Cool, elegant and sophisticated. To any one of the dozen or so members of the Los Angeles Fire Department's Station 43 crew members looking in Elise Murdock's direction as she sat primly on the edge of the barstool, that was how the widow of fallen paramedic Jacob Murdock appeared.
To Brady Kent, the man who was once Jacob's partner, she was the woman he'd never been able to forget.
Brady propped his elbow on the polished wood of the scarred mahogany bar, his attention focused on the woman who'd once been as off-limits to him as they came. Her fingers tightened around her wineglass, and she kept glancing toward the exit. Looking to bolt again, eh, Elise? he mused. No doubt that's exactly what she was hoping to do. It was a skill she had down to a science.
He attempted to wash away the old bitterness threatening to surface with another long pull from the icy amber beer bottle clutched loosely in his hand. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. And he recalled plenty when it came to Elise, since he'd been in love with her for ages even though she'd been forbidden territory. He'd always thought of himself as an honorable kind of guy — until he'd fallen hard for the wife of his partner.
The unwritten code among members of the fire department strictly forbade poaching on another man's significant other. Technically, Brady had never broken the code, nor had he been foolish enough to reveal his feelings to Elise while Jacob was still alive. That hadn't meant he'd been immune to her. On the night of the one-year anniversary of his partner's death, he'd crossed the line.
Had she forgiven him? Or herself? None of it really mattered, he decided. What did, however, was that she was here now, regardless of the reason for her coming back. The way he figured it, he had roughly thirty-six hours to find a way to convince Elise they never should've parted in the first place. Considering she hadn't said more than half a dozen words to him all evening, no doubt he'd have an easier time attempting to rescue a frightened kitten from a tree limb during a brisk Santa Ana wind.
At the conclusion of the five-year memorial service this evening, she'd treated him no differently than she had any of the crew from Trinity Station. She'd muttered a gracious platitude to thank him for coming. He'd been ready to ditch the customary gathering to toast the life of a fallen brother, until he'd caught sight of a spark of awareness that had momentarily flared in Elise's violet eyes for those few seconds when their gazes had met as he was preparing to leave the service.
In those few seconds, he knew without a doubt that in the time since he'd seen her last, his feelings for her hadn't dimmed a single degree. Not that he hadn't tried to forget her. He dated. Often. The uniform he wore was nothing short of a chick magnet, providing him with plenty of opportunities to meet women. No one could ever accuse him of living like a monk, not by a long shot. But one glimpse of the awareness in Elise's eyes made those other women pale in comparison to the point that he doubted his ability to recall the name of a single woman he'd dated in the past four years.
He loosened the tie of his dress uniform before taking another long pull of beer. Turning to lean more fully against the bar, he clasped the bottle loosely between his fingers and studied Elise through the reflection of the long mirror running the length of the bar. Damn. How was it she was even more beautiful now than she'd been at the ripe old age of twenty-three when he'd seen her last? Now twenty-seven, she'd definitely come into her own.
Dressed in a simple black, sleeveless sheath with a straight, modest neckline, she portrayed subdued elegance. The material barely skimmed her slender form, but he knew her body, had committed every dip and swell, every curve to memory. To him, the only time she'd looked sexier had been when she'd been beneath him, matching his passion with her own, lost in the beauty of their lovemaking. His body flexed in response to the memory.
She reached up to finger the single strand of small pearls at her throat. Other than a pair of matching earrings, she wore no jewelry. The thin gold wedding band that had been more effective than an electric fence in keeping him away from her no longer adorned her left hand.
Her dark, sable hair, swept up in a classy style he'd never seen her wear before, gleamed. Beneath the colorful lights of the bar, her skin glowed with a summer tan. A wistful half smile curved her lips as masculine laughter rose around them, and he listened with half an ear as the older members of the firehouse relived a few of Jacob's more daring exploits during the late paramedic's days at Trinity Station. No one, not even his partner for the past five years, Cale Perry, would suspect Brady's thoughts were centered on Elise.
A lingering sadness haunted her eyes when she laughed at something Cale Perry said to her. Her laughter seemed strained and forced, and a far cry from the bubbly, effervescent young woman that had snagged his heart. Of course, he should've expected there to be some changes. Her life had been turned upside down all because of some punk with a gun. She'd only been twenty-two at the time Jacob had caught a stray bullet while on duty, but she'd suffered a lifetime's worth of grief. Not just being widowed — the stress of Jacob's death had caused her to miscarry within days of the funeral.
During the days and weeks that had followed, he'd played to perfection the role of dutiful friend to his partner's widow, spending every possible moment he could with her. He'd held her when she cried, whispered promises she refused to believe, promises that everything would be all right in the end.
At one point, he'd stooped to bullying her into rejoining the human race when after three months, she still refused to leave her apartment. Not once had he so much as hinted to her his true feelings.
The night of the memorial service marking the one-year anniversary of Jacob's death, everything changed. He'd made a monumental error in judgment, opening his heart to her, believing the time had finally come when they could be together. The myth that women needed to have a reason to have sex and men only needed a place had been dispelled that night when he'd told Elise he'd been in love with her for as long as he could remember.
Two days later, she'd vanished.
The old hurt and anger rose to the surface. If the irritation nudging him now was any indication, he still harbored more than a few resentments.
The firehouse had been shorthanded, so he'd pulled a full weekend duty shift. While he'd been otherwise occupied, she'd taken the coward's way out and left without so much as a "See ya later, pal."
He drained the last of the beer, but hurt and resentment remained on his tongue. He hadn't mastered the skill to put the past behind him and move on without a backward glance, as Elise had done. Even now, seeing her again after all this time, the memory of her in his arms remained clear in his mind. The memory of her light floral perfume combined with the musky scent of their lovemaking was just as potent tonight as it had been four years ago. His fingers flexed as he recalled the silken glide of her hair against his hands. The press of her breasts against his chest, the feel of his body cradling hers. The taste of her. Every last nuance still burned his memory like a fresh brand.
