Marilyn Pappano - Criminal Deception

He looked around for a place to lay the towel, then wrapped it securely around his fists. “No, thanks,” he said, half surprised his voice worked, though it sounded harsh and very much as if he were lying. “But I would like to see where you fell.”

She looked for a moment as if she’d forgotten about it, then gave a lopsided shrug. “It’s okay.”

“Just a look. Turn around.”

The look in her eyes suggested she was debating an argument, then, with a frown, she turned her back to him. Her purse came off first, dangling from her fingers to land with a clunk on the wood floor. Next she grasped the hem of her shirt and slowly peeled it up. Halfway to her shoulders, she stopped and stood motionless.

Just beneath the scrunched fabric was the band of her bra, narrow, lacy, black. Damn. Underneath that was skin, smooth, olive-toned, stretching across bone and muscle, tapering in at her waist, starting to flare again before her shorts blocked the view. Not a lot of skin. Not as much as he regularly saw on joggers and swimmers and girls at the shop. But it was Liz’s skin, and from the moment he’d met her, he’d wanted to see it, touch it, kiss it.

He closed his eyes briefly, took a shallow breath, then dropped the towel and walked to her. There was a mark in the middle of her back above her waist, where the skin dipped slightly over her spine, red and scraped, promising to add more colors to its palette by morning. He touched it gently and she shivered. Not because her skin was warm and his fingers were cold. He knew that instinctively.

“You’ll have a good bruise tomorrow.” His voice was thick, strained.

So was hers. “It won’t be the first. Three brothers, remember?”

He was warm and getting warmer. His fingers were still on her back, tracing lightly, and she wasn’t moving or pushing him away. It would be so easy to put both hands at her waist- like that -then to slide them up her arms- like that -then grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him.

Like that.

There was a smear of dirt on her cheek where she’d fallen, and her curls looked like coiled springs that were about to explode, but she was gorgeous. Her dark gaze locked with his, her eyes hazy with desire and regret, and he figured he looked about the same. He wanted her, damn it, but there were good reasons for both of them to keep their distance, starting with Josh.

Then she sighed softly, and he thought to hell with Josh. All their lives, Joe had been the responsible, reliable, honorable twin, while Josh had done what he wanted, taken what he wanted and run when he wanted. Joe had always thought too much, and Josh hadn’t thought at all.

At this moment, Joe didn’t want to think. He wanted to feel. To do.

Liz’s breathing was shallow, ragged, then he realized that it was his own echoing in his ears. She was hardly breathing at all, waiting, watching him, wanting…

Wanting him for who he was, or because he looked exactly like his brother?

Later, that would matter. All the reasons this was a bad idea would matter. But not right now.

He raised both hands to her face, cupping his palms to her cheeks, lowering his head until his mouth brushed hers. She responded with a breath, another soft sigh, and knotted her fingers in the waistband of his jeans. She was so slender, so delicate, and yet she’d probably saved his life tonight by yanking him through the River’s Edge gate.

He brushed her mouth again, rewarded with another whisper of sound from her, then drew back to stare at her. “It’ll take more than a mention of Josh to stop me this time.”

She stared back as she moved closer, taking the two steps needed to bring their bodies together. His hands moved of their own accord, sliding around to her back, holding her exactly where he wanted her to be.

Rising onto her toes, she murmured into his ear, “That mention of Josh wasn’t to stop you. It was to stop me.”

Remember Josh, she’d said in a panic-tinged whisper. He liked thinking he could have made her forget.

He didn’t tease her, play or rush. He just kissed her, all mouths and tongues and tastes and heat and need and hunger and two years’ worth of wanting. His heart was pounding, his lungs burning, and all he could think was she was worth the wait.

She was clinging to him when he stopped, or maybe he was clinging to her. He didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to step back and start thinking. He just wanted to kiss her again and see where it would lead. To bed, for sure. To trouble, absolutely. To disaster-long-time unhappy, hurts to be with her or without her-pretty damn likely.

He touched her hair, stretching out one thick curl, soft and shiny as it reshaped around his fingers. He toyed with it a moment, sighed heavily and rested his forehead against hers. “I’d better go.”

Her grip on him tightened, then slowly released. She didn’t take a step away, though. She left that to him, and it was damn hard.

“If you want an ice pack for your back…” He’d send Natalia over with it. Once he walked out that door, he couldn’t come back, not tonight.

“Thanks, but I’ve got a half-frozen bottle of water if I need it.” Her smile was awkward and not very convincing. “There’s a cold spot in the refrigerator where stuff freezes.”

“You can’t put a water bottle on-” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll see you.”

She let him get to the door before speaking. “Why didn’t you tell Detective Maricci what happened tonight?”

With half the room between them, it was safe to face her again. “I didn’t see the driver. I can’t give a description of the truck that’s worth anything. I didn’t get the tag number. Did you?”

She shook her head.

“If I’d told him, he couldn’t have found the guy, but he still would have wanted to know why I was someone’s target. It just seemed pointless.” He opened the door, then looked at her again. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t my story to tell.”

He acknowledged that with a nod. “If you need anything…”

Her smile was unexpected and bright and made him regret that half the room separated them. “I’ll call you. And if you need anything…”

After studying her a moment, he reluctantly grinned. “Yeah. Same thing.”

Not that he would be calling anyone, he thought as he grabbed his shoes and the slickers, then dashed across the yard to his house. But if he did, she would be the one.

Because she was the only thing he might need.

When Liz was home in Dallas, Saturdays were usually reserved for sleeping in late, then running errands that she couldn’t fit into her lunch hour or after work on week nights. This morning, she’d done the sleeping in, a hard, dreamless sleep, broken only by faint pain when she’d rolled over. Now she lay on her side, staring out the window at a blue sky with fat clouds. She didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to think, just wanted to lie there and remember.

The touch of Joe’s fingers on her back.

The taste of him on her tongue.

The sound of his breathing, ragged in her ear.

The need to kiss him again.

And to never kiss him again.

Her cell phone beeped, and she picked it up from the floor, then shut off the alarm. The marshal Mika was sending from Atlanta would be at the coffee shop by eleven, and she wanted to get there first. Liz shoved back the covers, then planted her feet on the floor. Her back was sore, and she was stiff from such a long, solid sleep, but she gritted her teeth and pushed to her feet.

“You’re getting too old for this, Lizzie,” she muttered, using her mother’s nickname for her and echoing Emilia’s sentiments. “Women your age should be married and having babies, not chasing around bad guys.”