‘Back to your college days. I heard you.’
And it had hurt him. That much was clear. ‘He’s more like a . . . war buddy than anything else. We went through a rough time together and for a long time only had each other.’ She hesitated again, then sighed. ‘I don’t love him, okay? I never did. Not like that, anyway.’
A moment of silence. ‘What did you go through?’ he asked carefully.
Her hands stilled as she pressed the tape to his scalp. ‘You remember me saying that I’d lost a friend back in college?’
‘Of course. Michelle.’
He’d remembered Michelle’s name. Scarlett braced herself, willing the words to come. ‘I found her body. Thrown behind a dumpster, like she was trash. And there was so much blood.’ She gritted her teeth, forcing the images to the side of her mind. ‘Bryan was with me. We found her together. It’s not something either of us has managed to completely leave behind.’
His sigh was heavy. ‘I’m so sorry, Scarlett.’
‘It’s all right. But there will always be that link between us. I can’t make it go away. Trust me, I’ve tried. I’m sorry.’ She’d finished her task, but didn’t move away from him. And then a second later she didn’t want to move anywhere. He’d leaned into her, closing the distance between them, resting his head against her.
The kiss they’d shared earlier had been intimate. This was much more so.
She peeled off the gloves so that she could stroke his hair. ‘I told him that it was over. Today, in fact. When I came home from the alley, he was waiting for me. I’d been avoiding him for the last few weeks because he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
He shuddered in pleasure when she raked her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, so she did it again. ‘Do I need to go beat him up for you?’ he asked lazily.
Her lips curved. ‘Thank you, but no. I can do that on my own, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I . . . told him that there was someone else. He finally got it.’
Marcus pulled back to meet her eyes. ‘That someone is me, right?’ he asked lightly.
Scarlett chuckled. ‘Yes, Marcus.’
He rested his head against her again, his shoulders relaxing. ‘Just checking.’
That he could make her smile even as the images of Michelle’s broken body continued to flash through her mind was nothing short of a miracle. A gift she didn’t intend to squander. She pulled him a little closer, her eyes sliding shut when he wrapped an arm around her waist and simply held her. She felt . . . cocooned. Safe. Wanted.
His arm remained curved around her waist, his hand lightly gripping her hip. He touched her nowhere else, but God, she wanted him to. Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples tight and sensitive, her panties moist. She could smell her own arousal. From the deep breaths he drew, she could tell he could too.
She was going to have to change her clothes before heading back to work. She couldn’t go question a woman named Church while smelling like sex.
‘I have a confession to make,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her breast.
She swallowed hard, her mind no longer on the job. ‘More stalking?’ she asked, the words coming out husky and thick.
He turned his head so that his lips brushed against her nipple, sending a stream of current straight between her thighs, making her suck in a startled breath. ‘No, Detective Smartass,’ he muttered. ‘Just for that I won’t.’
She stroked his hair some more, wondering if he meant that he wouldn’t tell her or that he wouldn’t touch her. Both were unacceptable. ‘Tell me. Please.’
He was quiet for so long that she thought he’d been serious about not confessing, but then he whispered, ‘You think I don’t like hospitals because of what happened last year.’
One of her hands dropped to his chest, her fingers seeking the place where the bullet had ripped his skin, piercing one of his lungs, but all she felt was his Kevlar vest and she was thankful for it. ‘But that’s not the reason?’
‘No. The real reason is that when I was young, my mother spent a lot of time in a hospital. I visited her there and it was not pleasant. The smell of antiseptic makes me . . . Well, it makes me go back to a place I never want to see again.’
There was something here, she thought. Something much deeper. ‘Why was your mom in the hospital, Marcus?’
Another, longer, silence. ‘She took a lot of pills. I couldn’t wake her up, so I called 911. She was almost gone when they got her to the ER.’
‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘How old were you?’
‘Eight.’
The same age that he’d moved in with his grandfather. ‘Why did she take the pills?’
His throat convulsed against her as he fought to swallow. ‘It was right around the time my father died. So, uh, no hospitals, okay?’
‘Okay.’ She kissed the top of his head, wishing she could take the hurt away, but understanding the tentacles those old memories wound into one’s brain. And understanding that he’d offered her one of his secrets because she’d given him one of hers. ‘If it starts to get infected, I’ll call Dani, Deacon’s sister. She can check you out here or down at her shelter.’
‘All right.’ He drew another breath. ‘You smell so damn good. I remember that from when you came to see me. When things got too intense, when the smell of antiseptic started to choke me, I’d think about how good you smelled. Like wildflowers.’
‘Honeysuckle,’ she whispered. ‘It’s my shampoo. And body wash.’
This time she felt his cheeks crease in a smile. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘For replacing the memory of my mom in the hospital with one of you naked and sudsy in the shower. With my hands all over you, getting you very, very clean.’
Everything deep inside her clenched, desperately wanting. ‘Oh,’ she breathed quietly. ‘Unfair, O’Bannion. Really unfair.’
His chuckle was wicked. ‘I have another confession,’ he said.
She thought she just might like this one better. ‘Tell me.’
Abruptly he moved, grabbing her around the waist and yanking her down to the sofa. A second later she was on her back, staring up into his dark eyes. His body was a welcome weight, the bulge in his pants now hard and thick, positioned exactly where it felt the best.
Well, not exactly where it felt the best. There wasn’t enough time for that.
But she wished there was, especially when he began slowly thrusting against her. Her eyes slid closed on a low moan. She really wished there was. ‘What is your confession?’ she managed, gasping when his thrusts became harder, faster.
His head dipped low, his lips kissing a line of fire up her throat, along her jaw, up to her ear. ‘I dream.’
A shudder racked her body. ‘So do I. I have for months and months. Since the first day I saw you. Heard you.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ he demanded hoarsely.
She opened her eyes, snaring his gaze. ‘Why didn’t you?’
His hands kneaded her shoulders fitfully. ‘If I did have a reason, for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. In my dreams, you’re always looking up at me just like this.’
She brushed her fingers against his cheek, already dark with stubble even though he’d shaved only a few hours before. ‘In my dreams, it’s always your voice.’
‘Good to know,’ he murmured. His dark eyes flared hot and needy as they slowly traveled from her face to her breasts, lingering there for a heartbeat or two or ten before returning to her face, staring down at her like she was a treat he wanted to devour.
The tight rein she’d kept on her response simply snapped. She slid her hands into his hair, pulling his head down as she lifted hers up, meeting him halfway, kissing him the way she’d done earlier in that parking lot. And in all of her dreams. Their dreams.
He’d been dreaming of her too. All this time, she thought. All this time wasted.
And then she stopped thinking when he gripped her hips and hauled her into him, his groan vibrating against her lips, her breasts, everywhere he touched her. He took over the kiss, slanting his mouth, teasing her lips with little licks of his tongue, urging her to open for him, then groaning into her mouth when she did.