Waving away the bartender's offer of another cold one, he pushed away from the bar and headed straight for Elise. What he planned to say to her, he still didn't know. About all he did know was no way in hell was he going to let her slip away from him again.
Screw noble intentions, he thought angrily. One way or another, they would finally settle this thing between them. No matter what it took.
"Hello, Elise."
Brady Kent — in the drop-dead-gorgeous flesh. Still as sexy as ever, Elise thought, and equally lethal to her peace of mind. She'd known sooner or later she would have to face him. She'd really been hoping for later. A whole lot later.
She stifled a sigh. If it wasn't for rotten luck, she probably wouldn't have any.
The heel of her black pump caught on the rung of the barstool as she shifted in her seat to look at him. A practicing realist, she hadn't been foolish enough to harbor illusions that seeing him again would be a simple matter, but after four years, she hadn't expected that one look into his Godiva-dark-chocolate eyes, or one glance at that handsome face with its chiseled, sun-kissed features would have her heart spinning around in her chest like the lights of a dozen emergency vehicles.
Her palms started sweating as if she were a weight lifter on steroids. At least she'd been prepared for the guilt, something that never failed to accompany her thoughts of him.
"Brady." Somehow she kept a neutral tone despite the affect he still had on her. "It's good to see you again," she lied. Sort of. A part of her had wanted to see him. What she hadn't wanted was the anticipation that had been building inside her from the moment she'd made the decision to return to L.A. for the five-year memorial.
His gaze skimmed over her. As if he'd caressed her physically, tingles shot down her spine, gooseflesh erupting over skin. He smiled, revealing gentle creases that now bracketed his eyes. "You're looking well."
Unable to summon an answering smile, she cleared her throat. He looked good, too, she thought. Real good. But then, Brady always had been a stunningly handsome man. His shoulders were just as wide as she remembered, the fabric of his dress uniform fitting his athletic body to perfection. Because he spent so much of his time outdoors due to the nature of his job, his face was deeply tanned, his brown hair a shade or two lighter than she recalled.
"You, too," she finally managed.
Oh, how she hated that they'd been reduced to stiff, meaningless banter, but the right words escaped her. What could she say to him that wouldn't open a Pandora's Box of guilt she just didn't have the strength to face, especially when she was sitting in the favorite haunt of the firefighters and department personnel of Trinity Station as they celebrated the life and career of her late husband? She had no intention of embarking upon a conversation that would enlighten them as to the extent of her involvement with Brady.
She took an unsteady sip of her merlot, but the guilt refused to dislodge from her throat. This was not a road she wished to travel again. Attending the five-year memorial had been difficult enough. As far as she was concerned, her daily limit for dragging herself over hot, emotional coals had already been met, thank you very much.
Brady propped his elbows behind him on the bar, then leaned slightly in her direction. The scent of his aftershave, a spicy vanilla she'd never forgotten, teased her senses and resurrected more guilt-ridden memories.
"How have you been, Elise?"
The sharp edge in his voice hardly surprised her, any more than the intensity in his dark, bedroom eyes as he leveled her with his gaze. She struggled to summon a bland, noncommittal smile in response.
"Fine, thank you. And you?" she answered stiffly. Another lie. She hadn't been fine in years.
His left eyebrow winged upward. Apparently she hadn't quite mastered the art of lying since she'd seen him last.
She let out a quiet sigh and set the half-empty glass of merlot on the bar behind her. "I've been better," she admitted.
The memorial service hadn't been nearly as difficult as she'd imagined. She'd come to terms with that loss long before she'd ever returned to Connecticut from L.A. The pain of losing her unborn child had been harder to accept. She understood the physiological explanations of why she'd miscarried, triggered by the trauma and extreme stress of Jacob's death.
Emotionally she may have learned to cope with all that, but she'd never gotten past the guilt and doubted she ever would. A fact she had no hope of avoiding now that she'd actually seen Brady again.
Laughter from the firefighters and paramedics Jacob had worked with erupted around her, jarring her from unpleasant thoughts. She glanced up at Brady in time to see a sexy half smile tilt up one corner of the mouth that still haunted her dreams. "You really didn't expect any of this to be easy, did you?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "It never is." Whether she referred to the customary five-year memorial service, being surrounded again by the people that had been a part of her life an eternity ago or facing Brady after what she'd done, she didn't dare hazard a guess. It probably didn't matter, anyway, she supposed. The answer remained true on all counts.
The stress of the day took a toll on her and she stifled a yawn. A quick check of her watch showed the time to be close to nine o'clock. Midnight on the east coast. No wonder she wanted nothing more than to return to the quiet sanctuary of her hotel room. The lure of a hot shower and the oblivion of deep slumber held a sudden appeal she didn't have the strength to deny.
A desire that had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she desperately needed to escape Brady's all-too-knowing gaze, either. Much.
She turned and signaled for the bartender. "Could you call me a cab, please?"
"That won't be necessary." Brady waved the short, burly bartender away. "I'll take you to your hotel," he told her.
"I don't mind taking a cab." Her voice really hadn't squeaked, had it? Of course not. "In fact, I'd prefer it."
He slipped her small black leather clutch from the bar and held it out for her. Despite the cool blast from the air-conditioning unit working overtime, her temperature rose several degrees. Not trusting herself to touch him, she carefully took her bag, never allowing her fingers to brush against his. She knew what would happen. Sparks. Electricity. Flames. And that was just for starters.
Before she could escape, he leaned in, crowding her personal space. The ultra-thin gold rim surrounding his dark irises simmered with heat and challenge. She was afraid to breathe.
"What's the matter, Elise?" He flashed her one of those way-too-sexy killer smiles. "You're not afraid to be alone with me. Are you?" he taunted, his deep, rich voice tinged with bold challenge.
I have nothing to fear. I nothing to fear. I have nothing to fear.
If she recited those words enough, Elise thought, perhaps she might eventually believe them. At least she hoped so, but she had a bad feeling a snowball had a better chance of survival in the Mojave Desert.
