Lissa rolled over in bed and checked the clock, relieved to see it was just past six. Finally she could get up and stop pretending to sleep. She cracked open the door to check on Carson, and her heart stuttered to see the empty room. Then she caught the sound of water in the kitchen sink.
Of course he hadn’t left, though he’d had every right to walk out and never look back after she’d prodded at his painful past last night. As if the funeral today wasn’t enough emotional upheaval to cope with, it would be worse after the restless night. She’d berated herself through the wee hours for forcing her agenda onto Carson and alienating her only ally. Just because she wanted to help him, to give back in some small way after all he’d done for her, it didn’t mean her approach was the help he needed.
She told herself to grow a spine, walk in there and apologize for being an insensitive jerk. If she was lucky, he’d forgive her and they would find a way around the inevitable awkwardness. At the last second, her courage faltered, and she slipped into the bathroom, cursing the squeaky hinge. Leaning her back against the closed door, she realized he’d just finished in here. The masculine scent of his shaving cream lingered in the air, and the small room was still warm and damp from the steam of his shower.
A knock sounded at the door, startling a little hiccup out of her.
“Lissa?”
His voice was right next to her ear, as if he was leaning on the other side of the door the way she leaned on this side. “Yes?”
“Can you hand me my clothes?”
“Your...oh.” They were on a hanger, on the hook mounted behind the door. She plucked the hanger off the hook and opened the door. Her intended apology evaporated as she gawked at him.
The view of his bare chest sent her heart skipping. Seeing those defined muscles, the temptation to reach out and touch him, nearly obliterated all common sense. She thrust the hanger with his clothing at him and closed the door before lust got the better of her. Jumping him would only make things worse after last night.
When she’d wasted the maximum amount of time in the bathroom, she listened at the door, trying to figure out where Carson was in the apartment. It didn’t matter. The only place to avoid him was here in the bathroom or her bedroom, and the only way to get there was to open the door. Dressed in yoga pants and a camisole, her hair bundled into a clip, she opened the door and tried to find some degree of maturity in the awkward situation.
“I made breakfast,” he said quietly as soon as the traitorous door hinge squeaked.
“Thanks.” She didn’t have to turn around to know he was sitting at the table. “Give me fifteen minutes?”
“No problem.”
She took ten minutes to breathe and stretch, hoping to make up for the lack of sleep and bolster her nerve—assuming she had any nerve left. She wove her hair into a braid to keep it out of the way and flowed from one restorative pose to the next. Her breath steadied and her pulse calmed until she felt she might actually survive the challenges ahead.
Pulling a black shirt and her black wrap-around skirt from the closet, she dressed quickly, leaving hair, makeup, accessories and shoes for after breakfast. The only demand she would put on herself today, after she apologized to Carson, was to remember all of Noelle’s good qualities. She’d focus on all the happy moments and good times they’d shared. Her friend’s smile and laughter would be the wall she used to hold back the tide of sorrow and questions surrounding those final hours.
Out of excuses and time, Lissa opened the bedroom door. Carson was standing at the window overlooking the street, the sunlight streaming around him. His back was to her, thankfully, so she had a moment to gather the thoughts that scattered at the sight of him in his dress clothes. The crisp white shirt highlighted his shoulders, tapering to his trim waist and the dark slacks skimming over his long, lean legs.
He had a presence that filled the small apartment, although aside from her fascination with him, she couldn’t point out a single thing as overwhelming. Yet having him here seemed to put everything off kilter. Not in a bad way, if she disregarded the circumstances, just a different way of seeing her space and her life.
She moved and he swiveled around, his hazel eyes pinning her in place. “Hungry?” he asked with an easy smile that made her heart ache. Maybe the overwhelming factor was his infinite patience with her. He had every right to snarl and snap at her, but that steady smile remained in place.
Today would surely drag his recent loss right back to the surface, and she felt terrible about not taking that into consideration when she’d begged him to stay last night. “You don’t have to go with me,” she blurted into the charged silence. “There will be plenty of people around, so I’ll be safe.”
His smile faded. “None of those people have an accurate description of the man you saw yesterday.”
She didn’t know what to do with her hands, and she fiddled with the tie on her skirt. “I don’t want this mess to be any harder on you than it has been.”
“I won’t panic again, Lissa,” he replied. “You can count on me.”
Her attention snapped to his face, caught the muscle jumping in his freshly shaved jaw. “That’s not what I meant.” She didn’t know how to articulate her thoughts. They were such a jumble.
One eyebrow lifted in challenge as he moved past her to the kitchen. “Let’s just eat,” he suggested.
