I'll Never Let You Go (Morgans of Nashville 3)

“That’s the plan.”

For her, what was happening between them was based on need. Need for feeling. Need for pleasure. For

revenge. “He’ll be enraged,” she whispered in his ear.

He kissed her a second time, injecting a passion that surprised and thrilled her. “And he’ll make a mistake. And when he does that, I’ll be there.”

He kissed her hand again and then rose from the couch. She led him to the bedroom, toward the bed. He cupped her face again, kissing her, making her forget everything but him.

When they’d first met, she’d been afraid of him. She’d recognized the intensity in his gaze and mistaken it for Philip’s. Alex possessed a darkness, but there was also tenderness in his soul, a need for truth and knowledge.

She leaned in and kissed him, slowly unfastening the buttons on his shirt. When she pushed it over his shoulders, his muscles flinched, and she saw the swath of dark bruises that skimmed along his rib cage. Gently, she touched it with her fingertips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve taken a lick.” Again, he raised her fingers to his lips and kissed the tips. She stepped back, her gaze locked on his as she pulled off her shirt and exposed her naked scars to his gaze. She tensed as she waited for him to see only the scars, but his gaze settled on her breasts seconds before he cupped them in his hands. “So pretty.”

She arched into him, and all the self-consciousness evaporated in the heat of this moment.

He traced the underside of one breast with his finger. Energy shot through her body, and when he gently squeezed her nipple, she sucked in a breath.

She gently touched the bruise on his side, tracing the reds and blues with her fingertip. She knelt down and kissed the bruise.

When she reached for his belt buckle, he hissed in a breath. “Is this business or pleasure?”

He kissed her. “All pleasure.”

She unzipped his pants and slid her hand against him. The moan that rumbled in his chest sounded part animal, and she knew under the cool exterior beat a primitive heart.

When she took him in her mouth, he threaded his fingers through her hair. Again he moaned, closing his eyes and dropping back his head. She savored this womanly power.

Soon, both were naked and on her bed. She straddled above him, tracking her fingertips gently over his bruised ribs. He tensed but didn’t ask her to stop.

His finger grazed the scar on her belly. Anger flashed across his gaze, so quickly she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. He traced his fingers lower, and she forgot about shame or worry. She moaned his name and gave in to the sensation.

He sat in the car, listening to the transponder. His hands gripped the steering wheel as Leah called out another man’s name as she climaxed. He’d thought back to when he’d listened to Deidre make love to another man. She’d moaned and cooed like a dog in heat.

He reached for the knife in his pocket, flipped it open, and jabbed the razor-sharp tip into the seat. Leather tore as he slid the blade over the seat cushion. When the blade reached the seatback, he lifted it and drove it into the seat again. As it ripped, he imagined it was skin and muscle.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Wednesday, January 25, 6 A.M.

When Leah awoke, sunshine streamed in through the windows. Her body was relaxed, liquid, and a strong sense of hope burned inside her. It had been the worst day of her life four years ago, and today it was one of the best.

When she rolled onto her side, she found Alex lying still as a stone on his back. His breathing was slow, but a tension rippling over his muscles suggested he was not asleep.

“What’re you thinking?” she asked.

A sigh shuddered through him as he reluctantly surrendered the peace of the moment. “About today.” He opened his eyes and wincing rolled on his side to face her. “I’ve been running through scenarios, trying to figure out what Philip will do. So many unknown variables.”

“He’s smart. And he’s patient. Four years is a long time to plan.”

Alex traced a lock of hair away from her face. “He’ll make a mistake.” Confidence radiated from Alex, which made believing him easy. Of course he was good at what he did.

“Philip won’t back down,” she said.

He traced his palm down her arm, his fingers skimming over a scar. “I’m planning on it,” he whispered, close against her ear.

She laid a hand on his cheek, wanting to believe that somehow this nightmare with Philip would soon end. She leaned in and kissed him. The kiss quickly deepened, and he rolled on top of her, his erection hard against her. The desire that had overtaken her last night had felt uncontrollable. So much time alone, and then to feel a physical touch—it had been too much to resist. Now, in the light of day, making love to him now felt equally as tantalizing, but it also felt like a choice, not a primal need. She was choosing to be with him. Choosing to allow her heart to open just a little. Choosing to feel.

Having feelings for anyone risked everything as far as she was concerned. And the risk, much like standing on the edge of a cliff, scared her as much as it exhilarated. Caring was dangerous. But the idea of spending the rest of her days alone scared her more. She wanted to feel. To love.

