Deadly Contact. Lara Lacombe

problem. I grew up with cats, so I understand. I’ll just take the opportunity to use your bathroom.”

      “Down the hall, to your right,” he said. He watched her disappear into the bathroom, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

      He wrenched open the cabinet door, grabbing two bowls with one hand as he pulled open the drawer and reached for a spoon with another. After hastily pulling out two cans of food from the pantry, he pulled the tops off and dumped the food with a splat, the cats winding around his legs as if to urge him along.

      He set the bowls down and stroked each cat once, then left them to their dinner and headed into the living room to wait. He sat on the couch, then stood to pace the room.

      I can’t believe this is really happening. His stomach fluttered with anticipation, his fingertips tingling with the desire to touch her smooth skin again. Just the thought of running his hands and lips over her body had his heart pounding double time. It was a wonder she hadn’t heard it in the elevator.

      Was he doing the right thing? She seemed to want this, too, if her earlier responses were any indication. She’d returned his kisses eagerly, her hands roaming his body with abandon. Warmth flooded his system as he recalled the feel of her gripping him, pulling his hips against her, arching into him and rubbing against the bulge in his pants. She’d been refreshingly direct in her response, and he couldn’t wait to pick up where they’d left off.

      Was it because she was drunk though? He frowned at the intrusive thought, but he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. He wanted to take things to the next level, but only if she was fully on board. He wouldn’t take advantage of her intoxication to sleep with her, no matter how badly he wanted her. All the signs were there, but could a woman who had consumed six drinks really consent? He’d worked enough cases in his days as a police officer to know that alcohol and sex were a dangerous combination. He glanced down at his crotch with a sigh, willing his arousal to recede. He should probably set her up in the guest bedroom and go to sleep alone, after taking a cold shower. It would be a disappointing end to the evening, but probably best for all involved.

      Resigned to his fate, he walked back to the couch and sat down. It would be okay. They could laugh, blame their kisses on alcohol and go back to the way things were. Safe. Easy. It was the right thing to do, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Now that he knew how she felt in his arms, what she tasted like, it would be hard to go back to being just friends.

      I’ll do it, though, he thought with a sigh, stretching out his legs in an attempt to find a comfortable position. Better to have Kelly as a friend than not at all.

      * * *

      Kelly stared at her reflection in the mirror, amazed that her heart hadn’t pounded right out of her chest. What was she doing? James was her friend—was she really about to have sex with her friend? Yes, the man was gorgeous, with his dark brown hair, bedroom eyes and strong, square jaw, but he was her friend. It had been so long since she’d been friends with a man that she didn’t want to risk jeopardizing their relationship just so she could scratch an itch.

      But...he had kissed her. Technically, she supposed she had started it. She hadn’t meant to take things that far—she’d just wanted to feel his lips against hers, and if he’d pulled away she could have blamed it on the alcohol. She’d been shocked by his reaction, to say the least.

      She blushed as she recalled where her hands had been, how she’d reacted when she’d felt his response to her. It had been so long since she’d felt desirable and beautiful, and the attention of this attractive man had gone straight to her head. Even more amazing was the effect she seemed to have on him, as well. She ran her hand down to her belly, rubbing the spot where he had pressed firmly against her. He wants me, she marveled, a shiver dancing over her skin at the thought.

      She drew her hand up, running the palm over her ribs. Her injuries had long since healed, but the ghost of the pain was never far away. All it took was a look, an accidental touch or a whiff of cologne and she was back to that awful night, broken and bleeding and oh-so-scared.

      She frowned at her reflection, not liking the direction of her thoughts. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on something pleasant, stuffing the memories and insecurities back into the box where they belonged.

      “James is not Gary,” she said softly. “He won’t hurt me.”

      Neither did Gary at first.

      She shook her head at the errant thought, firmly dismissing it. No. James was not Gary. James was a decent man, her friend—nothing like Gary. She had to start trusting people again, and James was a good place to start.

      Her mind was made up, but despite her resolve, she couldn’t ignore the tight ball of nervous energy in her stomach. She pressed her hand there, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. Her lips curved up in anticipation as she imagined kissing him again, running her hands over his chest and lower....

      After one last look in the mirror, she walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. He stood when she entered and offered her a seat on the couch, then resumed his place as she settled onto the cushion.

      He was warm, and this close she could smell the spicy citrus of his cologne. She inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to press her nose into his neck to get closer to the source. She’d always loved his smell, and soon it would be all over her. Goose bumps broke out on her skin at the thought, and she rubbed her arms absently.

      “Are you cold?”

      She shook her head. “No. Just thinking.”

      “Thinking gives you goose bumps?” he asked, smiling.

      “Some thoughts do.”

      He swallowed with an audible gulp, and she felt her lips twitch as she fought to contain a grin.

      “Kelly, are you sure?” His voice was husky and deep and danced along her skin like a touch.

      This was it. This was her chance to back down. She could say No, I was just kidding, and they’d laugh it off and go back to being friends. And she’d go back to feeling damaged and alone.

      No. Not this time. Gary was gone, and she wasn’t going to let him affect her anymore.

      “I’m sure,” she said, leaning forward to press her lips to his.

      He was still for an endless moment, as if giving her one more chance to change her mind. Then he pulled her to him with a groan, deepening the kiss as he ran one hand down her back in a caress.

      It was several minutes, or maybe hours, later when he rose, pulling her to her feet and tucking her hand into the fold of his elbow. They walked down the hall, past the bathroom and into a large bedroom. Her gaze tracked around the room, her eyes landing on the huge, mission-style bed that took up the center space; the spread and pillows were in shades of dark brown and hunter-green. A matching bedside table, corner chair and dresser completed the room. It was neat and composed, a perfect reflection of James.

      He led her to the bed, then pressed her gently down as he kissed her. She was so caught up in the delicious sensation of his mouth against hers that it wasn’t until she felt the warmth of his hands on her bare shoulders that she realized he had undone the buttons of her blouse and was sliding it off her body.

      She pulled away from the kiss, breathing hard. He moved closer, but she put a hand on his chest to forestall him. “Wait. There’s something you should know.” It was now or never—she needed to tell him. Her mouth dried up at the thought, but he deserved to know.

      He sat back, looking at her with an indulgent expression. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning in to press small kisses along her collarbone. She helpfully lifted her chin to provide him with easier access, shivering as his lips feathered across her skin.

      I was attacked by my boyfriend. She wanted so badly to say it, but the words stuck in her throat. How would he react once he knew? She couldn’t handle it if he pushed her away, not right now. She was so tired of feeling damaged.

      Chickening