Then Came You Read online

  She closed her eyes. “You did it.”

  “You went out into the night, heedless of your own safety, putting his life ahead of yours—which, by the way, we’re going to circle back to later—and you saved him from being alone.

  She gave a shuddery, exhausted sigh. “Wyatt?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the intern switch. I should have. I . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m going to miss you,” she whispered. “More than I know how to admit.”

  He blew out a breath. “Same. You came out of nowhere, knocked me on my ass.”

  She set her head on his shoulder and tried not to cry again. “Will I see you? After I’m gone?”

  “You marrying anyone anytime soon?”

  She let out a watery laugh. “No.”

  “Then yeah. I’ll see you. It’ll be okay, Em.”

  “I hate it when you do that.”

  “Do what?” he asked, stroking a big hand up and down her back.

  “Act like a grown-up.”

  It was his turn to huff out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it happens sometimes. We’ve got to call this one in, sweetness.”

  “The police?”

  “Yeah. That wasn’t a hit-and-run. And that wasn’t a coyote attack.”

  “What was it?”

  “I think someone’s fighting dogs.” Still sitting on the floor holding her, he pulled out his cell, hit a number, and put the phone to his ear. “Kel? Yeah, sorry man, I know it’s late. But we’ve got something you need to see.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket.

  “Who’s Kel?”

  “Local sheriff. He’s on his way.”

  * * *

  Kel arrived ten minutes later. He was a tall, lean, good-looking guy Emily recognized as one of the cops Wyatt played football against. Given his bed-head hair and unhappy expression, he’d clearly just dragged himself out of bed. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Remember what you were telling me the other night after the game?” Wyatt asked. “About the dogs? You said you suspected you had an illegal dog fighting ring in the county.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve got something to show you. Wait here a sec,” he said to Emily, and then he and Kel vanished down the hall.

  A few minutes later they were back, Kel looking royally pissed off. “I don’t know what kind of sick fuck could do that to a dog.”

  A half an hour later, Emily parked her car in her driveway, got out, and nearly screamed when a tall shadow materialized in front of her.

  Wyatt.

  “Need to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said.

  “Why are you following me?”

  “Making sure you got home okay.” He took her key from her and started to unlock the front door, but Sara pulled it open and gaped in horror at Emily’s bloody sweatshirt. “What—”

  “It’s not her blood,” Wyatt said, and shouldered his way in, hands on Emily, nudging her ahead of him. “She’s just exhausted. I’m putting her to bed.”

  “Do you need a padlock to keep her there?” Sara asked his back as he strode down the hallway like he owned the place.

  “I’ve got my ways,” Wyatt called back.

  “I bet,” Sara murmured.

  Wyatt took Emily into the bathroom and started her shower. “Need help?”

  “No.” It was an automatic response. She was good at not needing help. “I’m fine.”

  Wyatt let out a breath that was as close to a sigh as she’d ever heard from him. “Don’t do that,” he said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t try to be Super Woman, not with me.”

  She tried to laugh that off, but the sound was weak and she closed her mouth, afraid she’d go from laughing to crying again.

  Leaning past her, Wyatt tested the hot water, and then he shocked her as he stripped quickly and efficiently, each movement economical and so masculine that she just stared at him.

  When he was standing there naked and perfect, he began to remove her clothes, softening enough to smile when he caught her expression. “Don’t look at me like that,” he warned.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want to eat me up.”

  But God help her, she did. He was all smooth, rippled sinew and male virility, and in any other circumstance, she would’ve taken at least a nibble. “I’m not.”

  He snorted, pushed her into the shower, and then followed, completely unselfconscious, even though he was quite obviously aroused. Eyes hooded, he washed her hair with firm, strong fingers, and she let herself enjoy the feeling of being taken care of. When his hands ran the soap down her body, her head fell back onto his chest. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see the dog’s blood running off her, down the drain.

  But it was embedded in her brain, and the shock of it, and her anger, hit her again, and she began to shake. She reached out for the wall but Wyatt turned her to face him and anchored her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as the tremors took her.

  Wyatt set the soap aside and wrapped his other arm around her, too, and rested his head on top of hers, holding her until she calmed.

  “I’m better,” she said.

  He didn’t respond, nor did he let go of her. Instead, his hands glided up and down her back in a gesture she was sure he meant to be soothing and comforting, and it was. At first.

  But then she started to tremble for another reason altogether, and that reason was directly related to being pressed up against his wet, hot, hard body. “If you want me to stop looking at you like that,” she murmured. “You’re gonna have to stop touching me.”

  “I can control myself if you can.”

  She stilled, then sighed. “Well that’s just great.”

  He let out a low, male sound that went right through her to all her good spots, and lifted her chin so he could look into her face. “You can’t control yourself?” he asked.

  Of course she couldn’t control herself, not with him, a fact she’d proven over and over again.

  “Emily,” he said, a bit strained now. “I shouldn’t know that.” He nudged her from him so she could rinse, during which time he soaped himself up as quickly and efficiently as he’d stripped them both, a fact that did nothing to lessen her sudden and desperate need for the oblivion he always brought her.

  He turned off the water and wrapped her in a towel, and then grabbed one for around his hips, blocking her view. “Sleep,” he said firmly. “You’re going to sleep.”

  And then he practically shoved her into her bed.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see him leave.

  “Shit,” she heard him say, and the sound of his towel hitting the floor spiked her pulse as he slid in next to her.

  “Wyatt—”

  “Shh.” He flipped her away from him and hauled her back to his front. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  “We’re not going to . . .”

  “What?” he asked.

  He wanted her to say it? “Have sex,” she whispered. “Like the last time you slept over.”

  “Besides the fact that we’re not doing that anymore, we didn’t have sex that night. Or any night here in this house.”

  “Then what were we doing?” she asked.

  It took him a moment to answer. “I’m going to let you wrestle with that one,” he finally said. “You let me know when you get it figured out.” He had a sinew-lined forearm snug against her belly, one of her bare breasts cupped in the palm of his big hand. His mouth was resting at the nape of her neck to subdue her. When she tried to move, he gently sank his teeth into the crook of her neck. The move was incredibly intimate, a little protective, and a whole lot possessive.

  And she wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but also arousing as hell.

  Which wasn’t helping her cause. “If we’re not going there tonight,” she said, “you need to stop touching and biting my good parts.”

  “C