Megan tried to get dressed for the third time, but her fingers were cramped, and she couldn’t seem to make them work.
She felt like she was wafting in a dream, but not her sexy, delicious, making-love-to-Cody dream, but one where a bad man came in and … what had he done to her?
She glanced down at her body, swallowed back the bile when she read the message he’d written on her skin. She wadded the sleeve of her coat and spat on it, then gritted her teeth from the effort it took to try to erase the words.
Still unable to resume her normal pattern of breathing, she didn’t hear Cody’s footsteps until he was back in the room, standing at the door with a wild look in his eyes.
Her heart could not handle much more of this, but even now, it responded to his utter virility by giving a vigorous kick. He stood there, all ripped, marked, and pissed, and she realized in the working part of her brain that she had never seen him so enraged. He might not be pacing, or ranting, but that was not how Cody raged. No. Control was his weapon, and he never lost it.
Jaw so tight she feared it would crack under the pressure, he surveyed the room as though for clues. His eyes glimmered murder.
“I’m okay,” she said softly as soon as he pushed his cell phone back into his suit pocket.
His striking blue eyes settled on her. Time stopped as he searched her face, the muscles of his temples slowly working. Her heart stuttered when he then began his inspection of her body.
With soul-searing slowness, narrowed blue eyes trailed, totally unreadable, down the length of her almost naked form then dragged back to meet her startled stare. Their gazes held for a long, electric moment, and Cody’s eyes flashed so bright, the light was almost unholy.
What did she see there? Was it … God, was it hunger?
Feeling avalanches in her tummy, Megan licked her lips and refused to be the first to look away. Impossible, but Cody was looking at her as if—as if he were imagining—
No.
Whatever emotion glowed in his eyes, it was swiftly concealed, tightening the muscles of his face. Cody seemed to recall who she was, and what had happened here this evening.
“I want to know,” he said in the lowest, most threatening voice ever, “why a puke slime of a bastard had you tied up to my bed, why you didn’t seem to be wearing any clothing save for—” in three seconds he’d covered the space to her, and in one more, he was raising her lonely little coat up to his line of vision—“this one coat, and I really, really want to know who that bastard was and what he has to do with my sick ass of a brother!”
She blinked. Her head must have gotten banged, because Cody Nordstrom never lost his cool. Never, ever. But now he didn’t sound all that much in control. He didn’t sound like a detective, asking cool questions. He sounded almost, almost, like a jealous husband.
Not the smartest thing, she knew, but it turned her on. It really turned her on, the way he was on the verge of losing control. Nordstrom was a master of appearances, of control, always outwardly cool, outwardly composed, but now—her nipples pricked in excitement and even though it wasn’t the moment, her body didn’t care.
After being so scared, her hormones were raging, she was on overdrive, over-sensitized. The place between her legs clenched with wanting. The adrenaline coursing through her veins seemed to have summoned other hormones into play, and she was aching everywhere. She wanted to be touched. Held.
Suddenly sexual frustration and fear needed some outlet, and she trembled with the need for release.
Seething with another kind of tumultuous energy, Cody set her coat on the bed, opened his chest of drawers, and yanked out a folded white shirt. Immediately he brought it to her, lowering his voice as he offered it for her to wear. “Did you see his face?”
“He was wearing some kind of hood,” she murmured, cradling his shirt to her chest, trying not to think of how good it smelled.
Cody glanced over at the window and restlessly plunged a hand through his blond hair. He wiped the back of his mouth and then yanked open the closet door, inspecting for differences inside.
“Perp was hiding here when you came in?”
She nodded.
He traced the steps to the bed, the exact same steps the man had taken. She didn’t know how he knew, but she was glad she didn’t have to explain the events that had transpired here, word for word.
“Was there a struggle?” he inquired, his brows furrowed. God, he was so handsome when he was all business.