She allowed Brady to help her into the front seat of his gunmetal gray SUV, determined she would survive the next twenty minutes. She'd made it through events that were a whole lot tougher. She could easily handle being in the same vehicle as Brady. Just so long as he didn't realize how very terrified being alone with him made her, she'd be just fine.
She repeated her new-and-improved mantra over and over again during the uncomfortably silent drive to her hotel. When he insisted on seeing her to her room, the words she kept repeating silently to herself tumbled around in her mind until she was dizzy.
In the close quarters of the elevator on the ride up to her hotel room overlooking the Pacific Ocean, his nearness overwhelmed her senses. And if that fifteen-second adventure wasn't enough to fill her to the brim with tension, when he slipped the electronic room key from her hand and slid it into the slot, she nearly shouted her useless mantra out loud for the entire tenth floor to hear.
He held the door open for her and followed her inside the elegant room. She headed straight for the minibar, flipping on every light in the room along the way. "Would you like a drink?" she asked before she thought better of it. Heaven knew she certainly needed something to take the edge off of her rattled composure.
Without waiting for his reply, she carefully surveyed the contents. She reached for a miniature bottle of vodka and a can of orange juice just as Brady came up behind her.
He slid his big, warm hands over her bared shoulders. "I've missed you, Elise."
The soothing warmth of his voice did zilch to calm the calamity of nerves in her tummy. She let out a sigh and sidestepped him, before she did something really stupid, like lean into the heat of his body. What she needed was distance, not just physically, but from the memories they'd shared and, more important to her emotional survival, from the guilt she had no hope of shedding. When he stood so close to her, the years slipped away and with them, her resolve to maintain the new status quo she'd created of her life.
What life? her conscience taunted. You call what you have a life?
"Don't go there," she warned gently, unsure whether she was speaking to her pesky conscience or Brady. "Please."
He closed the refrigerator door to the minibar and faced her, shoving a hand roughly through his thick, sun-kissed hair. "Fine," he said in an abrupt tone. "How about an explanation then? I deserve that much, at least."
Yes, she did owe him that much. She walked across the room to the ladder-back chair beside the round table near the window and sat stiffly on the edge. Although he remained standing halfway across the room, the drapes had been drawn closed and she wanted to throw them open, anything so she wouldn't feel so hemmed in by his nearness.
She'd expected a confrontation when he'd insisted on driving her to her hotel. Now that the moment was at hand, she thought it best to deal with the problem and move on — another skill she hadn't quite mastered.
Casually crossing her legs, she laced her fingers together over her knee and looked up at him, praying she presented a facade of calm she was nowhere near feeling. Her insides were jumping and twittering like those little jumping beans street vendors sold to tourists down on Olvera Street.
A deep frown creased his brow and the look in his beautiful dark eyes was anything but warm and welcoming. More like angry and impatient. "Well?" he prompted.
"What's the point, Brady?" she asked him. "It was such a long time ago. Maybe we should just be thankful we didn't let things get too complicated."
His frown deepened, if that was possible. "We didn't have a chance for anything to get complicated," he accused. "You ran off, remember?"
She deserved that, but still winced. Yes, she had run. Like a frightened child, she'd picked up her toys and went home to the comfort and safety of things familiar. A plan that turned out to be about as effective as an umbrella in a hurricane.
He let out a rough sigh and walked toward her to sit on the edge of the bed. Facing her, he quietly accused, "You could've at least said goodbye, Elise. Something. Anything to let me know you were all right."
She pulled in a slow, even breath, wondering how best to articulate the confusion and fear she'd felt at the time so he would understand. How could she when she hardly understood the overwhelming emotions herself?
"I know. And I'm sorry. I was…" She was what? Afraid? Absolutely. "I was afraid," she added.
"Of what? Me?" Hurt flashed in his eyes, knocking a big chunk out of the wall she'd methodically erected around her heart to protect herself.
"I'd never hurt you," he added when she remained stoic. "I thought you knew that."
No, he wouldn't hurt her, she thought. At least not intentionally. It was the unintentional that had sent her running. Fear of what she couldn't control.
"It was such a long time ago," she said again.
He leaned forward, braced his elbows on his thighs and stared directly at her. Her heart did a flip when his gaze momentarily landed on her mouth. She remembered the warmth of his lips on hers, his tongue tangling with hers in a deep, hot, wet kiss that held the power to make her forget everything but the need to taste him. Memories flooded her in a dizzying rush.
"When I walked into the gardens at St. Catherine's," he said, lifting his gaze to hers again, "and saw you sitting in the front row next to the captain and his wife, it didn't feel all that long ago to me."
Nor to me.
She bit her lip. If she kept the words from spilling out, then she wouldn't have to deal with them. Now there was a skill she'd definitely mastered — avoidance. So he wouldn't see the truth reflected in her eyes, she turned her head, her focus landing on the abstract print hanging above the bed.
Returning to L.A. had been a mistake, she realized. She'd drastically misjudged her ability to keep her own demons at bay. Why else would she have given up the safety of three thousand miles that separated her from the past? And Brady?
Maybe she wasn't such a master of avoidance, after all.
She faced him with renewed determination. She had done the right thing in leaving, even if her method had been cowardly. The end justified the means, and in the end, she'd been right about her inability to survive the guilt of loving Brady Kent.
Summoning the cold distance she'd cultivated as a means of emotional survival, she folded her arms casually over her knee and returned his level stare with one of her own.
"What is this really all about?" she asked him, finding the perfect blend of chilly sarcasm to give her courage the boost it needed. She had to chase him away, because if she didn't, she feared she'd slip right into his arms and compound her mistakes by begging him to make love to her one last time. She hiked up her eyebrow the way she'd seen him do countless times. "You here for closure so you can move on? Or are you hoping to repeat a little history and get lucky again with the distraught, emotional widow?"
