The Sheriff's Daughter Read online

  And then she’d walk away. She’d have to, or this could be the one to destroy her carefully constructed life. He wouldn’t mean to. He wouldn’t even see it, or he’d feel bad if he did.

  But she’d be destroyed, nonetheless.

  “Sam.” He cupped her face between his warm palms and traced kisses along her ear. “This is probably a really bad idea.”

  His voice was ragged, his breathing fast, his heart keeping pace with hers.

  “You’re right, but I don’t think I care right now.” Her voice was unsteady, too, and she felt a flutter of panic when he crowded her with his body, wedging her deep within the corner formed by an L of marble countertop. But the panic quickly warmed to desire at the feel of him against her, the hard, throbbing planes of his chest and thighs, the maleness between. She gasped when he pressed against her. She pulled his T-shirt from his waistband and slid her hands beneath to touch hot male skin and hard muscles.

  He flinched and hissed out a breath, his whole body tensing when she dragged her short fingernails across his ribs.

  She smiled in wicked delight. “You’re ticklish?”

  “And I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”

  The word dying shivered between them, more prophetic than joking, bringing images of dark garages and shoreside cliffs. She sobered. “I don’t want you hurt because of me.”

  “Same goes.” He framed her face in his hands. “We don’t know which it is. The best thing we can do is stay here tonight, where we’re safe. We can start making calls in the morning.”

  There, in the marble-trimmed kitchen, the danger seemed to press them close even as it pushed them apart. But at the same time, it seemed distant, locked outside the secure apartment complex.

  Waiting for them.

  “And until then?” Sam gripped the countertop at her back.

  His molten eyes cooled a degree, grew wary. He withdrew a scant inch, so their bodies were less intimately aligned. “We should get some sleep.”

  The question was implicit in his tone. Will you stay with me?

  Sam knew she shouldn’t, but couldn’t deny the want. The need. But though she wouldn’t walk away from him unscathed, she vowed to go into this knowing she would walk away. He wasn’t the sort who would stay, and he certainly wouldn’t ask her to come with him.

  He didn’t want the responsibility. He’d made no claims otherwise. And though his solitary lifestyle worried his sister, she had summed it up in a line during their earlier conversation, He doesn’t want to leave anyone else behind.

  Well, Sam didn’t intend to be left behind, not again. This time, she’d do the leaving.

  Later. Once the danger was past. But for now…

  For now, she wanted this. She wanted him.

  Damn the inevitable consequences.

  So she touched his hands where they still cupped her face and said, “Yeah, sleep sounds good,” and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him, letting her lips and tongue answer for her.

  He groaned and his hands streaked down to fist at her waist. He bunched the fabric of her clingy top and drew it up, baring her stomach. Then he trailed his fingers across the soft skin there, the gentle touch at odds with the wicked play of his tongue, the heated press of his body.

  Passion shimmered through Sam in electric currents of desire. She pressed closer, then gasped when he boosted her atop the counter and stepped into the natural V of her legs, which were hemmed in by the angle of the lower cabinets against her calves. The upper row of cabinets pressed against her shoulder blades and the back of her head.

  She was trapped. Deliciously so.

  Lust shivered through her, tempered with a thread of nerves as she was reminded how big Logan was. How strong. She knew he would never hurt her physically, but there was something sexy about her sudden realization that she was weak in comparison to him.

  Yet still she had power. It was in his eyes when he pulled away and looked at her. “Are you sure? I’m not…” He took a breath and seemed to force the words. “The time with Trehern changed me into someone I don’t even know anymore. Someone I’m not sure I like. Until I figure that out, I won’t be good for anyone. I’m not sure I ever will be.”

  It hurt her that this was how he saw himself, that it was what he thought she saw. So she touched her lips to his in a gesture of healing that quickly warmed to more. Before they lost the thread entirely, she pulled back and said, “I’m not asking you for anything, Logan. I don’t want promises or explanations. Our lives aren’t just going in opposite directions, they’re not even on the same train track. But this…” She slid a hand down his chest to rest above the button of his jeans and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes go blank, then dark. “This is a place where we can meet. For tonight.”

