Comments about this story can be sent to: valerieww@aol.com

Valerie Wells

Part Two

   Some of the bruises had faded a little and a careful makeup job downplayed the rest. But still, I found myself doing paperwork and running errands for the other nurses for a whole shift rather than upset the mothers-to-be with my appearance. My supervisor was sympathetic when she gave me my work assignment. I told her it was okay, that I understood, but I could tell she felt really bad about it all. And all my co-workers were so gentle and careful with me you'd have thought I was made of spun sugar. It was sweet, but it got a little wearying, too.

   "I'm fine. Really," I insisted to Greta, one of my closest friends, as we were eating our...well, we call it "lunch," but I suppose at 9 o'clock at night it's more like "supper."

   "I know you think you're fine," Greta said, "but that had to be a godawful experience, Jen. If you want to talk about it--"

   "I don't," I said shortly.

   "See there?" she said. "You're not okay. I'm your friend, honey, that's what friends are for!"

   "I know, and I appreciate it, but really, I'd rather just forget it." I sighed and poked at my salad. I wasn't really hungry, and this conversation was destroying what appetite I had. "I'm going to have to relive it all at the trial when they catch that slimy creep, anyway. For now, I'd like to just go on with my life."

   "Are you getting enough sleep? Are you eating? You're not eating now," Greta said, indicating my untouched plate.

   "Yes, to both questions. And Hutch calls every night..." I stopped myself, but it was too late. Greta hadn't known me for five years for nothing.

   "Hutch?" Her eyes lit up with interest.

   I felt myself blushing but there was nothing I could do about it. Besides, maybe he'd get her mind off the rape. "He's one of the officers who's investigating this whole thing. Ken Hutchinson."

   She grinned evilly. "Is he, now? And he's concerned enough to call you and make sure you feel all safe and protected? Is he cute?"

   I laughed. "Yes. He's definitely cute. Tall, blond, blue eyes."

   "Wow. I want to meet him. Does he have a friend?"

   "As a matter of fact, he does. His partner, Dave Starsky. But I don't know if he's attached."

   "Is he cute, too?"

   She was relentless. But she was also distracted, so I gave a mental shrug and went with it. "Yes, he's cute, too. Dark curly hair and blue eyes. And a body to die for."

   She frowned. "If his body's 'to die for,' why are you so interested in the blond one?"

   "His body's 'to die for' too," I said with a grin.

   "I see." She shook her head and laughed. "Amazing. Simply amazing. How'd you draw two cute cops?"

   "Just lucky, I guess," I said, realizing too late how stupid that sounded. How lucky could I be when I'd been raped? Fortunately, Greta didn't pick up on it. But she was the one who walked out with me at the end of our shift, and true to their promise, there were Starsky and Hutch, leaning against Hutch's car, waiting for me.

   "Is that them?" Greta hissed to me.

   "Yes," I said, waving. They waved back, and Hutch came to meet us. I introduced him to Greta and when Starsky sauntered up, I introduced him, too.

   I could tell from Greta's reaction that she thought he was pretty cute, but the last I'd heard, she was dating some ex-college football player. Starsky gallantly offered to walk her to her car while Hutch walked me to mine, and she accepted.

   Hutch put his arm casually around my shoulders as he accompanied me to my car. I hadn't been able to park very close to the door, and I was very, very glad he was there. The dark parking lot made me nervous and brought back the fear I'd been pushing away ever since Sunday. And Hutch picked up on that.

   "I'm right here," he said quietly, tightening his arm a little. "And I've got a gun," he added with one of those beautiful smiles.

   I tried to smile back, but it was a lost cause. My heart was thudding and my palms were sweaty and my knees were trembling so hard it was a wonder I could even walk. He stopped me just short of my car and turned me to face him.

   "Do you want us to give you a ride? Instead of taking your car?"

   I shook my head. "No. I've got to get over this. It's stupid."

