She threaded her fingers through her hair and took another step toward him. “No, that’s not what I was asking.”
“Then what?”
She stopped a foot away from him. “Aren’t you sorry?”
He felt as if he were playing twenty questions. In exasperation, he asked, “Sorry about what?”
“Getting involved with me. It’s a temporary situation, but even so . . .”
“Hell, no.”
She stepped back. “John Paul, you’ve got to be a little repulsed . . .”
“Afraid not.”
She glared at him. “Why not? I don’t come from a normal family. Genetically speaking, I’m a mess.”
“Sugar, no need to be so melodramatic and no need to shout at me either. I can hear just fine.”
“How can you smile after what you just heard? How can you—”
“Avery, you didn’t do any of those things. Jilly did.”
He thought he was being extremely logical, but she wasn’t the least bit interested in being reasonable. “Now do you understand why I won’t ever get married?”
Before she could take another step away from him, he reached for her. He put his hands on her h*ps and slowly pulled her toward him.
“No, I don’t understand.”
She tried to push his hands away, but they were cemented to her body.
“You’re going to have to explain it to me. Are you afraid you’ll sneeze and turn into a sociopath?”
“No, of course not, but I can’t have children, and even if I could . . .”
“I know,” he said softly. “You wouldn’t risk it.”
“Men want children.”
She stood between his knees, frowning at him while she shifted from foot to foot.
“Some do,” he agreed. “Some don’t.”
“Do you?”
He wasn’t going to lie to her. “I always figured I’d settle down one day and have a couple of kids. I still might,” he said. “But, Avery, there are a lot of children out there who need good homes.”
“Do you think after doing a background check on my family that I would ever qualify?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I won’t get married.”
The defiance was back in her voice. She was trying to hide her vulnerability, but it wasn’t working. He knew she was hurting inside.
“Did I ask you to marry me?”
“No.”
“Okay, then. I think we’ve had enough heavy talk for a little while. And I also think you need to lighten up a little.”
It occurred to her that he was behaving the same way he had when she’d shown him her back. The scars hadn’t seemed to faze him. Obviously, neither did the stories she’d told him about Jilly.
What the hell was the matter with him?
“You need to relax,” he told her. He worked her blouse up over her navel and leaned forward to kiss her stomach.
“That’s what yoga is for. It helps me relax.”
“I’ve found a better way to unwind.”
He unbuttoned her shorts and reached for the zipper. She grabbed his hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
His smile made her heart race. Her hand dropped to her side, and she watched him unzip her shorts. As they fell to the floor, he finally answered her.
“It’s simple, sugar. I’m going to my happy place.”
Chapter 32
SECRETS WERE BEST SHARED IN THE BEDROOM. THEY MADE love, and after he had kissed and caressed every inch of her beautiful body, she was exhausted.
“I told you I’d get around to your back,” he said as he rolled away from her.
She laughed because he’d sounded so smug. Still breathless from their lovemaking, she whispered, “You’re insatiable.”
He grinned arrogantly. “With you I am.”
It was a lovely thing to say, almost a compliment, she thought. “Move over,” she told him. “I’m falling off the bed.”
The double bed didn’t give him anyplace to go. “We’re gonna need to buy a king-size bed.”
Her mood changed as swiftly as the wind. “Why?” she asked tensely.
“Because I’m too big for a double bed,” he answered. “My feet hang over. What’s the big deal about a king-size bed?”
“We both know we can’t have any kind of a lasting relationship.”
“Did I ask?”
“No, but you implied . . .”
“Sugar, you worry too much.”
She silently agreed. Of course, she worried . . . about everything. But what terrified her more than anything was ruining things. Admitting to herself that she loved John Paul had already put her in a mild panic. What was going to happen when they parted? Would she ever recover?
“I don’t believe in marriage. Look what it does to some people.”
“What people?”
“People like the Parnells . . .”
“Sugar, those aren’t what you’d call typical people.”
“What about the divorce rate?”
“What about couples who have stayed together?”
“I’d ruin things,” she blurted out.
When he didn’t respond, she propped herself up with her elbow, leaned over him, and waited. Had he fallen asleep?
“Did you hear what I just said?”
He was wearing an adorable smile and nothing else. He oozed self-confidence, probably because he didn’t give a hoot what anyone else thought. She’d lived her life trying to please everyone. He was the complete antithesis. He didn’t want to please anyone.
“You don’t have much faith in yourself, do you? It’s okay,” he added before she could answer. “I’ve got enough for both of us.”
She put her hand on his flat, hard stomach and circled his navel with her fingertips. He made everything sound so easy.
She couldn’t stop touching him. She could almost see the strength radiating from his muscles, but she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him. When she was in his arms, she didn’t feel overwhelmed or diminished. On the contrary, he made her feel powerful. It was the most incredible sensation, not worrying about pleasing him, just knowing that whatever she did was all right, being that free, that liberated. Her trust in him was absolute, and she realized what a wonderful gift he’d given her.
“John Paul?”
“Ummm?”
“Are you sleeping?”
“A little.”
“I want . . .”
“Okay, sweetheart. Just give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll be able—”
Her body was still tingling from the last time. She laughed. “Not that,” she said. “I want you to tell me something.”
He yawned. “You were perfect, Avery, but you’ve got to know—”
She pinched him. “I’m not asking for a review. I want to know why you walked away.”
Before he could deliberately misinterpret, she said, “I’ve told you my secrets, most of them anyway, and now it’s your turn. Why did you retire?”
“It’s boring stuff.”
