Gone (Deadly Secrets #2)(41)

The door pulled open, and steam poured from the room just before Raegan appeared. A plush white towel was wrapped around her damp body and tucked together at her breasts. She held another in her hand, scrubbing the wetness from her hair.

She made it two steps into the bedroom before she saw him, jerked back with a yelp, and dropped the hand towel at her feet. “Goddamn it, Alec! You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry.” He pushed to his feet, trying to ignore the water droplets on her bare shoulders and the way her damp auburn hair hung in waves to the middle of her back.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” She tucked the towel tighter together at her breasts and held it closed with her hand. “I thought I told you to leave.”

“You did. But we need to talk first.”

Her jaw clenched down hard, and she glared at him, but all he could see was the scrapes and bruises on the right side of her face. And all he could think about was who had done that to her when he’d been driving away from her.

She stalked past him to the dresser and yanked out a T-shirt and a pair of sweats from the drawers. “I’m done talking to you.”

He turned to look after her and cringed when he saw the bruise on the back of her left shoulder blade. Hold it together. For her. Don’t lose your shit here, moron. “Ethan said you already went to the cops.”

“I did.” She tossed the clothes on the bed and jerked a pair of underwear from the top drawer of her dresser. Something white and lacy he knew he was going to fantasize about late at night for the next damn year.

Focus, idiot.

He forced his gaze away from the lingerie between her fingertips and up to her face. “Tell me what happened.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t get to know. You don’t get to ask. At least not me. You want to get the information from your brother, go right ahead. Call Jack Bickam if you want to know, but I’m done with this. I’m done with your secrets and your moodiness and your telling me what to do.” She pointed the lingerie at him. “You’re the one who walked away from me. From us. I was stupid to ask for your help on these cases. I know that now. You don’t care about them. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about anything but wallowing in your own misery. So go ahead.” She grabbed her clothing from the bed and stalked past him back toward the bathroom. “Go ahead and wallow but leave me the hell out of it. I’ve had way more than enough for this lifetime.”

He grasped her by the arm so she couldn’t shut the bathroom door and close him out. “You think I don’t care?”

Her eyes narrowed, not the soft green he remembered but this time flickering with a flame he sensed was about to ignite. The same flame suddenly flaring hot inside him. “I know you don’t.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know everything. And thanks to you, I also know that the only reason we ever got married was because of Em—”

Grasping her by the other arm, he pulled her up against him and kissed her to cut her off. He couldn’t let her say it. They were the words he’d regretted from the moment they’d left his lips.

Her eyes flew wide. She dropped the clothing and pressed both hands against his chest, lurching back from his mouth. “You also don’t get to kiss me, you jerk. I’m not your wife anymore. You made sure of that. And this isn’t your room, so get the hell out of my apart—”

He yanked her close and kissed her again, didn’t know how else to get her to stop talking, knew he should probably release her and back away but desperately didn’t want to. Because even though she was spitting mad, even though she hated him and had every right to hate him from now until the end of time, he didn’t feel the same. He never had.

She pushed hard against his chest and stumbled back, breaking his grip on her arms. “I said you don’t get to kiss me like that, you son of a bitch.”

The towel slipped free of its knot and skimmed her body, exposing those luscious breasts he’d kissed and licked and laved so many times he’d lost count. That fire flared hotter inside him, bringing his body to life in a way it hadn’t felt in years. He watched as she grasped the towel at her waist, as she yanked it back up and tucked it tighter around her breasts, blocking the gorgeous sight from his view. Heat rolled through his belly and shot through his veins as he lifted his gaze to her face, as he focused on her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths, and the fervor brewing in her eyes.

Instead of moving farther away, as he expected her to do, she stepped toward him. “I say who kisses me.”

His pulse picked up. He didn’t move. Knew he deserved the right hook or knee to the groin or whatever she was about to do to him. Knew he deserved way worse than that. Her fingers tangled in his shirt. She glared up at him. But she didn’t lash out at him, didn’t try to hurt him. Instead, she lifted to her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Didn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. And then his brain kicked into gear and he realized, she’s kissing me.

Biology overtook reason. Lust replaced common sense. History, passion, and need overwhelmed him, empowered him, spurred him forward. He closed his arms around her and tugged her tight against him. And opened to her kiss, drawing her into his mouth before the world could spiral in and tear her away.