Chapter 33 #2
Whoever had done this couldn’t have gotten out of the room more than a few seconds before Clint came in.
Wouldn’t he or Emily have seen that person rushing away from the house?
Maybe the killer had actually still been in the house when Clint came in and then slipped out the door.
He may have been the one to close it . .
. but why would he have taken the time to lock it?
A quick twist of the thumb turn was all it would have required.
It was more than possible, she realized, it was probable.
Blood had been trampled all through the house by the cops and the half a dozen other people who had come into her house that night. The crime scene had been a mess. Mishandled, just like Cathy suggested. The whole case had been mishandled.
Renewed fury suddenly streaked across Clint’s face . . . the face that only moments before was twisted with agony. “You know damn well I didn’t see anyone else. You sat in that damn courtroom every day. You’ve heard all this!”
She struggled for a breath, the guilt and regret crowding into her chest. He was right. “That was before,” she admitted, “before I knew you were telling the truth.”
She didn’t know how she managed to maintain eye contact when her whole body screamed with its own agony just looking at the desolation and fury smoldering behind this sharp-edged, battle-hardened man.
“My father,” she went on haltingly, “he heard Sylvester Fairgate give you that order. Fairgate threatened that if he ever told anyone he would—”
Clint held up his hand for her to stop. “I know the kind of tactics he utilized.” His tone was menacing, bitter, his eyes glacial.
She managed another ragged breath. “My father said he would talk to Ray today. He wants to do the right thing.”
“And this suddenly changes how you feel.”
That Clint snarled the words at her shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did.
She hadn’t expected his appreciation or even his understanding.
Her father’s refusal to risk his own family to back up Clint’s alibi had cost him ten years.
He wasn’t going to just say, Thanks and let’s forget the whole thing ever happened.
“I . . . yes, it does,” she said. “Like I said, I understand that if you told the truth about that, you were probably telling the truth about the rest.” Facing him this way with the rage building in his eyes was nearly more than she could handle, but she owed him that much.
“Maybe you were right when you said I needed someone to blame besides myself.” That she had been that selfish, that much of a coward, deeply pained her.
More so than she could adequately articulate.
He took a step closer, putting his body directly in her personal space . . . mere inches from her. “Do you have any idea what they did to me in there?” The words were low, guttural . . . animalistic.
She should have been afraid. She should have run for her life, but she couldn’t move.
“I’m sorry.” She was. God, she was.
“The only way to survive was to learn not to feel.”
She wanted to back up, to put some distance between them.
She couldn’t. Her entire focus was on his face.
This close she could distinguish every detail.
The scar was more prominent, a shade or two lighter than his skin.
The years of agony and torture had carved grooves at the corners of his mouth and creased lines around his eyes.
And still he was a remarkably handsome man.
Gone was the smooth charm, replaced by a raw energy that bordered on dangerous.
“The pain was nothing,” he growled, drawing her gaze back to his. The ice blazed now with a white-hot fury that turned his eyes pure silver. “Blocking that wasn’t so hard.”
He grabbed her by the arms and shook her. She pinched her lips together to hold back the cry of fear pressing against her throat. She scolded herself for being afraid. But she deserved this. This was her fault . . . her mistake. A mistake he’d paid dearly for.
“It was the other that killed the cocky guy you used to know.”
He didn’t have to elaborate . . . she knew. Dammit. She knew what they did to young guys in a place like that. Especially one as handsome as Clint.
“You had a thing for me back then.” He hissed the words, his mouth only centimeters from her temple when she turned away, couldn’t bear to look anymore. “No matter how you denied it publicly, you did. I know you did.”
“Yes.” Why lie? There had been too many lies.
“How do you like me now, Emily?” He seized her chin and forced her to look at him.
Tears crowded behind her eyes, made her feel stupid and helpless. What did she say to that? That even now, with his fingers biting brutally into her flesh, she wanted him to make her feel the way she used to? He wasn’t the only one who’d lost the ability to feel.