  She said the words firmly, as much to convince herself as him.

  “For tonight,” he repeated, and she couldn’t tell whether he was sealing the bargain or reminding himself.

  Then she didn’t bother to wonder anymore. She acted. Felt. Gloried in the slide of skin on skin. Reveled in his groan when she wrapped her legs around his waist and aligned them center to center. When she poured herself into a kiss.

  He fisted his hands gently in her hair, swore reverently and bent her back to touch his lips to her breast through the clinging cloth. The shirt frustrated, inflamed, even as the denim barriers below both prevented completion and added torturous friction.

  This was what she’d wanted, Sam thought as she let her head fall back and wallowed in greedy abandon while Logan drove her mad through her shirt. Beneath it. This was what she’d needed, to prove that she was alive, that he was alive.

  That they were both safe for the moment.

  The danger outside lent an edge of desperation to her actions and she scooted off the counter and dropped her feet to the floor. “Come on.” She offered her hand. “Want to show me the bedroom?”

  “No,” he growled, startling her. But confusion was cleared the moment he tugged at the snap on her jeans, slid the zipper and tugged them down. “Here first.”

  Here, she thought with a naughty thrill. He wanted it there, in a brightly lit kitchen high above the city lights. High above the danger.

  The wide windows and open floor plan gave her the feeling that anyone passing by could look in and see them. But who would be passing by the top floor of the high-rise? Seagulls. Maybe a helicopter. They were exposed, but private with it.

  “Okay?” Hands on the button of his own jeans, Logan paused and cocked his head.

  The faint chill of conditioned air bathed her now-bare legs. She should have felt ridiculous standing in a marble-and-brass kitchen with her jeans around her ankles, but she didn’t. She felt sexy. Empowered.

  Hot.

  “Perfect.” She smiled, toed off her shoes and socks, and stepped out of her jeans. Clad only in a clingy shirt and lace-edged panties, she reached for him, needing to touch the smooth, sculpted muscles that were being revealed to her bit by bit. “Let me.”

  The heat spiraled around them, building to a roar as they stripped each other naked and scattered clothes across the highly polished floor tile. The room should have felt cold, sterile, but the warm brown of the stone set off the wide sweep of his shoulders as he closed the scant distance between them and boosted her back onto the counter.

  The marble cooled the skin of her buttocks and thighs even as the heat from his body seared her front.

  A kitchen was no place for foreplay, she thought as she hooked her ankles behind his hips and fastened her lips to his. Bedrooms were for foreplay and soft sighs, for unions that would last beyond the night.

  Kitchens were for flash and flame and the slap of flesh, which was exactly what he gave her.

  “Sam.” Her name was a raspy breath from his heaving lungs as he cupped her breasts and nipped at her chin. “What are we doing?”

  She kissed him, and unintentionally poured a part of her soul into it. She felt the sharp tear in her chest, heard an almost audi
ble rip, and closed her eyes against the power of it. The regret.

  Keep it light, she told herself, and answered, “We’re doing what we’ve both wanted to do for a month, since the first moment you knocked on the clinic door to pick up the key to the cottage.”

  If they’d acted on the impulse then, would things have happened differently?

  His eyes flashed to molten amber. “If that’s the case, then I should bend you over my arm—” he suited action to words “—and kiss you like this.”

  He touched his lips to hers and hot spikes of pleasure reared up to overwhelm her. Cool sizzles of contact existed beside searing bursts of want. Nerves coexisted with a feeling of safety. Danger with protection.

  So like their relationship to date.

  Then he groaned her name, and everything shifted to want. Need.

  Fire.

  They came together in a rush of straining limbs and heartbeats. He sheathed himself with a condom that must have come from his wallet and entered her with one sure stroke, almost before she was ready for it.

