Badge of Honor Read online

  "I know all the reasons I should say no," she said softly. "I've been living with them twenty-four hours a day. But now maybe I should look at all the reasons to say yes."

  He swallowed and said tightly, "Such as?"

  "The man you are. How I feel about you. The fact that I know you would walk away if I said no."

  He looked moved by her first words, but his eyes narrowed, in the way of a man who has just been reminded some of his brother males don't always play by the rules that should be inviolate. Kit saw the look, acknowledged it and went on with her list, feeling somehow it needed to be said.

  "That we've both been alone so very long. How amazing it is that this has happened at all, considering who and where we are. But most of all because it feels too strong, too right to just throw away."

  Miguel uttered an oath, low and heartfelt, and pulled her into his arms. "Thank God," he whispered against her hair. "I thought you were going to talk us both out of it."

  "We may wish I had."

  "I have a feeling we'd regret it more."

  Kit agreed.

  "So where's that market?" he asked.

  Kit blinked, startled. "I… You want dinner after all?"

  He gave her a sideways look that could have melted stone. "Just after," he said.

  Kit felt color flaring in her cheeks. But eagerness flashed along her nerves, and when he started the car she hoped he was in as big a hurry as she was.

  He was.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

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  "You are," Kit said frankly, "the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

  "With all these scars?" The golden bronze of his skin usually protected him from visible blushing, but she was pleased to see color tinge his cheeks. "I'll get you a subscription to one of those women's magazines so you'll know better."

  "The scars are probably the most beautiful, because they're a badge of honor, of survival. And I know perfectly well. I'm a trained observer, remember?"

  "So am I," he said softly. "And I've never observed anything more beautiful than you."

  She supposed the words were typical for a first time, but that it was she and Miguel made them ring heartfelt and true. That's what happened when it was for real, she thought. It made standing naked together for the first time not awkward but intense, made her tremble with the knowledge of what was to come, that soon this beautiful, masculine body would become part of her in a way that would leave her forever changed.

  She felt a last-minute frisson of anxiety, wondering if perhaps the risk truly was too great. But then Miguel touched her, and she knew this was worth any risk.

  To her surprise he cupped her face rather than touching her body. When he looked at her, the intensity of his gaze made her tremble.

  "You'll have to help me, Kit. Show me what you want, what you like. I'm a bit … rusty."

  "We'll learn together," she said.

  "And your arm. I'll be careful—"

  "I barely feel it anymore. And when you touch me it doesn't hurt at all."

  Then she took his hand and put it to her breast. His eyes closed, he rocked backward slightly and an audible breath escaped him. Then his fingers flexed, just barely, as if he wanted more but was uncertain. She pressed herself into his hand to urge him to take what he wanted.

  He cupped her soft flesh, lifting and gently squeezing. Then he moved his other hand to her other breast to do the same, and she moaned softly with the pleasure of his hands on her. She glanced at his face and saw that his eyes had opened, that he was staring. She followed the direction of his gaze, and the sight of his hands, of his long, strong fingers dark against her pale skin, sent a shiver of delight through her that she didn't try to hide.

  He whispered her name, and her gaze shifted to his face. She stared at those thickly lashed light gray eyes, hoping he truly could see her soul, because right now her entire being was focused on him and the fire he was kindling in her.

  And then his fingers moved, his thumbs slipping up to rub her already taut nipples. Sensation, hot and jolting, shot through her, and she cried out. He caught the flesh he'd aroused between his fingers and plucked gently, then harder when she arched her back.

  She wasn't sure how they got to the bed. Maybe they'd both simply fallen. She could believe that—she'd never felt so weak in the knees. Nor had she ever felt so ready, and when he continued to slowly stroke and caress her, she wanted to scream at him to hurry.

  "Please," she finally whispered, unable to form more than the one coherent word.

  "Not yet," he said. "Because once I'm inside you, I can't promise I'll be able to last."

  "I won't last if you don't, now," she urged.

  But he wouldn't be hurried, even when his fingers probed the nest of golden curls between her thighs and found her wet and slick and ready. Instead he began to caress her there, slowly, gently. Her hips moved involuntarily, and he increased the pressure, as if he'd been testing to see how much she wanted.

  Kit reached for him, hungry to touch what she'd only seen. Her hands slid down his rib cage, over the scars on his back, then the one on his thigh, caressing, showing him with a loving touch what she thought of those marks of honor. Then she moved her hand to his hip, but there she hesitated. He moved slightly, to tilt his body to give her access, a silent encouragement she understood and welcomed joyously. He shivered as her hand slid over his lower belly and groaned when her fingers curled around hot, erect flesh.

  She nearly groaned. He was so smooth, so beautiful, more than she'd ever expected, and she was going to take that heavy, hard maleness deep inside her until he would never be fully gone from her again.

  A harsh breath escaped him as she stroked his length. His hands continued to move on her, and he changed the caress to a circular movement that was gradually more intense, until she cried out at the sudden convulsion that rippled through her, making her body undulate helplessly.

