Cabin Fever Page 8

  Mine.

  Genevieve blinked, a bit startled at that dark, possessive whisper in her mind. Yes. That semen didn’t belong on him, it belonged on her, in her. He was hers, completely.

  And she was his. Completely.

  Her body shook, partly with the aftershocks of pleasure, but mostly with fright. No, she belonged to no man.

  Liar.

  She couldn’t be in a relationship.

  Too bad.

  Stop it!

  “Genevieve?”

  She blinked, brought his worried face into focus. What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t. Like a man, she’d been thinking with her libido. “You look tired. We shouldn’t have done this.”

  “If I was well…if we’d met normally…would you want to?”

  “What, have sex?”

  “Yes.”

  Hell, yes. “Maybe.”

  His black eyes burned. “I’m going to be well. Very soon.”

  Genevieve shivered at the promise in his tone. “It would just be sex though. Nothing else.” She wasn’t at liberty to promise anything else.

  “We’ll see.”

  “You shouldn’t overdo anymore now.”

  Alex gave a short laugh. “No kidding. Tell that to Mr. Happy.”

  At that prompt, she glanced down at his erection, which, sure enough, poked up against the sheets, as if it hadn’t just been thoroughly satisfied. Well wasn’t her pussy still throbbing and wet? She knew with certainty she wouldn’t be satisfied until she had him inside of her. Many, many times.

  And that scared the pants off her.

  “Let’s take it a bit slower, okay?” He spoke softly, as if he were dealing with a timid animal. “Why don’t you get me a towel, and we can play something else? We can talk a bit more, get to know each other. How’s that?”

  She considered it. Okay, yes. This she could handle. After all, it wasn’t like she could run away from him. Where would she go?

  Despite her bone-deep certainty that this man would change her life, could easily make her forget her vow, make her forget everything important, she didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to laugh and joke and talk with him, and when he was able, she fully intended to have sex with him.

  Call her stupid. She couldn’t help herself. Genevieve stood. “Sounds good. Let me get a towel. Be right back.”

  When she reached the door, he called out behind her. “You’re an arsonist on the run. That’s why you hate cops.”

  Her lips twitched, a glimmer of her normal sassiness returning as she tossed her hair. “Soot makes me sneeze. Guess again.”

  8

  It would be hell if he survived a gunshot wound, infection, dehydration and exhaustion only to die of sexual frustration.

  Alex cast a quick glance at Genevieve across the chessboard they were sharing. Her eyes were cast down, her lashes long crescents resting against her cheeks. She nibbled at her lower lip and he almost groaned. Damn it, he loved it when she did that.

  He sighed and looked down at the chessboard. After their run of cards had ended so spectacularly two days ago, they’d tacitly decided to turn to other modes of enjoyment. Yesterday had been Scrabble; chess today. Alex had been a bit unnerved by the emotions that had flashed across Genevieve’s face after their passionate session together. He didn’t want to spook her, cause her to run because she was scared of the heat that exploded between them. The emotions too. He couldn’t believe these strong feelings were one-sided. They had to be returned, right? God, he hoped so.

  So he’d decided to be gallant if it killed him. No more sex until a) he was healed enough to give her the unbridled pleasure she deserved and b) he was well enough to snuggle off any of her fears after the fact.

  They still slept together at night, and Alex hated it and loved it in equal measure. Having her body pressed against him without sinking inside of her was an exercise in torture, but she smelled so sweet and she became incredibly soft and cuddly after she fell asleep.

  “Queen me.”

  He refocused on the game and gave a silent groan to see her pawn had made its journey. He was proud to say he’d won the first couple of games they’d played. Then he’d started noticing things, like the way her breasts peeked out over the neckline of her shirt, or how she licked her lips while thinking, and he’d started a losing streak that hadn’t quit.

  You are not controlled by your cock.

  Great. Now someone just needed to tell Mr. Hopeful that. Alex figured the guy was getting back at him for making some very unpopular decisions about their sex life.

  “Checkmate.”

  He looked down, unsurprised to see the truth in that. “Congratulations. Again.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m pretty good. You’ll get better.”

  He’d gone to state championships back in high school. He sighed. “Okay, what’s your question?” The question-and-answer thing they’d continued, though Alex had toned down the sexual nature of his questions to go along with their mutual agreement to wait. He’d learned quite a bit about her and her life, probably more than she even realized she’d told him.

  She’d painted a picture of a lonely little girl who’d always been different, who lived alone with her beloved mother isolated in the woods, who had craved normalcy and embraced it when she’d left for school and work. She’d kept her gift hidden from everyone, pretended to be just like everyone else, and loved life, thriving in the middle of a busy city.

  Until she hit twenty-three. Since she was twenty-six now, Alex figured that had been the age when something had happened. It was like her life had ended at that point. She wouldn’t speak of anything after it, nor would she speak of the future. She made monthly trips to Newbury for provisions, made enough to live on by selling her crafts to a gift shop, but it didn’t seem as though she had any burning passion for that job. She seemed to view it as just a way to make a few bucks and survive. When he’d asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, instead of answering him, she’d pressed a soft kiss against his lips in forfeit. Her eyes had been so heavy with sadness, he couldn’t bring himself to badger.

