Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler 3)

Nevada reached out and cupped her face. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you.”

He tilted his head and pressed his lips to hers. She leaned into his touch, savoring a skin-to-skin connection that was purely sensual. In the last five months, she had equated touch either with a physical therapist’s painful bends and twists or a sister’s hug. Both had their place, but, lord, how she missed feeling wanted and desired by Nevada.

She closed her eyes and, gingerly rising up, wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. His hand slid down her back and cupped her buttocks. He squeezed and pressed her against his erection.

He kissed her shoulder. “You’re tense.”

“My body has changed.”

“It feels good to me.”

“I have scars. I’m so thin.” Insecurity and worry were new additions to her repertoire. “Figured I better put that out on the table.”

He smoothed the short strands of hair away from her face. “It’s okay.”

Unwanted tears burned her eyes. “I don’t want you to hate my body.”

“Your naked body is all I’ve thought about since I saw you arrive.”

“You haven’t seen it.” Moonlight filtered through the trees.

“Show me. Now.”

“Strip?”

“Yes. Take your clothes off, Macy.”

It was an order she could refuse, but as much as she feared his reaction, a perverse part of her wanted to see how he handled himself.

She reached for the button between her breasts and unfastened it. She reached for the next and then the next until she shrugged off her shirt and let it puddle around her ankles.

He traced the line of her white, very practical bra. His eyes looked bluer, more intense, but his expression remained unchanged. The first time they had slept together, he’d appeared just as aloof and withdrawn. Her job brought her into contact with so many emotionally damaged and needy people that she found his detachment oddly calming.

He traced the faint pink tracheotomy scar at the hollow of her neck. “You’re a warrior.” His voice was husky, full of desire. “A survivor. That puts you in a different league. That makes you even more beautiful now.”

He slid her bra straps off her shoulders and smoothed his hands over her arms. He kissed the creamy white flesh of her breast as he reached behind and deftly unhooked her bra. Her breasts were high, her nipples hard as he fingered one and kissed her on the lips.

A dry moan escaped her lips as she struggled to keep her thoughts from tumbling out of control. She fumbled for his belt buckle and unfastened it, sliding her fingers under his waistband. It was one thing to survive, but it was another to feel alive.

“If you don’t take me to your bedroom right now, I’m taking you on the countertop,” she said.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, but he took her by the hand and guided her through the house to a large room on the first floor. Another span of windows overlooked the wooded valley bathed in moonlight before he pressed a button by the door and privacy screens dropped.

She removed her weapon, cuffs, and Mace and set them on the nightstand before tugging off her socks.

Nevada watched her with fascination as she shrugged off her pants and let them fall to the hardwood floor.

“Keep going.”

Her gaze locked on his, and she slid off her panties.

He walked up to her and caressed her body, tracing his index finger over the long scar that snaked up her leg. Then he smoothed his hand over the road rash scars, which she hated the most. The rosy blotches spread up her side and over her shoulder.

She closed her eyes, focusing on his touch and refusing to shrink away. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, and the top of her breast.

He took her by the hand and led her to the bed and, as she sat down on the firm mattress, he undressed. His erection made her wet. She scooted to the middle of the bed and opened herself to him, feeling drunk now with sensual desire.

He lay on top of her and kissed her fully on the lips. She arched her hips, and he placed his erection at her moist center.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” he said.

She nodded, not sure how her body would react, and slowly he slid into her. She held her breath for a moment, accepting him and praying her body didn’t betray her now. Instead of pain, she felt pure pleasure.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Really damn good.” She traced her hands over his buttocks. “Amazing.”

He began to move inside of her, slowly at first, waiting for her body to fully relax. As she grew accustomed to him, she began to move her body against his and whispered, “More,” in his ear. He moved faster and harder.

His touch sent heat coursing through her body. She cupped her breasts and arched toward him, and when he pressed his fingers to her center and rubbed small circles, it was akin to tossing a match onto gasoline. Passion exploded through her and built so quickly she couldn’t temper it.

“Let it go,” he said.

Macy wanted to wait for him, but the orgasm exploded in her, crashing through every nerve and muscle in her body.

When the sensation eased and she looked up at him, he seemed pleased with himself.

His eyes were dark with desire. He thrust faster inside her, and this time she pressed her body to his and touched him in the places she remembered he liked. He groaned her name and ground hard into her as his own release cut through him.

When he was spent, he lay on top of her. Both were covered in perspiration, and his racing heart matched the pace of her own.

“You’re still the best. Just as I remember,” he whispered against her ear.

“Out of practice,” she said, a little breathless.

He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Maybe we can work on that.”

“Maybe.”

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Macy dreamed of Cindy Shaw calling her name, begging for help. The young girl’s cries were so vivid they startled her out of a sound sleep. She sat up in the bed, her heart racing and sweat beading between her naked breasts. She searched the unfamiliar room and had no idea where she’d been sleeping.

A strong hand rubbed her lower back, up her spine, and cupped the back of her shoulders. She turned quickly, ready to bolt, before she realized it was Nevada. He stared at her with keen, alert eyes as his fingers massaged some of the tightness away.

He sat up and looked into her eyes. “You were dreaming. Was it the hit-and-run?”

His hand slid down her back, the soft and steady pressure of his callused palm against her bare skin easing the fight-or-flight response.

“I never dream about the accident anymore,” she said.

“But something was bothering you.”

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nbsp; She pulled her fingers through her hair. “It’s nothing.”

“You were screaming, Macy.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Ever known me to exaggerate?”

Telling him about the dream would blow her credibility. He might be able to deal with the physical scars, but to learn she could be off her nut was another matter.

“Macy, you can tell me,” he said.

A sad smile curved her lips. “You know, people always say that until they hear the truth.”

“I mean it.” His hand felt like a steady, constant support.

She sat in silence, weighing the pros and cons. The cons were shouting at her to keep her mouth shut. “I really don’t understand the dreams myself.”

He didn’t speak, letting silence coax out more of her secrets. The trick hadn’t worked when Ramsey had tried it on her, but with Nevada, she knew she could trust him. “The dreams always start with a scratching sound.”

“Explain.”

“Like someone is digging in dirt.”

“Digging a hole.”

“This is where it gets weird. I’ll be honest. You’ll be supercool about it, and then in the light of day, you’ll wonder who the hell I am.”

“Spill it.” He sharpened his tone like a fine blade.

“Whoever is making the scratching sound isn’t digging into the ground but out of it. I can’t explain it other than it’s like a buried-alive vibe and whoever is trapped is trying to escape.”

His silence wedged between them.

“I know. I know. Insane. Or worse, some kind of weird brain damage.” She tried to scoot away.

He gently held her by the wrist. “I didn’t say that.”

When she finally found the courage to look at him, she saw a curiosity in his gaze that reminded her of him when he was piecing together a case. That gave her some courage to say, “I don’t understand it.”

“When did it start?”

“I thought I heard sounds when I was still in the hospital in Texas. I chalked that up to the pain meds. But it persisted through rehab, and whatever it was followed me back to Virginia.”

“It?”

“I know. I talk about it like it’s something other than me, but it must be coming from my brain. All I can think is that my hardwiring has changed.”