Kelley Armstrong - Broken

“Walking my dog,” I said. “Chasing him, actually. He took off on me and-”

“It looked like someone was chasing you .”

“Me?”

“There was a man running behind you. We noticed from the other side of-”

“There you are,” said a voice to my right.

Jeremy walked out from the shadows. “I caught the dog. He’s back at the car now. Sorry for the inconvenience, officers.” A small smile. “It seems he’s not ready for off-leash walks quite yet.”

“There was a man following your-”

“Wife,” Jeremy said, his arm going around my waist. His face gathered with concern. “A man was following her?”

“A blond man.”

Jeremy looked at me. “Did you notice…?”

“No, but I was looking for the dog.”

Oh, come on! Problem solved, officers. Dog’s found, helpless pregnant lady safe with her husband. Now move on.

Clay was out there, chasing someone, thinking I was there to back him up. It took everything I had to keep from blurting “Thanks, officers,” and running after him.

Jeremy did the right thing, trying quickly but patiently to bring the encounter to a close. He confessed to the officer that maybe these nighttime dog walks weren’t such a wise idea, but I’d been having trouble sleeping lately, with the baby kicking and all…

As he handled it, I struggled to hold myself still. Had Clay caught the man? Was he holding him, waiting for us? Had something gone wrong? Was he hurt, while we were stalled, parked out of sight behind this greenhouse-

“Ready to go, hon?”

I started out of my thoughts. Jeremy smiled down at me.

“Getting tired finally, I see.”

He turned back to the officers, thanked them again, then led me away. I counted ten steps, then started to look over my shoulder.

“Not yet,” Jeremy whispered.

“But Clay-”

“I know.”

“But-”

“I know.”

I bit back a growl and counted off ten more steps.

“No,” Jeremy said, before I even started to turn.

“But-”

“He lost him.”

“How-?”

“Look right. Along the sidewalk.”

There was Clay, walking along the north sidewalk on Gerrard, his path set to intersect with ours. Jeremy gestured-the slightest flutter of his right hand-and Clay paused, then turned and walked across the road. We crossed at the lights, and found Clay around the corner, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes seething.

“Lost him,” he said.

“I got waylaid by-”

“The cops. I saw.”

He pulled his hands from his pockets and stepped toward me, hand brushing mine, reassuring me that he didn’t blame me, wasn’t angry about that. The reassurance was nice, but I knew what he was upset about. The same thing I was: a failed hunt.

“By the time I got around the building, he was gone,” Clay said. “I think he went north, but I couldn’t pick up the trail. We should circle back and maybe Elena-”

Jeremy shook his head. “The police saw you following Elena. I don’t want either of you back in that park.”

“What if we weren’t recognizable?” I asked. “If one of us Changed, we could find the trail for sure. And it is a popular park with dogs.”

Jeremy wouldn’t even dignify that with an answer.

“Okay,” I said. “Then we’ll wait. Those officers will move on, then I’ll go back-”

“No.”

“But-”

“One, he’ll be long gone. Two, it’s not worth our time simply to satisfy our curiosity.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Jeremy had already moved away. I looked at Clay. His jaw worked, and he glanced back toward the park.

“We could find him,” I whispered.

“Yeah.”

“We should find him.”

“Yeah.”

Jeremy didn’t turn, but his voice floated back to us. “Just in case I wasn’t clear? That was an order.”

We glared at his back, then jogged to catch up.

Jeremy had picked a hotel from a cluster near the QEW, the highway that would take us back toward Buffalo. The hotel was nothing fancy-this was just a sleep-and-go stopover. Or it was for Jeremy. Having been deprived of our quarry and our city run, neither Clay nor I was in any mood for sleep. A hasty good night at the door to Jeremy, then a fumbled throwing of the deadbolt and we fell on each other, nips masquerading as kisses, clawing as fevered gropes.

“Bed?” Clay gasped as he came up for air.

I looked over at it, looming five feet away. “Too far.”

He chuckled and his mouth went back to mine, kissing me deeply enough to stop the air in my lungs. My hands went under his shirt and I stripped it off, with only a split-second break in the kiss. His leg hooked the back of my knees, ready to drop me to the floor, then he checked himself just in time and carefully lowered me.

My shirt and bra went next, yanked off as one. His fingers went to my breast, kneading and pulling, fingers tugging the nipple hard and insistent. An ache rippled through me. As I gasped, something warm and sticky trickled out.

“What the-?” I began.

Clay laughed. “That’s new.”

He cupped my breast in his palms and squeezed, his fingers digging in, pulling me to him in another kiss. My hands slid down his belly to his fly. I snapped the button open, tugged his jeans down over his hips, then reached inside his boxers.

My fingers wrapped around him, my grip tight. He reared up to give me better access as he growled and nipped my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. A few tight, urgent tugs and he growled again, this time warning me to stop before it was too late.

“So soon?” I said, pulling back and arching an eyebrow.

Another growl, sharper, and his hands dove to my waist, yanking down my elasticized jeans and panties so fast I heard a seam give way. His fingers plunged into me without so much as an exploratory touch and I jumped, then arched back, snarling and pushing into his hand. A few thrusts and I dug my fingers into the carpet, back arching higher.

“Stop,” I hissed between clenched teeth.

He arched a brow. “So soon?”

I reared up, growling, and grabbed him around the neck in a bruising kiss, fingers digging into his shoulders so hard I knew he’d bear the marks in the morning. He only laughed and kissed me back.

We rolled to the floor, kissing and nipping and tussling, both instinctively avoiding my stomach. Once I got the upper hand, but quickly relinquished it. I wasn’t in the mood for that, not tonight. So when he grabbed my wrists, grip tight as he pulled them up over my head, I made only a token struggle, then arched my hips to meet him, my legs parting, heart racing, straining, ready-

He’d stopped. Crouched there, above me, poised to take the plunge, but not moving, a clear “Oh, shit” on his face. For a second, I thought we’d pushed the foreplay too far. It happens, particularly when we’re revving on high before we begin. I was fighting to keep the disappointment from my voice as I opened my mouth for the obligatory “that’s okay.” Then I looked past my belly and saw that he certainly did not appear to be done. My gaze went back to my stomach and I realized why he’d stopped.

“Oh, shit!” I said, pushing up on my elbows. “I completely forgot.”

“And I almost did.” He rolled his shoulders, shuddering, as if trying to suppress the wish that he hadn’t remembered in time.

Two weeks ago, after a relatively unathletic round of lovemaking, I’d started spotting. Jeremy was pretty sure it had been nothing serious, but it scared the crap out of Clay and me, so we’d made a decision: no intercourse until the baby came.

Sounds easy enough. There were plenty of other things we could do. The problem was that for Clay and me, foreplay was just that-a precursor to the main event. Anything more than a few minutes’ worth was teasing, deliciously postponing what we both really wanted. I could say that’s the wolf in us, but I suspect it’s just our natures.