Without Mercy (Mercy 1)

“Forewarned is forearmed?” she said, incensed.

“Just that you need to be prepared.”

She nearly slapped him then. Her hand jerked backward, recoiling as if to strike.

He stared down at her. “I wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” she taunted, blood pumping through her. God, he was close. Too close. She thought of stepping backward but was already as close to the fire as she dared.

He glanced down at her hand, still poised as if to strike. “Hit me.” His breath was warm against her face. “I might hit back.” His eyes were dark as night. “Or worse.”

“Worse?”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “Uh-huh.”

Her pulse was pounding, her gaze focused on his, every sense aware of the tiniest shifting in the atmosphere. “I think you’re bluffing,” she said.

One side of his mouth twisted upward in that crooked, self-deprecating smile that had always scraped her soul. “I think you are.”

She had trouble taking a breath; it was impossible to process anything beyond the warmth coming off his skin or the smell of coffee and a hint of aftershave reaching her nostrils. His sheer presence caused turmoil deep inside her. The back of her legs were warm with heat from the fire, and she felt a flush crawl up her spine.

“Seems as if we’re at an impasse,” he said.

“Aren’t we always?”

“We should be talking about the case.”

“That’s right. We should,” she said, but right now, all thoughts of their discussion were scattered. She found herself wanting and, for just a tiny bit of time, needing to forget the nightmare that had become their lives, needing to escape to somewhere safe and warm.

Which was ludicrous.

“I just think you should consider other suspects,” she forced out.

“I am.”

“And the police?”

“They’ll pursue every suspect, every possibility.” His gaze slid over her face; she felt its warmth. Oh, Lord, she couldn’t go there … wouldn’t!

“Then give Shaylee a damned break,” she said, her voice lower than she’d intended, the heat between them nearly palpable. “Trust me on this one, Trent. I know I’m right.” Resolve coursed through her; she couldn’t let her sister be railroaded for murders she didn’t commit.

“For once, Jules, let’s turn this around,” he said, and placed his hands against the mantel on either side of her head, trapping her there. “You trust me.”

For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he might kiss her. Instead he pinned her with his eyes.

“I don’t know if I can,” she admitted, her heart pounding wildly.

“That’s a problem.”

“Only one?” she asked, the night seeming to thrum around them. Dear God, she’d missed him.

“You’re right. We’ve got a bigger one.”

“Which is?”

“This, damn it.” As quick as a lightning strike, his arms wrapped around her and his lips found hers. He kissed her hard, holding her close, nearly crushing her body to his.

She didn’t resist. Instead, she slid her arms around his neck, her fingers catching in his hair. Her mouth opened to him, and as the kiss deepened, the years that they’d been apart disintegrated into thin air. Her skin heated, her blood ran wild, and deep inside, in the very center of her, she began to feel a want that had been dormant for five years.