Hiding His Witness Part 8

His touch ignited pa.s.sion that flared in her belly, spreading to every part of her. "No, no, everything you're doing feels good."

He growled low in his throat, a sound echoing hunger. He walked backward to the couch and lowered himself, taking her with him, setting her legs over his hips so she was straddling him.

Kneeling over him, she cupped his face in her palms, lifting his head. She held his gaze and lost herself in his eyes. "You're a good man, Reilly Truman." He'd done what no other man had. He'd kept her safe, protected her, risked his safety for hers. When this was over, she wanted him to remember those words. They were the greatest truth she had spoken since she'd met him, no half-truth, no honesty hidden behind semantics. He was an impossibly honorable man-her head knew it and her heart feared it. She could too easily fall for him and trick herself into thinking she'd get a happily ever after.

Knowing this may be the only time they had together sent desperation and hunger spiraling in her veins. Carey ground her hips against his pelvis, the rough fabric of her jeans creating the perfect friction. He set his hands on her hips, sliding her along his hardness, lifting his hips and circling them against her.

Emotions bombarded her from every direction, tenderness, warmth and l.u.s.t. Her eyelids grew heavy and the pressure between her legs tightened, higher, faster, more. "Reilly." She tightened her grip on his shoulders and let her head fall back.

He must have heard the plea in her voice, because he thrust harder against her, once, twice, excitement surging inside her, lifting her, shattering her. Blistering hot desire exploded in her body and she climaxed in his arms, her vision momentarily going sparkling white, waves of pleasure pulsing over her.

She slumped against him and he nuzzled the side of her neck.

The music hummed in the background, a soft, melodic tune, taking second to her roaring thoughts. The poignancy of the moment threatened to reach straight to her heart, touch her and irrevocably change her. She snuggled closer in his arms, loving the feeling of them banded around her and trying to put off thinking about the future. She wanted to linger in the now and pretend disaster wasn't waiting for her.

The song changed to a bright, vocal, upbeat piece. The mood broke and the haze of pleasure faded. Reality hit hard. Letting that happen with Reilly had been a mistake. She didn't need connections to him complicating her life, making it harder to run. When she left, she couldn't look back. For his sake she needed to put distance between them.

Reilly was the giver and she was the taker. He had put his life on the line to protect her and she was endangering him. He had asked her to dance and she'd been needy, hungry, begging him for more.

And he'd given, taking nothing for himself.

Her legs felt rubbery, but she managed to crawl out of his lap and onto the cushion next to him.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, touching her thigh lightly.

And of course he would have to be sweet and concerned about her. "I'm fine."

"You say that a lot."

She didn't have a choice. If she let herself slip, if she started thinking about the bad things in her life, she'd crumble. She'd had her resolve set to "fine" for months. She reached over and set her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "Most of the time, I am fine." She didn't want him to push too hard, or he could break through and see how scared she was beneath her fragile outer sh.e.l.l.

He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut.

"What? You can say whatever. It won't hurt my feelings," she said, shoring up her defenses. This was the life she led. The song was over and she had to let go of the fantasy. She was a woman on the run, and she would run as long as she had to to keep the people around her and herself safe.

"You're beautiful," he said.

No. Anything but more kind words. She wouldn't weaken. Chips in her armor could not be permitted. "But?"

He rested his head on the cushion of the couch. "No but. You're beautiful. I don't know what's going on in your mind, but I thought you should know what's going on in mine."

Carey's heart took flight and she wondered how much longer she could stay with Reilly and keep her boundaries in place.

Chapter 6.

Reilly ran a shaky hand through his hair. Nothing rattled him. Not staring down the barrel of a gun, not confronting a perp. But this? It was like nothing he'd experienced. The raw pa.s.sion had caught him off-guard and he couldn't afford mistakes now.

It was his job to protect her.

Why had he it let it go that far? Why hadn't he denied her that kiss? That kiss had opened a floodgate and with the water pouring out, it was impossible to stop.

Carey had escaped an abusive situation and was running from a man she believed would hurt her again. Instead of giving her s.p.a.ce to think and clear her head, he'd gone and groped her like a teenager in a parked car.

A minute before, she was wild in his arms, and now she sat demurely, her knees pressed together. Another contradiction in her behavior. He guessed the real Carey was somewhere between the two women.

Carey needed him to be strong and steady. Reliable and nonthreatening. He wouldn't let this go further. He'd only meant to dance with her. She was vulnerable and scared and searching for some stability. Once they'd kissed, they'd both gone up in flames.

As a detective, he would do his job. As a man, he would keep his distance from now on. He wasn't interested in leading her on, knowing he couldn't get involved with her. She was the witness in a case. An important case. He'd seen firsthand what could happen when a detective became too close to a case. His former partner had lost his career, cast shadows of doubt over the department and ruined the integrity of an open-and-shut case. Reilly wouldn't make the same mistake.

Their flirtation ended tonight. No more kisses. No more fantasies of her writhing beneath him. "Are you ready for bed? It's getting late."

