"I didn't know you had worked with disabled kids," he said after a moment. "That's commendable."
"The Quest Foundation works with all types of disabled children. Head injuries. Spinal injuries. Down's syndrome. Muscular dystrophy. A few months after the shooting, I volunteered and spent a couple of months coaching wheelchair basketball. Teenagers mostly. A couple of times I went out to the equestrian center and spotted young riders. To say the experience was eye-opening would be an understatement."
"I'll bet."
"Nick, those kids loved the horses! I guess it's the same concept as bringing dogs into cancer wards and retirement homes. Like dogs, horses have an incredibly positive effect on kids."
"You coached wheelchair basketball and yet the sight of Steph's wheelchair still affected you when you first saw her."
"It wasn't the wheelchair."
"What was it, then?"
Her teeth scraped over her lower lip. "Seeing the wheelchair made me… remember. The shooting. And Danny."
"Flashbacks?"
Blowing out a sigh, she nodded.
"Ah, McNeal." Lowering his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Post-traumatic stress?" he asked after a moment.
"Survivor's guilt is what the department psychiatrist called it. I had nightmares, sleeplessness. A lot of guilt that just wouldn't leave me alone."
"That's why you volunteered."
She smiled, but there was no humor in it. "After living through something like that, I needed to give something back. The psychiatrist recommended this agency."
"Did it help?"
"It got me through some tough months. For a while, I even made a difference. I made some of those kids smile. You know, Chief, I can be quite a clown when I put my mind to it."
The thought elicited a smile from him. "I'll bet."
"But it didn't take long for me to realize I couldn't hack it. It just sucked too much energy out of me, and brought on too many flashbacks of the shooting. I know that sounds selfish, but after a while I just couldn't do it anymore. Those beautiful children who'd been hurt so terribly, facing so much difficulty…"
"You weren't selfish. Human, maybe. But the bottom line is you did it. You made a difference. That's what's important."
Hearing a sigh shudder out of her, Nick studied her silhouette. His throat constricted when he saw the glimmer of tears on her cheeks. Had he caused that?
Ignoring the swirl of panic in his gut, he stepped away from the car and turned to her. Putting his finger under her chin, he forced her gaze to his. "What's with the tears, McNeal?"
"I'm sure you'll have a hard time believing this, but I never cry."
"I'm sorry I seem to be so good at making you." The urge to comfort was surprisingly strong, his resistance damnably weak. He was standing so close he could smell the familiar scent of her hair mingling with the sweetness of her breath. The light from a three-quarter moon illuminated her features just enough to let him see the caution in her eyes and the shape of her mouth. Sweet mercy, he wanted to kiss her.
Nick brushed his thumb over her cheek, catching a tear. He knew touching her was a mistake. Just as he knew holding her now would be a mistake that would lead to certain disaster. Everything inside him screamed for him to turn around and walk away. If he got involved with her in any way, she would wreak havoc on his life. But there was no way he could stand back and watch her cry while he did nothing.
Something powerful and fundamental stirred low in his gut. He didn't even bother to fight it. He didn't dare name it. He was tired of fighting when it came to this woman, tired of resisting what was quickly getting the best of him. She'd stripped him bare tonight, and he'd allowed it. What was one comforting embrace? One kiss between friends?
Nick figured he was getting pretty good at rationalizing.
"Come here," he whispered.
Her startled gaze met his. "You know what happened the last time we tried this."
"Yeah, and if I remember correctly, it was pretty damn good."
He didn't wait for her. Stepping closer, he cupped her face with his hands. He felt softness and tears. Smelled the enticing scent he'd dreamed about too many times in the last few days.
Shock registered on her face, but he didn't care. She wasn't the only one he'd shocked. He was most certainly shocking himself, but he wasn't going to let that stop him, either.
Backing her against the car, Nick drew her mouth to his with slow deliberation. She didn't close her eyes, and he saw them widen, heard her quick intake of breath, felt his own catch in his throat.
One moment she was as rigid as a board, the next like melted honey in his arms. Nick felt her go fluid as he coaxed her lips into submission. He opened his mouth and used his tongue, daring her to accept him. With a small sound deep in her throat, she parted her lips and welcomed him in.
Something hot and urgent broke open inside him, unleashing a part of him he'd kept bottled up for so long. Need and lust and something else he didn't want to name sprang free.
He deepened the kiss, using his tongue, tasting the farthest reaches of her mouth. Her body felt lush and soft against his. Frustration burned in his groin as he pressed against her, but the contact only made him want more.
He heard a sound, realized he'd growled low in his throat. She shifted closer and another jab of lust arrowed through him. His hands slipped from her face, grazing her shoulders, stopping at her breasts. Her gasp ended in a groan when he cupped her through her uniform shirt. She arched into him, and Nick's control teetered. His fingers went to the buttons. He fumbled, cursing silently when he realized his hands were trembling. One button sprang free. His overzealous fingers popped the next two. Then his hands were inside her shirt, seeking flesh, touching lace and softness and woman.
Her breasts were firm and round and high. Nick cupped her through her bra, marveling at her softness. He brushed his thumbs over the hardened peaks of her nipples. She shivered. He wanted to feel her flesh, warm and supple beneath his hands. He wanted to put his mouth on her.
Two more buttons went by the wayside. He struggled to find her bra clasp. Not in front. He slipped his arms around her. No rear closure. Frustration and a tinge of embarrassment pounded through him. "What kind of bra is this?" he whispered.
"Uh, athletic…"
Nick didn't hear the rest of her response. Tugging the bra up over her breasts, he leaned forward and took her nipple into his mouth. Erin cried out, arching, giving him full access. Her response splintered the remainder of his restraint. Caution shattered. He knew he was out of control, but she was so exquisite, so responsive, he gladly relinquished it, refusing to think of the consequences, of what he might be risking.
He didn't remember closing his eyes. All his brain registered was that she was against him, and he was hard and pulsing and so ready he thought he might end it all right then and there. The realization stunned him, thrilled him. For the first time in years, he felt alive. Whole. On fire and burning out of control-
"Chief?"
The voice reached him as if through a fog. An instant later, recognition exploded in his brain. Stephanie's nanny, for Pete's sake! Nick scrambled back. Erin turned away in an attempt to conceal her state of undress. Shaken, dangerously aroused and more embarrassed than he'd been since the time in his teens when he got caught making out in the back seat of his mother's car, he faced Mrs. Thornsberry.
Chapter 7
"What is it, Em?" Nick winced at the sound of his voice. Hoarse, breathless, it sounded as if he'd swallowed a chunk of concrete.
The older woman stood twenty feet away, her hands on her hips, looking at him as if he'd just landed his spaceship at the end of the driveway. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said primly.
Nick didn't move. He couldn't get any closer, not without her noticing his state of arousal. "You didn't interrupt anything," he said.