She took the hint and dropped the subject. It wasn’t her place—they barely knew each other—to change the path he was walking to get over the loss of his best friend and partner. Her mouth watered as he pulled a tray of biscuits from the oven, along with a casserole filled with sausage gravy. “Whoa. My hero,” she whispered. “How did you manage this? I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t even smell it while you were cooking.”
“It was early,” he admitted, serving them both.
At the table, the hearty comfort food did wonders for her mood, and she didn’t feel quite as jittery. “I’ve stuffed my purse with tissues, and I’m hoping like crazy her parents aren’t expecting me to say anything at the service.”
“What you expect from yourself is more important today.”
“She was their daughter,” Lissa pointed out. “They’re wonderful people.”
He shrugged and dragged a bite of a golden biscuit through the last of his gravy. “Yes, and you being there will be a comfort to them, but don’t cheat yourself out of what you need in order to have closure and say goodbye.”
She knew he spoke from a much too recent experience. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
He studied her over the rim of his coffee cup. “You might also keep in mind,” he said, replacing the cup on the table, “grief changes people.”
She sensed a deeper warning, a cautious undertone that had nothing to do with his personal pain about Sarah. “You’re worried about me.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Because?”
“Yesterday, the roof, the attack on Friday are all enough factors to put anyone on guard.” He folded his arms at the edge of the table and leaned in. “Noelle’s parents may be the nicest people in the world, but they’ve lost a daughter, and you were the last one to see her alive.”
“And I haven’t even called them.”
“You weren’t in any condition to do so,” he reminded her. “And you’re still recovering. I don’t want you to feel pressured by them, the situation or anything else that might crop up.”
He meant her lost memories. She blotted her lips with the paper napkin and then balled it up in her fist, squeezing it tighter and tighter. “You don’t want me to go at all.”
“That isn’t true. I wish the circumstances were different. The service is important, but I want you to go in there, eyes wide open.”
“I promise.”
His warning followed her through the morning. No activity before they left the apartment distracted her enough to drown it out. Not even the shoes biting into her heels as they walked into the funeral home could keep that advice from swirling back to the front of her thoughts.
As they joined the receiving line before the service, Lissa stared at the closed casket and the beautiful pictures of Noelle enlarged for display. Her pulse tripped each time the line advanced, knowing she would soon face Dr. and Mrs. Anson, the couple who’d once offered her the simple gifts of acceptance and time her parents had never spared for her.
Suddenly the line cleared and she faced Noelle’s parents. She felt Carson at her side, his hand light and warm at her back. She could run if she wanted and he’d help her get away. If only she could take that last step and offer the Ansons a better answer than “My brain won’t let me remember who killed your daughter.” But her feet were rooted to the carpet, her nose about to burst from the fragrant assault of so many flowers. “I’m so sorry.”
Mrs. Anson inhaled sharply and shook her head, drawing Lissa into her arms. “Sweetheart. Oh, sweetheart. We’ve been worried about you.”
Over the older woman’s shoulder, Lissa saw Dr. Anson brush tears from his eyes as he came forward and joined the embrace. “You’ll sit with the family.” His tone left no room for debate.
As sniffles subsided, she reached for Carson’s hand. “This is Carson Lane. He took care of me...after.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Anson covered his hand with both of hers. “We’ve been so worried for Lissa since the detective called.”
“She’s well?” Dr. Anson asked as if she wasn’t standing right there, in one piece, the last of the bruises hidden under her makeup. “No one would give me the name of her doctor or even the hospital,” he grumbled.
“We tried to call and it went to voice mail,” Mrs. Anson said.
“My phone and I got separated,” Lissa explained.
Carson smiled at her as he addressed the couple. “She’s recovering well. Just a short-term amnesia,” he explained.
She could’ve kissed him for leaving out the rest of the details of her arrival at the club. Noelle’s parents had more questions, but they’d stalled the line for long enough. “We’ll get out of the way,” Lissa said. She didn’t want them to have this discussion here, or anywhere, really. The Ansons would only be disappointed in her faulty memory. Dr. Anson moved with them at his wife’s nod. “You’ll fill us in later,” Dr. Anson said. He motioned them to take seats in the front row, reserved for immediate family. “Thank you both for being here. It is a comfort and a relief to both of us.”
“That went better than I expected,” Carson murmured, handing her a small order of service from the stack on the aisle seat.
“The Ansons are wonderful people.” Lissa was baffled by the warm reception. Could it really be that they didn’t blame her? She wished she and Carson had been allowed to sit further back, but she wouldn’t move even though it felt as if she was on display and everyone was staring at her.
“My apologies if I made you nervous about it,” Carson said.
“No.” She swallowed a fresh wave of tears as she watched the funeral director cut short the line to start the service. “It’s not that. You helped me be ready for anything. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, right?”