  No, that wasn’t quite true. Her body was well past ready. Her heart, however, hadn’t been braced against that moment of joining. Of connection.

  He filled her, stretched her almost to the point of pain that quickly blurred to edgy pleasure.

  She opened her eyes—when had they fallen shut?—and was shocked to find the room so bright. Always before for her, intimacy had been cloaked in darkness and euphemisms.

  But now she found herself trapped in Logan’s eyes, in his complete and all-consuming awareness as he thrust into her, withdrew and thrust again. She saw the smooth curve of his shoulder, the taut lines of muscle across his chest and ribs, the surge of him into her body, the thrust into the center of her, which coiled hot and ready, her body far ahead of her mind.

  With a shudder of shock and recognition, she thought, no, this was intimacy.

  And as the spring of pleasure wound tighter and tighter still, as Logan drove into her with the power of a warrior and the gentleness of a lover, Sam fought to close her eyes and retreat back into that safe, dark place. But she couldn’t. She was trapped in his wanting expression as though he’d reached into her body and cupped her heart. She couldn’t read his emotions, she could only feel her own. Passion. Excitement. Fear.

  And when his eyes blurred and he shouted her name, when the tension whipped tight within her then sprang free and radiated outward, she felt the strongest emotion of them all.

  Completion.

  The feeling rioted through her, caught the aftershocks and perpetuated them until her whole body hummed with the orgasm and the moment.

  When she returned to herself, minutes later, or maybe an hour, she found him watching her steadily. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, pressing them together and flexing the place where they were still joined.

  “Regrets?” he said quietly, his eyes betraying nothing.

  “No,” she answered automatically, defensively. Then she took a moment to look inside and discovered it was true. There was fear, yes, and a beat of sadness that she couldn’t even hope to hold on to this feeling, this man. But there were no regrets. Not yet. So she shook her head, smiled and softly said, “No regrets.”

  A fine quiver ran through his body and he exhaled. “Good.” He backed away from her, slid out of her, his magnificent body etched in exquisite detail by the harsh overhead lighting. “Come with me?”

  She put her hand in his and they walked into the bed room together. He went into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and came out with a handful more, bringing a smile to her lips. And when he turned out the bedroom lights but left the bathroom lit to provide a soft, indirect light, she realized she’d been wrong all along.

  Intimacy wasn’t in the lighting. It was in the man.

  THEY TURNED TO EACH OTHER twice more during the night, yet still managed to rest and recover from several hectic days.

  The world intruded just shy of 6:00 a.m. when Logan’s phone rang. He cursed and he reached for it, only to remember it was in the kitchen with his pants.

  He and Sam had paused for food around three, but hadn’t bothered with the clothes.

  Sam. Though the phone continued its digital burble, he swung his feet to sit on the side of the mattress, and looked back at the bed. At Sam. The sight of her punched him right in the soul.

  In sleep, the worries of the past few days had smoothed from her face. She looked younger and happier, yet at the same time more fragile, as though a careless word or touch might break her.

  A twist of guilt accompanied the thought. Though they’d set the ground rules the night before, there had been something in her eyes, something in her touch that concerned him. Too much caring, perhaps. Not enough distance.

  Or was that what he was feeling?

  The phone fell silent and he flinched at the sudden quiet. Unable to force himself away from her, he reached out and traced a finger along the delicate skin of her cheek. When she was awake, her jaw was set with determination and a little bit of the devil. As she slept, it softened to a gentle line. A vulnerable curve.

  The phone rang again and he froze. What the hell was he doing? This was a one-night thing. They’d agreed to that, hadn’t they? A one-night thing that had stretched through until morning only because the penthouse was the safest place for them to be.

  That thought brought the memory of William’s voice at his ear, the shiver of not knowing whether he would live or die. Whether he had brought the danger straight to the woman he had promised to protect.

