"Stop it," he said harshly.
Across from him, Erin stared at him, her hands gripping the pillow. "He hates me," she choked out.
"He hates what happened to him," Nick said. "That doesn't mean he hates you. That doesn't mean he blames you."
"Frank pulled me-"
"Frank pulled you off the street to keep you safe. He knew you needed some time to recover. He didn't pull you because you were a bad cop."
He watched her emotional dam fracture with all the restraint he'd come to expect from Erin. Tears welled and overflowed, but she didn't utter a sound. She blinked rapidly. Her throat quivered with a forced swallow. Why couldn't she just let it out and be done with it? Why did she always have to be so tough?
Compassion tightened his own throat at her show of strength. But that sense of compassion was spiked with the dreaded awareness that at some point he'd come to care for her. The knowledge swirled in his head like a stray bullet, cutting him, penetrating a part of him he'd sworn to never again lay open to a woman. How could he let that happen now? How could he let himself care for Erin McNeal? A woman who would do nothing but put him through the wringer with her impulsive behavior and recklessness. A woman who'd already touched his daughter's heart.
A woman who'd gotten dangerously close to his own.
The realization stunned him. Terrified him. Threatened every emotional wall he'd so diligently built around himself.
A sudden need for space sent him to his feet. Without looking at her, he strode to the other side of the room. He needed distance. Dammit, why did it have to be this woman who could topple his defenses without even trying, and make him want her so badly he shook with the need to touch her? Why did it have to be Erin McNeal who was everything that would ultimately destroy him if he got any closer?
Raking a hand through his hair, he stared unseeing into the kitchen, not sure what to do next. He knew if he turned around and looked into her eyes, he would go to her. He would wrap his arms around her trembling shoulders and simply hold her until the tremors stopped. Only he wouldn't stop with just holding her this time. He wouldn't stop with just a kiss. He wanted all of her, and he wasn't sure how much longer his control would last.
Nick figured he was getting pretty good at playing with fire.
"Nick?"
Ignoring the alarm blaring in the back of his mind, he slowly turned. His heart knotted in his chest when her gaze met his. In that instant, he saw too much, too clearly. Her beauty took his breath. Her vulnerability called out to his instinctive need to protect. At the same time, her strength demanded his respect.
The combination completely undid him.
And in the soft depths of her gaze, he saw his own fate.
She hadn't moved from her place on the sofa. He started toward her before he even realized he'd made the decision to hold her. Her expression turned wary, but she didn't move, didn't break eye contact.
Dropping to his knees in front of her, he reached for her. Her welcoming sigh shredded the last of his control. Wrapping his arms around her trembling shoulders, he pulled her to him. Her scent infused his brain, taunting his weaker side, intoxicating the rest him. Vaguely, he was aware of her arms going around him. His name on her lips. And then she was against him. Warm. Soft. Driving him slowly to insanity.
"It hurts, Nick, knowing I'm responsible for what happened to Danny. It won't stop hurting."
"It's okay to hurt, McNeal. Go ahead and let go of it. Let it out."
"I'm trying, but it just keeps getting all tangled up inside me."
"I'll help you untangle it." Pulling back slightly, he gazed into her soft eyes and felt an unwanted emotion shift and then free fall. "First we've got to figure out who's trying to hurt you. Then we'll deal with what's going on inside that head of yours. One disaster at a time. All right?"
She choked out a laugh. "You're the only person I've ever talked to who understands."
"We probably know some of the same demons," he said.
"I guess it's a small world when it comes to demons, isn't it?"
"Sometimes." Her eyes were so clear he thought he could see all the way to her soul. But he also saw questions lurking there, and pulled back just in time to keep himself from falling headlong into that incredible gaze, afraid he might not ever surface. Afraid he might not ever want to.
"The accident this afternoon," she began. "It made you remember, didn't it?"
For a split second, he considered denying it. Mostly because he didn't want to discuss it, didn't like dealing with that painful old wound. But she was right, and they both knew it. His demons had been there this afternoon. Taunting him. Torturing him. Making him remember until he ached with the memory of another car accident that had forever changed his life.
"There are some things you never stop remembering," he said. "Even when you want to. Even after you're healed."
"Are you healed?"
He figured he was about as healed as a man could get after living through the hell of losing a mate. The grief was no longer like a raging beast cut loose inside him. At some point in the last months, the pain had softened to a dull ache that came and went like a capricious illness. Still, he didn't like having that ache probed, certainly not by a woman who threatened to tear the newly formed scar wide open.
Without answering, he rose and eased onto the sofa beside her. As if it were the most natural reaction in the world, Erin leaned against him and laid her head on his shoulder.
"I know what happened today must have been rough for you. I'm sorry."
"It's not like you had a choice in the matter, McNeal."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He'd known she would eventually ask. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, talking about his dead wife to a woman he was attracted to beyond his good judgment and miles beyond his common sense. A woman whose recklessness stood between them as tangibly as a brick wall.
"Rita's accident happened not far from where you went off the road this afternoon," he began. "Seeing your cruiser down by that creek shook me up."
"Oh, Nick, that must have been terrible for you."
"I'm all right, McNeal. I've been all right for a long time."
"How did it happen?"
Nick took a deep, fortifying breath. "Rita liked to have fun. Only her idea of a good time was pretty extreme. Hell, I had to rappel down into a cave once when she got into a tight spot and couldn't get out." The fact that he could think of her and smile surprised him. It also surprised him that at some point in the last months, he'd lost the ability to conjure up her face the way he used to. He wondered what that meant in terms of healing. He wondered what that meant in terms of his relationship with Erin.
"I can't tell you how many times we fought about her driving too fast," he continued. "Because of Stephanie, mostly. Because I worried. It was almost as if Rita liked to gamble with fate. Always made me wonder how much value she put on what we had. Our marriage. Our daughter." He shot Erin a hard look. "Rita was irresponsible as hell. Headstrong to a fault. It took a toll on our marriage, but I loved her anyway.
"As a cop, I knew the stats. And I knew her card would come up one day. But Rita was invincible-or so she thought. Always said she wanted to stay twenty-nine forever. On her thirtieth birthday, I bought her a car. Not just any car, but a convertible. It was small. Fast. And made for speed. It was exactly what she wanted. It was exactly what she didn't need."
Nick had expected the punch of grief to be brutal. To his surprise, it wasn't. At some point, the pain had softened to a melancholy ache that was no longer savage in its intensity.
"Two weeks later, we had a fight. I don't even remember what it was about. Something unimportant, more than likely. But we were both angry. She took Steph and went for a drive." Nick broke off, aware that his heart rate was up. Sweat dampened the back of his neck. He wasn't sure why he was recounting the details of that afternoon, but now that he'd opened the floodgates, he couldn't stop the flow.