  He knew she’d returned to take care of her mother, but why she had stayed after her death was a mystery. Likewise, despite his half-teasing questions, he still didn’t know why she didn’t trust cops.

  He watched her study him. So far he’d answered each of her questions honestly, no matter how painful. He’d spilled everything about his father’s death, his first girlfriend, the first time his mother had dated another man, and the list went on and on. Alex hoped his openness would encourage her, would show her how much he trusted her on faith alone. Otherwise, he was really bleeding his veins out here for her.

  He braced himself for another doozy, and he received it. “Why did you move down here?”

  Alex froze, seriously contemplating a forfeit for the first time.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, I can ask another question.”

  Her expression was so soft and open, he couldn’t fabricate or not talk about it. Besides, his department-appointed therapist had urged him to discuss the experience with people. He didn’t know how much he believed in that psychology shit, but if he wanted Genevieve to open up to him, he couldn’t be a pussy about it himself.

  “I told you my partner died last year. I was narcotics, and we were conducting some surveillance on this mid-level dealer. We followed him to an abandoned warehouse. I called in backup as soon as we realized it was the drug deal we were waiting for, and then we took up place to watch and wait.”

  He paused, remembering the exact instant Tom Leonie’s head had jerked up, the second the dealer had realized someone else was in that abandoned building. “To this day, I don’t know what noise Jerry made, how they knew where he was. I could see him jerking and spinning, and in a minute, I knew he was dead. No way he could have survived that many shots.

  “I took one slug in the thigh when I returned fire, not that it helped much. I couldn’t draw my weap
on fast enough to save Jerry.” Alex coughed to clear the rough sound of his voice. “Firing after the fact didn’t help anything. Backup showed up right after I got hit. Great for me, but no good for him.”

  Her voice wasn’t horrified, but reasonable. “How many guys were you up against?”

  “Four. One of them pulled the trigger on Jerry. All of them opened fire on me once I started shooting.”

  “Let me guess. You think you could have taken all of them out before they shot your partner?”

  “How’d you know? It sounds crazy when you say it like that.”

  “I know a little something about guilt.” Her tone was very dry.

  “That’s what the shrink told me. Survivor’s guilt, she called it. I don’t know. In reality, I know I couldn’t have done anything, it was such a split-second thing. I can’t help but feel like if I’d just responded a little faster… I’d known the guy since the academy. Had dinner with his family. I should’ve done something more. Instead, all I could do was wait. Sit there with his body no more than twenty feet away till backup showed up.”

  “I think you did the right thing.” Genevieve surprised him by leaning forward and giving him an awkward hug. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

  His heart expanded. She was so prickly, he relished this, her first overt expression of tenderness. He pulled her close until she cuddled against his chest. She was surprisingly accommodating.

  “Anyway, after that, I had a tough time returning to work. To see Jerome’s desk and the gym and even the coffee shop without him there, I was a mess. My brother heard about this job from his girlfriend’s brother and, well, here I am.”

  “You didn’t consider leaving police work? Something like that would make me seriously reconsider even staying in the same field.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m third generation. My grandfather was the first Hispanic man on his force. I can’t just stop being a police officer.”

  “That’s not the only reason you’re a cop, though, right?”

  “No. Of course not. It’s about serving, protecting. It’s incredibly fulfilling.”

  “Is it still as fulfilling down here?”

  Alex paused. It wasn’t the same thing. He wasn’t putting away the scum of the earth or keeping the public safe from anything more severe than jaywalkers. His job wasn’t about fulfillment in Harrison. It was just…a job. But he was a cop. That was the important thing. Honestly, if he lost that title, he wasn’t sure what he was.

  Since he didn’t want to contemplate it too severely, he tried to inject more enthusiasm into his voice than he felt. “Sure. Doesn’t matter how big a town is. Everyone needs law and order.”

  Her smile was the softest he’d ever seen it. “I can tell you really believe in the system. That’s great.”

  Alex raised a brow. “Why do I get the feeling you’re patronizing me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “I’m not naïve. There are shades of grey everywhere, I get that. But, yeah, for the most part, there’s a right and a wrong way to go about things.”

  She was silent, but she didn’t move from his arms. “Yeah. So you like living there?”

  Alex tried to choose his words carefully, since he knew, for some reason, it mattered to Genevieve. “I like the pace. I like the size of the town, that I know who most people are, and they know me. The scenery’s nice too. My apartment’s decent. But it’s not in my blood or anything, the way this place might be in yours.”

  “This place isn’t in my blood.”

  So why do you stay? He didn’t want to get into a fight though, not when she was curled so soft and sweet against him. He rubbed his chin against the top of her head. The strands got stuck in his beard. “Sorry.”

  She drew away, untangling them. “You need to shave.”

  Time for a lighter tone. “That would be wonderful. Got a razor?”

  “Oh. Um. Sure. Hang on.”

  She escaped to the bathroom where she popped a new razor cartridge into her shaver and grabbed the other supplies he would need. Her hands were shaking, she was surprised to notice. His tale of woe had affected her more than she’d thought.