Megan tried to remember what happened but only recalled the hands, the stench, the blackness that had enveloped her. She was still breathing loudly, and for the first time, she realized, so was Cody. The discovery brought a fresh pang of longing to her heart.
She’d imagined how they would sound, their breaths, as they made love.
Now she wanted to die when she realized she’d never find out.
This had been such a bad idea. She was such a needy, foolish little slut, she wanted to whack herself with a stick.
When she’d been tied on the bed, afraid, and had seen Cody, a little part of her had still gotten aroused. For a nanosecond, she hadn’t wanted him to set her free. She’d wanted him to take her. Like that. Caught and trapped, take her, all of her.
But he didn’t. He hadn’t.
He was so obsessed with protecting her, he never would, which was the saddest thing of all.
Cody sighed and came over. “Tell me what happened, Meg.”
His delicious scent teased her nostrils as he dropped down beside her and it made her want to erase that horrible name from her skin, made her want to forget the past hour entirely.
She furiously scraped the first I, but Cody caught her hands, stilling their movements. Her lashes rose, and their gazes held. He squeezed her fingers in reassurance, and the exquisite contact made her shiver with need. Solid. Warm. That was what his touch felt like. What I’ve always wanted.
She surveyed his expression, but there was no lust in his eyes, only anger. “Don’t scrape it off yet—” He urged her into his shirt and his face hardened, his jaw tightened as he explained, “Evidence.”
He gazed at her stomach with indecipherable eyes, but when he lifted his hand to trace her chin with the pad of his thumb, the touch was sensual. Lush. Sexual.
As the adrenaline left her body, something else arrived in its stead, something hot and wanting.
She caught her breath as he lowered his hand and, with that same callused thumb, grazed his brother’s name on her navel.
“Is it tender, does it hurt?” he asked in a low voice.
She didn’t know how to interpret the gruff emotion there, but his timbre wasn’t cold, and she knew that he was not unaffected. Was it her nearness that made him seem on edge? Unlike himself?
No. It was the fact that she had his brother’s name over her underwear.
“It’s sensitive,” she admitted, just a whisper at the blond top of his head. Sensitive because you’re touching it.
His finger trailed the last word, and then stopped, somehow, at the edge of her leopard panties. She felt so stupid all of a sudden, like this, with his shirt hanging at her sides, her red heels, her failed plan. She’d dressed for the perfect evening to seduce the man of her dreams, and instead, another man had seen her. Another man had tied her to Cody’s bed, and it had not been the man she wanted, nor quite in the way she’d dreamed.
She shuddered involuntarily, feeling vulnerable.
He sat back and stared at her beneath his eyebrows, his golden-tipped lashes so heavy his eyes appeared slits now.
His voice became so rough it scraped through her like sandpaper. “What the hell were you doing here dressed like this?” he murmured, pinning her on the spot with a penetrating stare.
She wanted to tell him the truth, and at the same time, she was still chicken enough to want to lie and say that she had been dressed and all her misery tonight was that criminal’s fault! But Cody was a detective, and he’d know it was a lie. There were no womanly clothes scattered about, and at the moment, she feared that he was already realizing that her being in a panty and bra had been deliberate.
She could see, by the way he slowed down his breathing, the way he did not look up while he was composing himself, that it was just dawning on him why she had come here. Tonight. For him.
“I’m going to assume,” he said, and cleared his throat when his voice got too thick to speak, “that your state of undress was a one-time thing, not to happen again?”
He raised his eyes, and, was there disappointment there? Or, God, please don’t let it be pity.
Megan flicked her eyes down at his tie, unable to look at him, her dearest friend, the man she wanted.
“I wanted to show you my acquisition, all right? No big deal.” She had to say that. Just had to save face somehow.
His brows flew upward, and he almost coughed. “You wanted me to see the underwear you bought?”
“You’re my friend, aren’t you?” she countered.
He looked flabbergasted, his mouth hanging open for a moment. “I happen to know shit about women’s underwear!”
