On The Way To A Wedding Read online

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath. He has her right where he wants her. Not only is he footing the bill for her rent, he owns the place where she works.”

  “He’s made her dependent on him,” she agreed. “That, combined with the low self-esteem she grew up with makes her doubly vulnerable to an abusive relationship.” She paused, drawing her legs beneath her as she curled more tightly into the corner of the couch. “I saw the bruise on her breast.”

  “There are lots of reasons a person can get bruises, as we both know.”

  “So, do you think it was nothing?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

  “You think Duxbury was responsible, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past him. We’re talking about a man who killed a complete stranger with his car and put a price on the heads of five innocent women. He wouldn’t think twice about knocking around his girlfriend.”

  “Poor Wanda. We have to find a way to help her.”

  “Putting Duxbury away is the first step.”

  “Maybe I should go over alone tomorrow, try to get her to open up to me. I could give her some information on places she could go for help.”

  He pulled his hands out of his pockets, leaning over quickly to grasp her by the shoulders. “I’m not letting you go alone, Lauren. Don’t underestimate him.”

  “But the more you go out in public, the more chance there is that you’ll be recognized.”

  “Even if Duxbury doesn’t connect you to my investigation, the fact that you’re continuing to talk to his girlfriend is bound to make him nervous. We stick together, okay?”

  His touch was making it difficult to concentrate. She inhaled shakily. “You don’t need to worry about me, Nick.”

  “I’ve already brought enough trouble to my family. I don’t want you in danger, too.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He looked at where he held her shoulders and gradually eased his grip. “You didn’t want to get involved in the first place.”

  “No, but I am now, and I intend to see this through.”

  “Duxbury hasn’t been down to the station again, has he?”

  “No. Will you relax? From what we’ve learned about him, he might be ruthless and have absolutely no conscience, but he’s not stupid. He’s not going to risk harming a member of the press. The pen is mightier than the sword and all that.”

  “I wouldn’t rely on a pen being much of a weapon, Lauren. Or a TV camera, either.”

  Her gaze went to the end table. He’d gotten into the habit of storing his gun in the drawer there. His knife was probably still in his boot, wherever that might be—he tended to pull them off and leave them lying around anywhere. He was different from her in so many ways. He was a man who was familiar with violence, someone who dealt with all the things she preferred to view at a distance.

  “Lauren?”

  “All right, Nick. I won’t go over without you.”

  “Good.” He watched her for a moment in silence, then he withdrew his hands and sat beside her. The couch dipped with his weight, bringing her knee against his thigh.

  “Nick, why did you become a cop?”

  “Where did that question come from?”

  “I’m curious.” She turned to face him, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. “Was it because of your father?”

  “In a way. I probably inherited his temperament, but I’d like to think it was my own decision.”

  She looked at the wound on his forehead. It continued to heal at an impressive rate, but there was no doubt it would leave a scar. Her gaze moved to the curving white line on his temple, the one he’d said had happened when he’d fallen out of his sisters’ tree house. “What was it like, growing up with all those sisters?”

  “Busy. Intense. It’s hard to describe. What comes to mind first is the noise.”

  “Noise?”

  “We all tended to have strong opinions.”

  “More inherited tendencies?”

  “Oh, yeah. My mother traces her ancestry back to a long line of cossacks. They weren’t known for their diplomacy.” He propped his feet on the coffee table and crossed his arms, settling into a more comfortable position. “My dad’s heritage was just as distinctive. He maintained that the first Strada in North America was a conquistador. He didn’t have any proof, but it made for some interesting dinner table discussions.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “My parents were quite the pair. Married since they were teenagers and still crazy about each other. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized how rare that was.”

  “You must have had a wonderful childhood....” She broke off, not wanting to bring up his father’s death. He’d said he’d grown up fast then, and in a way she understood what he meant. Her childhood had essentially ended when she was eight. “Would you mind answering another question for me?”

  “Ask away.”

  “It’s a bit... personal.”

  He raised one eyebrow, his lips quirking. “We’ve lived together for more than a week. You mean there’s something you don’t know?”

  “I was wondering about your marriage.”

  “It was a mistake. It’s over.”

  “But why did you get married in the first place? You don’t strike me as the type who would want to be tied down.”

  “I suppose I was looking for the same kind of happiness my parents had, that soul-deep, till-death-do-us-part kind of love. What Gloria and I had sure wasn’t that. When the sex cooled off, there was nothing left.”

  Although his words were deliberately light, there was a note of pain in his voice. Lauren knew it couldn’t have been easy for Nick to admit defeat. He was so stubborn and passionate about everything he did. If he had thought he’d loved this woman...

  A sudden wave of jealousy took her by surprise. It was ten times worse than what she’d felt when she’d thought Nick had been ogling Wanda. What was wrong with her? She didn’t have any claim on him, and she certainly didn’t intend to make one.

  “It was a simple divorce,” he continued. “Last I heard, she was living in Seattle with her new husband and a couple of kids.”

  “And that was four years ago?”

  “I see Duxbury’s not the only one you’ve been investigating.”

  She lifted her shoulder. “Gord told me.”

