Undercover Lover (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  “More. Four. My head’s killing me.”

  What’s the use? He’s been shot. If that doesn’t kill him, aspirin won’t.

  She couldn’t believe she’d just tended gunshot wounds. Just like in Deadwood. Shot. She choked on the thought. How did she come to know someone who’d been shot?

  * * * *

  Sam’s eyelids cranked open.

  Where the hell am I?

  His apartment didn’t have a vaulted ceiling. Disoriented, he pried himself off the soft surface, swung his legs over and sat up. “Unh, God.” Pain ripped through his head and sliced across his upper arm. He gasped in a breath, rested his elbows on his knees, and propped his head in his hands. And discovered the bandage on his temple and gook in his hair.

  Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head, surveying his surroundings. The only light in the room shone over the sink in the kitchen behind him. Liz’s house.

  He bit the inside of his cheek to squelch a groan. “Christ,” escaped in a whisper. He couldn’t believe he’d come here after being shot. He’d wanted to be somewhere safe, and he’d chosen Liz. How could he have been so stupid to put her into this kind of danger? He had to get out of here. A smart man would have gone to the ER. A smart cop would have. He hadn’t been smart, had he?

  He heard rustling clothing and glanced to his right. Liz slept in an easy chair, legs tucked under her. Looking all warm and cozy wrapped in a fuzzy blue robe and matching slippers, she lay on her side, hugging a bed pillow to her cheek.

  Forgetting his pain for a moment, his heart did funny leaps watching her sleep, her mouth open, little snores issuing from her nose. He dropped his hands to dangle between his knees and smiled. She wouldn’t like it if he heard her snore.

  Warning! So many times he’d come home to his wife to find her waiting for him in her robe and slippers. Sometimes she’d been sleeping and sometimes not. Usually she waited for him loaded for bear.

  Again and again, he’d told her he wasn’t out fooling around, he was working. Round and round they went. Why couldn’t he call her, especially at night, to let her know he was all right? How did he expect her to sleep at night and then be able to go to work in the morning if she didn’t know where he was or what he was doing? If she didn’t know whether he’d even come home? Eventually, she hadn’t been able to handle it and left him. After their divorce, she married a guy who worked in a library. A librarian, for Christ’s sake. You couldn’t get much safer. The worst thing that could happen would be books falling on top of him.

  He vaguely remembered he’d been pretty much out of it when he’d gotten here. But Liz had taken care of him and, apparently, hadn’t kicked him out. Maybe he should disappear before she woke up and blasted him.

  Scooting to the edge of the cushions, he felt the ache in every muscle in his body. How badly had he been hurt? He’d been shot in two places but neither deep nor life threatening. Why was it so hard to stand? Nevertheless, he pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying. His knees wouldn’t hold him up.

  If he could just find his jacket and get to the door, he could let himself out and get the hell out of Dodge. God damn, he had to take a leak but didn’t want to risk using her john and waking her. The pain at his first step shocked him. “Shit,” he hissed.

  “Mmmm.”

  Breathing through clenched teeth, he slowly turned his head toward the sound of her moan. Thankfully, she didn’t wake up. Worriedly, though, he watched as she arched her back and wriggled, trying to get comfortable.

  Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up, he silently pleaded, staring at her as if willing her back to sleep.

  She groaned loudly, rubbed the small of her back, and stretched her legs. She made adorable little smacking noises with her mouth. From snoring to smacking. She’d flay him alive if she knew he heard all this.

  He tried to back away. Contrary to his wordless orders to go back to sleep, her lashes blinked, and she gazed at him with bleary, reddened eyes.

  “Shh.” He held his forefinger over his lips like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. This could be really funny under different circumstances.

  “Wha…?”

  She looked so sweet, so soft and rumply, her expression mystified. He really wanted her tender, sleepy body stretched out against his. Wanted her to hold him. Take away the pain. His eyes swam with unaccustomed wetness, and he blinked back the threatening tears.

  Jesus, you wuss.

  “Sam?”