She said nothing, and Cody glanced at the door, then back at her. Slowly, as though he feared he would detonate with a touch, he set a big, cautious hand on her shoulder, and his voice went raspier by the second. “Aren’t women supposed to wear that kind of thing to their dates?”
Because she still wouldn’t look at him, and he continued touching her shoulder, a touch she was sure was not meant to be sensual but was, her blood sang—and this feeling of being alive after thinking she would die was exhilarating.
Megan wanted to wrap her arms around his thick neck, draw his plush lips against hers and bite and lick them. She was about to just kiss him, throw caution to the wind, when he asked, with a gentle squeeze, “Did he hurt you?”
This time he did not allow her silence, but tipped her head back until she answered,
“No. He—he put a rag over my nose, and I blacked out. That asshole!” she exploded.
Suddenly furious at herself, at the criminal, hell, at Cody, she stood and tossed Cody’s shirt aside, angrily pushing her arms into her coat. It had been an awful idea, to come here. Awful.
This sick intruder had ruined her perfect evening. He’d ruined the rest of her life! Now when was she going to gather the courage to try this again? Damn him. And damn Cody for acting like a detective when what she needed was … what you need is to leave, Megan Banks!
“Whoa there, where do you think you’re going?”
When Cody pulled out a camera—no doubt intending to take pictures of the “evidence” on her stomach—Megan closed her trench coat tight, knotted the belt around her waist, and shot him a scowl that could melt an ice pyramid. “Put that thing away. Last thing I heard, you needed to be dead to become one of your cases!”
“Meg,” Cody stopped her, his forehead creased in annoyance, “I understand you’re in shock and want to submerge yourself in hot water so there’s not a mark left on you, and I promise you when it’s time for you to leave, I’ll be the first to drive you home and scrub it off. But I’m afraid the procedure—”
And for the first time since they’d known each other, Megan let Cody know what she thought of him and his rules and procedures. She went around him, and from the door, said, “Fuck the procedure!”
* * *
It took Cody five seconds to register, digest, and act upon Megan’s parting words.
And no, he never, ever, fucked with his procedures. Or, okay, almost never.
He caught up with her on the stairs, his grip firm on her elbow. “Next time you invite me over for Christmas, I’m going to tell your mama all about that mouth of yours and all the words it can say. But for now, you’re going to put it to good use and tell me exactly what happened.”
Megan pulled away and jumped the remaining two steps to the first floor, then whirled around and shot him an acid smile. “I’m not saying another word to you, so arrest me if you must.”
She slammed the front door in his face, an inch away from his nose, and Cody was really, really reaching the end of his patience here.
Suddenly it dawned on him that Megan was the worst victim, the worst damned witness, Cody had encountered in all his years at the force. He yanked the door open.
“Megan Banks! I represent the law, and as a representative of the law, it’s in your best interest that I remain informed—if we screw up the evidence you screw with your chances in court. Now get back here and talk, dammit.”
She stormed back, but she was fuming. “I can’t believe all you care about is taking pictures of his … argh, forget it.” She poked a finger into his chest, her cheeks flaming bright red in fury. “But next time a woman gets accosted in your bedroom, do yourself a favor and drop the questions, ditch the stupid camera, and just hug her, you idiot!”
She dashed across the street.
“Goddamit, Meg!”
He chased two steps after her, then he stopped, torn between staying put for the team he’d summoned to arrive or following her. His male instinct said follow her. Chase her down and then—no, he wouldn’t pursue that train of thought.
Procedure told him to remain on the scene. He could gather the evidence himself, but that meant paperwork and a whole lot of trouble for a case that may or may not be treated with the importance it was due.
No. Damn procedure—this was one time when Cody had to trust his instincts. He could arrest the little chit for jaywalking but she knew damned well he wouldn’t do that. Maybe he should show her that he had the balls to—oh yeah, he had the balls all right. But she had them in her tight little grip, damn it.
