Believing Again: Book 5 in the Second Chances series (Crimson Romance) Read online

  Sometime during the last night she’d spent at the camp under the Burnside Bridge, Kaylea had awakened to a sound outside her shelter. She thought it was probably one of the men trying to get in to, as she described it, “mess with me,” so she pulled out her weapon, a broken-off, jagged wine bottle, and waited. But the person stayed outside. The noises were odd. She couldn’t place them. After about ten minutes they stopped. She was awake most of the night in case whoever it was came back.

  It wasn’t until the next morning that she found the blankets insulating one part of her shelter had been moved so someone could write all over the packing crate underneath. There were threats demanding she stop talking to the cops about what Jim told her or she’d be the next one sent to the hospital — or worse — even if she wasn’t like the others. She thought that last part was referring to the fact she was a woman, not a man, but she wasn’t sure.

  What she was sure of was that she was scared. And no one in the camp, except for Jim’s buddy, Bob, seemed willing to help. Everyone else swore they hadn’t seen or heard anything and since she’d always had her shelter on the edge of the camp, it may have been true. Or they may have been protecting themselves. Or been too drunk to remember even if they had heard something.

  With Bob’s help, Kaylea gathered up her belongings and moved. He got her settled in Forest Park. He moved there, too, and promised to protect her.

  When Danny was finished, Jake didn’t say anything, staring silently at her long enough to make her uneasy. “What? Did I miss something?” Danny asked.

  “Miss something? Holy hell, no. You got more out of her in fifteen minutes than I have in months of talking to her. You wouldn’t want to volunteer at the clinic and work with the women vets, would you?”

  “I appreciate your confidence, Doctor Abrams, but I think I should stick to what I do best — which is police work.”

  “There you go again.”

  “Go again doing what?”

  His blue eyes positively twinkled. “It’s still Jake. I don’t intend to spend my rain check evening with you calling me Doctor Abrams. That’s my father and he doesn’t date anymore.”

  Chapter Six

  Jake called Danny the next day and cashed in his rain check, asking her to have dinner with him the following Saturday night. When she asked how casual the place they were eating at was, he didn’t mention the name of a restaurant, but merely said there was no dress code where they were going. She should be comfortable.

  Taking him literally would have meant sweats and that seemed a bad choice for the evening. Instead, she selected her favorite — and most flattering — cream colored pants and a dark gold lightweight sweater that hugged her breasts and slender waist and had a scoop neck that showed a little cleavage but not too much. He was right on time to pick her up, kissed her cheek when she answered the door, then drove them to Northwest Portland where he pulled up in front of a row of townhouses.

  “Is there a restaurant around here? I thought this was a residential block,” Danny said.

  “It is. None of the restaurants on Twenty-First and Twenty-Third seemed right. So we’re eating here. Which is obviously where I live.” He cut the ignition and grinned over at her. “But if you’ll wait for me to come around and open your door, we can pretend we’re at one of those places with a valet and do this by all the rules of etiquette.”

  “The rules of 1950,” Danny muttered as he walked around the car and opened her door. When she got out she asked, “Do you order in at your restaurant or do you cook?”

  “I’m crushed that you would think I’d invite you to my home for dinner and order takeout. Of course I cook.” He didn’t let go of her hand as they walked up the path to his house.

  “This should be interesting. I’ve never had a man cook dinner for me before,” Danny said. It wasn’t her usual style but, for some reason, she didn’t mind his taking complete control of the evening this way.

  “I hope I live up to your expectations,” he responded.

  Not that it was what he’d meant, but the thought crossed her mind that he had already more than lived up to her expectations with one kiss.

  At the top of a steep flight of steps, he opened the door to a stunning three-story townhouse. The open plan living room/dining room had warm cream-colored walls and rich hardwood floors — cherry, she thought — with large rya-type rugs in the center of each of the two rooms. Two couches covered in a dark gold fabric with a nubby weave formed a right angle to a gas fireplace in the living room. A dining room table of some slightly reddish wood similar to the floor, with clean modern lines, was set for two although it could easily seat eight. She could see bits of what looked like needlepoint covers in a colorful abstract design on the seats of the chairs tucked under the table.