Carey jumped to her feet. "Bed? You want to go to bed?"

"I'll walk you to your room," he said, making it clear he wasn't propositioning her.

Reilly beat back the image of her astride him, her head thrown back, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. This ended here and now. He was stronger than that. More controlled. He was a Truman, and Truman men were disciplined and focused.

l.u.s.t exploded in his veins when she stopped at the entrance to the living room and turned to look at him over her shoulder. "It's dark. You lead the way."

It took everything he had to leave her in her room and walk to his alone.

Country breakfast took on a different meaning for Carey when seeing it in action in the Trumans' sprawling kitchen. It was a casual affair. Food choices lined the counters in dishes of varying shapes and sizes, and everyone grabbed a plate and served themselves buffet-style.

Reilly was the only member of the family missing from the kitchen and she was a little relieved he wasn't there. After escorting her to her room the night before and an awkward good-night, he'd gone to bed.

There were only two places left at the table-the same places where she and Reilly had sat for dinner. At least if she sat next to him, she wouldn't have to look across the table at him and wonder what he was thinking or if he was thinking anything about her. Or better, she could finish eating before he made an appearance.

She had other things to think about than Reilly and the dance they'd shared. A dance that had caught them in a whirlwind of pa.s.sion. As much as she was drawn to Reilly, he and his family didn't deserve the pain and heartache she'd bring to their lives if she stayed too long. Mark would find her and he would hurt them. She couldn't allow that to happen.

"Do you want coffee?" Harris asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Carey focused on the conversation in the kitchen, her mouth watering at the smell of fresh-ground coffee wafting amidst the scents of bacon and sausage. "Yes, please."

Harris poured her a cup, handed it to her and nodded toward the sugar and creamer on the end of the table. Carey closed her eyes and inhaled, bringing the cup to her lips. It had been a long time since she'd had real, fresh coffee, instead of the swill they served at the convenience store across from her apartment.

She took a sip of the black liquid, letting it roll over her tongue and down her throat, warming her insides.

A shotgun blast shuddered against the windows and Carey jumped, dropping her coffee mug and splattering hot liquid on her sweatpants as she hit the ground and covered her head. The coffee mug shattered, spraying pieces of ceramic across the tiled kitchen floor.

They'd found her. Mark was already here.

Jane was at her side in a minute, stroking her back. "It's okay. We have hunters in the area."

Palms flat on the floor, Carey looked up at Jane and felt the penetrating gazes of Harris and Doc on her. Her face burned nearly as hot as the pain in her ribs and arm. The rest of the family was still in their seats, staring at her as if she had flipped off the Pope.

"I'm sorry for the mess," she mumbled, maneuvering to her knees.

Reilly chose that moment to enter the kitchen from outside, stomping his boots on the welcome mat set at the back door. Awareness arced between them. a.s.sessing the situation with that focused look of his, his eyes locked on Carey crouched on the ground. She stood with trembling legs, her knees threatening to fold beneath her. Coffee was everywhere, some absorbed into her clothes and some splashed on the cabinets and floor.

"What happened?" he asked, looking between her and Jane in confusion. His gaze skipped down her body. Reilly wasn't just looking at the coffee stains. The sizzle and burn of forbidden attraction swept over her, raising her body temperature.

Jane answered for her. "A gunshot startled her. She's okay." Jane patted her shoulder.

Carey mentally thanked the Trumans for not making a big deal about this. She was embarra.s.sed enough and, with Reilly's stare pinned on her, aware of how this must look.

"I should have warned you about hunters. It echoes out here with nothing to absorb the sound. They won't come on the property." Reilly's concern remained etched on his face. "I checked the grounds. There's no one on the ranch."

As tired as he had to be, he'd gotten up early to take a look around outside. Guilt swamped her, mingling with appreciation for what he'd done. For what they were doing to protect her.

"Let me get some paper towels to clean this up," Carey said.

Jane shook her head. "No, I've got this. You get yourself changed."

Carey looked down at her ruined clothes. Maybe she could put some soap on the brown marks and scrub them out. "Okay, that sounds good."

She fled upstairs and into her room, rummaging in her duffel for a dry pair of pants and another shapeless T-shirt. When she redressed, she opened the door to her room and found Reilly standing in the hallway waiting for her.

"Feel better?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Something came into his eyes, a deep, sensual hunger. His biceps flexed and she recognized how s.e.xy the stance was, how delicious he looked.

It took most of her focus to ignore it. "Yes, much. Do you think your mom will mind if I wash my clothes? At the rate I'm ruining them, I'll need a new wardrobe in a few days."

His gaze again wandered down her body, slower this time, steady, building heat in her chest with every pa.s.sing second. "Wouldn't hurt."

His stare burned like a brand. "What wouldn't hurt?"

"Getting a new wardrobe."

Well then. Had she been imagining desire in place of scrutiny? Indignation had her lifting her chin. "What's wrong with my clothes?" She refused to mourn lost luxuries like expensive couture and leather handbags.