Charging up the stairs for what he needed, he determined that this invasion of his home, his girl, was personal. If that murdering sonofabitch Ivan was out, then yeah, it was personal.
Nordstrom had a vacation week, but he had not even planned to rest. He had, by circumstances and tragedy, become filthy rich—so Cody didn’t need to work to make a living.
He’d inherited his mother’s money, substantial from the sales of some produce farms down in Texas, and his father’s savings, which had amounted to a couple of million. He didn’t need to work to live; but he needed to work to feel alive.
Nobody could give him back his father or mother. Nothing could give him back all the time he’d lost, all the mistakes he’d made, not even all the millions the family had in the bank. And no matter how many cases he nailed, or how many women he took to bed instead of one, he felt empty, discontent, like fucking shit. But at least now he had a purpose.
Get that motherfucker once and for all.
He might even relish the chase, if he hadn’t messed with Megan tonight.
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he remembered her words. “Next time just hug her, you idiot!”
Megan.
If I hug you I’ll lose control.
No. He wouldn’t hug her. But he’d die before another guy ever set a finger on her.
Heart pumping as adrenaline rushed through his veins, he grabbed his duffel with his spare guns, his knives, a set of extra clothes, passport, cell phones, laptop, and then drove like a shot over to her home, only a few minutes away. He called her cell phone the whole ten minutes it took him to get ready, leaving three messages ranging from, “Meg, call me, you’re in danger,” to, “Meg, pack your bags. I’m on my way.”
He checked the perimeter of her home as he arrived, then rang the doorbell three times. Relief assailed him when she called out through the intercom, “Who is it?”
“The damned hug patrol, come on! Open up.”
Meg opened, and for a moment he lost his breath, for the moonlight cast her face in an almost angelic glow. The flaring streetlights seemed to work entirely in her favor, casting a captivating shine to the lighter streaks of her hair, damp from a recent shower. The scent of peach shampoo drifted to his nostrils.
She still smelled like his childhood. And she looked like his dreams. Her hair was perfectly combed back, all wet and slick. The perfect symmetry of her face, the innocence in her eyes. She looked … like a goddess.
Like a virgin goddess that you could never have, never touch.
But he could protect her.
He could try to make up for what she’d seen, try to make sure no crazed fuck ever got near her. She would never know he loved her. He loved her so badly his gut ached.
A raging thirst to drink from her mouth consumed him. A rampant hunger to bite her skin and taste how soft and sweet it was. Calm the monster, calm the fucking monster—now.
Her blond curls were springing as she shook her head. “I’m not home.”
He cocked a brow. Oh, so she was pissed at him? Why? For doing his goddamned job? “All right then, can I leave a message for you?” he asked dryly.
She shrugged and stared down at her nails, suddenly engrossed.
“Pack your bags, Meg. You’re coming with me. If you have anything to say about it, you can say it in the car.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then she pulled the door open wider, where—aha!
There sat her bags on the foyer medallion behind her.
So she had been listening to his messages after all.
“You didn’t think I was staying alone here with Mom and Dad out of town and a killer on the loose, did you?” she asked, her lips curving into a mischievous smile.
Cody flung his arms up in the air. “At last, the woman starts to make sense!”
“I’m sorry I lost it back there, Cody,” she murmured, grabbing the smaller bag as he went for the bigger suitcase. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up my phone, I was in the bathroom. I just needed to get that … name … off me. This was just not how I pictured my Friday night,” she added sadly.
Cody’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry I let you go off like that. You could be in danger, Meg. From now on, you’re either with me or with a cop of my designation, but not alone, you got that?” He tossed both suitcases into the trunk of his SUV and slammed it shut for emphasis.
Padding out behind him after locking up, Meg leaned against the passenger door, watching him as he came back around, her arms crossed under her breasts. “You know, Cody, you don’t have to look so satisfied; I wasn’t going to knock on your door tonight. I did that earlier, and it didn’t go so well, remember?”
