Mean Streak(116)

Rather than feeling teary, Emory’s eyes felt exceptionally dry, as though she hadn’t even blinked since learning of her friend’s betrayal. “No.”

“You never suspected?”

“No.”

“You’re furious.”

“You’re damn right I am.” She came out of her chair, pushed it aside, and began pacing the area between the dresser and the foot of the bed. “I’m not jealous. Not even hurt. I’m livid.”

“She doesn’t deserve the energy that requires.”

“I’m more angry at myself than at her.”

“For what?”

“For being so naive.”

“Trusting.”

“Blind.”

“Can I throw out another adjective?”

She stopped pacing and looked at him. “What?”

“Indifferent. You made it easy for her. You didn’t care enough about Jeff’s diddling to find out who was on the receiving end.”

She thought about that, then said, “Stop being right and let me rant.”

He motioned for her to continue.

“What really makes me angry is that I told her about my night with you. It was the most treasured secret I had, and I wanted to keep it all to myself. But I had to share the most personal aspects of it with her.” She explained why, then looked at him uneasily.

He met her gaze and said solemnly, “I hope you did me justice.”

It was such an unexpected reaction from him that she laughed. “Connell was wrong. You can joke.”

“Wasn’t joking.”

But he was, and she ate up the sight of his rare grin. He was right, Alice didn’t deserve the energy it took to be angry. Besides, her heart was too full of another emotion. Softly she said, “I think your friend Jack is onto us.”

“He’s not my friend, but he is onto us. When he came back with breakfast, he knew he’d interrupted either a fight or foreplay.”

“Was it a fight?”

“Sure as hell wasn’t foreplay.”

Knowing she was venturing into the deep end, she said, “We left that conversation unfinished, Hayes.”

Just like that, his mood shifted. He stood up and turned his back to her. “Better that way.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll only go round and round on this issue, Doc. It’s pointless.”

She went to him and forced him to face her. “During one of our first conversations, I said, ‘There’s always a choice.’ And you corrected me. ‘Not always,’ you said. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“You were right. You did what you had to do in Westboro because you had no choice.”

“What you’re saying then is that there are dirty jobs, but somebody has to do them.”

“Not exactly the phrasing I would use,” she said.

“But that’s basically where you’re coming from.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Same damn place,” he said tightly. “But do you understand what that means? It means there’s a part of me that doesn’t mind being dirty. That scares me. It should scare you.”

She could tell by the implacability of his eyes that her arguments hadn’t made a dent. “You’re going to disappear again, aren’t you?”

“Why do you sound surprised? I told you I would.”

“You also told me that nothing has changed. You’re wrong, Hayes. Everything has changed. Damned if I’m going to let you deny it.”

She reached up, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled his head down so she could reach his lips. He resisted and tried to angle away until she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, then he not only weakened to allow the kiss, he took command of it.

Suddenly the aggressor, his mouth slanted over hers and feasted on it. He put his hands under her ass and lifted her onto his thighs, then carried her as far as the nearest wall and pinned her there with his body. Her legs went around him, securing him in the cove of her thighs.

With no space between them to allow for thrusts, he applied a firm and insistent pressure that she met with yearning undulations. Their craving for each other was matched only by their frustration, hampered as they were by clothing, by time and place, and by circumstances.

Tearing his mouth free of hers, he buried his face in the ell of her shoulder and neck, his breath fast and hot against her skin. “Yeah, okay, something has changed. When I’m by myself in the night, I’ll want you.”

He dipped his head and found her nipple through her clothing, moving his mouth across it as he hoarsely whispered broken phrases. “Sleeping between your thighs, finding your breasts in the dark, listening to your breathing, and smelling your hair on my pillow. I’ll want all that, damn you. Damn you, Doc. You won’t be easy to let go.”

“Then stay with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I—”

His cell phone chirped. Once, twice, three times. Then it stopped.

They froze, panting, waiting, and when it began chirping again, she lowered her feet to the floor. He released her and stepped back, his hand going straight to his crotch and massaging it, cursing lavishly as he fished the phone from his jeans pocket.