  “Shh. I’m leaving. Thank you for everything.” His voice was shakier than he’d have liked as he backed toward the front door.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Sam,” she said, sounding sleepy but getting stronger. “Oh, my God, sit down. Let me look at you, get you something to eat, some coffee.” She pushed herself from the chair. “Are you still in pain?”

  He held out his hands, palms up, to ward her off. She headed right toward him, and, in his vulnerable state, if she hugged him, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t break down.

  “I have to go. I’ve got to straighten this out.” Babble, babble. He had no idea what he was going to do.

  “You can’t leave yet. Let me check your bandages first and give you some breakfast. You should at least clean up.” She spoke softly but determinedly.

  His brain told him to get out of her house. What had he been thinking to involve her in this? But another part of him, lower down, begged him to stay.

  Her light eyes were filled with worry. She cared what happened to him. Faced with a long-denied desire for warmth with a woman, he made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. Grungy, still in pain, and hungry, he asked. “Would you mind if I took a shower?”

  He got that chest-aching feeling again. His hands fisted at his sides to keep from reaching for her. Her hair flattened on one side and stuck out at the top, and he wanted to smooth it down and mess it up again. Run his fingers through the long, silky strands. Bury his face and cry.

  Whoa, dog. You are losin’ it.

  “Okay, that’s fine. Just let me get in there first, and then it’ll be all yours.”

  “Liz.” She’d be upset when she saw herself in the mirror. Women always hated when they looked disheveled. And men always loved it. “Liz, you look beautiful in the morning.”

  She, right on cue, brushed at her hair, pushing her fingers through the tangles and wincing.

  He shook his head. “No, I like it. I wish I’d mussed it up instead of passing out like a lump on the couch.” He held her gaze for several beats, felt heat flush his cheeks too, the breath sucked right out of his lungs.

  What the hell?

  Chapter 10

  Before he could move, she backed away and slipped into the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush, water running, then spitting. The door opened, and she emerged still snuggled in the soft, thick robe.

  “All yours,” she said. “I put out some towels, washcloth, and soap. Use the shampoo if you want. It might be kind of girlie but…”

  “Thanks.” Lightheaded, heart thumping, stomach knotting, and every bone in his body, especially the boner in his jeans, wanted her. He knew what she looked like under that robe. He needed to put his hands on her. Grubby, smelly, achy, and still every thought in his brain fixated on her. He stared, panting, not able to look away.

  Come on, you’ve been shot. You’re in pain, exhausted, vulnerable.

  He’d come to the one place he knew he’d be safe, safe being a relative term, though. This wasn’t safe. Thoughts of her had already intruded on the job, had distracted him.

  Shit. I’ve got to get out of here.

  He stood there like a big dope. What he wanted—her warmth, compassion, sensuality, her normal life—he couldn’t have. He had a score to settle with Dominguez, and, until that happened, he couldn’t afford to get involved with a woman. He was a fool to think otherwise.

  Damn it. Wrong time, wrong place.

  Right woman.

  He tried to deny the truth of his g
rowing feelings for her, but he feared it was already too late.

  She dropped her gaze first. “I’ll get some breakfast started. You go.”

  He obeyed quickly. Some might call it running away. Closing the door, he urinated, keeping himself upright by leaning one palm against the wall. He didn’t want to think. His mind wouldn’t cooperate. What had happened with them the other night, what he wanted to happen in the future, had to be dealt with. But he couldn’t escape the fact of his failures with Petey and his ex-wife.

  Shit.

  Rousing himself to turn on the shower, he untied the bandage on his arm, and satisfied himself the wound was no longer bleeding. Same with his head. Man, he’d been lucky. A few inches closer to his brain, and he could have been toast.

  He stood in the shower, hot water beating on his aching muscles.

  God, it feels good. Hunh, her water pressure’s a hell of a lot better than mine.

  He shook his head, wet strands flinging into his eyes. Dizziness had him slapping his palms against the tile.

  Ugh.

