Secretly Craving You Page 2

  Now, Emily was wet and tingly…and wearing no panties.

  "If you'd like to wait downstairs…" She barely got the words out and they sounded breathy.

  "You got it." He slowly turned and headed out the door, his black motorcycle boots clunking on the oak floor. His ass was damned sexy in those worn jeans. His too-long, tawny-blond hair, broad shoulders, and tattooed biceps stretching that black T-shirt—although the opposite of what she normally found attractive in a man—were delectable on Nick.

  Once he left, she wanted to collapse. The tension that had filled the room in his presence overwhelmed her. And she couldn't believe how turned on she was, just from standing across the room from him.

  Chapter Two

  Nick paced across the oriental carpet in Emily's living room. He couldn't get the vivid image of her nude body out of his head. Damned if she wasn't luscious in every sense of the word. He'd love to lick and nibble every inch of her pale smooth skin. Her breasts were perfection, not too small, not too large. Perky with hard, suckable nipples.

  A moan escaped, but he cleared his throat to cover it, glancing toward the stairs. She was still dressing, no doubt.

  The memory of that sweet little patch of short, light brown hair and the slit peeping through tormented him. He wanted to spread her legs, then her sweet feminine lips. Damn, how he craved a taste of her. His jeans constricted his granite-hard cock, and he adjusted his fly.

  Despite knowing he shouldn't, he'd lusted for her from the first moment he'd seen her. Considering she was his brother's soon-to-be-bride at the time, that probably made him a bastard. But what could he do about it, except not look at her and try to stay far away?

  Three years ago, the first time her eyes had met his, a shock had zapped through him. Those first few minutes after their introduction were rife with chemistry, at least for him. He thought she'd sensed it, too. She'd had an expression, almost like a startled hunger, a recognition, a flare of unexpected and stunned attraction.

  When he'd kissed her cheek in greeting and smelled her sweet lavender-vanilla scent, his erection had sprung to life. He didn't know what the hell was going on with his reaction to her, nor could he control it. He'd tried to avoid her.

  When a bridesmaid who'd had a couple of glasses of champagne had come on to Nick, he'd gone for it. Cassie had taken him upstairs to an empty hotel suite—at least he'd thought it was empty. But he recalled with vivid clarity every moment of that night and how aroused he'd been.

  Closing his eyes, he let the memories flood through him.

  Maybe he was an ass for fantasizing about Emily while he ripped Cassie's clothes off, but he couldn't help himself.

  While Cassie was giving him a blow-job, Nick noticed movement from the corner of his eye in the darkened bedroom area of the suite. Someone in a long white gown moved behind an open closet door. It had to be Emily. Was she watching? Powerful arousal burned through him.

  He was going to explode in a matter of seconds. He urged Cassie up and headed her toward the couch. He wanted to be inside her now. Hell, why not be honest? He wanted to be inside Emily right now, but that was impossible. So Cassie would have to do…while Emily observed.

  Would this disgust her, or turn her on? For some reason, he knew it would turn her on. He hoped she was watching as he rolled the condom on, and he hoped she liked what she saw.

  Beneath lowered lids, he covertly glanced at the closet again. He sensed Emily's gaze on him and it made him insane. Spreading Cassie's legs wide, he drove into her again and again, pounding her fast. She cried out, writhed and begged for more. He wanted Emily to witness every moment of the action.

  And though it made him a bastard, he wanted her to fantasize about him. Why? He didn't know. She awoke his inner animal, a rutting beast that wanted to do nothing but take her fast, hard and furiously.

  But the connection felt like more than a simple physical attraction. That first spark had happened when he'd looked into her eyes. Something challenging and ever fascinating awaited there. Something unreachable, untouchable. Something he could never have. She was his brother's wife and he would never touch her, aside from the innocent pecks on the cheek.

  Still, the thought of her watching him revved up his arousal. The orgasm raced through him from his toes to the top of his head, pure hedonism and driving force, urging him to grind into her deep. Imagining at that final moment that Emily squeezed his cock as they came together.