That eyebrow of his winged upward, too, telling her loud and clear he saw right through her callous routine to the vulnerability she'd uselessly attempted to mask. How was it that Brady always managed to know her so well, while her late husband had never...
No! She absolutely would not go there again. She was sick to death of wallowing in guilt. Except that she'd been doing it for so long, she didn't know how to stop.
The corner of Brady's mouth tipped into a slow, easy smile. Her frown deepened and she narrowed her eyes when he had the gall to actually chuckle.
"What are you laughing about?" She blew her tough act by sounding way too miffed. "In case you didn't notice, I just insulted you."
His killer smile deepened. "History always was my favorite subject," he taunted.
Before she could summon a snappy comeback, he startled her by reaching across the small space separating them and, standing, gently urging her to her feet. Alarm, and something else she vaguely recognized as desire, skimmed the surface of her skin as he pulled her into his arms.
Without thinking about complications or guilt, she automatically went into his embrace and slipped her arms around his waist as if she'd been doing it every night for the past four years...instead of only in her dreams.
Brady slowly drew his hands down Elise's slender back, gently guiding her closer, needing to feel her curves pressed against him. Relief filled him when she didn't push him away but settled her head against his shoulder and let out a soft, gentle sigh.
He'd been waiting for this moment for too long, he thought. Breathing in her scent, he closed his eyes and swore he wouldn't waste another second of what little time they did have together by arguing over a past neither of them held the power to change. The dozens of questions he wanted to ask her were put on hold. Elise was in his arms, right where she belonged, whether she realized it or not, and for him, that was all that mattered. Somehow he'd find a way to convince her of that fact.
Easing away slightly, she pulled back to look up at him. She raised her hand and gently cupped his cheek in the coolness of her palm. "God, how I've missed you," she said, her voice a choked, regret-filled whisper.
Instead of reminding her that she'd been the one to run away, he took her hand and laced their fingers together. "I know," he answered, brushing his lips over her fingertips. "We don't have to think about that now."
That first tentative touch set off enough sparks to ignite a wildfire. Her sharp intake of breath confirmed she'd felt it, too, that magnetic connection they shared. She tugged her hand free of his and for an instant, he feared she'd turn him away.
"We've been here before," she whispered.
"Maybe we can get it right this time." Heart pounding, he waited.
She shook her head. "No promises, Brady." She hesitated a second longer, then finally wreathed her arms around his neck and urged his mouth toward hers. "This won't change anything, either," she warned, then brought their lips together in a hot, openmouthed kiss that reached clear to the bottom of his soul.
His arms tightened around her, holding her close. She might not want to hear the words that he planned to never let her go again, so he showed her instead. Their tongues mated in a wild, heated dance of mutual desire long denied. Taking. Giving. Demanding more. Need sparked and ignited into a desire he suspected would always exist between them no matter how many years passed. It burned hot, reducing the hurt and anger of the past to cinder and ash.
He had no idea when she planned to leave, but he tried to focus on the fact that she was in his arms now, eagerly kissing him with such openness his heart almost twisted painfully in his chest. For tonight, she'd be his. Tomorrow he could lose her — again.
He greedily took all she gave and then demanded more. His body tightened sharply with a deep clawing need to make her his once again. Skimming his hands down her back, he settled them low on her hips and urged her even closer.
Elise willingly allowed herself to live this one moment in time, cocooned in the heady warmth of Brady's arms finally around her again. A desire she'd foolishly believed had been deeply buried gripped her, making her damp and wet with need. Her skin grew tight and she rubbed up against him, moaning with pleasure at the erotic sensations clamoring inside her. She wondered if she'd ever recover now that Brady had so expertly unleashed what she'd tried so hard for so long to keep hidden — her sensuality.
Oh, how she loved every second of every sensation rippling along her skin and through her veins. She loved the taste of him, all warm and masculine, kissing her senseless. The scent of him, the gentle yet demanding way he held her close. How she'd missed this, she thought. How she'd missed him.
She smoothed her hands over the wide set of his shoulders, the muscle and sinew flexing beneath her fingertips in response to her touch. For far too long all she'd carried with her were the memories she'd collected.
Whenever the loneliness became too much of a burden, she would conjure up their one night together, reliving each memory, every nuance, over and over again in her mind. For so long all she'd lived with had been her fantasies and a truckload of guilt. She didn't trust herself to believe that Brady was actually holding her. He was as real as it got, and she prayed his deep, hungry kisses were truly capable of obliterating the pain and guilt…if only for a while.
Too much harsh reality had made her a pragmatist, and she harbored no illusions about whether or not she would make love to Brady tonight. She clung to him, carefully cataloging each and every sensual experience to add to her collection. Fuel for new fantasies, she thought, to carry with her in the lonely days, months and years ahead.
Her fantasies were safe. In her fantasies, no one she loved ever died.
Brady slid his hands into Elise's hair, needing to feel the silky texture of those sleek strands against his fingers once again. The lush, heavy weight fell down her back as he pulled the pins from the thick mass, tossing them on the floor. Dragging his mouth from hers, he trailed a path of kisses to her ear, then caught her earlobe gently between his teeth. He took comfort in the fact that her breathing was as ragged as his own.
He pulled back and looked down at her, seeing that her eyes were bright with passion. "If you don't want to go any further," he said, his voice tight with the strain of barely leashed control, "tell me now because I don't know how much longer I'll be coherent."
The soft, gentle smile that curved her swollen lips was filled with sin, spiking his already simmering libido. Her hands slid sensually over his chest and down his belly until she reached the buckle of his belt, her fingers toying with the clasp. Her smile deepened and she tugged his belt loose. The rasping hiss of his zipper competed with the sounds of their breathing as she held him prisoner with her gaze. Without breaking eye contact, she eased her hand past the waistband of his briefs to wrap her long, cool fingers around his heated length.
"Does this answer your question?" she asked, her voice a low, sultry whisper he'd never tire of hearing.