  Twenty minutes later, he shakily emerged from the bathroom bare-chested, a bath sheet wrapped around his middle. Holding his dirty clothes, he wasn’t ready to put them on again. Glancing at the kitchen, she was busy at her tasks. Damn, she looked cute in sweats, the kind that clung to her slim legs and showed off her firm ass and flat belly.

  She turned and surveyed him, her eyes lowering to his feet, then back up to his waist, his chest. The sight of her teeth nipping at her lower lip re-ignited the desire two bullet holes in his body and the best of intentions apparently couldn’t quell.

  Then, unbelievably, a sudden intake of breath, and the smell of food overrode everything else. He hadn’t eaten for he didn’t know how long. Starving, his stomach let off a loud growl. His head reeled with the need for a meal. Licking his lips, he glanced longingly toward the stove.

  “Sit down before you fall down, Sam. Have something to eat. Then I’ll re-bandage you.”

  He sat. She set down a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. His stomach growled again at the delicious smell.

  “Mm, thanks.” He waited to dig in until she joined him with her own plate.

  “Go ahead,” she urged.

  “These are great.”

  “I guess being shot gives a guy a good appetite,” she said, somewhat peevishly.

  “I haven’t really eaten since…um.” He gazed at his eggs as if they could tell him. “Since the pizza.” She stared into her plate. Obviously, she wasn’t happy about something, and he could well imagine he was the cause.

  After she put the plates in the sink, she gathered her nursing supplies. His body jerked in reaction to the touch of her warm fingers on the sore gash across his arm.

  “This still looks pretty raw,” she said in a husky whisper. “Does it hurt?”

  “Nah.” It ached like the devil, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

  His eyes met her pale ones, misty with unshed tears. Her breasts rose and fell with short breaths. His palms itched to touch her. His body hardened in erotic anticipation. Clean, fed, and safe, and he couldn’t help himself. With a low groan, he pulled her onto his lap and captured her lips with a demanding, reckless kiss. She responded, fueling his hunger. He cupped her face in his palm and swept his tongue into her mouth.

  She stiffened for a second, then softened against him, returning the kiss, clearly wanting him as much as he wanted her.

  Oh, yeah.

  “God.” She broke away, gasping for breath.

  God, yes.

  He felt like he hadn’t taken a deep breath for hours. Holding her, kissing her, was so right, so necessary to his existence. Soft breasts pressed against his bare chest. Strawberry nipples hid just under her sweatshirt. He wanted them now. Now. His free hand slid under the thick cloth, across the tender skin of her bare stomach.

  In a flurry of arms and legs, she scrambled off his lap. “Sam, what are you doing? You were shot! Why in the world did you come here instead of the ER?”

  “I was trying to distract you.”

  “Well, it didn’t work, did it.”

  He tightened the towel around his waist and slicked his fingers through his still wet hair. “It wasn’t that bad. See?” He indicated his head. “Just scratches.”

  “But why’d you come here?”

  Why?

  “And what happened? Were you making an arrest? Did you shoot someone?”

  “I didn’t fire a shot.”

  “You’re not going to tell me about this, are you?”

  “I can’t, Liz. It was undercover. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

  “I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “Come back to my lap is what you should do.”

  “Hah!” she exclaimed. “You’re charming and sexy and fascinating.”

  “Those all sound good,” he responded, reaching for her hand.

  “And dangerous. Sam, we need to discuss the condom issue.”

  “I’m not sorry for what happened, not for the sex, but, yes, we should have used a condom.” He stood. “I’ve never done that before. I’m all right. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”

  “I’m fine that way, too,” she confirmed.

  “And if you’re pregnant, we’ll deal with it.” Jesus, just that thought made him dizzy. The conversation scared the shit out of him. This was no time for a child in his life.

  “I’m not pregnant.” She slid her fingers through her hair.

  “Liz, I mean it. We’ll handle whatever happens.” He’d always been so careful, couldn’t believe he had sex without protection.

  “I’m on the pill, but it was still stupid and irresponsible.”