As the funeral director deftly prepared for the service to begin, Dr. and Mrs. Anson approached, holding hands, their smiles wobbling. Dr. Anson seated his wife next to Lissa, taking the aisle seat. Mrs. Anson surprised Lissa again by reaching for her hand.
Lissa tried to concentrate on the service, on the messages designed to celebrate Noelle’s life. Hemmed in by Carson on one side and Mrs. Anson on the other, she managed not to lose her composure entirely as a few of Noelle’s coworkers stood up to share special memories. It helped to keep reminding herself that her pain and heartache were merely a fraction of what the Ansons were coping with.
Finally they were standing for the last hymn. An organ played as the pallbearers came forward to guide the casket out. Her shoes irritated the blisters on her heels and pinched her toes, and Lissa was grateful for the trivial discomfort as she peered at the beautiful photos of her friend for the last time. As part of the family, she and Carson filed out with Dr. and Mrs. Anson behind the casket.
Noelle’s casket was loaded into the hearse and would be transported to her hometown, where her parents would endure more sympathy at one more service tomorrow before they could bury their daughter. The finality of it covered Lissa from head to toe, threatening to smother her. Her friend was gone and the killer free because she couldn’t remember anything helpful.
The sunlight felt too bright for the sorrow and waves of black-clad mourners pouring out of the funeral home. At the limo designated for family use, Carson’s protests were honored once he promised he would bring Lissa straight to the luncheon at a nearby restaurant.
“How can they bear it?” she murmured when they reached the privacy of Carson’s truck. “Why are they being so nice to me?”
“They seem to think of you as their own.”
It was a strange concept. “I love them, Carson. They were so kind to me and the example of the kind of family I want to create some day. More than anything, I want to be sure Noelle’s killer is brought to justice.”
“I understand.”
She turned at the hard edge in his voice, studying his profile. He did know exactly what she was going through. “Thanks for sticking it out with me.”
“I’m glad you could say goodbye here.”
“My boss would probably let me go to the interment tomorrow, but I don’t think I can.”
“Your decision.”
“I’m rambling again and you’re—” She broke off, startled when he veered out of the line of cars headed to the luncheon and circled back to the funeral home. “What is it?”
“The man who bumped into you yesterday was at the funeral. I spotted him as we left the chapel.”
“Really?” She’d completely forgotten to look for him. “I’m a horrible friend.”
“You’re grieving.” He rounded the block, the truck rocking a little on a sharp right turn. “One more reason for me to be here today.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“If we’re lucky, he hasn’t left yet and we can get some useful information from his car,” he said.
“Oh.” She was so far out of her element with all of this, overwhelmed by unceasing currents of emotion. She decided to stop being useless and studied the people milling about in the parking lot as Carson cruised through the center row. “I tried to put a name to his face last night or put his face into context, but only managed to keep myself awake.”
“I know what you mean.” Carson’s fingers drummed along the top of the steering wheel. “I was sure that Werner would’ve figured out the name that goes with that face by now. There!” He kept his hand under the dash as he pointed. “That’s him, right?”
She considered the man Carson pointed out. “Climbing into the blue sedan, yes.” She opened her purse to write down the plate number but found only tissues, a small tin of mints and the bulletin from the service. “Do you have a pen?”
“Glove box,” he replied. “What are the odds we can get a full ID on this guy?”
Lissa didn’t answer the rhetorical question as Carson cautiously trailed the blue sedan. She agreed completely with his decision. Noelle’s parents wouldn’t be happy if they missed lunch, but if this man was even remotely related to Friday’s trouble, Lissa wanted to know sooner rather than later, so the Anson family could have peace.
* * *
Carson remained several car lengths behind the sedan as it headed for the west side. He’d expected the driver to aim for the Penn campus, where the crime on Friday had likely started. Assumptions like that one made it clear why he was a paramedic and not a cop. He leaped to conclusions without enough evidence and let his opinion cloud his judgment.
“Where does Dr. Anson practice?” he asked Lissa.
“He’s a surgeon in Allentown. Well respected.”
“Have you always been afraid of hospitals?” He kept his eyes on the blue sedan as he waited for her answer.
“No. My recent resistance must be related to where and how those men came after us. I don’t recall any other reasons to detest hospitals or doctors.”
She believed that by now, if Dr. Anson had been any cause of that, she would have remembered it along with her other memories of Noelle’s family. “How do you think this man is connected? Assuming he’s connected.”
Carson shifted in his seat, the suit jacket bunching behind him. “He must have known Noelle or the family somehow. He appeared to be alone at the service. He left alone.”
“Are we going to follow him all day?”