He opened the door for her. “I’m sorry.” It came out just a gruff whisper.
“Sorry I erased the evidence?” She plopped down on the seat and pulled her sweater an inch above her belly button, enough to let him see her cleaned navel, enough to make his eyes bulge and leave him salivating with the door in his hand and aching to look at more.
“I’m sorry, shit happens.”
And he was. Guilt assailed him as he climbed in behind the wheel. It’s always your fault, moron. You get everyone around you killed. You’re jinxed. Cursed. And if he were smart about it, he should go deposit Megan somewhere where she would be safe.
Megan noticed the gun bag in the backseat. “I thought you were on vacation.”
“I’m never on vacation, I only pretend to be on vacation.” He geared up the car and pulled into the traffic, heading to his partner’s home. The only place he knew she’d be safe tonight.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
She sounded serene, but somehow, hopeful. In fact, she sounded like a young bride asking the groom whether he’d booked the Ritz Carlton or the Four Seasons. And of course he was the shithead who got to tell her he’d booked neither. “I’m taking you to Zach’s, you can stay the night with them.”
The shine in her eyes died an abrupt death. “Oh.” She stared out the window and he wished he could see her expression. When she spoke, her voice was devoid of all emotion. “So you called your partner, because…?”
“Because Zach can protect you while Paige entertains you with baby talk.”
She shot him a withering glance. “Why doesn’t Zach handle this, then? You stay with me and you can entertain me with caveman talk. You’re supposed to be on vacation anyway.”
“Zach’s home wasn’t broken into. His girl—” He broke off, shook his head. “He’s homicide—and this bastard’s not dead yet. Not until I’m through with him. I’m the one who needs to find him.”
“You did not just call me your girl,” she said, incredulous.
“No, I did not,” he snapped. “But you’re my responsibility, especially now, since the bastard escaped from prison.”
“He did? When?” Her eyes widened to saucers.
“Couple of hours ago—tops. I know I don’t need to tell you he’s my responsibility, and I want you out of this, as far away as possible. Understand?”
He’d already touched her today, frightened her, and the memory made Cody feel like a loaded grenade, about to explode.
He clenched his hands on the wheel, fury and jealousy blurring his vision so hard he had to slow down in order to avoid a collision.
Probably sensing that, Meg softened her voice. “Ivan wouldn’t hurt me, Cody, not really. He always liked me,” she said.
“I’ll bet that’s what my mother said.” The memory of her sweet face always defending him to their dad made him angrier. “Ivan doesn’t like anyone.”
He couldn’t have, not anymore, not really. Hell could not get scarier than his brother. Sick. Perverted. Hurt. Lonely.
“He can’t know the meaning of the words like or love,” Cody snarled. “People like him have people like you for lunch, Meg.”
“Well, Paige won’t have me staying over, I know she won’t. She’ll … she’ll feel I’m much safer with you.” Megan smiled, but Cody didn’t.
He surveyed her with a bit of puzzlement, and she looked away with an attractive blush, staring straight ahead with an odd expression, one of determination and conspiracy. He didn’t know what she was plotting in her head, or what she and Paige had ever said about him, all he knew was that she was wrong.
You’re not safe with me anymore. You never have been.
When he’d left Phoenix, he’d thought the violence, the blood, evidence of a sick and twisted gene pool, would have wiped the stars out of Megan’s eyes, but the truth was, he still lived for a glimpse of the looks she gave him.
Maybe Ivan had been born a monster, but it was Cody who’d kept him from being caged. It was all his fault. Long before the murder, Cody should have told his parents that Ivan beheaded squirrels in the backyard. He should have put in more of an effort to stop him.
But no, he had been too consumed with his crush to see straight. Too consumed fantasizing about the blond, curly-haired fourteen-year-old neighbor. His judgment would not be clouded again.