   "It's not stupid," he said firmly, tipping my chin up so he could look in my eyes. "You had a horrible experience and I'm proud of the way you're handling it. But don't pretend it doesn't bother you. Nobody expects you to be Wonder Woman."

   I did manage a little bit of a smile at that. "They don't?"

   "No." He looked at me very steadily for a moment, then drew me against him in a gentle hug. "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna find him and put him away and then you can breathe easy again."

   I put my arms around his waist and breathed in the scent of his aftershave, grateful for the feeling of strong arms around me. I felt safe now, with Hutch nearby. And gradually, my heartbeat settled down to something approaching a normal speed.

   "Let me at least drive you home in your car," he said softly. "Starsky can follow us in my car."

   "But what about your job?"

   "This is part of our job," he said, drawing back to look down at me. "Sort of," he added with a grin. "Anyway, we're off in a little while. Okay?"

   I glanced toward my car and felt a little tickle of fear again. "Okay."

   Starsky was coming toward us by now, and Hutch called to him and told him what was going on. Starsky raised one dark eyebrow and gave a grin, but he didn't say anything. He threw Hutch a mock salute and turned back toward Hutch's car, pulling a set of keys from his pocket and whistling.

   "He has keys to your car?" I asked Hutch as he took my keys and unlocked my doors, glancing into the backseat and giving me a look which said "It's safe."

   "Sure he does. He also has keys to my apartment and knows my locker combination at work," Hutch said, in a tone that suggested this was a perfectly normal state of affairs.

   So I'd been right that "Starsky and I" were one unit instead of two. I hid my smile and said, "You must be good friends."

   "We are." Hutch got into the driver's side and started the car. "We're partners," he added, as if that explained everything.

   He drove me to my apartment and came in with me to look in the closets and under the bed and check the windows -- things I would have done, frightened to death every minute, if he hadn't been there. When he finished, he handed me my keys and smiled. "Okay?"

   I nodded.

   "Still got my number, in case you need me?"

   "Yes."

   He looked at me for another moment, then very gently kissed my cheek. "Good night." He left before I could react.

   What a sweet guy.

   By Friday, I was feeling a lot less nervous. I didn't know what he liked to eat, but I assumed that if he was like most men, steak would be acceptable. And when he arrived, the first thing he said after "hello" was "Something smells terrific."

   "I hope you're hungry."

   He took his jacket off, and I saw he was still wearing his holster. He saw me looking at it and a slight flush rose to his cheeks. "Does this bother you? I could take it off."

   "No, it makes me feel like I have a personal bodyguard," I said teasingly, and he laughed a little and sat down. But he did take the holster off, anyway.

   During dinner, we talked about all kinds of things, just getting to know each other. I told him about my job and he told me about his, though I got the impression he was downplaying the danger of it. I read the papers; I know cops put their lives on the line every day. He said he had a sister and a niece in Minnesota. I told him I had a couple of brothers who were very overprotective because I was the baby of the family. He said he played the guitar, and I asked him to sing for me after dinner. I play, too, and I wanted to show off the old Gibson that had belonged to my grandmother.

   By the end of the meal, we were comfortable with each other and I hadn't thought about being afraid even once.

   When I brought out the old Gibson, those wonderful blue eyes lit up. "Wow," he said, taking it almost reverently. "This is a beautiful guitar."

   "It was my granny's," I told him. "She used to sing professionally."

   He strummed it very gently and carefully, and finally sang, something soft and pretty I'd never heard before. When I asked him where he'd learned it, he flushed and said, "I wrote it."

   "It's beautiful," I said.

   "Starsky always says I'm the big hit at the police barbecue every summer," he said, still a little embarrassed. "But I'm not. I get stage fright."

   "You shouldn't. You have a beautiful voice."

   His flush deepened. "Thanks." He handed me the guitar. "Your turn."