His heart stuttered to a stop, then resumed at a maddening pace. Blood roared through his veins and he was sure his lungs were about to burst from lack of oxygen when she stroked him slowly, effectively annihilating any lingering doubt about her willingness to finish what they'd started.
For once in her life Elise planned to take exactly what she wanted rather than meekly accepting whatever hand she'd been dealt. So much already had been taken from her. Wasn't she due for some small amount of pleasure, something to savor in the lonely days ahead? She'd cope with the guilt that would surely come later.
He was hot, full and heavy in her hand, and she had no intention of turning back now. She stroked the velvety smooth length of him. His mouth settled over hers again in another kiss so searing any remaining hesitation about the wisdom of her decision to live for the moment and make love to Brady evaporated into the electrically charged air around them.
Cool air brushed her back as he unzipped her dress then unclasped her satin bra. Her hand trembled as she released him long enough to tug hastily at his clothes, anxious to shed the final barrier between them, driven by her need to feel the warmth of his skin against her.
Once undressed, he guided her toward the bed. Unwilling to break contact, she pulled him down to the mattress with her. As he settled over her, she arched into him, savoring the press of his body against hers.
He palmed her breast as if testing the weight, his callused hand gentle as his thumb traced back and forth across the pebbled hardness of her nipple. She closed her eyes and felt the erotic tug of her taut flesh being surrounded by the heated warmth of his mouth. She cried out at the flash of intense heat that pooled in her belly then spread with hot warmth through her limbs.
Her senses spun and she gripped his shoulders for balance when he paid equal attention to her other breast. Time slipped away, as did the long lonely months since she'd last experienced anything as remotely beautiful as Brady making love to her. Only Brady existed, and the unselfish sharing of their bodies for the sole purpose of experiencing pure, exquisite pleasure.
She slid her hands into his hair and guided his mouth back to hers for a long, hard, deep kiss. With the tips of his fingers, he skimmed over her rib cage, slowly inching his way toward where she wanted, needed him to touch her the most. As if he were opening a treasured gift, he gently parted her legs, then slid his fingers through her curls, down to her hot, wet center. Open and vulnerable, she silently offered him her trust as he slowly eased his finger into her moist heat.
A moan erupted from somewhere deep inside her at the welcome intrusion. He stroked her, lovingly, gently, bringing her to the brink of pleasure with little effort. It'd been so long since she'd made love, the tension built inside her, hard, fast. She came almost instantly in a wild, primal rush, her back arching off the bed as she flew apart in his arms. Clinging to him, she cried out from the pleasure, her body convulsing hotly around his hand.
He kept her close, whispering words that made no sense in her tilted world as spasm after spasm continued to shake her. Eventually she registered her surroundings and finally opened her eyes to look at him looming above her, a quizzical expression banked in his sweet, chocolate eyes. Her still thundering heartbeat picked up speed with a fresh surge of adrenaline. The unasked question hung between them and she waited, afraid to breathe. Afraid he'd ask.
She didn't doubt for a second that he possessed as much arrogance as the next guy when it came to pleasuring a woman. Based on her very limited personal experience and from the discussions she'd overheard in the teacher's lounge, the general consensus was that most men believed they were the greatest lover to ever tangle the sheets. That paltry defense might work on some other guy, but Brady Kent was no fool. He wouldn't believe for a second the start of a little foreplay could send her flying over the edge so quickly unless it'd been a very long time since she'd last made love. And he'd be dead right. Four years to be exact.
She eased her hand behind his neck and urged him down for another tongue-tangling kiss aimed to distract him so he'd forget to ask her how pathetically long it'd been for her. He eagerly complied, and she wrapped her arms around him, plastering her body against his.
Instantly, she lost track of everything but the rough texture of his skin brushing enticingly along hers. He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. Within seconds she could barely remember her own name as the tension returned, heating her body from the inside out, building, burning, stringing her tight with a surge of need more powerful than the last.
She kissed him, then tore her mouth from his to nip at his chin, his throat, slowly winding her way down the length of his long body, nipping, kissing and laving his skin. She breathed in his scent and the musky aroma of their lovemaking, then wrapped her fingers around his erection, once again cataloging every sensation. A harsh breath hissed out from between his clenched teeth when she rose to her knees and closed her lips over his long, hot length.
The simple act of drawing breath into his lungs escaped Brady. He wasn't even sure if his heart continued to beat because he'd surely died and gone to heaven. His focus remained solely on Elise and the way she made love to him with her lips, her tongue, her hot, sweet mouth. Her cool fingers cupped him gently as she took him deeply, offering pleasure so intense the thin thread of his control nearly snapped.
He held back long enough to reach for her then urged her over him until she straddled his hips. His hands gripped her bottom as he slowly eased himself inside her hot, wet sheath to the hilt. Wonder and surprise widened her passion-glazed eyes as she took him deep inside. She was so tight, if he hadn't personally known otherwise, he'd have sworn she was a virgin.
The way she'd flown apart earlier had spiked his curiosity, but he'd easily read the stark fear in her eyes, so he'd kept his suspicions to himself. Buried deep inside her tight, moist heat now, he'd wager everything he owned that she hadn't been with another man since the last time they made love. That knowledge filled him with his own sense of wonder and surprise, along with a hefty dose of pure male satisfaction.
Keeping their bodies locked together, he cupped her backside in his hands and rolled until she was beneath him. Lifting her bottom with his hands, he gave into the passion they both craved more than their next breath. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust inside her, over and over again until he no longer knew where he ended and she began.
Her body convulsed around him, pushing him closer to the edge. In the back of his mind, he became aware of the sting of her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she tensed beneath him then called out his name as the force of another orgasm overcame her. She continued to cry out, the sound earthy and sensual, as more spasms rocked her. Her tight sheath milked him, severing his control, pushing him hard over the edge. The power of his own release rolled through him in sharp, thunderous waves of pleasure.