Carson wanted to say yes and knew it was the wrong answer. He’d been hung up on resolving this since Werner had mentioned the matching bullets. He couldn’t bear the idea that Noelle would be targeted by a violent gang that had successfully avoided prosecution too many times to count.
“No.” He goosed the gas pedal. “I’ll get close enough to read the license plate, and then we can head back to your place or the luncheon. Though I’d vote for your place. I want to get out of this suit.”
“Me, too.” She laughed. “I mean, I want out of my funeral clothes, too.”
“Got it.” Though now that image was dancing in his head. He couldn’t deny the sparks that went off under his skin when she’d caught him in the towel, but this was the wrong time.
Carson accelerated a little more, and Lissa wrote the plate number on her hand and then called and left a message for the detective. Carson eased back again and took the next available exit from the expressway.
“They’re expecting us at the luncheon,” Lissa reminded him. “As much as I’d rather skip it, I feel obligated to show up.”
“We can do that.” He navigated the exit ramp and the lights, pulling back onto the expressway and heading to the luncheon. “We should probably brainstorm some excuses for being late.”
They tossed around a few ideas on the way but didn’t have a chance to use them. Carson’s phone rang, and when he answered, Grant’s voice filled the car. “Is Lissa still with you?”
“Yes.”
“Right here,” she said. “What’s happened?”
“The team watching the house saw a woman dressed in black go into your apartment a few minutes ago. Now there’s smoke pouring out of the kitchen window.”
Lissa clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes hot with temper.
“I was sure you hadn’t dropped her off,” Grant said.
“Not a chance,” Carson confirmed. He reached over and clasped her free hand. “How bad is the fire?”
“Small and nearly out. The man on-site called it in immediately. PFD is on scene. I get the impression it’s not a total loss.”
“We’re on our way,” Carson said.
He slid his fingers up, cuffed her wrist and felt her pulse going haywire under his fingertips. “Not a total loss,” he reminded her, a little worried now that she’d stopped speaking.
“Right,” she agreed. “I’m okay.” She picked up his phone from the console and searched for the restaurant’s number from the navigation app he had open. “I’ll call the restaurant and ask them to give the Ansons a message.”
He listened to her fib about tire trouble. “Well done.”
She pushed a hand through her hair, dislodging the combs holding the long tresses up off her neck. “I’ll call them once I know they’re home tonight,” she said as she struggled to fix her hair.
When she gave up and just shook out that mass of sable silk, he was grateful for the distraction of keeping the truck on the road, in his lane. Down, boy. In almost any other situation, he could have given in to the sensual allure. And destroyed her trust in him. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Carson.”
He shot her a look when her voice cracked on his name. Had she figured out where his mind had gone? “What?”
“I just realized the killer must have gone through Noelle’s apartment.” She broke off on a sputter of fury. “I should’ve gone there first.”
“You were incapacitated, Lissa. The police would have done that by now.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have to figure out what happened.” She sucked in a quick breath when he made the turn and she saw the collection of emergency vehicles outside her house. “I can’t take this.” She curled forward as far as the seat belt allowed and cradled her head in her hands. “I have to remember all of it.”
Whatever memory or misplaced guilt had set her off, the curses were flowing in earnest. Better than tears, he hoped, parking as close to her place as he could manage. He hurried around to her side of the truck and opened her door, drawing her into his arms.
She pounded her fists to his chest, then just wrapped herself around him. The woman was a wreck, and he was helpless against the natural progression of grief compounded by the continued violence aimed at her. While he’d been through something equally traumatizing eight months ago, the men who’d robbed the ambulance and killed Sarah had disappeared. Whatever Lissa had witnessed, they were determined to cause her as much grief as possible before they finished her off.
His blood chilled at the thought. He liked her grit, her persistence and the compassion she showed despite her dreadful circumstances. There was something between them. Maybe it was only the shared connection of terrible loss, but she was the first person he enjoyed talking with since losing Sarah. Damned if he was going to let some gang or murder keep him from knowing her better.
As her grief subsided, he ran his hand up and down her spine. “Better?”
“A little.” She tipped her head to peek at the house and the sliver of the third floor they could see through the trees from this angle. “I’m still mad. My neighbors could have been hurt or—”
“Mad is perfect. Your neighbors are fine.” He shifted so they stood side by side, his arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to figure this out. Me, Grant, Werner, whoever it takes, whatever it takes, we won’t give up until we know you’re safe.”
He pressed his lips to her hair and reached for her hand as they walked to the corner. They headed for the cluster of people milling around on the sidewalk across the street from her house.
“Your things were in there, too,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing that can’t be replaced,” he promised.
She stopped short and looked up into his eyes, then down at their joined hands. “I want to tell you to get far away from me, for your own good, but I’m too selfish.”