  “What’s all this about, Lauren?” He tilted his head, studying her keenly for a moment. “Is this a roundabout way of asking me about my love life?”

  Instant warmth rushed to her cheeks. Annoyed with herself, she decided to be as blunt as he was. “You don’t need to go into detail. I found something else in your pocket besides your keys, so I already know you’re no monk.”

  He looked puzzled. “My pocket?”

  “Your leather jacket. The one you gave me after the crash.”

  Comprehension spread across his face, along with a slow, knowing grin. “Damn, were they still in there? I must have been carrying those around since O’Hara’s party.”

  “Please,” she said quickly, holding up her palm. “It’s really none of my business.”

  “We threw a stag for Epstein. Those were O’Hara’s idea of decorations instead of regular balloons.”

  She blinked. “Balloons? You mean he... inflated...”

  Nick laughed at her expression. “What a waste of good condoms, huh? The ones in my pocket were leftovers.”

  She moved her hand to her mouth, muffling a giggle. She’d thought Angela’s shower was bad.

  “Now, as for the question you say you didn’t want to ask—”

  “Nick, it’s okay. It’s not my concern.”

  “Wrong. You have a right to know. I’m not currently involved with anyone, Lauren. Only you.”

  “We’re not involved, Nick.”

  He extended his arm and clamped his hand on her thigh. “What would you call it?”

  Through the linen fabric of her slacks, the warm strength of his fingers sent awaren
ess tingling across her skin. Her laughter tapered off. What would she call it? “Dangerous.”

  “Uh-uh,” he murmured, sliding closer. “What we’re doing when we’re working together is dangerous. We’re not working now.”

  Lauren pulled away from his touch and stood up. “I’m going to fix some tea,” she said.

  Nick sighed noisily and yanked his feet from the table. “That was too fast again, right?”

  Walking toward the kitchen, she spoke to him over her shoulder. “I have no intention of debating this with you.”

  “Okay by me,” he said, following her. “I’m a hands-on kind of guy. I don’t have much patience with talking all the time, either.”

  She did her best to ignore him as she moved around the kitchen, but he was a difficult man to ignore. Of course, she already knew that. Lord, did she know that.

  He leaned a hip against the edge of the sink, folding his arms over his chest and crossing his ankles in a pose that made him look all long legs and muscle.

  Picking up the kettle from the counter, she leaned past him to turn on the tap.

  “You don’t really want any tea, do you, Lauren?”

  No, she didn’t. Not with him standing so close to her. What she really wanted was to turn into his arms, feel his heat and his strength once more. She wanted, to let the sparks that jumped between them make her forget all those logical, reasonable arguments that kept them apart. For a breathless second she hesitated. But then she filled the kettle resolutely and turned to put it on the stove. “Let’s stick to business, okay? What do you think we should do next?”

  “Now, that’s a leading question if ever I heard one.”

  She kept her back to him, watching the element beneath the kettle turn orange, then red. “I mean about Duxbury.”

  “Short of staking out Wanda’s condo and trying to get some incriminating pictures of them together?”

  “Would that help?”

  “It wouldn’t prove anything. We need her testimony to break his alibi for the night Joey was killed.” He moved behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. His breath stirred the hair over her ear. “You were great today,” he said. “You handled that interview with Wanda like a real pro.”

  “That’s because I am a pro.”

  “Good point.” He tightened his arms gradually, drawing her toward him until her back nudged his chest. “I really appreciate the help you’ve given me so far. Have I told you that?” .

  “There’s no need to thank me. I’m doing it for my story.”

  “Uh-huh. That nude poster threw you for a second, though, didn’t it?”

  “It was unexpected, that’s all.”

  He lowered his head, rubbing his chin lightly across the top of her shoulder. “You know what I thought of when I saw it?”

  Even though she knew it was crazy, Lauren couldn’t help feeling another stab of jealousy. He’d been studying Wanda’s bosom because of the bruise. He’d probably had a good reason for studying that poster, too. “No, what?”

  “I was picturing you dressed in nothing but high heels and a feather.”

  The quiver of excitement that tiptoed through her stomach at his words was a shock. So was the image that sprang to her mind. “Nick...”

  “You could use a green feather, to match your eyes.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Yeah. Forget the heels and the feather.” He nuzzled the side of her neck. His lips were warm and firm, sending tendrils of sensation curling over her skin. “I’d rather see you naked.”

  Lauren grasped his forearms as her knees suddenly went weak. “When we visit Wanda tomorrow, we’ll have to take a camera along if we want to keep to our cover story,” she said quickly, struggling to concentrate.

  “You’ll have to show me how to work it.” He splayed his fingers along her ribs. Sliding his palm across her midriff, he dragged the knuckle of his thumb along the underside of her breast. “I’m a fast learner. Real good working with my hands.”

  “I’ll try to borrow... one of the... big ones....” She broke off, her chest heaving. “Nick...”

  He moved his hand higher, cupping her gently. “Uh-huh?”

  “Nick, my kettle’s boiling.”

  A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, yeah. Mine, too.”

  “No, really. It’s boiling.”

  Steam was shooting toward the ceiling from the kettle that was on the front burner of the stove as a high-pitched whistle filled the air.