  He muttered a string of nonsensical words, then bit his tongue before he mistakenly said Emily's name. That might be all it would take to ruin his brother's marriage before it had begun.

  After he finished, he ached to send Cassie away, go over to the closet and see how fiery Emily's blush was. If he did that, what would she do? Would she run out, shocked and mortified? Or would she ask for her turn?

  Putting the formal clothes on again, he tried to ignore the woman behind the closet door, then he left the room with Cassie.

  All the way back to the reception, he wanted to rush back to that room and see if Emily was still there. Was she undressing and revealing all those silky curves?

  Ten minutes later, Emily returned to the reception wearing a shorter, more casual ivory dress. Her gaze flicked toward him and a crimson blush covered her face and throat. Arousal rampaged through him again because he knew she'd seen everything.

  For three years, that had been Nick's favorite memory…and fantasy. Of course, he always embellished it, making Emily the focus. Now, he just needed to get away from her ASAP, before he was tempted to do something he shouldn't.

  * * * *

  Wearing what she hoped were unsexy yoga pants, a bra and t-shirt, Emily jogged down the stairs. She found Nick standing in her living room, staring out the window toward the street as if in deep thought. He appeared out of place among her dainty Victorian antiques. He reminded her of a wild animal—a golden panther, intelligent gaze and powerful muscles, quietly watching and waiting. Maybe dangerous? Yes, definitely dangerous. He exuded fearlessness and confidence.

  Though caution kept her on guard, something about him reeled her in. She caught herself taking deeper breaths than necessary, testing the air for his hypnotizing scent. He was the type of man who made a woman think of sex—whether she wanted to or not—raw, pounding, up-against-the-wall sex.

  Dear god, I've gone insane. So it had been a while since she'd let a man touch her—she had good reason. And the first one to get noticed by her libido was her ex's younger brother?

  Idiotic.

  He pulled in a breath and turned his head slightly toward her.

  "Would you like some coffee?" She gave a short laugh. "I can't believe I'm offering coffee to someone who broke into my house."

  He gave a wry half-grin, but his dark gray eyes were magnetic. She could hardly think while his gaze held hers.

  "No, thanks," he said. "I'm sorry for picking your lock, Emily. I thought it was the only way to be sure nothing was here. And I didn't want to alarm you."

  Amazingly, he truly did sound contrite. The way he said her name in that deep, rough-edged voice snagged her attention and made her skin pebble. No, she had to focus.

  "Surely you don't think I would hide something," she said. Was he investigating her?

  "No. But everything about this is strange. I don't understand it."

  "I didn't go to his funeral," she rushed to explain. "I couldn't. He had a new girlfriend. I hadn't talked to him or his parents in over a year."

  Nick shrugged. "I noticed you weren't there."

  "I hope you don't think I'm guilty of something because of that."

  He shook his head. "I know it was a man who killed Jared. I just have to find the motive, then maybe I'll know his identity."

  A cold ribbon of revulsion and fear slithered down her spine. Could Jared have actually been murdered? Why? And by whom? It was almost impossible for her to grasp that he was dead, much less murdered. Jared—the man she'd been married to for almost a year. The man she'd los
t her heart to. The man who'd made her life hell on earth.

  "Did he have any enemies?" Nick asked.

  "I don't know. I rarely saw him after we separated almost two years ago. How do you know the murderer was a man?"

  Nick studied her for a long speculative moment. "Can I trust you, Emily?"

  His low, yet intense tone and his words left her speechless. Why did he keep saying her name in that hypnotic, enticing way? As if he enjoyed saying it, as if it were a special incantation.

  "Yes," she said. "You can trust me. I mean, I won't tell anyone whatever you tell me."

  "I hope not. They wouldn't believe you anyway. Hell, you probably won't believe me."

  "If you say it's the truth, I will." She didn't know why, but she trusted him and wanted to earn his trust in return.