Unable to resist, he tucked her hair behind her ear. “If you tried, you’d only learn what a lousy listener I am, and I’m trying to keep my biggest flaws a secret.” He recognized his friend Daniel near the truck. “Come on this way. I want you to meet that friend who works construction when he isn’t at the firehouse.”
Carson introduced Lissa to Daniel, ignoring the quizzical look his friend gave to their joined hands and funeral attire. He sent Lissa a reassuring smile. “You live on the third floor?”
“Yes.”
“Great space,” he said. “I overheard the chief talking with the landlord, and your neighbors have been notified of the problem.” He gestured to the crowd of first responders. “No one was hurt, and it’s not as bad as it looks from out here.”
Carson glanced up to the window as Lissa did. Flames had charred the window casing, and a black sooty scar rose up and over the roofline. They had caught this one fast. His heart gave a weird kick as he imagined how much worse it could have been if Lissa had been inside at the time or if Grant hadn’t kept someone on alert.
Still holding her hand, Carson felt her tension ebb away. “Thanks,” he said to Daniel.
“Chief has all the official details. See ya.” With a quick wave, Daniel loped toward his fire truck.
They crossed the street and joined the chief, who was speaking with a small group of people closer to the house. Carson was braced for the worst and startled when an older woman with thick, steel-gray curls and ebony skin caught Lissa in a tight hug.
“My landlord,” Lissa mouthed over the woman’s shoulder. “Mrs. Green, this is my friend Carson Lane,” she said when the landlord released her. “He took me to Noelle’s funeral today.”
“I’m so glad she was with a friend,” Mrs. Green told Carson. She patted Lissa’s hand. “We’ll forget this month’s rent, sweetheart.” She grabbed Lissa in another hug and rocked back and forth for a moment. “They tell me you can’t stay here until after the repairs are done.”
“How bad is it?”
“Not bad. You’ll see when they walk you through.” Mrs. Green fluttered a hand over her heart. “Oh, I’m so thankful. So thankful. It could have been so much worse.”
“Thank you,” Carson said. He cut the conversation short when he spied Werner stalking up to the scene. “Looks like the police need to talk with Lissa.”
Mrs. Green turned back to the fire chief while a uniformed officer and the detective escorted Carson and Lissa up to the porch, pointing out where the new locks had been forced open. They walked in, and as the acrid stench of smoke and melted paint clogged the stairwell, Carson paused. Did she really need to see this?
“You might not want to look,” he warned her.
“My imagination will be worse,” she said, motioning for him to keep going.
When they reached the landing, Werner gave a low whistle and Lissa gasped, reaching back for Carson’s hand. The apartment had clearly been tossed. Someone, presumably the woman seen entering the apartment, had conducted a frantic search until Grant’s man had interrupted. The door to the attic was splintered, and the entire space smelled like a fire pit without the happy-campfire ambiance.
While Lissa fumed over the damages and confirmed nothing obvious had been taken, Carson took pictures on his cell phone and sent them on to Grant. Werner took a few pictures and excused himself quickly.
The reply from Grant came back a moment later. Salvage what you can and bring her to ladies’ night.
Carson choked back a laugh. The famous Escape Club cosmopolitans might be just what Lissa needed, the way this day was shaping up. A night out wasn’t the conventional post-funeral activity, but he thought Grant had the right idea. Too much quiet to think would only leave her more agitated and frustrated with the gaps in her memory.
He couldn’t believe that he, king of solitude and introspection, was about to recommend a night out for drinks and dancing to a grieving woman. It sounded like the epitome of hypocritical, and yet he knew he’d make the suggestion.
“Well, it’s official. I need to relocate while they clean it up and process the scene. I’m allowed to pack some clothing, assuming none of it reeks of smoke.” Her nose crinkled as she looked at the mess.
“Pack whatever you want,” he said. “We can drop it off at a dry cleaner. Be sure to pack your dancing shoes,” he said, trailing her to the bedroom. Either the smoke wasn’t as bad back here or he was getting used to it.
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Grant invited us to ladies’ night.”
She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “That’s absurd,” she said, turning to survey her closet. “The last thing I need tonight is a noisy club.”
He walked up behind her, not wanting anyone else to overhear and tattle on him for the hypocrisy he was about to deliver. “I know it sounds absurd, but believe me, the change of scenery will do you good. Me, too,” he added, hoping to appeal to her innate concern for others.
She spun around, nearly catching him with an elbow, hands planted on her hips. “You expect me to believe you went dancing after your friend’s funeral?”