But dammit, what was he supposed to do with her?
His concentration was out of whack and her nearness wasn’t helping. Every damned second he remembered her: tied in his bed, with those beautiful breasts, that perfect skin.
Was she the kind of woman who enjoyed being tied up, under other circumstances? Did those moans she let out sound the same, when she emitted them with pleasure? His cock pushed up so hard into his pants he could barely sit straight.
Okay, so she didn’t want to go over to Zach’s, but he didn’t want to bring her along on his hunt either. Bringing her along was wrong on so many levels he wasn’t even going to get into them. And yet: Another man might do a better job keeping his hands off her, but no one would give his life for hers the way Cody would.
“Cody? It really was him, wasn’t it?”
Cody shot her a sidelong glance, wanting to deny that the man who’d tied her to the bed had any links to him. Wanting to deny that he had shared a womb, a childhood, shared a family name, with that man.
He couldn’t. And found himself nodding grimly. “In all probability, yes, it was him.”
He saw her fear, her uncertainty, drain the color from her normally rosy skin. She could’ve been sedated if the cloth had a hallucinogen, which meant she could’ve seen all kinds of things that weren’t real, and all kinds that were. She had had nightmares about him for years.
Every night when she closed her eyes, she told him, she saw Ivan. It killed him that he wasn’t there to comfort her; he almost sickly wished she’d have those nightmares again so he could be there, coo her back to sleep, hold her for security, make love to make her forget.
That she would see that criminal’s face, that he would be the first thing a woman like her thought about when she woke up, and the last thing in her mind when she went to sleep, enraged and obsessed him. It was unfair, and it made him angry to the point it pissed him off to even think it might be jealousy, even though he didn’t want it to be.
“You know what he’s after, right?” He swerved to the right and pushed the pedal, ramming the car deeper into traffic.
Her curls bounced as she shook her head. “After all this time? I don’t know.” Turning in her seat, she reached out and ran her hand over his arm—a touch, then gone. He felt it everywhere. In his chest, his stomach, his balls. He wanted to hold on to her, pull that hand back, put it everywhere at once. “Tell me,” she urged softly.
Cody laughed a dark, humorless laugh. Tell her? What? That he was a monster? That at night he imagined he rutted with her until they both passed out? That her most insignificant touch or smile aroused the socks off him … or that it was his fault?
There was so much she didn’t know.
How both Nordstroms had had crushes on her. How both would stare at her, fantasize about her. How Cody and Ivan had made a brother’s bet, that whoever took her virginity would keep her.
The next day, Cody had made a move, certain this was one bet he couldn’t bear to lose. He’d bragged to Ivan, “She’s agreed to go for a walk with me after school, so I’m going to win.”
And Ivan hadn’t liked it. “Yeah?” he’d said. “If you take something I love away from me, I’m going to take something you love away, too.”
Cody hadn’t listened, hadn’t cared about his brother’s threats. All he’d cared about was winning, winning her, making sure she would be his and not his brother’s. He’d been determined to claim her. Being a teenaged idiot, he’d had raging hormones twenty-four hours of the day and he’d planned to expend them all inside of her that afternoon during their picnic in the woods.
Never mind he hadn’t gone through with it, had changed his mind and led her back home to walk in on that nightmare of a scene. Never mind that after the murder he could never bring himself to touch her, take her, like he once dreamed of.
But they hadn’t, and now they never would. They weren’t minors anymore, but Megan Banks was more unreachable to him than ever.
If Cody touched Megan, it meant Ivan won. It meant that motherfucker knew Cody’s weakness and had made him go caveman on the one woman he cared about.
No. He’d never touch her. Ever.
Which was why his life sucked like blue balls.
If given a choice to be born again, in all likelihood Cody would say no just to keep his brother from coming into the world along with him. But then who would watch over Megan?
“Meg,” he said, softly. “He’s after you.”