He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally rolled to his side so as not to crush her. He kept her close, unwilling to completely lose body contact with her. One by one, his senses resumed normal function. The delicious feel of her sweat-slicked curves tucked against his side. The sound of their ragged breathing slowing.
Somewhere down the hall a door slammed and the sound of laughter penetrated the room. Elise tensed.
His hand still trembled as he reached down to tuck his thumb beneath her chin and ease her head back so he could look into her eyes. She shook her head and rolled away from him. The grim set of her mouth filled him with dread as she reached for the edge of the rumpled bedspread and attempted to cover herself. He loved this woman. How on earth was he supposed to let her go? But she was already slipping away from him…again.
He struggled for a calm he didn't possess. "Elise?" he asked, calling upon his training by using the same tone he reserved for panicked patients and distraught family members during an emergency situation. "Is something wrong?"
She blew out a stream of breath then dragged her fingers through her long, sable waves in an agitated gesture. "Yes." She shook her head and tugged on the bedspread again. "No. Oh, God. You have to leave, Brady." Tension laced her voice. "I want you to go."
He was hardly surprised by her skittish reaction. Only, he wasn't about to let her run away from him again, physically or otherwise. They weren't finished, not by a long shot. And it was time she faced that fact and dealt with it.
Relief had her shoulders sagging when he rose up, followed by a panicked frown when he merely adjusted the pillows behind him and leaned against the headboard. "I'm not going anywhere." To emphasize his point, he casually laced his fingers together behind his head and smiled at her. "Because you are finally going to tell me what the hell you're so afraid of."
"I'm not afraid of anything," Elise lied. In all honesty, she was afraid of a lot of things, but right now, she just wished Brady would put on some clothes. Didn't he realize he was a monstrous distraction? How did he expect her to conduct an intelligent conversation when all she could seem to think about was either bolting for the door or making love to him again?
No matter how hard she tugged, the bedspread refused to budge. She needed to cover herself. Not just from Brady's knowing gaze, but from herself. Old habits apparently died harder than she'd given them credit for.
"And you're lying," he countered, nailing her with his all-too-knowing gaze.
Fine, if he wouldn't get dressed, then she would. She sprung from the bed and hurried to the closet for her robe. As a stall tactic, it worked for her.
She shrugged into the amethyst satin and yanked hard on the belt, cinching it at her waist. A flash of the deep purple snagged her attention and she turned to stare at her reflection in the full-length mirrored door, hardly recognizing herself. She dragged her fingers through the tangled mess of her hair, wincing when her nails caught and tugged the gazillion little knots. Gingerly she touched her lips, still swollen from Brady's searing kisses. Color tinged her cheeks as she recalled the erotic pleasures they'd just shared.
She made a face at herself in the mirror then turned and walked back into the room where Brady remained, still naked, still in her bed as if he belonged there. Oh, how she wished he did, but quickly stifled that thought. She'd learned that hard lesson once about being careful what she wished for, and had no intention of ever going there again.
She stopped at the foot of the bed and gave him what she hoped was a dismissing glance. "Just leave, Brady," she said in as careless a tone as she could possibly muster under the circumstances. "You were really fantastic, but I'm exhausted and I have an early flight." She wasn't scheduled to return to Connecticut for another two days, but he didn't know that.
He folded his arms over his massive chest and stared at her hard for the space of two heartbeats. "Cut the crap, Elise," he finally said. "You ran away from me once and you're doing everything you can to push me away now. Why?"
She planted her hands on her hips and glared right back at him. "So we had sex. It was great. Fabulous. The earth moved, okay? Your ego has been fed; now it's time to say goodbye."
He had the nerve to smile at her. "I see you've worked the word into your vocabulary."
"Why do you have to make this more complicated than it really is?" she demanded. Why did he insist on making her face things she'd rather not face? Like her own conscience.
"Because I love you."
Of all the things he could have said, why did he have to say that? She stared at him, not knowing how to respond.
He came off the bed and walked purposely toward her. His big hands settled on her shoulders, but she refused to look into his eyes. "I've always loved you, Elise."
Oh, God. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. But she knew. He'd never spoken the words until a year after Jacob had been killed in the line of duty, but heaven help her, she'd known long before that Brady was in love with her. She'd known because…because…her heart beat heavily in her chest and it hurt to breathe. "No," she whispered again, but she'd known he loved her long before Jacob had died because she'd loved him, too.
She clamped her hand over her mouth and turned away from him. Tears blurred her vision. The guilt threatened to swallow her whole. Her legs nearly gave out, and she reached blindly for the chair and sat.
He'd never understood the guilt she'd felt when Jacob had died. Although she'd never acted upon her feelings, the truth was that she'd been in love with one man and legally bound to another. Until that fateful night following the one-year anniversary of Jacob's death when she had turned to Brady and practically begged him to make love to her. For that one night, he crashed through her defenses, reducing the barrier she'd kept between them to kindling.
She looked up to find him crouched in front of her. With great care, he tucked his finger beneath her chin and forced her to look at him. The tenderness in his eyes flayed at what little was left of her conscience. "And I'm damned sure you loved me, too," he said, vocalizing what she'd never been courageous enough to tell him herself. "You still do."
More guilt choked her, cutting off her air supply. "No," she said more forcefully, surprised she possessed the capability of speech considering a lump the size of a fire engine lodged in her throat.
His expression was one of patience. "I don't believe you," he said without an ounce of arrogance. "You haven't been with another man in the past four years. Have you, Elise?"
She closed her eyes, unwilling to see the truth mirrored in his gaze. Where were her cold, distant defenses now when she needed them the most? Poof. Gone.
Desperate for distance, she shot out of the chair. "I've been busy. And would you please put some clothes on?" she added crankily.
That very telling left eyebrow of his shot upward again. "You want me to buy that you haven't had a date all this time because you've been too busy?" He turned to search for his briefs and trousers. "That's a load of bull, and you know it."
Too bad, she thought, because B.S. is all I've got for sale tonight. "I have too been busy," she countered, not caring that she sounded a whole lot like a petulant child. "I had to find a place to live, a job. I couldn't live with my parents forever."