“No,” he said through clenched teeth. “But maybe I should have.” He took a breath, struggling to find the words that would help her understand the wisdom behind Grant’s plan. Instead, his gaze drifted to her mouth, the sweet bow of her upper lip, the tempting fullness of the lower, and his only thoughts were how good those lips would feel against his. “I’ll just wait out there.”
“Stop.” She grabbed his sleeve and held on. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.” Her lips parted as she moistened her lips. While he was mesmerized by that view, one of her fine-boned hands slid up the back of his neck.
Then her lips met his in a tentative and inviting exploration. A wealth of needs exploded in his system and his mouth shaped hers, learned hers as they kissed. He wrapped her close, reveling in the press of her soft, sweet body all along his. She gasped again and his tongue swept into the heat of her mouth, teasing out layers of need and desire.
To hell with the club, he thought. He’d be fine right here for the rest of the night. The rest of the week.
“Miss Baxter?”
They sprang apart like a couple of teenagers caught in the sudden flash of a porch light.
The uniformed officer stepped into the doorway. “We’d like to clear the scene if you’re packed.”
“Right. Of course.” Her cheeks were bright red. “Just one more minute.”
“Can I help?” Carson asked, reluctant to stray from her now that he knew the sensuality of her touch, her lips.
She shot him a long look under her lashes. “Better if you focus on collecting whatever you brought over.”
She had to know that small taste of her didn’t satisfy him in the least. No, it only fueled his desire for her. He walked out with the cop, stopping to grab his gear from the bathroom and toss it into his duffel bag. He was tempted to leave it all here as it reeked of smoke from the fire. Thank goodness they could put it all in the bed of the truck so they wouldn’t have to purge the smoke from the truck upholstery, too.
She emerged from the bedroom with a wheeled suitcase, a backpack and an oversize tote. Depositing the suitcase and backpack with him, she carried the tote into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she reappeared and declared herself ready.
The cop escorted them outside. With the emergency vehicles gone, the bystanders had wandered off. They loaded everything into the back of his truck, and she gave a little wave to her landlady before they drove away.
“Grant wants to see us because of the break-in and fire?”
“I’m sure there are several factors,” he replied. Should he mention the kiss? Better to let her bring it up, he decided. “We’ll drop off your clothes for cleaning and get settled at my place. I assumed my place was where you wanted to stay.”
“Yes, that’s fine.” She laced her fingers in her lap, her knuckles standing out, white against her black skirt.
Maybe she expected an apology, but he didn’t see how the kiss was his fault. She’d started it, and he was only human. He shifted a little in the seat, but it was impossible to get truly comfortable.
“I’m not sorry,” she said abruptly when they’d dropped off the clothes and gotten back in the truck.
“Pardon me?”
“You’re really playing it that way?” The question sounded more like a snarl. “All right.” She smoothed her hands over her lap, her gaze straight ahead. “I am not sorry I kissed you.”
Damn. He had sisters, and he’d known every facet of Sarah’s personality, and still the only thing he knew to do with a woman in a mood as sharp and dangerous as Lissa’s was to remain calm and confident. Perceived detachment could be as disastrous as focused interest. “I enjoyed it,” he replied as casually as he could manage. “I hope it won’t be the last time you kiss me,” he added, testing her reaction.
To his surprise, she didn’t give him much of a reaction or say another word until they reached his place. She laid a hand on his arm as the garage door rolled up and open. “What about a hotel?”
“A hotel?” He knew his mind was in the gutter, but what was she thinking?
“I’ll cover the expense,” she said quickly. “You wouldn’t have to stay. That would be your choice.”
He pulled into the garage, cut the engine and stared at her in the dim light filtering in from the windows. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m a danger to you,” she said. “I know you’ve got this whole rescue-protector routine going on, and it’s fantastic. You’re great at it. But wouldn’t I—we—be safer at a hotel?”
“No.”
“Carson.” She released her seat belt and swiveled in her seat, stopping him with a touch to his shoulder before he could get out of the truck.
He craved her so desperately that he let her featherlight hand hold him.
“Carson, someone searched my house. I don’t want to bring that here, to your home.”
“You don’t even know what they were after,” he pointed out.
“That only makes it more of a risk for you. You didn’t ask for this.”
“No one asks for this kind of crap.” He took her hand in his, mesmerized by the differences. Her slender frame made her seem delicate, but there was fire inside her and a steel will he admired.
“There’s more,” she said. “Full-disclosure time.”
“God help me.”
Her lips tilted in a shy smile. “I wanted to be mad after I kissed you.”
“I noticed.”
“Yeah, sorry. For the mad, not the kiss.” She laughed at herself. “I’m wrecking this. The kiss was nice. More than nice,” she continued. “I wanted to be mad at myself for the lousy timing. Isn’t it called Nightingale syndrome or something when a patient’s attracted to the caregiver?”