  His gaze darkened, then he looked away and breathed deep. "I don't know if Jared or anyone told you, but sometimes I'm psychic."

  "What? No. No one told me. Are you, truly?" She'd never imagined such a thing about him.

  He gave a brief nod. "It's unpredictable. Since I was a kid—when I almost drowned—I've had visions. Not visions of the future, but visions of things as they're happening, across town or in another state. They always relate to someone I know. When Jared died, I was with him mentally. His death was no accident. Some bastard killed him and it had to do with an object. I just don't know what."

  "Oh my god," she whispered. "That must have been horrible for you, seeing a vision of your brother dying."

  "It was." Grim pain gleamed in his eyes. "Jared and I weren't too close in recent years, but we used to be when we were kids and teens. He was still my brother. I have to find whoever did this."

  "Of course." If she had a murdered sibling, she'd feel the same way.

  "This object—I think it was some sort of antiquity from Celtic culture. I haven't seen it, but in my vision, the man said something about Druids, supernatural powers and a ritual."

  She nodded. "Sullivan is an ancient Irish name, and Jared was always fascinated by Celtic artifacts. But I had no idea he was interested in anything with supposed supernatural powers."

  "Right. Sounds strange. That's all I know. I've searched his apartment, his new girlfriend's home, his office. I haven't found squat."

  "How did you—"

  Hard rock music blasted from Nick's phone and he slid it from the case on his belt. "Excuse me," he told her, then turned to pace away. "Nick here," he answered. "Right, I'll be there at seven," he murmured in a low tone. "Yeah, Rebel's." He paused, listening. "All right. See you later." He put his phone away and turned to Emily. "I have to get back to Atlanta. But I'll leave you my number. If you see or hear anything about Jared or this object, give me a call."

  "Sure." Since she hadn't heard anything about it so far, she doubted she would. She retrieved a note pad and pen from the desk in the corner and Nick wrote down a number in terse scratches.

  He stepped close and handed her the paper and pen. Being near him disturbed her on a primal level. He smelled delicious to her deprived senses, like leather and raw, aggressive male. A tingle traveled up her arms and circled her breasts. What would that dusky gold five o'clock shadow feel like rasping over her beaded nipples? And those sculpted, sensual lips. They would feel divine plucking at her nipples. Arousal rushed toward her crotch and she stepped back.

  "I have to find the sonofabitch who killed him," Nick said. "I won't rest until I do."

  She nodded, admiration for him overwhelming her. When she'd first met him, she'd been aware he was a playboy. Likely that was still true, but the determination in his eyes told her he had a more serious, deadly side. His cop side. It was frightening, but at the same time, electrifying.

  "Call me if you need anything at all," he said, heading toward the door.

  "Okay. Thanks." She needed something all right.

  He gave her a mock salute and disappeared out the door.

  She supposed they were even—they'd each seen the other naked. She glanced down at his number on the paper. Now that she had it, what would stop her from calling him should her sexual needs become overwhelming?

  Chapter Three

  Although Emily was relieved to finally be done with the latest grand society wedding, an eerie sensation dogged her as she drove through the historic district of Savannah, turned down West Harris Street and parked outside her house.

  After sliding from the car, she peered through the night at the street lined with restored eighteenth and nineteenth century homes. Light shone from several of their windows. Everything appeared normal, but the ancient twisted oak limbs dripping with Spanish moss blocked out most of the illumination from the streetlights.

  She had never been afraid coming home late, but something felt wrong tonight. Listening, she heard nothing except the calls of cicadas and crickets along with the hum of distant traffic. Further down, someone walked their dog, and a jogger passed through Pulaski Square.

  Emily climbed the steps onto her veranda. The front door stood open a crack. She froze. What the hell? Someone had broken in? A chill lanced through her and she ran back down the steps, stumbling halfway down. She grabbed onto the iron balustrade to keep from falling, her heart tripping along.