  Suddenly filled with the need to be somewhere, anywhere other than that bedroom, he snatched his hand away and stood quickly, heedless of his nudity. He followed the sound of the phone and grabbed it from beneath the breakfast bar.

  He answered it as he pulled on his pants. “Hello?”

  Half expecting it would be Nancy with good news or bad, he steeled for her voice and was surprised to hear Cage’s deeper tones. “Logan, you’ll want to come down to the Chinatown station.”

  A chill skittered through him. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s been a second sting in the Trehern organization.”

  Logan’s confusion solidified to disbelief, then a surge of excitement as Cage briefly sketched what had gone down.

  “We’ll be right there,” Logan promised, then hung up on his boss.

  He turned to find Sam in the kitchen doorway wearing a sheet and a worried expression. “What’s happened?”

  He paused a moment, once more struck by her beauty. The early morning sunlight glowed through the wide windows and gilded her golden hair. Her jaw was no longer a vulnerable curve, but rather a firm angle where it met her neck, just at the place where he’d discovered she was extra-sensitive to his kisses.

  “Logan? Is it Nancy’s husband?”

  “No,” he answered, a beat of disappointment managing to coexist with the excitement of what had happened overnight, while they slept. According to Cage, there had been no proof of Stephen’s life. No break in the weather to allow the rescue team into the Tehruvian backcountry. The knowledge dimmed Logan’s thrill when he said, “It’s Trehern.”

  Sam swallowed convulsively and moved into the kitchen to gather her clothes, which were spread around in an abandon that had felt perfect the night before, but in the morning light seemed almost…inappropriate.

  She pulled on her clothes before asking in a forcedly firm voice, “What about Trehern?”

  Logan blew out a breath, still not sure he understood—or believed—everything that Cage had told him. “There was a federal sting last night on what was left of Viggo’s operation, which was being led by his son, Viggo Jr. Apparently, they had planted more agents than just me and…Sharilee.” It still hurt to say her name, but perhaps the pain had faded, just a bit. “There was a delivery out on the waterfront last night. Drugs. The feds—led by their undercover man, William—set out a net for the rest of Trehern’s people and busted them good.”

&nb
sp; Logan felt a fierce joy that the bastard’s reign was well and truly over, and baffled relief to learn that William was one of the good guys, but those emotions were tempered with…

  Regret?

  He glanced over at Sam, who hugged herself as though cold. Her face had grown pale. She said, “Then William must have been telling you the truth. And that means Trehern didn’t send anyone after us.”

  “Not exactly.” Logan snagged his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head before saying, “According to Cage, one of Viggo Jr.’s men says he ordered the hit. He can identify the assassin.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Once he’s cut the deal he wants, we’ll know the identity of the shooter. Who knows? The cops may already have the bastard in custody.”

  He should have been elated. But one look at Sam’s pale face, one thump of his heart against his ribs told him he was anything but.

  “So this is almost over?” she said quietly, neither her voice nor her expression giving anything away.

  “Yeah. It’s over.” He turned away and headed for the door. “Come on. Let’s get going. We can grab some coffee on the way to the station.”

  But as the elevator doors closed on them, trapping them in thick, tense silence, one thought beat through Logan’s brain with life-giving rhythm.

  He didn’t want it to be over. Not yet.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam felt out of place at the Chinatown station as official-looking men and women rushed past her with official-looking files and scowls. But she couldn’t have stayed behind in the penthouse and waited it out. She just couldn’t.

  It was over. Logan’s words echoed in her brain, taking on new, deeper meanings every time she repeated them.

  The danger was over.

  Their time together was over.

  She’d known it was coming. She just hadn’t been prepared for it to come so soon. If she’d known, she might not have made love with him—for that was what it had been, love. Not sex, no matter how hard she’d tried to keep it that way.

  “Sam? You want to hear this?” Without waiting for an answer, Logan took her elbow and steered her through the seething crowd of bodies.