  Before she could finish unbuttoning her raincoat, Jake was behind her, his hands on her shoulders, ready to help her take it off. She swore she could feel his breath on the back of her neck as he slid the coat off her shoulders. As his hands made their way along the outside of her arms, slowly slipping the jacket off her, she shuddered from the simple yet somehow sensual act. He hung it on a peg close to the front door as she racked her suddenly overheated brain trying to find something to say that would cool off the atmosphere.

  “You have a beautiful home, Jake,” she said, looking around. God, was that the best she could do?

  To her relief, the grin on his face indicated his pleasure at her reaction. “Thanks. It’s taken me a while to get everything the way I wanted it but now I’m pretty happy with it.”

  “You did all this?” she asked, sweeping her hand to take in the two rooms. “Not some decorator?”

  He picked up a remote and pointed it at the built-in cabinet at the rear of the dining room. Soft music began to play from hidden speakers as he motioned to her to follow him toward the back of the house. It was cello music, she thought, although she wasn’t much of a classical music fan and wasn’t sure. She did know it sounded as rich and lush as the décor of the house looked.

  “Well, my mom and my sister-in-law did the needlepoint on the dining room chairs, but, yeah, I’m responsible for all the rest of it. I’d had enough of living like a frat boy with secondhand furniture that didn’t match. So, when I got back from Iraq, I bought the place and gradually made it home.”

  She hadn’t moved so he took her hand and pulled her toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Beer? A cocktail? I’m making myself a martini.” He opened a lower cabinet to reveal what appeared to be a well-stocked bar. “Want one?”

  “Sounds good. I don’t think I’ve had a martini since I was in college and thought it was the height of sophistication to drink from one of those glasses.” She pointed at the two cocktail glasses he’d brought up from the shelf along with a shaker.

  “Where’d you go to college?” he asked.

  “San Francisco State. My roommate and I would save up our money so we could dress up, go to the Top of the Mark, and pretend to be women of the world. We were only nineteen and twenty, and I’m not sure how many people we fooled into thinking we were older and sophisticated but we had a good time.”

  “A cop with a history of law-breaking? Tsk tsk.”

  “Yeah, we were both criminal justice majors, too. Should have known better, right? But no one called us on it. Like a professor of mine used to say, there are only two kinds of people in the world — the caught and the uncaught.”

  “Lucky for your career you fell into the latter category.” He went back to his mixing and she looked around the rest of the first floor.

  There was a breakfast nook that overlooked a small garden on the side of the house and a sitting area with another fireplace at the back. Behind that, she could see a deck. The kitchen looked like a professional cook had outfitted it. An assortment of expensive looking pots and pans hung over the center island where the stove was located. The counters were granite and the appliances stainless steel. On the stove was a large, heavy-look
ing Dutch oven from which a delectable aroma emanated.

  Leaning over, she inhaled, making her mouth water. “What’s in here that smells so good?”

  “Coq au vin. It needs another half-hour in the oven. I took it out before I drove over to pick you up so it didn’t get overcooked.”

  He handed her a cocktail glass that held clear liquid and two olives on a toothpick. “Cheers,” he said as he touched his glass to hers and, without breaking eye contact, took a sip.

  For some reason, even before she had any of the drink, Danny felt like she was over the legal limit. Maybe it was talking about her college escapades. Or maybe it was the smell of the gin. Oh, hell, it wasn’t either. It was this man. She didn’t know how he did it, but between taking off her coat and the way he was looking at her now, she felt stripped naked. And she loved it.

  So, feeling drunk and naked, she was standing in front of the sexiest man she’d met in a long, long time, trying to keep her mind from moving from “I like your house” to “I’d like to find your bed.”