She slid her hands down his back and slowly opened her legs to him. He kissed the hollow of her neck, her breast, as he moved inside her.

She arched, sighed into his touch, and allowed the walls to drop.

Leah stood at the front door, watching Alex drive off, remembering her promises to him to stay here. He had also posted a uniformed officer parked in front of her town house. He wanted her safe while he went hunting.

She’d been alone ten minutes when a text dinged on her phone. The number was Gail’s. She opened a picture, an image of Gail, Charlie, and a man with a blurred face sitting on Gail’s couch. Gail looked grim-faced and worried. The man appeared to be grinning. The message read: OPEN UP. WE WANT TO COME IN AND PLAY. DON’T CALL LOVER BOY.

The blood rushed from Leah’s head as she approached her front door. He’d been a cop. He knew how to be careful. How to approach a house.

A knock sounded on the door. She jumped, heart pounding and fingers sweating as she moved toward the chained door and glanced out the peephole. The man on her doorstep was wearing a cop’s uniform, and though he faced the door, his head was tipped slightly so that the brim of his hat shadowed his face. He rapped on the door again. She jumped, not sure if she should laugh with relief or cry with fear as sharp as a razor’s edge.

Carefully, she opened the front door. “Yes, Officer?”

The man looked up, and she stood face-to-face with Tyler Radcliff. Feet braced and arms on his hips, he filled the front porch, grinning and alone. “What’re you doing here?”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Mind if I come in for a minute? It’s about Deidre’s funeral.”

Her heart twisted with guilt. Of course he’d come about the funeral. Even as she reached for the doorknob, fear tugged at her. Don’t. Deidre was afraid of him. And she’d died. “Whatever you have to say to me you can say on the porch.”

A muscle tightened in his jaw as he summoned another grin. “I know I wasn’t at my best the other day, Ms. Carson.”

“You’re not coming into my home, Sheriff. What do you want?”

Brown eyes darkened to a savage black that robbed her of breath. “I’d think for Gail and Charlie’s sake you’d let me inside.”

Every thought and feeling in her stilled. “How do you know about them?”

He raised his hand, and the gold signet ring with the letter L winked in the light. Philip’s ring. Before she could process it, he pushed his way into the town house, knocking her aside as if she didn’t weigh more than an ounce.

She stumbled. “Where are Gail and Charlie?”

“Safe.”

“Where? And why would you take them? I told you all I know about finding Deidre. I can’t help you find her killer.”

Slowly, he removed his hat and traced the brim with his fingers. “I know who killed her.”

“What?” She dug fingernails into her scarred palms. “How could you know?”

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His gaze rose to hers. “Because I killed her.”

Leah took a step back, her thoughts skittering to the officer parked across the street. She ran toward her door, hoping to barrel past him, but he caught her easily, covering her mouth with his hand. “He can’t help you anyway. Right about now that coffee I gave him is putting him to sleep. He’ll be out for hours.”

She struggled and kicked, knowing she’d go to her grave fighting if that was what it took. She angled her head, trapped his finger between her teeth, and bit down hard. Pain rumbled in his body, but instead of letting her go, he slammed her hard against the front door, knocking the wind out of her. “I planned to make your killing quick and easy, but if you piss me off, I’ll take my time, just like I did with Deidre.”

She squirmed more and tried to scream, but he held her close. He easily lifted her off her feet and carried her to her bedroom, where he tossed her on her bed. Tears filling her eyes, she scrambled to get off the other side, but he caught her leg and jerked her back hard. He easily flipped her on her belly and twisted her hand behind her back, sending a bolt of pain up her arm and robbing her of breath. She screamed, but he pushed her face into the coverlet, muffling the sound. He held her like that, and soon she struggled to breathe.

Hyperventilating, her body quickly became starved for oxygen. She grew light-headed as he kept his knee in her back and her face in the coverlet. Finally, she passed out.

Alex knew he was missing a critical piece of the puzzle. Something was off.

Just as he arrived at his office, his cell buzzed. He glanced, expecting Leah, but found Deke’s name on the display. “Deke.”

“Preliminary DNA on the warehouse victim has arrived.”

“Fast work.”

“The body in the warehouse is a match to the hands and feet found by the river.”

“Brian Lawrence.” He shook his head, processing. “What the hell was he doing with Deidre’s card? Did he find out what she’d done for Latimer? Was he bribing her?”