She pinched him again. “Tell me.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. The determination he saw told him he wasn’t going to be able to finesse his way out of this one. Besides, he figured he owed her.
“It wasn’t any one big assignment that went wrong,” he said. “Just a lot of little screwups that made me . . . reevaluate what I wanted out of life. I had a bad problem.”
“What was it?”
“I started thinking too much. I had a lot of time to do that while I waited in hellholes for the next assignment. They were usually generals,” he explained nonchalantly. “Little prick dictators who surrounded themselves with thugs. I didn’t mind killing them, for the greater good,” he added sarcastically. “And I liked going in after hostages. There was justice in that action, but one night, while I was freezing my ass off, I noticed I was getting a callus on my finger. My trigger finger,” he added softly. “That really freaked me out.”
“So what did you do?”
“I finished my assignment, told them I was done, and went home.”
“Was it that easy? Didn’t they try to change your mind?”
“Yes and no,” he answered. “At the time, it was easy because I worked for a good, decent man. He knew I’d had it. I think the way he got around all the red tape was to give me an extended leave.”
“But they’re still trying to get you to come back?”
“Every once in a while,” he agreed. “I won’t, though.” He closed his eyes again and said, “I did some badass things, Avery.”
“I would imagine so,” she whispered. “And you didn’t believe that what you were doing made any difference, did you?”
She’d hit the mark dead center. “No, I didn’t. Dictators are like weeds. You rip one out of the ground and two more pop up overnight.”
He opened his eyes again and watched her as he recounted one of his bloodier assignments. When he was finished, he noticed she hadn’t pulled her hand away. She was still stroking his chest. Her touch was soothing.
“So now you’re a carpenter,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Are you any good?”
“Yeah, I am. I’m still using my hands, but now I build things that will last. I don’t break necks. It’s odd.”
“What is?”
“The urge to kill. I never had that before. I do now.”
Her eyes widened. He’d made the confession so casually. “Oh? Who do you want to kill?”
“Skarrett.”
She shivered in reaction. “No,” she said. “I don’t want him to die.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m serious. I want him to live the rest of his life behind bars.”
“Yeah, well, if I get the opportunity . . .”
“No,” she said firmly.
“Okay,” he said when he realized she was getting upset.
“I mean it.”
“I said okay,” he said.
“I won’t mind if you kill Monk,” she said then. “But I hope someone brings him in alive. Can you imagine the things he could tell them?”
He shook his head. “He won’t talk. He’s not the kind of man who likes to boast. Maybe, if the interrogators work him, treat him like a professional, he might give them a little insight, but I honestly don’t see that happening.” He shrugged and added, “I think they ought to squash him like a bug.”
“And Jilly?”
“You call it.”
“She needs to be locked up in an institution for the criminally insane, and she needs to stay there for the rest of her life.”
“You don’t want her dead?”
“No, I don’t,” she said. “I don’t think she can help being the way she is. I just want to make sure she can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
He brushed his thumb across her lips. “You’ve got a gentle heart,” he said.
“So do you.”
“The hell I do,” he grumbled. “But I’ve got great hands,” he added as he reached for her.
She slapped his hand away. “I already know you’re good with your hands,” she said.
She got an impish gleam in her eyes as she rolled on top of him. He locked his legs around her to keep her from making a eunuch out of him.
“Now I’m going to show you how good I am,” she cooed.
It wasn’t an idle boast. Avery had a vivid imagination, and what she did to him with her hands and her mouth was magical, and probably illegal in some states, but of course he wasn’t about to mention that to her.
That night they slept entwined in each other’s arms even though both of them knew that the interlude would be over in the morning. They couldn’t push reality away any longer.
Avery awakened before John Paul did and quickly showered and dressed in the bathroom so she wouldn’t disturb him. Then she went into the living room, softly closing the bedroom door behind her, and checked the time. There was a digital clock on the wall above the table. She hoped it was accurate. Five forty-five Colorado time, which meant it was seven forty-five in Virginia.
She thought she heard the shower running as she reached for the phone. “Stay predictable, Margo,” she whispered. “Don’t get spontaneous now.”
She dialed information, got the number she needed, then hung up and waited, her gaze locked on the time.
At exactly seven-fifty, Avery dialed. The phone was answered on the third ring.
Avery made up a name, told the employee it was an emergency and that he needed to put Margo on the phone. She described her friend and added, “She comes in every morning at seven-fifty.”
“Yeah, the short lady, right?”
“Yes.”
“She just left.”
“Go after her,” Avery shouted. “Hurry. Get her back. Go.”
The phone clattered against the wall when the employee dropped it. She heard him shouting Margo’s name, and then a minute later, she could hear Margo arguing.
“No one knows I’m here. What do you mean it’s an emergency? Hello,” she said.
“Margo, it’s me, Avery.”
“Oh, my God, Avery. How did you know I would be here . . . how did you . . .” She was rattled.
“You always pick up doughnuts on your way into the office.”
“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Avery countered.
“Why did you leave that police station in Colorado? The agents are there to protect you.”
“I have protection.”
“Renard?”
“Yes,” she answered impatiently. “Tell me what you know.”
The bedroom door opened, and John Paul stopped in the doorway, staring at her incredulously. She put her hand up when he started toward her.
“Hold on, Margo.” Cupping the receiver with her hand, she said to John Paul, “Trust me.” Then she raised the phone to her ear again. “Okay, Margo. Start talking.”
“The trial begins July tenth,” she said. “But Avery, the parole hearing is still on too. Skarrett might pull it off this time. He could get out.”
“Over my dead body.”
