Her Colton P.I. Page 18

  Chris shook his head. “I don’t follow you.”

  “I...seduced him one night when he’d had too much to drink, but not so drunk he couldn’t...couldn’t perform. I just wanted him to see me for once. Not as his best friend since forever, but as a woman. I thought...”

  She gulped air. “I didn’t... I wasn’t deliberately trying to get pregnant... We did take...precautions. But I was overjoyed when it happened. I thought...it’s a sign this was meant to be. That we were meant to be together. I knew Grant would do the honorable thing when I told him—that’s the kind of man he was.”

  Her tears spilled over, trickling down her cheeks. “Long before Ian and Jamie were born, I knew I’d made a mistake. But I couldn’t undo it. I couldn’t even tell Grant what I’d done. He went to his grave thinking it was his mistake, thinking he’d taken advantage of me.”

  She bent her head and covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably as remorse and regret swirled through her. Then strong arms closed around her, pulling her against a hard, male chest. “Every time I look at Ian and Jamie,” she choked out, her tears staining Chris’s shirt, “every time I see Grant in them...I think of how they were conceived. And I know I can never make it up to them. No matter how good a mother I am, I can never make it up to them.”

  “Shh,” he soothed, his hand stroking her back in a comforting fashion. “It’s okay, Holly. You’re human. You made a mistake.” She couldn’t have spoken right then even if she’d wanted to. “You love those boys,” Chris continued as his arms tightened around her. “Anyone can see that. That’s all that matters.”

  Her fingers clutched his arm, needing something solid to hold on to. Needing the human connection as she cried out her grief over what she’d done to one man in another man’s arms. When her tears finally abated, she raised her face to his. “I didn’t tell you that for me,” she whispered, catching her breath on a sob. “I just wanted you to know you’re not alone. Just wanted you to know you’re not a cold, uncaring bastard. It’s not your fault you didn’t love Laura the way she wanted. The way she needed. Just as it wasn’t Grant’s fault he wasn’t in love with me the way I was in love with him.” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, then opened to face him honestly. “You’re human, too, Chris. You made a mistake, just like me. But that doesn’t mean you need to live in purgatory the rest of your life to atone for it.”

  * * *

  They ended up back in the master bedroom. A part of Chris knew he’d kissed Holly as if his life depended on it, and she’d kissed him back. Then he’d swung her into his arms and carried her in here. But another part of him was taken completely by surprise. He wasn’t the romantic kind. He was earthy. Direct. And his lovemaking had always reflected it. But somehow, Holly brought out the romantic in him, and at the moment he’d done it, carrying her into the bedroom had seemed like a good idea.

  But he wasn’t the only one having romantic ideas, and Holly surprised him. She dragged him into the master bathroom but prevented him from stepping into the shower when he stripped. “Uh-uh,” she said, tugging his hand. “Whirlpool tub. When I was giving Ian and Jamie a bath in this tub, I couldn’t help thinking it’s big enough for two adults.” She was already running the water, and when it was six inches deep, she asked, “How do you turn the jets on?”

  He showed her, and with the water still running Holly put his hands on the top button of her blouse. Her suggestive “Help me” sent blood pulsing through his body—and one body part in particular.

  When she was as naked as he was, he turned the water off, climbed into the whirlpool and helped her in after him. But when Chris would have sat down with his back to the tub, Holly stopped him. “I have this fantasy,” she told him, a tiny smile on her lips. “Do you mind?”

  Mind? He had no mind when she looked at him that way, when her voice curled through him as tangible as a caress. And the fantasies that came to Chris made his voice husky when he asked, “What did you have in mind?”

  Chapter 17

  Chris lay half-submerged in the whirlpool, his head pillowed on Holly’s breasts, the water swirling around him. Holly’s fantasy hadn’t involved kinky sex—but then, neither had his. Her fantasy had turned out to be relatively tame compared to some he’d thought of. But how could he complain about fulfilling a fantasy that had him cradled in Holly’s arms? A fantasy that involved breasts as tantalizing soft and smooth as hers beneath his head?

  And oh, yeah, let’s not forget what her hands are doing, he reminded himself blissfully. Not to mention her legs. Holly was amazingly limber.

  Eventually, though, he couldn’t take any more. “Holly,” he warned.

  “Me, too,” she whispered.

  They dried themselves quickly, and Chris was glad to note Holly no longer seemed shy about letting him see her body. He looked his fill, which took his body from low gear to full throttle in less than a minute.

  He knocked the box of condoms off the nightstand next to the bed in his haste. “Leave them,” he told Holly when she made a move to retrieve the spilled contents. “I have enough for now.” He opened his fist and let the handful he’d grabbed fall onto the nightstand. All except for one.

  She gasped and he sucked in his breath when his fingers stroked over her tender flesh and found her ready. His voice was guttural when he said, “So damned ready for me, Holly. Do you know how much that turns me on?”

  He captured her right hand and wrapped her fingers around his erection. “Take what you want.” He almost went ballistic when she squeezed, then seated him in place, raising her hips as if to envelop him. She couldn’t quite accomplish it—but he wasn’t going to deny her or himself. His lips found hers as he slid into her tight sheath, swallowing her moan of pleasure. Her hips rose to meet his, taking him so deep he again experienced that sense of coming home he’d felt last night.

