“Better idea. Let’s go back to bed.”
She did that weird take-the-sheet-off-the-bed-and-wrap-it-around-yourself thing that he had only ever seen in movies. As if he hadn’t explored just about every inch of her body in the shower less than an hour ago.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. “Stacey, look, if anybody was due for a meltdown, it was you. Don’t wig out because you happened to let some of the pent-up emotion in your head come out through your eyes.”
She stared at him, snagging that full bottom lip between her teeth. Sniffing, she murmured, “Thank you for that. I guess I needed to let it go.”
Exactly. But that damned sheet stayed in place. And she actually headed toward her dresser and began pulling out clothes. Sensible, nonseductive Stacey clothes, including a simple white bra and boy briefs that he knew would look sexy as hell on her.
He didn’t, however, want anything on the woman. Except himself.
“What’s going on?”
She pulled on the underclothes, dropping the sheet. Yeah. Supersexy.
Grabbing a brush, she yanked it mercilessly through her long hair. He knew she was putting up barriers, but damned if he was going to watch the woman rip those long strands out by the roots. Stepping into the bathroom again, he grabbed his briefs, tugged them on over his naked body, and walked up behind her. Dean took the brush out of her hands and began working it through the tangled, damp mass of hair, which had begun to curl softly against her skin as it dried. Such beautiful hair, kept so tightly restrained. Like the rest of her.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He met her stare in the mirror over her dresser, unsmiling. “I know. It’s not a problem.”
They remained silent while he worked out the knots, sliding his fingers through the strands as each one was freed. With each stroke of the brush and his fingers, he silently gave her time to figure out what she wanted to say to him. Because he knew her well enough to keep his own mouth shut, not asking her what was wrong. Something was; that was clear. She’d let him know when she’d figured out how to tell him.
Finally, when he’d finished and placed the brush on the dresser, he put his hands on her shoulders and stared at her in the mirror. “Okay?”
Her eyes were moist and red from her crying jag. But they also swam with fresh emotional uncertainty.
“You’re wonderful,” she whispered.
He rolled his eyes.
“It’s true. You’re all hard-ass and tough, but you’re also utterly wonderful.”
“You’re nuts. I told you before, I’m no nice guy.” He had an ex and a bunch of other people, like those he’d busted and some he’d worked with, who’d confirm it.
She turned around in his arms, her body pressed against his as she looked up into his eyes. “Yes, you are. That’s what’s killing me here.”
“I so don’t get you.”
“I heard you on the phone with your little boy.”
He shrugged. “He’s afraid of monsters under the bed.”
“You love him. You’re a wonderful father. You gave me exactly what I needed just now. And I can’t have that.”
Her seriousness told him they’d finally reached the point. “Care to explain?”
“This is a fling, damn it. Just sex, just while you’re in town, just because I’m lonely and you’re newly single.”
Ahh.
“No strings, no emotions. No wonderfulness. No hearing you on the phone with the kid you adore, when I don’t even want kids.”
Taking the same tack she’d used earlier in the car, he forced a dry laugh. “Hey, I came over to have a beer, not knock you up.”
She saw right through him. Putting one hand on his chest, she pushed him back and ducked away. “I could fall for you.”
“Don’t,” he warned her, knowing that she was right. This was just a fling. A get-back-in-the-saddle interlude for them both to gain a little release. The fact that she was someone he already cared about was something he’d fully intended to ignore when he’d shown up tonight.
And the idea that she could care about him? Inconceivable. He didn’t have to hear her say it to know that her coming back here to Hope Valley had been all about getting away from men like him, in jobs like his. And he had already proved once that he totally sucked at the whole relationship thing.
“Stacey, I get the picture,” he insisted. “I agree. It’s sex, great sex, no strings. That doesn’t mean we can’t like each other. In fact, liking you makes it better, in my book. Less…”
“Impersonal?”
He nodded, liking how quickly she got him. “God knows the situation couldn’t be much worse, but the timing, at least, is right. We both need exactly what we’re getting. No more, no less. Not a one-night stand with a stranger, and not a lifelong relationship. Something in between that works for both of us.”
She eyed him warily. “Really?”
“Really. You’re not falling for me; you are attracted to me and you like me. And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that. We’re friendly lovers.”
“Not loving lovers.”
Yeah. Right. Exactly. At least for now.
If his expression changed with that crazy thought, she didn’t appear to notice. Instead, she seemed almost relieved, mumbling, “Okay.” She glanced at the bed, then down at his body. “Still want that steak?”
He reached for her, sliding a hand around her waist and tugging her against him. “The steak can wait.” Then he covered her mouth and kissed her deeply, with slow deliberation. He’d had her up against a shower wall before. Now he wanted her in bed. For hours.
Before he could take her back there, though, his damn cell phone rang again. “I’m sorry; I can’t turn it off.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Not allowing himself to get frustrated, since he knew Jared’s calls were more about staying connected to his dad rather than any real fear of monsters, he got his phone. But the caller ID said it wasn’t Jared.
“Hey, Wyatt,” he answered. He immediately pulled his head back in the game, shaking off his sensual lethargy. And willing down his hard-on.
He listened to what his boss had to say, the information doing a lot to remove from his brain any thoughts of sultry sex with a sultry sheriff. In fact, by the time Wyatt was finished, Dean’s mind was filled with nothing but red rage.
Because it appeared they were too late.
“What is it?” Stacey asked after he’d disconnected the call.
He’d already begun pulling on his jeans, hoping the shadowy room, and the fabric, were dark enough that she wouldn’t notice the bloodstains on them. He’d change the minute he got back to the hotel.
“Dean?”
“They think they’ve identified the latest victim.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, drawing a hand to her mouth.
“She’s a teenage girl who disappeared from a mall in Bethesda, Maryland, Friday night. She’d fought with her parents that day, and then with her boss, and the local guys figured her for a runaway. But when they found her wallet and her car in the mall parking lot, and all the security cameras in the area shot out, they changed that theory.”
“Cameras shot out?” she whispered.
“It isn’t the first time. Our guy’s damn good with a twenty-two rifle. He shot out the cameras at another location when grabbing the third victim.”
“So there’s no doubt he’s got her?”
“Very little.”
She covered her eyes, as if wanting to block out a horrible sight.
He knew exactly what she was trying to block out. Because the same vision had filled his mind from the moment he’d read the transcript of that last sick online auction.
Beheaded.
“Twenty-four hours,” she finally whispered. “Is there any chance she’s still…”
“No,” he snapped, crushing his own tiny bit of hope that the girl, Amber something, was still alive. “I don’t think so.” He finished yanking on his clothes, then kissed her roughly. “I’ve got to go to Maryland. I’m going back to the hotel to meet up with Stokes and Mulrooney so we can all go.”