He located his briefs and stepped into them. "Which probably took you all of two or three weeks. Two months at the most. What about the other forty-six?"
"I've been teaching the first grade. I also work with remedial students from the junior high school three days a week. Plus, I had to write my thesis for graduate school." She ticked off each item on her fingers. "Last year I even bought a house. I'm so busy, I don't even have time for goldfish," she added with a whole lot more sass than she was feeling. What she was feeling was trapped. Cornered.
He stepped into his trousers next, then tossed her a disbelieving glance before he zipped up. "Why can't you just admit how you feel?" he pushed. "You haven't dated because you couldn't."
"You're right. I couldn't possibly squeeze in the time to see anyone. There just aren't enough hours in the day." She let out a huff of breath and stooped to pick up the shirt she'd practically ripped off him earlier. She held it out for him and added, "Now that you've solved the great mystery of my life since we've last seen each other, you can go."
He took the shirt from her and tossed it on the rumpled bed. "The great mystery, as you call it, has yet to be solved, sweetheart. We haven't begun to scratch the surface on that one."
She frowned, picked up the shirt and handed it to him again. "There's no surface to scratch. When are you going to get that through your thick head?"
He chucked the shirt back on the bed, then reached for her, hauling her up against him, holding her so close she could barely breathe.
"Admit you love me, Elise," he demanded, his tone filled with frustration. "Tell me how long you've been in love with me, then make me understand why you were so scared you felt you had no other choice but to run as far away from me as possible."
"I can't," she whispered.
He loosened his hold on her to cup her face tenderly between his work roughed palms.
"Yes you can," he said, gentling his tone. "There's no ring on your finger now."
Panic crept up her spine once again, creeping higher and higher with every word he spoke that carried them closer to the truth. Closer to the guilt that would forever eat at her conscience.
Brady knew Elise loved him. Clear to the bottom of his soul, he knew she'd loved him for nearly as long as he'd been in love with her…even though she had been married to another man.
He felt her slipping away from him emotionally before she ever pulled out of his grasp. Her spine stiffened and when she took a step back, the guilt clouding her violet gaze cleared, leaving behind a glacial hardness as she shut down emotionally. As she shut him out, he thought. Again.
Since the moment he'd set eyes on her, he'd been head over heels in love with her. Even though he'd been fully aware of Jacob's infidelities, he'd still kept his distance from Elise because you didn't screw around with the wife of the man assigned the duty of watching your back on the job. Even after Jacob died, Brady had bided his time and assumed the role of loyal friend until his noble hide ached from pretending Elise meant nothing more to him than his former partner's widow.
He remained by her side as she grieved, when she miscarried and when she'd grieved again. During the year following Jacob's death, not a single member of the firehouse suspected his intentions were anything but honorable toward Elise, not even his new partner, Cale. But Brady hadn't merely been fulfilling his duty to the wife of his fallen brother. He'd been caring for the woman he loved — until she'd shut him out.
She dropped back into the chair, but she refused to look at him. "You'd better leave," she said, calmly straightening the length of her satin robe over her legs.
Panic settled around him. He couldn't lose her. Not again. "So that's it?"
She shrugged her slim shoulders, still not looking at him. "I guess so."
The coldness in her voice scared the life out of him. He was losing her. The red haze of anger nudged his panic aside. "The hell it is," he said, his voice rising.
A morbid sense of satisfaction filled him when she looked up at him, shock evident in her delicate features. Good, he thought. At least if she still bothered to show a little emotion, then maybe he had a fighting chance. "Dammit, Elise. I'm not going to lose you again."
Her brows lifted and she laughed, the sound just a tad too brittle to be completely caustic. "I was never yours to lose in the first place."
The truth of her words hit him hard. On some level, he understood she'd carefully chosen the words to drive him away. What he couldn't understand was why. It just didn't make sense to him. And it pissed him the hell off. "He doesn't deserve your loyalty," he told her hotly. "And you know it."
She slowly lowered her lashes, and he hated himself for hurting her this way, for reminding her of the pain she'd suffered because of a consistently unfaithful husband. He took no comfort in the fact that he was now inflicting more pain but, dammit, he was fighting for his life. For their life…together.
When he'd first joined Station 43, he'd worked beside Jacob Murdock for over six months before he even realized his partner was married. He'd never been a fan of Jacob's cavalier attitude toward the string of women he'd always kept dangling, but once he'd discovered Jacob had a wife, he'd been disgusted by his partner's behavior. And that was before he'd even met Elise.
"I still have the marriage license that says he does," she said when she looked up at him again.
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It's only a goddamned piece of paper!" he thundered. "One that didn't mean jack to your so-called husband."
She came out of the chair and glared up at him, her eyes bright with heated fury. "I'm still his widow!" she fired back at him. "He didn't divorce me. He hadn't even spoken to an attorney. When Jacob died, he was still my husband."
"A husband that walked out on his pregnant wife," he reminded her angrily. "Why are you so willing to throw away a shot at something real for the memory of a guy that was too self-centered to even want his own kid? All he ever cared about was himself. Haven't you figured that out yet?"
"I've heard enough." She shouldered her way past him and stalked to the other side of the room. Keeping her back to him, she wrapped her arms around her waist. "Get out," she said, her voice stone cold.
"You're honoring the memory of a guy that walked out on you because you refused to have an abortion." He snagged his shirt from the bed and jammed his arms through the sleeves. "That's not loyalty, Elise. That's masochistic."
She flinched at his callously thrown accusation as if he'd physically struck her. The sight of her shoulders slumping forward as she pulled inside to protect herself from more pain ripped at his heart, instantly dousing his anger. He was no better than the selfish bastard that hadn't wanted his own kid because his freedom was more important. A man whose name she still claimed as her own.
If a wedding ring hadn't stopped Jacob's infidelities, why should a kid make any difference? But Jacob had never wanted children, something he'd failed to mention to the wife that forgave him the first time she'd learned of his extramarital activities.