  Thank God. “I agree.”

  She turned, nudging past him. “Good, that’s settled. Now, you need to leave,” she said determinedly.

  Yes, I need to leave. It’s best.

  Yeah, sure. Christ, his headache returned with a vengeance. Closing his eyes against the pain, he couldn’t think straight.

  She picked up his clothes from where he’d dropped them on the floor and held them out.

  Fuck.

  Inconvenient timing, but his cock jutted hard and prominent against the front of the towel. Ya think she notices? He took his clothes from her hands and dropped them on the floor again.

  She gave him that classic woman’s irritated expression—pinched lips and flared nostrils.

  Instead of following her orders, he pulled her into his arms.

  She slapped her hands flat onto his chest to block him. “Don’t.” She sucked in a sob, a sharp rasp of a sound. “I want you to go.”

  “You kissed me.”

  “No, I didn’t. When?”

  “Earlier. Don’t deny it.”

  She jerked out of his embrace. Turning her back on him, she braced her palms on the counter.

  “I’m not gonna leave you like this,” he murmured softly, his lips skimming the shell of her ear. He tightened his fingers around her waist.

  She shivered.

  He swept her hair from her nape and pressed his lips against it. His bare chest met her back, and he nudged her firm ass with his dick.

  “You’ve been shot.” Her voice trembled. “How can you think about this?”

  “I’m all right now. You helped me, and I’m grateful,” he whispered, gently suckling her earlobe.

  She stiffened her shoulders, trying to shrug him away.

  “Baby, you feel so good.” He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. “You taste so good.” He widened his stance, surrounding her with his height and breadth.

  “What are you doing, Sam?” she whimpered.

  He nudged the sweatshirt out of his way, and brushed his lips across her shoulder. “I’m making love to you.” Turning her in his arms, he lowered his forehead to rest on hers. She panted softly but didn’t pull back. He kissed her nose and cheeks, brushing his lips over her closed eyes. By
the time he took her mouth, he was lost in her sweet silkiness. Unfortunately, when he closed his eyes, his head whirled. Should he kiss her and pass out—or—not kiss her.

  Desire dominated him. This wasn’t the moment to wuss out and collapse. There was so much he wanted to do to her. “Shit,” he muttered, his world turning to gray.

  “Sam, Sam, what’s the matter?”

  Her voice was a distant hum.

  “Oh, God, don’t faint. Help me get you to the couch.”

  Shit, no. Please don’t pass out.

  He struggled. His legs felt like spaghetti but, with her arm around his waist, they made it to the sofa. He couldn’t stay on his feet for a minute more. Dazed, his brain all muddled, he collapsed onto the cushions pulling her on top of him. He heard her protestations but purposefully kept his grip on her. Rolling over, he trapped her between the back cushions of the couch and his body.

  * * * *

  Sam woke, rolling slowly to his back. His head ached and felt far from clear, but he struggled to open his eyes. He tried to raise his arm to rub his face, and pain slashed sharply through the muscles of his shoulder.

  “Liz?” Jesus, he sounded weak. No answer. He gingerly pulled himself to a sitting position, had to rest his head on the back of the couch to ease the dizziness. His heartbeat thumped in his chest in tandem with his wounded temple. He traced the bandage, and the events of yesterday came back to him in a rush. “Shit. I was shot.”

  What an absolute fuck up he’d made of everything. Breaking so many police procedures could get him fired. He knew better than to go to a buy without backup. He should have identified himself to the cops when they arrived on the scene. He should have gone to the ER. He was a tact guy for a reason—to get drug dealers off the streets and specifically to get the dealer who screwed up Petey’s life. Going it alone violated departmental procedure and becoming emotionally involved could get him or others killed.

  Then he’d stupidly come here to Liz, complicating her life. In his delirium last night, he’d needed her help. He needed her.

  Well, fuck, broad daylight now, and he was alone. Hoisting himself off the couch, he spotted a piece of paper propped against the coffee maker in the kitchen. Lurching toward it, he read the note.