  Only then did he give her respite, and only long enough to fumble with one of the foil packets he'd dumped on the nightstand. She nearly sobbed at even that short absence, and when he came back to her, easing himself between her legs, she lifted them and enclosed him.

  He groaned as the movement brought her heated flesh in contact with his. She stroked herself against him needily, and he groaned again, a louder, more helpless sound that made her a little dizzy with a sense of feminine power she'd never experienced before.

  If it was not Miguel, she would not feel this, she realized. He was so much man, he'd been through so much, had been forced to be stronger than any other man she knew in so many ways. That was what made this precious, the fact that he would entrust himself to her like this, that he would let himself become so vulnerable in her arms.

  And when he at last moved to join them, she gave a tiny cry of joy. It had been so long, and she had never expected to want like this, need like this, and had never, ever expected to find the answer to those wants and needs with this man.

  He slid into her, his way eased by her readiness, yet he stretched her until she was moaning at the exquisite fullness. Then he was in her to the hilt, and she heard him say her name as if it had been torn from him, as if it was the only word he could think of to say what he was feeling.

  And then he was moving, and she had no choice but to move with him. Their rhythm was not practiced or smooth, but it was urgent and swift and deep, and it didn't matter. He groaned at the depth of each stroke, and she gasped each time he withdrew and plunged into her again.

  She knew he'd been afraid he would be too quick for her, after all that time. She didn't care. This was enough, more than enough, for now. Then she felt him go rigid, heard him cry out her name in a voice she'd never heard, never thought to hear from him, a voice tinged with wonder and awe.

  His body arched, driving him hard into her, and he threw his head back as he shuddered. Kit stared at him, at the muscles standing out in stark relief, at the beauty of his body, aristocratic features drawn taut with pas
sion. In that moment nothing existed in her world but him, and when he shuddered again, and she felt the pulse of him hot and deep within her, it hit her unexpectedly. Her body clenched suddenly, violently, and an explosion of sensation clawed at her. She clawed at him in turn, felt his arms come around her, holding her tight and close as she spasmed, until she felt only him and the harsh pant of his gasping breaths against her skin.

  * * *

  Miguel slept well past his normal waking time, although since that was usually four o'clock, it was still early for a Sunday. What surprised him was how natural it felt, awakening slowly, feeling Kit's soft warmth beside him. Even that he was in a different place didn't seem odd or disconcerting. It was Kit's bed, her home, and he felt utterly welcome in both.

  Almost as welcome as he'd felt in her body, he thought, suppressing a shudder as heat rushed through him at the thought. In one passionate night, she'd seared away all the long, lonely years, and the change from the empty sameness he'd awakened to for all that time to this sated, drowsy contentment seemed nothing less than a miracle.

  He watched her sleep, snuggled close, and felt a tenderness he'd thought himself incapable of feeling anymore. And when he looked at the bandages that covered the healing slice on her arm, he felt a qualm of fear for her. On some deep level it still scared him, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Not this morning, not as he lay here utterly satiated, not after the night they'd spent.

  It had been, he thought, a unique experience. Neither of them had been kids fumbling blindly, but it had been so long for both of them it had seemed new and special and inordinately right, and while he knew they'd face huge problems eventually, right now he was happier than he could remember being in a very long time.

  Not to mention drained, he thought, smiling into the morning light. He tried to avoid comparisons, but he supposed they were inevitable. Anna had been quietly, almost shyly giving and loving in all areas of her life, including bed. Kit was … Kit. She was vital, alive, determined and by turns generous and demanding. Once they'd decided, she wasn't shy about showing him she wanted him, and he'd found that more arousing than he would have thought; he'd never been so out of control as he'd been with her.

  Time and again they'd come together, and each time there was something new and different. Anna had always wanted gentleness. Kit wanted it, too, but there were times when she wanted a little wildness, as well, and that realization had cut loose some tight restraint deep within him, and he'd responded so fiercely, and she had answered his need so perfectly, he was amazed they weren't both carrying marks.

  Maybe we are, he thought ruefully.

  Kit stirred in his arms, then raised her head. Her lashes lifted, and she gave him a sleepy-eyed smile that made his chest tighten.

  "Hi," she said simply.

  "Hi."

  "Mmm," she murmured, snuggling closer. "This feels good."

  "Everything since we hit your front door has felt good," he said.

  Kit smiled and hugged him, and he wondered if she, too, was remembering the trail of discarded clothes they'd left across her living room, pausing only long enough to set down the groceries they'd bought. He'd barely remembered to grab the small bag from the drug store and take it into the bedroom. It had taken him nearly as long to make his purchase as it had taken her to buy food. The last time he'd bought condoms there weren't nearly so many choices.

  Her stomach growled, a decidedly unladylike declaration of hunger. She looked startled, then laughed. That was Kit, too, he thought, laughing where others might be embarrassed.

  "We never did have dinner, did we?" he said.

  "Did you miss it?"

  "Hardly," he retorted, seeing her teasing for what it was. He grabbed her and rolled over, settling himself on top of her. She shifted to make it easier for him, and that little sign of welcome nearly broke loose the flood of tenderness he'd been feeling.