  He soon found a rhythm that pleased Holly—if her little gasps meant anything. As for him, he loved riding her soft and slow, holding back and building her excitement to fever pitch. “Wait for it,” he panted when her breathing quickened too soon. “Wait for it.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” He slowed and she whimpered in frustration. He knew she’d been close, but that orgasm would have been a prairie grass fire—easily started, quickly over. He was aiming for an all-out conflagration, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until she achieved it.

  Deep and slow, deep and slow. Her fingernails digging into his shoulders, urging him to go faster. Sharp little fingernails that would have hurt—if he could feel anything other than Holly tight and wet around him, and oh so perfect. Made for you, he thought with that fraction of his brain that could still think.

  But eventually his control cracked. His thrusts quickened. And Holly’s body arched as she cried out his name and came. And came. And came. Her orgasm triggered his, and he let go with one last thrust and her name on his lips.

  * * *

  Wally’s howl woke them both from a profound sleep. Holly was dazed and disoriented for a moment, but Chris wasn’t. He was in and out of the bathroom before she knew it, tugging on his jeans and zipping them carefully. Wally’s howls changed into urgent yips, as if he was trying to get at something. Chris’s hands clasped Holly’s arms and he pulled her close in the darkness to whisper in her ear, “Get dressed, but stay here. I’m going to check it out.” Then he was gone.

  “Oh, heck no,” she muttered, scrambling into her clothes and tugging her boots on. “What kind of a wuss do you think I am?” She grabbed the first thing she could find that was big and could be used as a weapon. Then she ran after Chris.

  She made it into the living room just in time to hear an engine roar as a car or truck accelerated away from the house down the long, winding driveway. A bare-chested Chris was crouched at one of the front windows, peering through the curtains. One hand was tightly c
lutching Wally’s collar, holding him back. The other hand held a gun.

  “Chris?” she hissed, and he whirled around.

  “Damn it, I told you to stay in the bedroom.”

  “You’re not the boss of me,” she shot back without thinking. Then could have smacked herself for the less-than-adult response. She and Grant had used that phrase when they were kids, and it had become something of an inside joke when they were older. But Chris wasn’t to know that.

  The tense, worried expression on Chris’s face rapidly changed to amusement. “I’m not the boss of you? What are we, in grade school?”

  “Okay, that came out wrong. What I meant to say is you can’t expect me to just obey you blindly.”

  “And what’s that in your hand?”

  Holly glanced down. “Oh. Well. I thought I might need a weapon.”

  “You were going to take on intruders with a Wiffle bat?”

  “It belongs to the boys. I couldn’t find anything else.” She quickly put it down. “Forget about that.” She pointed to the front door. “Was someone trying to break in? Is that why Wally was barking?”

  Chris’s expression went from amused to grim in a heartbeat. “Apparently so.” He opened the front door, then turned on the porch light to see better before stepping outside. But there was nothing to see; whoever had been there was long gone.

  “Burglars? Or do you think the McCays...?”

  “Could have been your garden-variety burglar, but I doubt it. Too coincidental. But the two figures I saw moved way too quickly to be the McCays—late twenties, early thirties, I’d say.” He turned to look at her, his face half in light, half in shadow. “You said the McCays tried to have you killed. Could have been the same goons. If it was them, they probably drove up from Houston—they had enough time.”

  “It probably was them.” Holly shivered even though the evening was warm. “I know this is going to sound funny coming from their intended victim, but...they didn’t seem all that competent when they tried to kill me before. What I mean is—”

  “If they were halfway good, you’d already be dead?”

  She laughed a little. “Something like that.” Then another thought occurred to her. “The alarm didn’t go off.”

  Chris came inside, closed the door and locked it with the two dead bolts. “They never got close enough to try the door or attempt to pick the lock. They took off as soon as Wally started howling.”

  He did something with his gun—putting the safety on? Holly wondered—then slid the weapon into the shoulder holster she hadn’t noticed before was sitting on the floor by the window. He must have drawn his gun right away, as soon as he retrieved it from his bedroom, she reasoned, but he needed the other hand to hold on to Wally.

  “Be right back,” Chris told her, disappearing down the hallway. When he returned, his hands were empty.

  He crouched down and scratched Wally’s ears. “Good boy!” He praised the dog for several more seconds, getting his face washed in the process by an adoring Wally, then stood. “Let’s continue this discussion in the kitchen. I want to give Wally a treat.”

  * * *

  The clock in the kitchen said it was a quarter to four. Holly watched Wally gobble down the treat Chris gave him in one gulp, then plead for another. “Oh, hell, why not?” Chris said, suiting his actions to his words. “You deserve it.” Then he glanced up sharply at Holly and stood. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” She wrinkled her brow in a question.

  “I shouldn’t have said hell. I should have said heck.”