   One thing about me, I don't get stage fright. Granny'd had me on stage since I was barely big enough to get both hands around the microphone. But with those blue eyes resting on me there in my apartment that night, I found my hands shaking as I took the guitar and tried to think of something to sing.

   I finally settled on a John Denver song, one you wouldn't know if you weren't a big fan, called "Daydream." It's one of my favorites, but it wasn't one of his hits. It's kind of sad, but it's pretty, and I like singing it. When I finished, he applauded, very seriously.

   "I like that song, too," he said, surprising me. "His music captures emotions so well. You know just what he means and you feel it, too, through the music."

   That's exactly the way I felt about John Denver, but I was amazed to hear someone else express my feelings so perfectly. I guess I must have looked as surprised as I felt, because he laughed.

   "You didn't think cops liked John Denver?"

   "I didn't think anybody else would understand how I felt about John Denver," I said.

   "I understand more than that," he said, his eyes saying a lot more than his words did. I'd laid the guitar aside when I finished the song, and he leaned toward me and kissed me very gently on the lips. It was sweet and soft, like butterfly wings. He put his hand on my hair and stroked it while he kissed me, and I reached for him, too, wanting to be closer. He was warm and strong under my hands and I finally found the courage to touch that golden hair that shone so brightly in the lamplight. It was as soft as it looked, fine and silky to the touch.

   We simply kissed each other for a long time. I'd forgotten how nice it could be just to kiss somebody, with no pressure. Because he didn't push. He didn't touch anywhere but my face and hair and there was no urgency about him. It was as though he had nothing else to do but kiss me.    Finally, we pulled back for air. He put an arm around my shoulders and I leaned against him and felt so safe and comfortable. "Are you okay with this?" he asked after several moments.

   "Mm-hmm."

   I felt the rumble of his chuckle. "Okay, that answers that question." He kissed the top of my head. "I don't want to rush you," he said after another pause. "I know you might be...well, uncomfortable with men right now, and..."

   "Hutch," I stopped him and looked up into those amazing eyes. "In a way, you're right. But in another way, you're wrong. I'd like to take it slow, but that's only partly due to..." I couldn't say it, but I could see he understood anyway. "It's also because I like you and I want to get to know you."

   "Fair enough," he said.

   We sat there together and just talked for the longest time, and it's silly, but I don't remember much of what we talked about. It was just nice to sit there, cuddled up against him with his arm around me, feeling safe. He kissed me again every now and then while we talked.

   "Hutch, what did you mean a little bit ago?"

   "When?"

   "When you said 'I understand more than that,'" I said.

   He wet his lips and looked away, as if he were looking at something I couldn't see. I swear it was just the same expression as Dorothy gets when she does that, and it made me feel just as spooky. So I jiggled his arm a bit, and he came back to the present.

   "I know how you feel, in a way," he said at last. "Helpless. Angry. Frustrated. And frightened that you couldn't stop him and that it might happen again."

   I was astounded. That was exactly how I felt. "How do you know?"

   He flushed a little, and dropped his eyes to our joined hands. "I've been through a similar experience. A couple of times."

   "Can you tell me?" I asked quietly.

   He drew a breath. "Not in detail. It's police business. I can tell you I was abducted and held for four days. Tortured. Drugged. They were going to kill me, but I got away, and Starsk found me and took care of me." His voice trembled a bit, but he steadied it. "Thank God for him."

   I stroked his hair away from his face. "It sounds horrible. How'd he find you?"

   "He always finds me," Hutch said. "Just like I always find him."

   "'Always?' Good God, you mean that's not the only time?"

   He shook his head. "No. Starsky was abducted once, too. Remember the Simon Marcos cult? The freaks with the upside down crosses on their foreheads?"

   I nodded with a little shiver. I remembered reading about it, and the picture of Marcos that had been in the paper. Even in a photo, the evil in his eyes had sent a cold chill down my back.

   "They took Starsky to try to keep the judge from sentencing Marcos. That was a close call," Hutch said, with a little shiver of his own.