He jerked his mind away from her use of attracted and addressed the question. “No. Nightingale effect is the opposite situation, when a caregiver falls for a patient.” Was she trying to imply that’s what was happening? If so, she needed to get clear in a hurry. His brain was mush because all his blood had run south.
“You’re not making this easy.” Her gaze flitted everywhere but wouldn’t light on him.
“I’m not trying to,” he said. “If you want to stay at a hotel, we’ll stay at a hotel. I think staying here is more convenient and comfortable. Either way, the last few days are proof enough that trouble is likely to catch up wherever we go.”
“And the kiss?”
She was killing him. “House or hotel, I’ll kiss you whenever you ask me to.” He gave in and reached for her, sweeping the heavy fall of her hair back from her eyes. “You’ve had a tough day on top of a series of tough days. Let’s take this inside.”
“Kiss me.” She scooted across the bench seat, crowding his side of the cab. “Please.”
She couldn’t mean it. It was his imagination that added the pleading note of need to her voice. “Lissa.”
“You just said you would.”
He caught her chin and brushed his thumb over those luscious, smiling lips. Slowly, savoring the anticipation, he touched his mouth to hers again. The plan was to keep it easy and simple. Anything else and he’d want to dive in, to give pleasure and take more, but they were in the garage and it was hardly the place for seduction.
His wants spiraled out of control, eclipsed by her soft moan as she tugged him closer. Her long fingers were in his hair, then tracing the shell of his ear, and she angled her mouth to give him better access.
Carson didn’t need an engraved invitation. With lips tasting and teasing, both of them tossing away any notion of distance, he maneuvered them on the seat until she was sitting across his lap. His hands were full of her hips. Her skirt parted, granting him access to the smooth, hot skin of her supple thighs bracketing his legs.
He told himself he could stop, that he would stop in just a minute. He kept right on going, his mouth mating with hers while his pulse raced at odd intervals. He ran his hands up her spine, into her hair and back down, over and over.
The dark citrus-scented silk cascaded around them and she arched into his touch. It brought the long column of her throat close enough to nibble and tease. She laughed, her breasts firm against his chest, making him harder still. When she reached down between them and stroked his arousal through his slacks, his hips bucked.
“Lissa, hang on.”
“That’s the plan.” Her sultry laugh lit fires inside his blood, her tongue and teeth exploring his ear, raising goose bumps all over his body.
“Wait a second.”
She braced her hands on the back of the seat, bracketing his head. “We’re both single, healthy, needy,” she drew out the last word.
“We’re also in a truck.”
Her gaze narrowed. “If you make me walk across the yard in broad daylight, drooling after you...” She rocked her hips over his erection. “Can you even walk in this condition?”
He’d manage. “Think it through.”
She leaned in and caught his lip in her teeth, gave it a little tug. “You’ve been telling me not to think.”
“What? Oh, yeah, the amnesia.” He groaned, rapidly losing this battle.
“I need this. You. Carson.” His name was a soft flutter of sound and seduction over his sensitive skin at the base of his throat. “I left the apartment prepared.” She pulled a condom out of her pocket as she ground her hips gently over him.
He gave in, brought her face close and kissed her. It was sex. Nothing more or less. It was no hardship to deal with hot, life-affirming sex between two consenting adults to counter the overwhelming stress and grief and loss. He was convenient for her. That was all. In fact, he was pretty damn happy to be of service. Better him than anyone else who wouldn’t understand the limits.
He tore her panties out of the way, reveling in her laughter as she freed him from his slacks and rolled the condom over him with those delicate fingers. He hadn’t felt anything so erotic in ages, until she sank over him, enveloping him in mind-blowing heat while her mouth feasted on his.
He gripped her hips and held on as she set the pace. She was every sensual fantasy in his hands. Her body gripping his, moving and taking what she needed. Working open the tiny buttons on her shirt, he spread the panels and groaned at the sexy black lace of her bra. He brought her close, kissing her breasts and suckling the stiff peaks through the lace cups.
He was being used, but he couldn’t see the downside, not with her rushing toward a climax that dragged him right over that edge of bliss with her.
* * *
Lissa had only herself to blame as her breath sawed in and out of her lungs. Carson had one hand wrapped around her backside, the other stroking her hair, while she mustered enough strength to lift her head from his shoulder. She didn’t want to consider the ramifications, not while her body was still humming from that orgasm and Carson’s masculine scent surrounded her.
At least with her memories mostly intact, she knew she didn’t typically throw herself at the nearest available man. “Wow,” she said. It was the best she could manage.
“That covers it,” he agreed.
She could hear the smile in his voice, and why wouldn’t he be smiling? It made her brave enough to peek at him. “I’d say thank you, but somehow that ruins the moment.”