  Nick dropped his hand and reached past her to switch off the stove, then turned her around in his arms until she faced him. “Now, where were we?”

  Tipping back her head, she looked into his face. It was a mistake. He was smiling, and the lines beside his mouth had deepened into those adorable dimples. In the sober illumination from the overhead track lighting, there was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes.

  The passion and energy that had been crackling around him all evening had found another outlet. And it was clear that the physical activity he had in mind wasn’t another hour of pacing the living room. Lauren felt her pulse thud in response, helpless to control the thrill she felt. There were so many things she could say, starting with no.

  Yet she couldn’t make a sound.

  “Remember when I told you last night that there’d be a next time?” he murmured, his voice laced with the same anticipation that tingled through her veins.

  She moistened her lips, nodding once.

  “I think the next time is now, Lauren.”

  She raised her hand and touched his face with her fingertips, tracing the square jaw and high cheekbones, skimming the edge of the healing wound on his forehead. A lock of hair had fallen forward again. This time she didn’t restrain the impulse to push it back. Giving in to temptation, she ran her fingers through his hair.

  She felt his embrace enclose her, but she had no urge to escape. She should be afraid, but she wasn’t. Love, dependency, vulnerability, all that she feared had nothing to do with the desire she felt at this moment.

  “We’ll take it as slow as you want, Lauren.” He lowered his head, his smile fading. “But if I don’t kiss you in the next minute—”

  Sensation burst through her at the first touch of his lips on hers. Closing her eyes, she lifted her other hand and locked her fingers together behind his neck.

  She hadn’t believed it could be any better than the last time, but it was. His lips were familiar now. She knew the pleasure he could give her, and she reached for it with the mindless instinct of a flower turning toward the sun. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she parted them eagerly, seeking more of what she had tasted last night.

  At her silent invitation he didn’t hesitate, deepening the kiss with a steady mastery that turned her knees to jelly. Tightening his arms, he anchored her to the front of his body and kissed her until she had to gasp for breath.

  “I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” he whispered, tracing his lips down the side of her neck. He nosed her collar aside and nibbled at the spot where her shoulder began.

  His warmth and his scent surrounded her, melting her restraint. She leaned back in his arms, feeling her hair swing loose behind her, shivering as his teeth scraped gently over her collarbone.

  Step by step, he backed her as far as the kitchen counter and lifted her up to sit on the edge. He pulled the hem of her blouse loose from her pants with two firm yanks, then slid his hands upward and began to unfasten the buttons—she should have known that whatever she chose to wear wouldn’t stop him. Not Nick, not when he got that determined glint in his eyes. Before the last button was out of its hole, he was already parting the fabric.

  Lauren waited for his touch, her pulse pounding. Cool air brushed her skin, then the slide of silk as he eased the blouse and her vest past her shoulders. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, the tickle of his breath on the curve of her breast became the brush of his lips.

  She shuddered, wanting more, wishing she’d never told him he
was too fast. Her nipples tightened against her bra and she moved restlessly, needing to soothe the ache he was creating. She thrust her fingers into his hair, urging him on wordlessly.

  With a muted groan, he lowered his head to the swollen tip and dragged his tongue across the thin barrier of lace. His hands unsteady, he reached behind her and unhooked the clasp of her bra. Tossing the wispy scrap to the floor behind him, he cupped one breast in his palm and lifted it to his lips.

  The pleasure that shot through her was so intense she moaned aloud. She heard the sound distantly, but was too immersed in sensation to care. She swayed forward, cradling his head in her arms, shamelessly taking everything he was willing to give.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered, letting her nipple slide from his mouth. “And delicious.” He flicked it with his tongue, then tugged it into his mouth again.

  “Oh, Nick. Oh, that feels...”

  He turned his head, meeting her gaze. “Mmm?”

  The primitive desire she saw in his face made her shudder. “Good. It feels so good.”

  His smile a devastating combination of arrogance and promise, he switched to her other breast. For long, maddening minutes, he squeezed and suckled until she was mindless with delight.

  Placing his hands on her thighs, he parted her legs and urged her closer to the edge of the counter. With excruciating slowness, he straightened to his full height, letting her swollen flesh rub inch by inch over his lean, hard body. “Lauren?” he asked hoarsely.

  She swayed, hooking one foot behind him to keep herself steady. It was hard to focus on his face, on anything, when every nerve was thrumming. “I can’t believe this,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “This. Us. We’re in the kitchen, for God’s sake.”

  “So?”

  His reply was so typical, so male, so... Nick, that she felt her lips curve into a trembling smile. “We can’t—”

  “Hey.” He raised his arms, flattening his palms against the cupboards above her head as he brought his face to hers. “We already are.”

  “We’re already what?”

  He nipped at her lower lip, then paused for a more thorough kiss. “We’re enjoying each other,” he answered finally.

  Enjoying each other? Could it really be that simple? If this is what he made her feel like when she was sitting on a linoleum counter under the glare of an overhead fluorescent light, what would happen if they ever made it to the bedroom? She lifted her hands to his arms, curling her fingers around his rock-hard biceps, and a tremor of anticipation rippled down her spine.