She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes, returning the kiss with the same force and passion, tilting her head slightly to get the best angle.
Mitch kicked the door shut with his foot and leaned her up against the wall, his body hard against hers.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
“Same here,” she said, breathless.
He leaned back, rubbed her shoulders. “You feel tense.”
“It was a busy day.” Busy was an understatement. She’d been moving nonstop for almost twelve hours. Her head was reeling with all the information she’d collected.
“Have you eaten?”
“Um, a little.” She’d had a scone with her Starbucks coffee at seven, then the muffin and milk at Bill’s.
“Let me take you out.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere right now. I’m beat.” She smiled slyly. “You wore me out last night.”
He laughed, kissed her temple. “That goes both ways, sweetness.” Mitch led her to the couch. “Lie down.”
“I’ll fall asleep, and I have a lot of work to do.”
“It can wait. Lie down.”
He sat at one end and put Claire’s head in his lap. He slowly rubbed her temples, putting an exquisite pressure on them. Her tension began to fade and she was lulled into a half sleep.
Mitch watched Claire as her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed easier. She relaxed so completely, her skin so fair, her hair so dark, he thought of Snow White lying in the glass coffin.
The thought made him shiver involuntarily.
She opened her rich blue eyes. “Something wrong?”
Beautiful and perceptive.
“You’re beautiful, Claire.”
“So are you,” she murmured, eyes closing again.
She trusted him. He saw it for the first time. In bed the night before, she’d trusted him then, too, but this was different. The massage, though fully clothed, was intimate. Comfortable. Easy. She fit here with him.
And he was going to betray her.
He hated himself. It didn’t matter that it was for the right reasons, he was worried about her safety, and worried about losing her. He had no right. He could hardly expect that when she learned he was an FBI agent she would forgive him, but he couldn’t help but hope she’d understand. Eventually.
Where was her private investigation leading? Oliver Maddox had been murdered because he knew something. Mitch wasn’t about to let anything happen to Claire. He ran his fingers through her hair, marveling at how right it felt to be here. He’d been directionless for so long. Most of his life, really. Trying to please his dead father while at the same time despising the man for what he’d been. Mitch was a good cop. One of his instructors had told him he was a natural, that his blood ran blue. But Mitch hadn’t wanted this life. He’d taken it because it was a noble profession, something his father would have been proud of. That he was good at it was beside the point. He hadn’t been truly satisfied or content with his life since he’d joined the military. He’d always felt like he was in limbo, without any clear sense of direction. He lived day by day, preferring fugitive apprehension because he could be out of the office ninety-five percent of the time, walking the streets, talking to people, catching bad guys. Criminals who were evading punishment. Who were clearly bad guys.
Until Tom O’Brien, who shouldn’t have been one of them. And who reminded Mitch of the unaddressed crimes of his father.
Anyone can prosecute a guilty man.
“Mitch?” Claire whispered.
He looked at her. She was studying him. He leaned over and kissed her on her red, red lips. She tasted like home and hearth and everything he thought he never wanted until he met her. He couldn’t help but smile. Claire was the last woman who would be content cooking and cleaning. That was one of the reasons he loved her. She could hold her own on the racquetball court, the gun range, and in bed, while still looking like a sexy siren dancing at a club, or beautiful and sweet lying here in his lap.
“What are you smiling about? One minute serious, the next like you heard a dirty joke.”
“It wasn’t a dirty joke,” he said. “I was thinking about you and how much I enjoy having you here like this.” He smoothed back her hair, needing the connection with her now, knowing what was about to come.
“My life is a mess.”
“Why would you say that?”
“It’s true. I haven’t been truly happy in years. Except when I’m with you. You make me put aside everything else. You make me want a happily-ever-after I never believed I deserved.”
“How can you say that? You deserve happiness. Maybe more than most.”
“You make me believe that.” She reached up and touched his face. So gently, so lightly, but it ignited a deep passion inside. A turning point.
She brought his head down to hers, kissed him with a quiet intimacy that stirred his soul. “You’re the only thing in my messy life that gives me hope for the future. I have some things I need to do, and I wouldn’t blame you for not understanding when it all comes out. But I hope you’ll be here.”
“I’ll be here, Claire. There’s nothing you can do that could change the way I feel about you.” He wished he could say the same for his own deception.
She smiled, her eyes still sad and troubled. “I love you, Mitch. I’ve never said that before. I never believed in love. But I watched you sleep last night. And it just clicked and I knew. Life is too short. I had to tell you.”
“Sweetheart, I feel the same way.” He did. Why couldn’t he tell her? Why couldn’t he say the words he knew in his heart?
Because they would be coming from a liar, a man he pretended to be. He needed to tell her he loved her after she knew the truth about him, when there were no secrets between them. When she hated him.
He kissed her, pulling her into his arms to get a better angle at those perfect lips. Her arms went around him, her fingers holding his head to hers, her heart beating as fast as his.
The doorbell rang. Mitch tensed. It was time.
“I don’t want to get up,” Claire moaned, then sighed and extricated herself from their embrace.
She slid off the couch, kissing Mitch again before walking to the door. She looked through the peephole and said, “Company.”
Mitch straightened, resisting the urge to stand. Claire didn’t sound. . angry. Or surprised.
She opened the door and a familiar stranger stood on the other side. Where did Mitch know him from?
“Dave, I didn’t expect you tonight.”
Dave. Dave Kamanski. His father, Bill Kamanski, had been Claire’s guardian when Tom was convicted. Claire had talked about him, said he was the brother she never had. Kamanski was a good two inches shorter than Mitch, but broader, built like a linebacker. He was a cop, Mitch would have him pegged even if he didn’t already know it. He had cop eyes, a cop stance, and he wore two weapons-a 9mm in a holster in the small of his back-Mitch had only a glimpse of it when he entered, but Mitch was good with guns. And he also wore an ankle holster with a smaller firearm. Probably a slim.25. It wasn’t obvious unless you knew what to look for.
Mitch did.
And so did Claire, which is why Mitch never carried when he was with her. He hated it, because it potentially put him and Claire in danger. But protecting his cover at this point was more important.
Dave glared at Mitch. “Claire, we need to talk.”
“It must be important if you came all this way.”
Claire led Dave into the living room. “Dave, this is Mitch Bianchi. I told you about him. Mitch, Dave Kamanski.” She plastered on an uneasy smile. “I told you about him as well. No secrets.”
Mitch stared at Dave, who returned the glare. Mitch was trying to sit casually, but he had to stand. He tried to stand casually, but knew he failed. Dave was in attack stance and Mitch was on full alert. Something was wrong. Against his better judgment, he extended his hand. Dave didn’t move.