Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

“Oh, that’s right…she’s a vegetarian.”

“Nope. I think she upped her commitment to the cause. Now she’s a vegan.”

“She was last year, too. It lasted a couple of weeks.”

He snorted in amusement. Kristen smiled back and quit fighting him. Gave up the battle with herself. Sliding onto the couch, she tried not to melt against him when his arm pulled her close and her head nestled so naturally into the crook of his neck. “So, how was it? Are you hot on the trail of those long-lost classmates?”

His arm felt right around her and the whiff of his cologne reminded her of how easily she could respond to him. “I suppose.”

“Don’t they know they can’t escape? That you’re like a bloodhound when you’re tracking something?”

“Actually, DeLynn Vaughn, er, Simms, is in charge of locating everyone, and she’s a lot better at it than I am.”

“If you say so.”

“Mmm.” She frowned and decided to tell him about the rest of the meeting. In for a penny…“I showed everyone at the meeting the picture that was left on my car and told them about the tape.”

She felt him tense a bit, the muscles surrounding her tightening. “And?”

“And everyone agrees with you, that I should call the police.”

“Good. And have you?”

“First thing in the morning. I promise.”

He lifted her chin with one finger and forced her to look him straight in the eyes. “I’m going to hold you to it, Kris. This is important. You don’t know what kind of a nutcase you’ve got running around. A prankster who’s getting his rocks off by scaring the crap out of you or a real psycho, like the person who killed Jake Marcott.”

Kristen grimaced. Ross had always accused her of never being able to get over Jake’s death, of feeling guilty that the boy she’d loved had died, of never letting go of him. He’d also blamed Kristen’s unrequited dreams and fantasies about a boy who had become a ghost for ruining their marriage.

Part of his accusations were true. No doubt about it.

She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast. “I’m serious. This isn’t a random act, and we both know it. Whoever decided to mess with your car planned it. Stole the picture. Either audiotaped the murder years before or stole the tape from someone who did, someone who never mentioned it or gave the tape to the police.” Eyebrows drawn in concentration, he added, “It’s no coincidence that this is happening now, when you’re planning the reunion. Someone’s been waiting for just this moment.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ross slowly released her, but his tone was demanding. “You think it was random? That whoever did this was just up at the school, waiting for you to walk into that damned maze?”

“Of course not,” she admitted.

“I don’t like it,” Ross said, frowning into the fire.

“Neither do I.”

“I think it would be best if I stuck around.”

Her gaze, which had drifted toward Marmalade, flew to his face. “What do you mean? Like…stay here? Overnight?”

The fire hissed and crackled as he asked, “Would that be so bad?”

“We’re supposed to be separated…you can’t just…move back in.” She shook her head though a part of her wanted it badly enough to scare her inside. She shot to her feet. “Look, Ross, nothing’s really changed.”

“Like hell. I’ve changed. You’ve changed.”

“Don’t…” She struggled to keep a grip on things even though with each passing day she’d begun to believe that he’d never cheated on her. That she’d imagined that part because he’d lost interest in her. In their family. That was the stone-cold truth. “It didn’t work before. I don’t think it’ll work now.”

“So kick me out.”

“I am.”

“And I’m not budging.”

She couldn’t believe his gall. “We had an agreement.”

“An arrangement. I didn’t really agree to anything. I was just giving you the space to figure things out. But I’m through with that.” To emphasize his point, he pulled the quilt from the back of the couch and tossed it over his legs. Gray eyes dared her to argue.

Kristen glanced at the door to Lissa’s room and lowered her voice. “Really, Ross, you can’t stay here.”

“Sure I can. Just watch.”

“You son of a bitch,” she said on a note of wonder. He was really pushing this.

“Now, there’s the woman I love. I wondered when she’d surface.”

“What’re you planning to tell Lissa?”

“How about ‘Daddy’s home’?”

“Fine. If you want to camp out in the family room and make some kind of macho statement, have at it. You can explain it to Lissa tomorrow.”

“Sweet dreams,” he called after her as she strode into their bedroom and slammed the door.

It was all Ross could do not to chase after her, kiss her for all she was worth, toss her onto the bed, and tumble after her. He knew their lovemaking would be searing. Intense. Erotic.

It always had been.

Even when they’d made light of it and laughed or teased, the physical wanting and desire had always been white hot.

Lying on the couch, watching the fire die, hearing a sportscaster drone on and on about the NBA, he let his mind wander back to the time when they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other; when a simple brushing of the elbows, or naughty little glance, or upturned corner of a mouth had started a sensual foreplay process that might have lasted fifteen minutes or more likely hours, touching, kissing, caressing.

They had experimented with positions and places; in fact-he glanced around the house-there hadn’t been a room they hadn’t christened in one way or another before they’d moved here permanently. Closing his eyes, he remembered the feel of her tongue sliding down the cords of his neck and lower, over his shoulders and down his abdomen. She would often place her teeth and tongue around one of his nipples before moving slowly, with sweet agony, downward.

His blood heated and even now, alone, thinking of her, his groin tightened and his damned cock grew hard.

He tried to shift his thoughts from her, but it was too late.

They hadn’t been able to get enough of each other and if there had been any problems, they had seemed small at the time. True, he’d known from the get-go that she hadn’t resolved her feelings for the boy who had died, but Ross had thought with the passage of time, Jake Marcott’s ghost would be laid to rest, that eventually Kristen would come to terms with what had happened that night.

He’d been proved wrong.

Jake had always been there.

Standing between them, and in Ross’s mind’s eye, the dark-haired boy had been laughing at Ross’s naïvete. He’d even shown up in some of Ross’s dreams, this high-school kid he’d never even met! And always, without fail, Jake was the one walking out of the damned maze with Kristen, and Ross was left shackled to the tree, the greenery closing in on him, Kristen’s voice fading in the distance.

He’d always been stark naked in the nightmare, while Jake was in a black tux and Kristen in a differing array of clothing; sometimes in a long, sexy black gown, other times in nothing more than a red teddy and high heels.

He’d always woken up hot, horny, and thankful that Kristen was beside him, sleeping soundly.

So why had he let it slip away? Why let the nightmares of Jake Marcott push him further from her? When had his work, his goddamned work, become more important than his wife and daughter?

Never.

They had just slowly grown apart and they’d let it go too far until questions, doubts, and fears had overtaken love and trust.

But no more.

Whether Kristen liked it or not, he was back. And horny as hell.