A thousand reasons why she shouldn't make love to this man stormed her brain. He was everything she didn't want. Too strong. Too protective. He couldn't handle her being a cop. He only wanted sex, not a real, lasting relationship. But for Pete's sake, she wanted sex. Anything to staunch the fire that threatened to burn out of control.
Erin knew better than to give in to desire, but the need in her heart and the heat in her body destroyed the voice of reason. She relinquished control, felt it tumble away, and gave her body over to the flames.
Chapter 11
Nick had forgotten just how powerful lust could be. And he knew what he was feeling for Erin McNeal was only lust. Simple, uncomplicated, no-strings-attached lust. He was a red-blooded American male who'd been celibate for too long. Of course he wanted her. She was attractive. They were both just tired of fighting it. That was all this was about.
If that was the case, a little voice asked, why did all the other emotions banging around inside him scare the living daylights out of him? Why did he lose sleep thinking about her? Worrying about her? Caring about her, for God's sake? Why did the knowledge that he couldn't keep her safe terrify him so?
Shoving the thoughts ruthlessly aside, he deepened the kiss, exploring the wet silkiness of her mouth. She felt incredibly good beneath him. Pliant. Warm. So soft he ached with the need to feel her bare flesh beneath his hands. The need sent his fingers to the buttons of her uniform shirt. His hands shook so badly he couldn't manage them. Frustration poured through him.
"Let me," she whispered, and began working the buttons.
Her shirt parted, and a lacy white bra came into view. He cupped her breasts, found them small and utterly exquisite.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, and brushed his thumb over the hardened peaks of her nipples.
Erin cried out, her body bucking beneath him. Nick clenched his jaw, struggling to keep a grip on control. He wanted to take his time with her. He wasn't a fast lover. Had never been that way. But nothing was the same with this woman. She drove him too close to the edge, too quickly. He wasn't even undressed yet and already felt on the verge of ending what promised to be one of the most erotic experiences of his life.
Lifting the edge of her bra, he eased it up and over her breasts. Urgency burned him. Nick broke the kiss. He wanted to taste her. Wanted her flesh in his mouth. Her body writhing beneath him.
She nearly came up off the sofa when his mouth closed around her nipple. She arched and cried out his name. He suckled, but the intimate contact wasn't enough. He wanted more. Wanted to be inside her. Needed her more than the very air he breathed.
Breaking contact, he trailed kisses up her throat to her mouth. He kissed her deeply, losing himself in her sweetness, telling himself this was part of the ritual, and that it didn't have to mean anything to either of them.
With shaking hands he fumbled with her belt, managed to get it open. He groaned when he felt her own hands around him, driving him wild. Need cut through him like shears through gossamer fabric. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her neck. He lowered her zipper, found her belly flat and firm beneath his palm. She tensed when his fingers found her curls, but he didn't stop. He kissed her, his tongue entering her mouth the same moment his finger slipped inside her. Hot, wet silk surrounded him.
Erin cried out, her body going rigid beneath him. He stroked her, barely hearing her call his name over the roar of blood through his veins.
This wasn't just sex.
The thought blindsided him.
Pulling back just enough to see her face, he looked down at her, felt something vital shift in his gut. Simultaneously, panic swirled low and deep in his chest.
She gazed back at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes soft with desire. Perspiration dampened her forehead. Her mouth was kiss bruised and wet. Good Lord, he wanted her, more than anything.
Nick closed his eyes, stunned by the depth of feelings raging through him. He didn't want just a single night of lovemaking, he realized. He wanted a lot more than merely her body. He wanted all of her. Heart. Soul. Her very spirit. God help him, he cared for her.
The swirl of panic grew into a tornado.
He'd broken his own cardinal rule. A rule that had been nonnegotiable for three long years. A rule he'd embraced and lived by since loving and losing his wife.
Erin McNeal was exactly the kind of woman he didn't need. She would finish the job of turning his life upside down. She would rip out his heart and not even realize what she'd done. She would hurt Stephanie-his sweet, innocent child who'd already been hurt so terribly.
The old pain surfaced, like a slick of oil spreading over water. The need to protect his heart-and his daughter's-warred with something more complex. The combination made him feel sick and cold and as old as the world.
Gently, he pulled away from Erin and rose. His groin throbbed with the need to be inside her. Frustration clawed at him. His heart ached with the realization of what he'd allowed to happen. How could he have let himself care about this woman?
Aware of the rush of blood through his veins, the dizziness swirling in his head, Nick stood with his back to her and willed his head to clear. He couldn't look at her. Not when he was painfully aroused and holding on to control by a thread.
"Nick?"
He set his jaw against the urge to turn around and go to her. He wouldn't do that to himself. He wouldn't do that to Stephanie. "Stay away from me, McNeal."
He heard her rise behind him. He winced when her hand settled on his shoulder. "What's wrong?" she asked.
Slowly, he turned to her. The sight of her gutted him. Her eyes were soft with desire, cautious with uncertainty. Her uniform shirt was unbuttoned, and he saw her bra and the swell of encased flesh. Her mouth was red and swollen from his kisses. Her scent surrounded him like a sweet elixir.
He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he was almost willing to put himself through the agony she would surely bring him. Almost.
He wasn't strong enough to survive another loss.
Steeling himself against the sight of her, he said, "I've got to go."
"Nick…"
Spurred by the knowledge that if she touched him again, he wouldn't have the strength to walk away, he started for the door. "Effective immediately, you're on administrative leave."
"Administrative leave?" she echoed incredulously. "Wait a minute!"
He didn't stop. "In the interim, one of my deputies or I will take turns watching your apartment."
"Watching my apartment?"
"Someone has declared open season on you, or have you forgotten about that?"
"No, but-"
"You'll still receive full pay. I'll notify you when you can come back to work."
"I don't accept those terms!"
He prayed she wouldn't come after him. He wasn't sure what he would do if she touched him. Pull her against him and kiss her until they were both senseless, probably. Or maybe ease her down to the floor and make wild, passionate love to her until neither of them could move.
Quickening his pace, he flung open the door. The urge to glance back at her was strong, but he didn't do it. He didn't want to see the hurt in her eyes. He didn't want to know he was the one who'd put it there. He stepped into the hall. She called out his name. He slammed the door behind him.