  "Oh shit," she hissed over and over as she ran to her neighbor's house across the street. Fumbling with her cell phone, she dialed the police.

  Who could've broken into her house? A random burglar or the person who'd murdered Jared?

  * * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, the cops had searched Emily's house, but found no intruder inside. However, one of the windows by the back door had been shattered from the outside. Apparently, the maniac had only left the front door open to let her know immediately he'd been there. When the police escorted her inside the house, she found nothing of value missing, not even her jewelry, but she did discover a few things out of place or knocked over, as if someone had been searching for something.

  This couldn't have been Nick entering and searching her house again. He'd used a lock pick. Plus, he hadn't overturned anything or left a trace he'd been there. Very different from the current circumstance. The psycho who'd broken in tonight must have been the man Nick had talked about—the murderer who wanted some object Jared had. She shivered, nausea welling up inside her.

  While the police searched for fingerprints around the broken window, she dug out the number Nick left and punched it into her cell phone. No answer. And his voicemail box was full.

  "Dammit." She had to get in contact with him.

  The cops were going to stay while she packed a bag so she could go to her friend Tia's house, but they received another emergency call. She assured them she'd be leaving within five minutes. One of the officers had been nice enough to nail a spare board over the broken window. She'd have to get an alarm system installed ASAP.

  As she was packing her overnight bag, her home phone rang. She picked it up and the caller ID read restricted. Who could that be?

  She frowned and placed the phone against her ear. "Hello?"

  "Where is it?" asked the benign-sounding male voice.

  "What? You must have the wrong number."

  "Where is the Clach Torach, Emily?" he questioned in a more forceful tone.

  A spider-like chill crawled down her spine. Was this the bastard who'd broken into her home and searched it? He knew her name, but she didn't recognize his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who is this?" she demanded.

  "Don't lie to me! I know you have it."

  Oh shit! Clearly this freak was insane. She shivered. Why would he think she had something he wanted? Somehow this was linked to Jared's death.

  "If you don't give it to me, you'll regret it. You better find it! I'll call you tomorrow and tell you where to bring it." The phone went dead.

  Chills racking her body, she dropped the phone as if it were venomous. "Oh my god." Nick had been right. Some bastard had killed Jared over an ancient object.

  Her fingers
trembling, she dialed Nick's number again on her cell. She counted three rings. "Answer the phone. Please!"

  An automated female voice came on again, telling her the voicemail box was full.

  "Dammit, Nick. Why don't you clean out your voicemails?" She clicked the off button.

  Since she'd first met him, she'd known he worked undercover. Could he be working a deep cover case now and that's why he wasn't answering?

  She remembered what he'd said when he'd answered his phone in her living room. He'd mentioned something about Rebel's and she'd wondered what that was. Maybe she could find him there.

  At her desk in the corner of the living room, she powered up her laptop and went online. A search for Rebel's Atlanta came up with a nightclub. Could that be where he was currently working? She had to give it a shot.

  Since he was undercover, she'd have to be careful approaching him…if he was even there. She'd have to pretend to be someone else. And who knew what name he used?

  Emily paused. Was this a smart decision? What other choice did she have if she wanted to remain safe? She couldn't stay with friends or family, putting their lives in danger from this psycho murderer.

  Nick was a police officer who could protect her and he had a personal interest in this situation. If anyone could stop this bastard and put him behind bars, it was Nick.

  To approach him in a nightclub, she'd have to pretend to be a sexy chick who wouldn't be shy about hitting on him. She'd need to look like someone he'd have a one night stand with. Since she'd been away from the dating scene so long—except for one hideous blind date—she had no clue how to be hot and flirty. But she could bluff.

  In her closet, she drew a short black sequined dress from the hanger and slid it on. She hadn't worn this in over two years, but it still fit perfectly. Stilettos and darker evening makeup completed the outfit. Though she was in danger and might be certifiably insane for approaching Nick, a little thrill spiraled through her. She had never done anything this risky before.