  He kept staring at her, sipping at his drink, making her feel warm and wanting and …

  She had to get her wits back, had to sit down before her legs collapsed or she launched herself into his arms so he could hold her up. Or hold her close.

  “Shall we go sit someplace and enjoy our drinks?” she asked.

  He put his glass down on the island counter and took hers from her hand. “One thing first.” He drew her to him so there was nothing between them except a couple thin layers of clothes. “All week I’ve waited to have the chance to do this again. I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he said and he lowered his mouth to hers.

  He didn’t bother with starting slow this time; he blew right past finesse to hyper-drive. His mouth was insistent; his tongue demanded she join him. Not that she objected. It was almost a relief to know he’d been as affected by the chemistry between them as she was.

  Their tongues tangled in a sensual dance, full of promise. As her arms circled his waist, he pressed his hands on her bottom and she tipped her hips forward, feeling his erection against her body, loving the feel of it, wanting to feel more of it. Their clothes felt like heavy insulation now, not just a couple layers of cotton. If only he’d finish the job he’d started by removing her coat.

  She was already so wet. He was already so hard. Dear God, how were they going to get through dinner?

  Dinner. Right. He’d made dinner for her. Maybe if she focused on that she could right this ship before it sank completely. Before she sank completely, swamped by waves of desire.

  She made a weak attempt to step back from his arms but he wouldn’t let her go, pressing kisses from her temple to her collarbone. His hands had now found her breasts, massaging, teasing her nipples, further fueling the craving that was racing through her veins like fire, flaming in her belly and turning her legs to jelly.

  “We’re never going to get to dinner this way, Jake,” she whispered. “And it smells so good.”

  “Not as good as you smell, baby.” His nose was in her hair, his hands back on her bottom, his erection now harder, thicker, more insistent as he pressed it against her.

  One last try. “And our drinks. We haven’t had our drinks.”

  “Why would I want alcohol when I can get drunk on the smell of your hair?”

  She stepped back. “Well, what do you want to do?” Please, please, please make it the same thing I want.

  “I want to take you upstairs, get you naked, and make love to you.” He grinned at her. “Isn’t that obvious? It’s what I’ve wanted to do since the first time I tangled with you.”

  With a sigh of relief, she began to unbutton the blue shirt he was wearing. “Well, since you’re the host and I’m your guest, okay. Works for me, as long as I get dinner at some point. I didn’t have any lunch today.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jake was still smiling when they got to his bedroom. He’d blurted out what he wanted before he could think about how she’d feel about his being so blunt. Why wasn’t he surprised when she replied with equal honesty? He loved it. She didn’t play games. She didn’t act the reluctant virgin. She was responsive and sexy and surprising. Turned out, he like all three of those things in a woman, at least in this woman.

  He’d made sure his bedroom was tidy and the sheets were clean before he went to pick her up because he’d planned all along to end up here. He hadn’t thought they’d start out there but, what the hell. He pulled down the tan, brown, and black patterned comforter and the crisp cream-colored sheet, and rearranged the pillows so it looked inviting.

  Apparently he took too long because when he was finished, she’d already kicked off her shoes and was beginning to undress.

  “Uh-uh. That’s my job,” he said, stilling her hands. She dropped them and he slowly drew the hem of the top up over her breasts and shoulders. “Hands over your head, baby.”

  She grinned as she complied. “That’s my line.”

  “Tonight it’s mine,” he said and the top was off and onto the floor. Unlike most women he’d ever known, she didn’t draw her arms across her breasts, hiding them. She stood there, holding his stare, the remains of the grin playing across her luscious mouth.

  He’d discovered another surprise. She wore a pale pink, lacy bra that barely contained her beautiful breasts. He’d had her pegged for the plain cotton kind. The contrast between the no-nonsense Danny and the pink lace was hot.

  Her nipples were a darker pink and in tight buds, poking out through the lace of the bra. He didn’t wait to get her bra off but took one breast in each hand, caressing, molding them, feeling the tips of her nipples harden as he cupped her breasts. They fit into the palms of his hands as if created for him.