"Please, Brady. Just go." Defeat replaced the coldness in her voice, reinforcing his low opinion of himself. She turned to face him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I won't do it again," she told him quietly. "The cost of loving you comes with a price tag I just can't afford. I lost everything once already. I can't do it again."
Stunned beyond words, Brady slowly dropped to the edge of the bed and stared at Elise, struggling to comprehend what she was trying to tell him. When she'd left without a word, he tried to understand. He'd conjured at least a dozen different scenarios, but not a single one of them entailed Elise believing her feelings for him caused the tragic events that had been so devastating for her.
He rammed his hand roughly through his hair, then rubbed at the tight knot of tension at the base of his neck. "Elise," he said slowly, carefully choosing his words. "Jacob didn't die, and you didn't lose the baby, because of how we felt about each other."
She wiped the moisture from her eyes, then drew in a deep, shuddering breath when he stood and went to her. He took hold of her hands and held them tightly. "You did nothing wrong. There was nothing you or anyone could have done differently to stop what had happened."
"I could have loved him more."
The tremor in her voice nearly killed him.
"I did," she added after wiping more moisture from her eyes. "Once. We'd been high school sweethearts, just a grade apart. The weekend I turned eighteen, we eloped. Neither of our parents had been thrilled since I still had another three months to go until graduation, but we'd been so in love and couldn't find a single reason why we should wait. Jacob had already completed his training and was working with the Hartford Fire Department, but once I graduated, he convinced me we needed to move to California."
She pulled her hands from his and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "What he hadn't told me was that he'd already accepted a job with the Los Angeles County Fire Department, something I didn't discover until much later. Those first two years of our marriage, I never suspected the concept of monogamy and Jacob weren't synonymous, either. When I found out the first time he'd been cheating on me, he promised me that it'd never happen again." She shrugged her slim shoulders. "I wanted to believe him, so I did."
"You were what? Not even twenty-one at the time?" he asked, moving to sit beside her. He didn't need to see her confirming nod to recall his induction as a rookie paramedic included learning about the problems in his partner's marriage, or that it'd been months before he'd even realized the womanizing bastard even had a wife. Although it'd been months later before he'd even met Elise, he hadn't had all that much sympathy for a guy who continually cheated on his wife, no matter what was happening in their marriage. "That's hardly old enough to have developed any respectable level of cynicism."
The hint of a wry smile tugged at her lips, then faded away. "It was the second time I found out Jacob was cheating on me that I think really killed any love I ever had for him. I couldn't trust him any longer. And without trust…" She shrugged again.
Without trust, there could be no love, he thought. "If you couldn't trust him, why stay?"
Elise drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Now that she'd started talking, she couldn't stop. Brady had pushed her so hard, she'd dropped that Pandora's box she'd been so fearful of opening, but all that had spilled out were the emotions and fears she'd kept bottled up inside her for far too long.
"I stayed because I wanted my marriage to work. I was not going to end up like my parents," she stated emphatically. "My mom isn't even fifty yet and she's already on her third marriage. I can't even keep track of the women who've come and gone from my dad's life, or which ones he's actually married. I wanted my marriage to be forever."
He watched her with such a deep intensity shining in his eyes that her hands trembled as she laced her fingers with his. "I did try," she continued. "And I really did want to love him again, but by then it was a lost cause because I'd fallen in love with someone else." She gripped his hand more tightly, seeking comfort. "I can't even tell you when or how it happened, but I remember when I realized it.
"We'd had that party for Rick when he made captain," Elise continued. It was late, all the couples were long gone, Jacob had passed out hours before, and you hung around until the last of the guys left. I was in the kitchen trying to figure out where to start when you came in to say good-night. You were exhausted yourself because you'd worked a double shift, but you still stayed to help me clean up."
She smiled at the memory, at the odd combination of relief and wonder she'd experience realizing that she did have the capacity to love, even if those emotions had been directed to the right man at the wrong time. "It's such a silly moment when you think about it, but I knew then that what we felt for each other extended far beyond the boundaries of friendship."
"You should've told me. Look at the time we've wasted."
"I couldn't say anything. I was your partner's wife," she reminded him. "But that didn't stop me from wishing." For the first time since those tragic events of the past, the wealth of sadness she usually experienced whenever she thought about those horrible months remained suspiciously absent. Maybe she should've opened that stupid box years ago.
"When I told Jacob I was pregnant, I remember wishing it was you I was telling," she admitted. "I never would've had to hear that selfish 'it's me or the baby' ultimatum." She shrugged. "I never told you, Brady, because I was being eaten alive by guilt. I wanted Jacob out of my life, so you and I could be together. I had wished that it was your baby that I was carrying. Then Jacob died and I lost the baby. The guilt nearly killed me."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she placed her fingers over his lips to quiet him. She needed him to understand, because she wanted his trust that she wouldn't disappear on him again. "The night we made love, I really thought I was ready, but I was wrong. I loved you and I had so wanted my life to be different, but I blamed myself for wanting it to be different. Then they were gone and it was my fault for loving you. I couldn't face that, so I left."
"Aw, Elise," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. "None of what happened was your fault. Jacob took a bullet. It could've happened to any one of us out there that night. There are a hundred reasons why you could've miscarried, the stress of the funeral being only one of them. You weren't being punished for wanting to be happy. Life doesn't work that way, sweetheart."
She slipped her arms around his neck and clung to him. To his warmth, to his strength. She held on tight to the man she'd loved and lived without for so long because of misplaced guilt that she'd once believed dictated her unworthy of her own happiness. "I think I finally figured that one out," she said, offering him a tentative smile. "I do love you, Brady. I never stopped."
His lips brushed lightly over hers. He returned her smile with one of those sexy killer grins she'd never tire of seeing on his handsome face. "Yeah," he said, his eyes filled with tenderness. "I think I figured that one out, too."
The End