He laughed, the sound starting as a deep rumble in his chest, shivering through her and out to float around them. The most perfect response she could have asked for. Until he turned his face and kissed her with such slow, sweet tenderness that she wanted to cry.
However fate had crossed their paths, she was thankful for a man who understood exactly what she’d needed without rendering any judgment.
With a minimum of awkwardness, they both straightened up their clothing. Her cheeks blazed with belated embarrassment as she stuffed her torn panties deep into the tote she’d used for her toiletries.
“Carson?”
He leaned across the seat and bussed her lips with a fast kiss. “You don’t get to ask me anything else until we’re both safely inside the house.”
He couldn’t mean the trouble had followed them so closely. “Safe from what?”
“Each other.” He winked at her and opened the door. “This is a family neighborhood.” At the truck bed, he pulled out her backpack and then held open the garage door for her.
As they entered the house through the kitchen door, she couldn’t help but contrast this moment to the first time she’d seen it. She’d been lost, trapped in a haze that held her very identity out of her reach. Now she didn’t recognize herself for other reasons.
She’d thrown herself at him.
And he caught you quite well, said a snarky, thoroughly sated voice in her head. Satisfaction wasn’t the point. She accepted the bottle of water he offered, needing to cool her parched throat. She should say something. Thank you would definitely ruin everything, although she was plenty grateful he was taking it all in stride. They couldn’t do that again, despite the thrumming in her bloodstream that vehemently protested the idea of a one-and-done situation.
She opened her mouth, hoping the right words would tumble out of their own volition, but his voice filled the room. “I’m going up to grab a shower. If you can’t find anything you want to wear here, we have plenty of time to go shopping.”
Her mind had locked onto the image of him in the shower, water running all over that hard body. “A shower sounds like a great idea.” She caught the husky timbre of her voice and felt another blush climb up her neck.
He raised his eyebrows, the invitation clear.
“Separately.” She took another quick sip of water. “I’ve taken enough advantage of you already.” She capped the water bottle and hefted her tote over her shoulder, moving toward the front stairs.
Suddenly he was in her path, filling the doorway, his presence far bigger than his lean frame would suggest. Her pulse skipped in happy anticipation.
“Is that what you think?” His voice was low, packed with warning.
She folded her arms, ignoring the tight sensation in her breasts. “I’m trying to think and be rational rather than simply react the way I did in the garage.” She tipped her head in that direction. “You were—”
“Don’t say it.” He cut her off, his hazel eyes inscrutable. “Just stop talking.”
“Shouldn’t we—” At his hard glare, she clamped her lips together.
“If the rest of that sentence is ‘talk about it’ or some other way to define and contain what we both enjoyed immensely, stop.”
He took a step closer, close enough that she could smell her perfume on his skin. Good grief, she’d even managed to smear lipstick on his collar in the ultimate cliché. He tipped up her chin, held her gaze for a long moment. “I’m a big boy,” he told her in the calm, quiet tone she’d trusted from that first moment behind the club. “I could have said no.”
She wasn’t sure she’d given him enough time to utter even that single-syllable denial. His eyes cruised over her face, landed on her lips. Deep inside, her body quivered, eager for another kiss. “Why didn’t you?”
His mouth tipped up at the corner. “You’re irresistible,” he replied. He started to say something and changed his mind. “Sex happens.” He shrugged. “We’re consenting adults with a mutual attraction. You have enough on your plate without overthinking an amazing moment.”
He was giving her far more credit and showing more maturity than she deserved. He kissed her cheek, then eased back with a casual smile. “I’m going to take a shower. A cold one, unless you decide to join me. No wrong answers here. It’s up to you.”
She stood there dumbfounded as he walked backward several paces. When she didn’t move, he flashed an unrepentant grin and disappeared up the stairs.
She couldn’t join him. She absolutely should not join him. Need scorched her blood, pushed her forward and out of the kitchen at last. Upstairs she had another internal fight. He’d called her irresistible, and she thought he might have meant it. It was a compliment she’d carry with her when this was all behind her.
He’d left his bedroom door cracked, and she could hear the water running in his cold shower. Unless I join him. If she joined him, it wouldn’t be the spontaneous combustion they’d shared in the truck. No, it would be premeditated and amazing and brilliantly satisfying. But she wouldn’t be able to rationalize her decision as a lapse in judgment. It would be a definitive step in a direction she suddenly didn’t feel prepared to take.
Frustrated with her confusion in the face of his easygoing acceptance, she went into the hall bathroom, closed and locked the door. Not to keep him out. To keep herself in.
Running the tap on cold, she stripped away the black clothing and stepped under the biting spray.