  A smile slowly dawned along with understanding. “You’re trying to clean up your language.” Chris looked abashed, and she knew she was right. “I noticed it before, but I didn’t really focus on it, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.” He put the bag of doggy treats back into the cabinet. “Peg mentioned the other day that Susan understands a lot of what she hears now. Peg also said she told Joe he needed to watch his language. She didn’t say I did, too, but...”

  The backs of Holly’s eyes prickled suddenly, and she knew tears weren’t far away. “You’re such a good man, Chris,” she whispered, moved by his attempt to do the right thing, to set a good example for the children around him, even in something as simple as this. “Such a good man.”

  That was the moment she fell in love with him.

  No, that’s not true, her inner self argued. You’ve been falling in love with him since the first day. You’re just now acknowledging it, that’s all.

  She walked toward him, then placed her hands on his bare chest. She didn’t realize her tears had overflowed their banks until Chris said, “You’re crying again.” Bewildered. His right hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her tears away. “And this time I think it does have something to do with me. I just don’t know why.”

  Holly choked back her tears as the laughter Chris could always evoke came to the fore. “Because...” She wasn’t about to tell him her sudden revelation that she was in love with him, so she settled for “Because you’re such a good man. The kind of man I want Ian and Jamie to grow to be someday.”

  Chris shook his head. “I’m no role model, Holly.”

  She cradled his hand against her cheek, smiling through the tears. “Think again.”

  * * *

  Chris and Holly decided to try for a couple more hours of sleep before morning, although Holly made a sound of dismay when Chris brought his gun into the bedroom with them. “Just to be on the safe side,” he assured her. “I don’t think those men will be back. Not without a better plan.” He placed the holstered gun on the nightstand...right next to the box of condoms she’d picked up and returned there last night.

  He drew her into the curve of his shoulder. “You’re safe here, Holly. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “But what if the McCays don’t fall for the trap we’ve set? What then?”

  He smiled in the darkness. A grim smile he didn’t let Holly see. “Those goons they sent? I’ll call Angus McCay first thing in the morning, let him know they failed to kill you.”

  “How will you do that? You’re not supposed to be staying here with me—at least that’s what the McCays believe—so how would you know? And besides,” she added, “you’re not supposed to know the McCays want me dead, remember? So even if you know someone tried to break in, you wouldn’t know they were anything other than burglars.”

  “Trust me, I’ll come up with something believable.” He laughed, but the humor was missing. “The McCays thought I was stupid enough to fall for their original story and not do a little digging on them. I won’t do anything to disabuse their minds of that belief. But I’ll get them up here in person.” He kissed her temple, his voice softening. “See if I don’t.”

  * * *

  This time when Annabel and Sam arrived, Holly and Chris were dressed and ready for them. Chris was in the kitchen, putting together the fixings for his “signature French toast,” as Annabel called it, and Holly was setting the table.

  “I’ll get it,” she said when the doorbell rang.

  Chris glanced at the clock as he whisked eggs in a bowl. “They’re late.” He looked at Holly. “Make sure it’s them before you open the door.”

  Holly cast him an “are you kidding me, you think I need to be told that?” expression, but didn’t say anything.

  She glanced through the peephole and saw Chris’s sister and brother on the porch. She swung the door open. “Hi, Annabel. Hi, Sam.” Sam was in plainclothes; Annabel was in uniform. But they both looked...exhausted. Neither returned her cheerful greeting. And there was no answering smile on either face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Where’s Chris?” Sam asked.

  “He’s in the kitchen making breakfast for you. French toast?” she faltered.

  Sam he
aded straight for the kitchen, Annabel right behind him. Holly clutched at Annabel’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  Annabel didn’t stop, but she did say over her shoulder, “We found another woman murdered last night. Another copycat serial killing, with the red bull’s-eye on her forehead.”

  “Oh, my God!” Holly covered her mouth with her hand, then quickly followed Chris’s twin into the kitchen.

  Sam was already telling Chris, “...and her name was Ingrid Iverson. Did you know her?”

  Chris put down the bowl he was holding, turned off the fire beneath the skillet and shook his head. “Name doesn’t ring a bell. But then the last few years new people have been moving into Granite Gulch. It’s not like when we were kids.”

  Annabel said bluntly, “We’re here, Chris, because we promised we would be. But we’ve been up all night.” She glanced at her younger brother. “Sam won’t admit it, but he’s dead on his feet. I am, too.”

  “I’m okay,” Sam insisted, but Holly saw the smudge-like circles of total exhaustion beneath his eyes. Beneath Annabel’s, too.

  “No, you’re not.” Chris’s voice had that big-brother quality to it, mixed in with concern. And love. The kind of emotions most men hated to admit they felt toward a brother...even if they did.

  Holly would have smiled if this wasn’t so serious. Annabel and Sam were supposed to help them spring the trap for the McCays today. That was why they were here. And Chris had already set the plan in motion last night—the attempted break-in early this morning was proof the McCays were already taking the bait.

  “I’m not letting either of you participate in this sting in the condition you’re in now,” Chris said unequivocally. “You’re practically weaving on your feet.” He thought for a moment. “The McCays sent men to kill Holly early this morning. Yeah,” he confirmed when his siblings cast him alert looks that contradicted their exhausted faces.