“You’re the one thing,” he said with such cruelty that she flinched, “that helped me survive all those years alone in that hellhole.”
Her heart shuddered at the realization that he had every reason to hate her, probably wished she were dead for what she’d done. How could she blame him?
“Every single night I told myself I would live another day just to make sure I could come back here and prove that you were wrong. To make all the people who put me there look at what they had done to me.”
He didn’t understand. She had suffered, but not the way he had. “You’d be wasting the effort. My life ended that night the same as Heather’s did . . .” She stared straight into those silver slits of fury. “The same as yours did.”
She watched the battle play out on his face.
He wanted her to comprehend the pain he had felt, even if it hurt her.
But he wanted something else more. The realization took her breath away .
. . awakened years of suppressed hunger.
When his gaze dropped to her lips and his breath hitched, she knew for sure.
Her whole being felt a kind of relief at the idea that this part she could make right. This was something she could do.
Slowly, knowing he would bolt at any sudden moves, she reached up and touched his face .
. . touched that scar that had marred the stark beauty of it, shivered at the stubble that shadowed the lean hollows of his jaws.
He flinched but didn’t draw away. She tiptoed but still wasn’t tall enough, so she hung her fingers on the back of his neck and pulled his head down.
She pressed her lips to his. She kissed him until his resistance faded and his lips softened just the tiniest bit. His slow surrender urged her on.
His arms went around her in a brutal hold.
She didn’t fight him, no matter that fear had joined the mix of wild sensations whirling inside her.
The fingers of one hand delved into her hair, held her head still while his mouth plundered hers.
That inkling of fear vanished, gave way to the more forceful, hotter feelings of desire and need.
She wanted Clint Austin. On some level, she had always wanted him. Her body melted against his, desperate for the contact.
As if he’d suddenly come to his senses, he set her away. “Go.” The single word was ragged with need, torn with uncertainty.
She had stood back and denied her feelings as a foolish young girl; she would not make the same mistake as a grown woman. “No.”
Surprise flickered beyond the rage and need. His nostrils flared. As much as she wanted to make him feel again . . . this wasn’t just for him. She’d waited a long time for this. To be with him.
Not giving herself time for any more second thoughts, she backed up a couple of steps and reached for the buttons of her blouse.
Slowly, she released each one, shrugged the fabric free, then let it drop to the ground.
The longing that flashed in his eyes stoked hers to a full blaze.
She kicked off her sandals, reached behind her, and lowered the zipper of her skirt.
It dropped around her ankles and she stepped out of the rumpled ring it made.
She wanted him to look at her exactly this way .
. . as if he could eat her alive. It was all she’d dreamed of at one time.
She would listen to Heather’s stories about how it was between her and Keith, and Emily would fantasize about Clint doing those same things to her.
The thought of his mouth on her skin had made her shiver; it did the same now.
She released the hook of her bra and allowed it to glide down and off. Only her panties remained.
The tension visibly building in him gave her the courage to take a moment to simply admire the man.
She liked what she was doing to him. He was breathless, that innate sexual energy humming from his powerful body.
She’d been right; he was bigger than before.
Those broad shoulders, bare in deference to the muggy heat this morning, had filled out with hard, lean muscle.
His stomach was gorgeously rippled, making her sweat, and she hadn’t even touched that part of him yet.
The faded jeans clung to the lean lines of his narrow hips and long legs.
She looked at his crotch; he was aroused and it showed.
That he studied her breasts so conscientiously made her quiver in anticipation, made her hot skin feel too tight.
When he continued to stand perfectly still, she moved toward him.
He watched her, his eyes guarded as if he expected a battle.
She smiled, unexpectedly thrilled at her power over him.
In her mind he’d always been the one with the power.
When she stood as close as possible, she inhaled deeply, loving the earthy sweet smell of his damp skin.
It was so damned hot in here, but it felt good.