Kincaid’s Dangerous Game

did you do with it? The money?”

There was another long pause.

“Billie?” he prompted softly. She was so close to him…arms folded on her chest as she gazed intently at the toe of her shoe, scrubbing away at the vinyl tile floor. He couldn’t see her face, just the top of her head, and her hair looked unbelievably soft. He lifted his hand and his fingers hovered…

Then, abruptly, she lifted her chin and shook back her hair and her eyes met his in defiance, as if she were about to confess a major sin. “I put it in a trust.”

“A…trust.” He felt a moment’s confusion, jarred by how near he’d just come to touching her in a way he’d never have been able to explain, at the same time wondering why this was so hard for her to admit. It seemed a reasonable enough thing to do. Responsible, even.

“Yeah,” she shot back curtly, “like, you know, a trust fund?” She looked away, then, and mumbled something he couldn’t hear.

“I beg your pardon?”

Her eyes snapped back to him. “For her-my daughter. For Hannah Grace.”

He didn’t know what to say. Words seemed to pile up on each other in his throat, forming a hard knot. He shook his head, and she stared at him almost accusingly.

“It’s why I asked you to find her, okay? So I could put it in her name. Her real name. It’s for…you know-college and…stuff.”

“Jeez, Billie…” His face felt stiff. He lifted his hand and rubbed it, but it didn’t help much. His arms, his face, his whole body ached with the need to reach for her…hold her…help her.

He didn’t know what to do. Only one other time in his life had he felt so powerless-and that was a time he resented being forced to remember now, if only by way of comparison. How had he gotten himself to this point? When had he become so tangled up in this woman’s life? When had she become so important to him?

It occurred to him then that they’d been standing there looking at each other for quite a long time, in silence. And when Billie spoke, it was a moment before he could be certain he’d understood her.

“Would you mind staying with me tonight?” she said softly.

There was a part of him, then, that wanted to take a page out of her playbook-bolt, get the hell out of there, run for his life. He was not a man equipped to deal with emotional demands. He lacked, or so he had always believed, the ability to give of himself emotionally. The ability, in short, to love. And he’d always considered himself lucky because of it-love, after all, being notorious as the cause of pain, anxiety, insecurity, disappointment and so many other negative emotions he could never hope to name them all. The positive aspects of love, highly touted in song and verse, he’d always considered not worth the cost.

But now, standing here facing this woman, with her golden eyes holding a burden of anguish that seemed too great for any one person to bear, he was coming to the realization that he’d been wrong. Wrong about his own ability to love, anyway. And, at the moment, the hazards and burdens of loving someone still seemed terrifying, and to far outweigh the supposed joys.

What should he do? It was late; he knew he should refuse the offer, make his excuses and go. To leave her now seemed…unthinkable. But to stay with her, wouldn’t that be taking advantage of a vulnerable woman?

Of course she was vulnerable-what other reason could she have for asking him to stay? He doubted she even liked him very much. She’d kissed him once, that’s true. But only, if he remembered correctly, because she’d just gotten one helluva shock.

He’d been strong enough to walk away from what she’d offered him that night, hadn’t he? What had changed? Why did it seem so much harder now?

The answer was obvious: You’ve changed, Holt.

Yes, but she hasn’t. And she’s had more than one shock today.

“If you need me to, sure,” he said calmly, as he tried to pluck words of reason out of the chaos of his thoughts. She’s had a break-in, you idiot. She’s uneasy about staying alone. That’s all it is. “Be glad to. I’ll, uh…just bed down on the couch. If you’ve got a pillow and a blanket…”

She tilted her head and made a derisive sound. “Jeez, Kincaid, what are you, twelve? ” Her eyes met his, bright and brave. “I’m not asking you to a damn sleepover. I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t want you to sleep on the couch. Don’t you get it? I want you to stay with me.”

He didn’t say a word, not one word. Just stood there and looked at her, and for once she couldn’t read him at all.

Her first impulse was to hit him-anything to jar that stony expression off his face. Her second was to cover her face, hide her eyes. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how devastating his rejection was.

She felt cold, and any moment now she was going to start to shake.

It took all her courage not to look away and all her strength just to make her facial muscles form a smile. “Well, I sure as hell am not gonna beg,” she said, and pushed past him, wanting only now to get away.

His fingers closed around her upper arm, and her response was automatic. She jerked back against his grip, and for a few seconds there was a kind of silent tug-of-war, her desperation against his greater strength.

Finally, he said in a low growl, “For God’s sake, Billie-” and she gave a sharp little cry as he pulled her into a hard embrace.

It was what she’d wanted, what she’d asked for. She had no idea why she went on fighting him; her reasoning mind had deserted her. She’d managed to get her arms folded up between her chest and his and refused to let herself give in to the temptation his body offered…the warmth, the strength, the comfort she yearned for.

“Don’t do me any favors,” she managed to get out between clenched teeth as she struggled.

Above her head she heard a small gust of a laugh, and when she looked up in fury, his head swooped down with the quickness of a hunting hawk. She had time only for a muffled and wordless protest, and then her mouth was no longer hers to control. He simply took it…claimed it…made it his.

And she had no objection. Her reason had already fled, and the same primitive imperatives that had made her fight him so mindlessly now compelled her to surrender. She felt herself growing weak and soft, and all her muscles becoming pliant. Her head fell back because her neck would no longer support it, but that was all right, because his hand was there to provide a cradle for it instead. Of their own accord her arms abandoned their barricade and crept around him like soldiers quitting the battlefield. And it was then, when her guard had been vanquished and she was left defenseless, that she felt it begin…the insidious invasion of emotions she’d been holding at bay for so long. First the ache…in another moment there would be tears.

I can’t…I can’t.

From somewhere, some reserve she didn’t know she had, she found the will to pull herself back from the edge. Back…from the brink, yes, but not from him. No…because he felt too good, and she needed him too much.

And so, finding her mouth once again hers to control, she now gave it up to him. And remembered as she did how good he’d felt before when she’d kissed him. And wondered why she’d waited so long to kiss him again.

Her senses returned and they brought her pleasure, something she’d almost forgotten these past few days, and was surprised she could still experience. He smelled good…that elusive aftershave she’d noticed before, and the warm, earthy scent that was essentially, unmistakably male. He tasted pleasantly of the coffee they’d both been drinking. Her ears were filled with muted sounds, like the throbbing of distant drums… heartbeats and soft sighs and murmurs, and the shush of skin on skin. But mostly, the sense that dominated, that ruled, that overwhelmed, was feeling.

Every nerve ending in her body seemed to be alive and humming, quivering with eagerness for his touch.

And everywhere he touched her the pleasure was almost too intense to bear. So intense it brought tears to her eyes, and because she could not, would not cry, she laughed instead. A soft little gulp of laughter, caught in the sweet warmth of his mouth.

She felt his lips curve against hers in an answering smile, and she lifted one hand to touch his face. Her fingertips tingled exquisitely from their contact with the roughness of beard and the vibrant warmth of skin beneath, and her smile blossomed against his. She was shaking now, with silent laughter that was her only available release for the emotions that theatened to overwhelm her, and she felt his hand touching her face in much the same way she touched his.

It seemed a long time that they remained like that, lips touching, alternately forming smiles and kisses,