  This time, in the soft light of morning, it was slow and sweet and gentle, a dance of slight moves and tiny sighs, of slow rocking and a gradual building, until they were clinging tightly together, moving as one, when the rising swell of pleasure took them both.

  And afterward, when she smiled at him, Miguel thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful. And when she rather plaintively asked if they could eat now, he burst out laughing. This was new to him, such lightheartedness in bed, and he found he liked it very much.

  "I suppose you do need feeding," he said.

  "I do," she confirmed, another growl of her stomach perfectly timed for emphasis. "Otherwise I could end up nibbling on you."

  It was a moment before he could get past the images that comment brought to mind. "Now that idea has potential."

  She didn't blush, and he knew when she winked at him that he'd walked right into her trap. He didn't care. The idea of her following up on the promise of that wink was making him heat up again. Then she sat up, the covers falling away, baring the soft, full curves of her breasts, and the sight chased everything else out of his mind.

  "Food," she insisted, and he guessed his thoughts were showing clearly in his face.

  "Okay, food. First."

  "Is this bribery?" she teased.

  "It'll be extortion soon," he warned, "if you don't put something on."

  She laughed, and from a clothes tree at the foot of the bed grabbed a silky-looking robe that he didn't think was going to help much.

  She was halfway through the door, and he had sat up and reached for his jeans, when she stopped dead.

  "Extortion," he heard her whisper.

  "What?" he asked as he pulled his jeans on, not bothering to snap them.

  She turned, and he saw that her eyes were wide with a look that told him she was onto something.

  "Extortion," she said again.

  "I was only joking," he said, uncertain what she meant.

  "No, it's not that—"

  She stopped suddenly, and Miguel crossed the room to her. "Then what?"

  She shook her head. "I need to think about this. It could be nothing. Let's eat first."

  She moved off without a backward glance, and after a moment Miguel followed her to the kitchen. He supposed this was part of the price of her intensity and focus. Sometimes she just … went away. A small price when it meant he was sometimes the recipient of that intensity. Like last night, he thought as he watched the movement of her body beneath the silken fabric of the robe.

  Although neither of them had any problem with the idea of dinner for breakfast—both had spent enough time working graveyard that their concept of time had become very fluid—they decided that the menu they'd worked out was a bit much to face at seven. So the steak and trimmings became smaller portions of steak and eggs.

  It wasn't until they'd finished that Kit gave him a grateful look. "Thanks for just letting me work through this."

  He nodded. "So is it nothing? Or something?"

  "I think it's something. Maybe a big something."

  He trusted her instincts and knew she wouldn't say that lightly. He stood, gathered the plates and carried them to the sink. On his way back he picked up the coffeepot, filled both their cups, returned the pot to the brewer and sat.

  "Okay, let's have it."

  "Let me do it step by step."

  He nodded.

  "When I went to see Jaime's brother at the honor ranch, he said something in passing. I didn't think anything of it, since it's the kind of thing we hear all the time from kids in trouble."

  "Said what?"

  "That cops just like to beat on people, beat them or rip them off."

  "Yeah," Miguel agreed, "there's nothing new there. Choker was spouting the same old song."

  "Exactly. What did he say? That cops shake them down for no reason all the time just because they've got the power?"

  "Pretty much." Miguel took a sip of hot coffee, thinking he could get used to this, drinkable coffee in the morning, across the table from Kit, with her hair still tousled from his hands and her mouth s
till swollen from his kisses. "It's the standard gang defense, you know that."

  "Yes, it is. Mako said something like that, too, that the cops were always hassling him or shaking him down. But it occurred to me that there's more than one meaning to the phrase 'shakedown.' That in addition to stopping and searching somebody, it also means—"

  It hit him then. He set down his mug abruptly, making the coffee slosh. "Extortion?"

  She nodded.

  "Kit," he began, giving a half shake of his head.

  "I know, I know. But when you said that this morning, I remembered something one of the kids with Mako said. I was so focused on Mako I didn't think of it until now, but he asked me if I was going to take over the racket now."

  Miguel drew back slightly. "The racket?"

  "That's the word he used. Among other less charming epithets."

  He could imagine, and again felt the churning of his stomach at the thought of her in danger. He barely restrained himself from looking at her forearm, at the cut she'd gotten in her tussle with Mako. He made himself go on.

  "So," he began slowly, "you think Robards was … is shaking these gang kids down for money?"

  "I know it's a stretch, a big jump. It sounds crazy, and there isn't any real evidence. And I'd never believe it of anybody else, but…"

  "It sounds just like Robards."

  She nodded. "And my gut is yelling about this. It keeps coming up. Martin, Mako, Mako's pal, Choker. Maybe I was listening but not really hearing."

  He had a great deal of respect for Kit Walker's gut feelings. But he also knew there was no profit in ignoring the reality of life. "Finding proof could be difficult."

  "It could be impossible," she said flatly. "If he's got those gangsters, most of whom don't even go to the bathroom without a piece, intimidated enough to be calling him boss and paying him off, they're not likely to roll over on him."

  "Especially if he killed Jaime Rivas to make his point." Her eyes widened, and he realized she hadn't yet made that jump. "My God," she whispered.