  Capturing her gaze with his, he murmured, “I want you to tell me if you like what I’m doing. Do you like being touched like this?”

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed out.

  “And this?” he asked as he dipped his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking, teasing it through the lace. She didn’t answer, only gasped with pleasure. Moving to the other breast, he heard her moan, sounding almost breathless as he did the same there.

  Now he wanted to touch her skin. He reached around her to unfasten the bra, fumbling when he couldn’t find the hooks.

  She guided his hands to the valley between her breasts. “Front hook,” was all she said.

  When he’d rid her of the bra he started on the button and zipper to her trousers. Underneath she wore some sort of panties that barely covered the subject but which matched the bra. “You’re one surprise after another, aren’t you?” he murmured as he tugged at the panties to finish undressing her.

  “Why?” She covered his hands with hers, stopping him from further explorations, her curiosity now apparently as aroused as her body.

  “Lacy girly underwear. Who would have thought?”

  She smiled — no, smirked. “You expected Kevlar?”

  “You have a smart mouth, don’t you? Give me a minute to get out of these clothes and we’ll find something better for you to do with it than taunt me.” He sat them both down on the edge of the bed and toed off his loafers. His blue shirt, khakis, boxer briefs, and socks followed.

  When he was undressed, he pressed her down on the bed, positioning himself between her legs, still wearing a white T-shirt. She pulled at the hem of it to get it up over his head, but he waved her off, taking her hands in his and pinning them beside her shoulders.

  Ignoring the questioning look on her face he began to kiss her again until she was diverted from the subject of his T-shirt and making small, sexy sounds at the back of her throat, and pressing herself against him. Releasing her hands, he skimmed his over the curves and dips of her body. He wanted to acquaint himself with every inch of her, get to know every taste of her from her mouth and breasts to everything south of there. Then he wanted to get lost in her.

  Moving one hand down her body he found the thatch of dark blonde curl
s at the top of her thighs. He could tell she was aroused even before he touched her. Moaning, almost keening with want, she bucked her hips at him but he only inserted a finger. She was tight, hot, and wet, slick with desire. “I love it that you’re so ready, so wet for me,” he whispered into the ear he was nibbling.

  “I want you,” she whispered back. “I want all of you.”

  “Oh, baby, not as much as I want you.” A second finger joined the first, and with his thumb he found the nub hidden in the folds of her sex. Synchronizing his tongue in her mouth and his fingers in her sex, he moved in and out, slowly at first, then gradually, as she moved with him, increasing the speed until he felt her internal muscles clamp around his fingers as she called out his name and climaxed.

  She nestled her head into his shoulder as he kissed her neck and the spot behind her ear that she seemed to like. When he thought she’d come down from her orgasm, he rolled off her body. She made a noise of disappointment that stopped when he picked up a condom from the bedside table and turned back to her again. Motioning to her to help, they ripped open the foil packet and he let her unroll it onto his erection, gritting his teeth to keep from exploding in her hand at her touch.

  Her expression was sexy and smug as she tugged at him to return to her. When he was between her legs she wrapped them around his waist and rubbed her wet and wanting sex against his penis. “Please, Jake,” she whispered. “Now.”

  She didn’t have to ask again. He entered her slowly, wanting to feel every hot, slick, receptive inch of her, wanting to always remember what it felt like the first time he claimed her for his own. She arched her back to bring her body closer to him, rocked her hips against his, kissed her way down his neck to the base of his throat. Oh, God, did she feel good. Every place he touched her, every time she touched him.

  Even through his T-shirt, he could feel her dig her nails into his lower back as they spiraled higher and higher but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the intense feeling of being inside her, of hearing her moan with pleasure at what they were doing. He was lost in a whirl of sensation as with slow, then faster thrusts he climbed to the edge of the precipice and, as she contracted around him, milking him rhythmically, he fell, taking her with him.