”

  “I heard your screams.”

  It wasn’t just about the screams, though, it was about what she’d been afraid she might say. “You can go,” she managed to say in a semi-normal voice. “I’m okay, really. Sorry I woke you up.”

  “Screw that.” He moved away from the bed.

  He’d leave now. He’d—

  He scooped her into his arms. Lifted her up and held her easily against his chest.

  Her whole body jolted. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you into my room.”

  “But—”

  She stopped. She’d been about to say…But if you take me into your room, we’ll have sex.

  Because her control was too thin. She was scared, coming off the edge of her blackest fear. It was the middle of the night. She was shaky. She was—

  “I’ll just hold you, baby. Unless you want something more.”

  He carried her into his room. The bedroom she’d searched earlier, and Bree was surprised to see that all of the lights were on. And a bottle of whiskey sat on the bedside table.

  Carefully, Kace placed her in his bed.

  “You weren’t asleep,” she said softly.

  He shook his head. Moved back to pour some whiskey in a glass. “Hard to sleep when the woman you want most is just on the other side of the wall.” He pushed the glass toward her.

  The bed carried his scent. The sheets were silk and felt like heaven against her skin. He’d had clothes brought in for her—and Bree could have worn anything she wanted to bed.

  She’d chosen to wear his borrowed shirt.

  Her fingers closed around the glass of whiskey. She lifted it to her mouth. Took a sip and felt it burn down her throat. “He talks to me.” She hadn’t meant to say that.

  Kace was standing beside the bed, staring at her.

  “I can’t remember if he actually said the words to me that night…” Another sip. Another burn. “Or if I’ve just put them in my head because of all the questions from the cops. All the accusations that came at me. But lately, in my dreams, he says…” Now she didn’t take a sip. Bree gulped the whiskey because she was about to make the biggest confession of her life.

  To a man she should never trust.

  But we’re more alike than we are different. Kace had been right about that. The connection was there. It was more than skin deep. She was starting to think it might be soul deep.

  “What does he say to you?”

  Her shaking fingers made the glass tremble.

  His hand closed around hers. He pulled the glass away. Set it back on the table, then he eased onto the edge of the bed. His hands came down, pressing to the mattress on either side of her body.

  She swallowed. “Since I’ve come to New Orleans, he says, ‘Isn’t this what you wanted?’”

  “Fuck.”

  Now her eyes squeezed closed. “I didn’t want it.” Bree shook her head. “I didn’t. I don’t care what he said. I don’t care what the newspapers said, I don’t care what—”

  “Bree.”

  Her eyes opened.

  He stared straight at her. “I know.”

  Just that. Only that.

  She surged toward him. Her hands cupped his jaw, feeling the hard rasp of stubble against her palms. Her mouth took his. The kiss was desperate and wild, and she didn’t care.

  I know.

  He did. She had the uncanny feeling that he knew her, far better than anyone else ever had before.

  His arms closed around her. His mouth opened against hers. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and he gave a low growl.

  She could taste the whiskey on his tongue. Knew he could taste it on hers. It made her feel a little drunk, a little out of control.

  A lot out of control.

  There were a thousand reasons why she should pull away. And only one reason to hold him closer. Because I want him.

  He tumbled her back onto the bed. She was on top of the covers, and the t-shirt hiked up a bit when he pushed her against the bedding. Her hands slid down his body, moving to hold his shoulders. Powerful, wide shoulders. His chest was broad and strong, and the way he was working his mouth…

  Kace Quick could kiss.

  He tore his mouth from hers, but then he began to kiss a path down her neck. Kissing, licking, lightly biting. Her hips surged up against him.

  “Easy…”

  No, she wanted hard. Fast. Oblivion.

  His hand moved to her hip. Down, down to her thigh. Her skin was too sensitive, every touch had her on edge, and when he lifted up her t-shirt more, Bree tensed. Her nails bit into his shoulders.

  His fingers stroked over the edge of her panties as he caressed her through the thin cotton. Just a touch, and she was wet for him. Her hips arched again, rocking against his hand. She didn’t want this light, tentative caress. She didn’t want the cotton between them. She wanted his fingers on her. In her. “Kace!” His name was a cry of demand.

  His fingers eased under the edge of her panties. Stroked her clit. Had her gasping and tensing, and he kept caressing, strumming the most sensitive spot on her body and driving her toward orgasm.

  She thought he’d get her to come that way. Just with his fingers. With his thumb stroking over her clit and then his fingers sliding into her core. But he pulled back.

  Bree bit back her protest.

  In the next moment, he’d shoved her legs apart. Ripped away the panties. She actually heard them tear, and the sound just turned her on all the more. She wasn’t normally wild during sex. She’d never had a lover who was the honest-to-God, panty-tearing type, but Kace was different.

  He put his mouth on her. She almost flew off the bed. But his hands clamped around her hips, yanking her toward his mouth, holding her there as he licked and sucked, and there was no holding back her orgasm. She came on a wild eruption of release. Came against his mouth, shuddering and aching in the most powerful release of her life.

  In the aftermath, her heart pounded frantically. She couldn’t pull in a deep breath, and her lips were desert dry. She licked them and realized she’d shut her eyes. Bree opened her eyes.

  Kace was staring at her. She’d never seen such a look of dark lust befo
re in her entire life.

  “Delicious.”

  Her legs were still wide open. And judging by his white-hot stare, the man was very much still aroused.

  But…

  He pulled down her shirt. His borrowed shirt. He rose from the bed. Poured himself a whiskey. Downed it in one gulp.

  Her thighs were trembling. She could feel aftershocks of pleasure in her sex, little contractions deep inside. “Kace?”

  His hold tightened on the glass. “You go well with whiskey.”

  It was way too hard to breathe. “You…you didn’t…”

  He sat the glass down. Hard. “Because I want you to be sure. There’s time to walk away, right the hell now. There’s that final line we haven’t crossed.”

  Um, he’d just gone down on her. She considered that a pretty big line.

  “You can walk away. Say you haven’t fucked the big, bad criminal of New Orleans. You can tell your other agent buddies that. Pretend your hands are perfectly clean because you never touched me.”

  She wanted to touch him all over. “And what will you do? Go tell all your buddies that you screwed an FBI agent?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No.”

  Just that. Nothing more. “Kace?”

  “I’m not the type to kiss and tell, Bree. What happens here in this room, I won’t tell a soul. These moments are mine. I’m not the sharing sort, I warned you of that before.”

  He had. And he was also giving her a chance to run away. To stop before things went too far between them.

  Too late.

  She reached for his hand. “I want you.” It wasn’t because she’d woken from a nightmare and was scared. Wasn’t because she felt vulnerable. Wasn’t because she’d had whiskey. She just wanted him. There would be no pretending that this night was about anything other than need.

  Desire.

  Bree brought his hand to her mouth. Pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

  “Bree…”

  She liked the way he said her name. With such stark hunger and raw need. Her lashes lifted as she gazed up at him. “What is it that you’re waiting for? Because I don’t like waiting.”

  He moved fast, climbing back onto the bed, onto her, taking her mouth and kissing her with a fierce intensity. His hips were between her spread legs, the rough fabric of his jeans sliding against her inner thighs. As he kissed her, his hand reached between them. The hiss of the zipper reached her ears as her hands stroked down his back.