His appraisal swept over her. "Your clothes are too big and I know it's not because you find them comfortable."

Did he like what he saw? "How can you know what I find comfortable?"

Reilly stepped closer to her, the maleness of him nearly causing her to take a step back. Attraction sizzled and burned in the air between them. "I'm good at watching people. And I've been watching you quite a bit in the last two days. You dropped a Vogue magazine in the alley during the attack. CSI picked it up."

Carey had forgotten about the fashion magazine she'd had tucked beneath her sweatshirt. She'd read it at work on her breaks, both as an escape from her bland life and as a tool to keep anyone from talking to her. "I get the old ones free from the Dumpster." It ached to admit it. Yes, she had crawled into the Dumpster behind her building when she saw the shiny gloss of the magazine from her bedroom window.

If he was disgusted by her admission, it didn't show on his face. "You were looking at Vanessa's suit like you were dying to touch it," Reilly said, ticking the facts off on his hand.

Carey narrowed her eyes. "It was couture."

Reilly smiled smugly. "And my last and final proof that you'd much prefer something more feminine is that I saw you in your underwear."

The reminder wreaked havoc on her libido. Her pulse beat erratically. She strove for indifference. "I'll take it as a compliment it made such an impression."

His eyes glimmered with heat and Carey's body overreacted the way it always did when he looked at her. "Oh, it made an impression. I've had that image, along with a few others, burned into my mind."

Forget indifference. She couldn't pull it off. "Like what?" she asked, her mouth feeling too dry.

His eyes filled with intense heat. "You dancing in my arms. Kissing you. You in my lap last night."

Longing singed her. Trying to understand Reilly was impossible. One moment he was shutting down, the next he was drawing her into a conversation about their relationship, making her feel hot and achy.

"Come on, Carey, we've got to talk about this thing between us. Ignoring it isn't working for me, and last night I went to bed with you on my skin, on my tongue, in my head. I had the most frustrating dreams about you."

A thrill of excitement swept over her. Confusion followed close on its heels. "You did?"

Reilly nodded once. "If we face it, the mystery is over and we can move past this."

A douse of cold water. Maybe he was right and she should scrub away any feelings she had for him. She'd known from the beginning this was a temporary situation. "What do you want me to say? We know this has an expiration date." The best they could have was a temporary, heated affair that would end when she ran.

"You seem to think everything in your life has an expiration date."

On some level, he had to understand why she thought in those terms. She wasn't letting herself imagine a future. She kept her response simple. "That's been the case."

Reilly shook his head. "You're selling yourself short. You could find a man, make a life with him and be happy."

His optimism stung. Not only was he being unrealistic, he'd drawn a line between them. Finding a man meant "not him." "I know my limits. I don't want to worry about the future."

"Is it so hard for you to believe that you could be happy? That you could have a future that doesn't include running?" Reilly asked.

Since the moment she'd decided to go on the run, she'd known she couldn't plan a future with Reilly or anyone else. Why then the disappointment spreading over her chest? On some level she had been letting herself fantasize about a connection with Reilly. "Experience tells me otherwise." Mark would pursue her. Relentlessly.

"I'm going to prove you wrong. You will have a future with someone," Reilly said. The quiet seriousness in his voice shook her.

Carey wouldn't let him convince her she had choices. That could only lead to more letdowns. "You can give it your best shot." She turned away before he could see the hurt on her face and question it. For a conversation he'd started to make the situation between them more clear, it had led to more confusion. She reaffirmed what she knew to be true-she had to run to keep herself and the people around her safe.

They returned to the kitchen and Carey filled her plate to heaping. Anxiety about her future, and disappointment that she'd left herself unguarded with Reilly, didn't curb her appet.i.te, and eating gave her something to do besides avoid eye contact with Reilly. She sat at the table and then poured herself another cup of coffee. Jane had cleaned up the mess, and Carey carried her refilled mug with two hands, careful not to spill.

Harris turned on the television in the corner of the room, keeping the volume low. When his mother shot him a look, he shrugged. "I need my news fix. I want to know what's happening in the world."

Carey took a forkful of scrambled eggs, parts of her conversation with Reilly replaying in her mind. They hadn't resolved anything, except to clarify they were on different pages. Had she made the right decision by coming here with Reilly? Had she let things go too far? She was second-guessing every decision she'd made.

The TV news program flipped to Denver with an update on the Vagabond Killer case. Carey tensed. Would they show her picture, the one of her leaving the DPD, the one that had led Mark to connect her to Reilly?

"We're outside the Denver police station, where we've learned more about the measures the police are taking to track down the man known as the Vagabond Killer." The sketch she had helped create flashed on the screen. "A witness has come forward and provided this sketch of the suspect. Anyone with information is urged to the call the tip line, which is being manned twenty-four hours a day." An eight hundred number appeared at the bottom of the screen.

"Harris, please turn that off," Jane said. "We don't need to listen to that over breakfast."

Harris turned off the television, giving Carey an apologetic smile.