  Damn it, she didn’t want to see him hurt. Every hour that she spent with him, she fell a little bit more in…

  Lust. That was all it was. Pure lust. “Just bang him and get it over with,” she muttered to herself. Hell, why not? They both knew where this was headed.

  She was still giving herself a pep talk when she returned to the room. She set down the towels, the bowl of hot water she’d drawn from the bathroom sink and the shaving supplies. “I brought you a mirror. Do you want me to hold it?”

  He ran his hand over his jaw. “Actually, do you mind doing the shaving? I’m afraid to allow myself near my own throat with a razor. My hand’s still shaky.”

  “You trust me with a blade to your throat?”

  “I think I’ve established that I trust you with my life in every way,” he said simply. She felt equally humbled and envious. How nice to be that certain of anything.

  She cleared her throat. “Sure. You’re going to smell a bit like pomegranates. Hope that’s okay.” She held up the pink can of shaving foam she used.

  He eyed the can warily. “Since I didn’t know pomegranates even had a scent, I guess that will have to do. I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  Like she cared what his jaw smelled like. Unwilling to damage his trust, she took her time shaving him, leaving not a single nick on his rough skin. When she patted away the remaining foam, he smiled, revealing a heretofore unnoticed dimple in his cheek, and she caught her breath. She’d been wholly unsuccessful in resisting the charm of her scruffy, manly houseguest. But with his beard gone, Alex was simply beautiful, his features picture perfect. Had he showed up on her door looking like this, she probably would have dropped her panties on the spot.

  Yeah, ’cause you’re playing so hard to get.

  “How do I look?”

  “Great.” Her throat was hoarse, so she tried again. “Really good.”

  “Thanks. I feel so much better. You know what else would help?”

  Alex tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear in a blatantly possessive move. She’d gotten so used to his touch over the past couple of days, it no longer shocked her, though a thrill coursed through her limbs when he drew one finger down her cheek. The calluses rasped against her skin, and he captured her chin in his fingers. He held her trapped there, looking into her eyes.

  And just that easily, the world was reduced to the two of them. While they were bantering and chatting, she’d try to convince herself that their physical chemistry was all a part of her imagination, but a touch, a look, and she was ready to melt again. “What would help?”

  Alex tugged her closer, his breath fanning over her lips. Her nipples tightened, a response she was well accustomed to by now. “A bath. I would love a bath.”

  She cleared her throat and escaped his grasp. “That’s tough.” Her voice was rough, and she cleared her throat again. “I don’t have a bathtub.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman without a bathtub.”

  “I have a perfectly fine shower,” she said defensively.

  “Yeah, but”—Alex shook his head, a bemused expression on his face—“wouldn’t you love to lounge in a bath of hot water every now and again? Most women I’ve known would rather die than be separated from their bath salts.”

  Oh, yeah, to linger in a bath of steaming hot water filled with sweet-smelling salts while Alex massaged foaming shampoo through the strands of her hair. Genevieve caught the whimper of longing before it rose from her throat. No, she was no different from most women. But her mother had been a no-nonsense woman who never encouraged the slightest bit of hedonistic behavior, and since her death Genevieve hadn’t seen the point in installing a bathtub just for herself.

  But oh, how she wished she had, for the pleasure of imagining Alex in it. To feel like a normal woman with a
normal life.

  She shook her head to disguise her longing. “That’s pretty silly,” she said briskly, gathering the shaving supplies up. “There are far more important things to die for than bath salts.”

  Alex’s gaze sharpened. “Maybe you can tell me some of those things.” He held up a hand. “In the meantime, shower?”

  “One more day…”

  “Genevieve, please. I’m feeling pretty grungy. I want to get clean. And I know I can make it. I can’t lie here forever.”

  Genevieve’s first instinct was to deny his claim, but then she studied him closely. His color was up, and he sat a lot easier now than he had at first. Part of his motivation was no doubt the desire to get away from the dreaded bedpan and her assistance with things like brushing his teeth, but he probably could make it on his own.

  She felt equal amounts of satisfaction and sadness. The quicker he healed, the faster he would walk out of her life. He was fun and funny, and he had slipped right under her guard. “Okay, you win. Let’s give it a try. Here, let me take off your bandage first.”

  She peeled it off him, pleased to see the wound’s edges coming together nicely. The various scratches and bruises were almost nonexistent now, the bump on his head slightly visible. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn he’d been convalescing for a few weeks.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That I’m pretty freakin’ awesome.”

  He laughed and tested his arm’s health with a slight rotation. “I’ll second that. Now, scoot, I’m going to see if your awesomeness extends to my being able to walk.”

  With a minimum of assistance, he pushed his body off the bed and stood. When he was upright, his chest and legs did all sorts of muscular things that didn’t happen prone. “I need to find you some clothes.”

  “It’s so warm in here, I’d think you could walk around naked in the dead of winter and not feel a thing.”

  Nice thought. “My mom made sure the cabin was well-insulated.”

  He staggered a bit before he straightened and raised a hand to keep Genevieve from helping. The determined expression on his face told her he wanted to try to do this on his own. “I’m okay. Just caught me by surprise. Point me to this shower of yours.”