Allison Brennan - See No Evil

Connor was no longer a cop because of Julia. And yet the sexy counselor slept on the other side of his door, and he stood here with a semi-hard-on and thoughts of taking her into his bed playing with his mind.

For the second time in as many days he took a cold shower.

The stainless-steel blade had been sharpened to its maximum, the long straight edge curving slightly toward the deadly point. The shiny blade reflected the moonlight that filtered through the long, narrow windows of the Spanish-style mansion she’d lived in since her mother deserted her ten years ago.

Faye’s father wasn’t home, not that it would matter if he were-Blaine Kessler had virtually ignored her since her birth. He had come to her six times without a thought to being caught. Meanwhile, her father was usually in his own room with his own woman.

The one who came to see her was an angel. It wouldn’t surprise Faye if no one could see him but her, because she was the one he’d chosen.

“Why aren’t you with Cami?” she’d asked the second time he came to her house and made love to her under her father’s roof. The night Skip had shot the teacher in the eyes and she had watched.

“Why would you ask that?” His fingers skimmed her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.

“She’s beautiful.” Her words came out a croak. The truth was ugly, like she was. Men wanted Cami because she was beautiful and sexy.

“Cami is selfish,” he said. “Her own pleasure is more important than mine.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“You think I’m lying?”

Faye shook her head.

He kissed her. That night, like tonight, had a near full moon. “You are precious to me. Cami is important, but you are my rock. I trust you. You would never betray me.”

“Never.”

“That’s why no one can know about this.”

“I understand.”

“Even Cami.”

“I didn’t tell her last time.”

“I know.” He kissed her, touched her gently. “Do you trust me?”

Her lip trembled. “Yes.”

He picked up her knife. “I trust you.” He handed her the blade. She stared at it, blinded by the power of the steel. One slice and he’d be gone, she’d be gone. “Cut me,” he whispered, his hot breath against her face.

He rolled over to his back, his arms outstretched. She straddled his naked body, slid onto him, gasping at the invasion within her. She lowered her hand, the hand wrapped tight around the blade’s pearl handle. Showed him the knife, just as he told her the first time. He licked his lips, closed his eyes.

“Now.”

She sliced his skin, a mere sliver, but the pain of the sudden piercing made him gasp, tremble, and grow harder within her. The sight of the blood, dark in the moonlight, excited her and she rubbed her chest against his, his blood on her, the thrill that he trusted her with his life, that one slice too deep and he would be gone, his blood on her hands, in her body, staining her soul.

They rose together, peaked, and as he toppled over the edge she cut him once more and tasted his coppery heat.

Every time it was deeper, harder, rougher. The pain of the first night was nothing compared to today. When would it stop? Faye didn’t want it to. But tonight he’d lost blood and slept in her bed, something he’d never done before. She had him all to herself and she lay awake and stared at him through the night. She touched his hair. He was real. When he woke, she apologized, she hadn’t meant to go too far, they’d gotten carried away.

“It was heaven, my darling,” he said. “I’m fine. Better than fine. You make me alive.”

Faye had never felt alive. She stared at the blade. Just once. One more time…

Gently, carefully, she sliced her arm and watched, enchanted, as blood seeped out and dripped onto her sheets.

Julia sat up abruptly, disoriented. She wasn’t in her own room. She wasn’t in her house. Her head was thick with sleep and a dull fog. How many beers had she had last night?

She looked around, fearful she’d done something really stupid. Like sleep with Connor Kincaid. Alcohol stripped away inhibitions, and he’d been kind to her. She’d confided in him things she hadn’t been able to share with anyone else.

And he was really, really nice to look at.

“Dumb,” she mumbled. She’d handed Connor Kincaid ammunition to use against her down the road. Why did she feel she could trust him? He’d made no secret what he thought of her.

But he’d actually been nice last night.

She glanced around the living room. It didn’t look like she’d done anything stupid. And she remembered the night before, talking with Dillon about Emily’s case, eating Mexican food with Connor, him driving her home-but she wasn’t home.

She’d fallen asleep in his truck. When he woke her up, she’d looked at his porch and said, “This isn’t my house.”

“I know. I asked, but you fell asleep. Where do you live?”

“La Jolla.”

“That’s thirty minutes from here. And I’m beat.”

“Take me to my car,” she said.

“You’re too tired to drive.”

“I have my second wind.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come inside, I won’t bite.”

He’d unfolded the couch and it became a bed. He tossed her a blanket and said, “Sleep tight.” Then he went to his own room and shut the door.

She thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but she was wrong. She’d slept surprisingly well, dreams of Connor infiltrating her thoughts. Betrayed by her subconscious.

“He’s too sexy for his own good and you haven’t had a man in-” How long? Years? “-a long time.”

“Are you talking to me, Counselor?”

She jumped when Connor came out of the kitchen. His collar-length black hair was wet and slicked back, his face clean-shaven, and the smell of soap and a mild cologne wafted out to her. Had she spoken aloud? No. Maybe.

“Just thinking,” she mumbled.

“You think loudly. Coffee’s ready, then I’ll take you to your car.”

“Um, thanks,” she mumbled, but didn’t move.

“I don’t do breakfast in bed,” he said. “Unless I’m the one being served.” He winked and crossed his arms.

She glared at him. All niceties from the night before went right out the window. Fine, if that’s how he wanted it. She slid out from between the sheets and stood, hand on her bare hip. Her panties barely covered her, and she’d been told her legs were her best feature. She crossed the room to where she’d tossed her skirt the night before, Connor’s eyes heating her back and everything below her waist. She blushed, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing his perusal had gotten to her. She stepped into her skirt, pulled it over her rear, zipped up the side.

She whirled around and was about to give him a lecture on manners when she closed her mouth. The raw sexuality and desire on Connor’s face startled her. This predicament was certainly unplanned. She swallowed as his gaze moved up her body to her face.

Then he turned around and went back into the kitchen.

He was attracted to her, no doubt about it. But physical and emotional attraction were two completely different animals. They’d had a past, a brief past, but too much had happened since. He would never truly forgive what she’d done, and she couldn’t be sorry for it. She was sorry he’d lost his career, but not that a bad cop had been stopped and the death of two girls avenged. Connor’s career was collateral damage.

Ten minutes and a cup of coffee later, Connor took her to her car. “What are your plans today?” he asked, his first words since seeing her half-naked.

“First to my office to see if I can sweet-talk Frisco into getting me a copy of Victor’s autopsy report. I gave him a huge case when Stanton put me on leave; he owes me one.”