   "And you found him."

   "Yeah."

   "You love each other a lot, don't you?"

   His eyes softened and he gave a little grin. "Yeah. You think that's weird?"

   I shook my head. "Not at all. You depend on each other. Complete each other, even. Anybody could see that. I think you're lucky."

   "Lucky?"

   "To have somebody like that. Somebody who loves you that much. Who'll move heaven and earth for you if necessary."

   Hutch's eyes got a bit distant again and he said, "That's what he's done. Many times. Moved heaven and earth. I'd have died, more than once, if not for Starsky and his stubbornness." He was silent for a moment, then repeated what he'd said earlier. "Thank God for him."

    Around midnight, when my cuckoo clock sounded the hour, he said, very softly, "I'd better go before all my good intentions go up in smoke."

   I laughed. "Mine might go up with them."

   "Later," he said, and there was a promise in his eyes. He gave me a long, slow, sweet kiss good night, put his holster and jacket back on, and paused at the door, looking back at me. "'Night, Jenny."

   I went to bed after he was gone, sleepy and tired in a good way for a change, and fell asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

   But something woke me a little while later, and I saw that Dorothy was sitting bolt upright on the other pillow, every hair standing on end, and she was hissing. Then I heard it. A quiet scraping sound coming from the kitchen. My heart leapt into my throat and began beating so hard I could hear it. Somebody was trying to get in through the balcony door. I was absolutely frozen in terror, hearing that sound. And I knew without a doubt who that somebody was. My balcony door isn't very secure. I'm on the second floor, so I never worried about it. The balcony is all but inaccessible from the ground unless you're a bird, but obviously Hicks had found a way up there.

   Dorothy hissed again, and that broke the spell. I grabbed the phone and dialed the number I had, thankfully, committed to memory. It took several rings and my heartbeat sped up another notch. Good God, was he gone, or just a sound sleeper? But he finally answered, groggy and barely coherent.

   "Hutch!" I hissed into the phone, trying to be quiet in case Hicks could hear me. "It's Jenny! He's here! He's trying to break in!"

   "Jenny?" Suddenly his voice sounded wide awake and alert. "I'll be right there. Hang on. I'll be there in five minutes." He hung up and so did I, and I wished, for the first time, that I kept a gun in the house. And then I heard a crash.

   Footsteps -- and he wasn't trying to be quiet -- came toward my bedroom. Dorothy took off like a shot and hid in the bathroom. I was too terrified to move.

   Then he was there, standing in my doorway. I was sitting up, so he knew I was awake. I couldn't really see his face, but I recognized his form.

   "You went to the cops," he said, that same scratchy voice I remembered, that I would never, ever forget.

   I couldn't speak. I seemed paralyzed.

   He took another step and the nightlight in the bathroom illuminated his face just enough to make those evil eyes glitter. "I told you not to go to the cops."

   Had he? I didn't remember. All I remembered was the terror and the pain and that horrible voice saying "I want you to think about me."

   He moved his hand and I saw he had a knife. That made my blood run cold. I had one chance, and that was Hutch. Hurry, Hutch. My God, please, hurry!

   I found my voice at last. It shook, and I couldn't steady it, but I said anyway, "The cops are on their way right now. They'll be here any second. You still have time to get away if you hurry."

   "Sure they are. It'll take 'em twenty or thirty minutes to get here," he sneered. "And I'll be all done with you by then."

   Oh, God. He came closer and reached out with his knife and ripped my nightshirt open, leaving me exposed and barely missing my skin with the tip of the knife. I had a few bruises there, too, and he seemed to enjoy the sight.

   "Marked you, didn't I?" he said, very softly, almost gently. He reached out again with the knife and drew the smooth side across my breasts. "It'd be real easy to leave more permanent marks, Jennifer."

   Where the hell are you, Hutch?

   It suddenly hit me that Hutch wouldn't be able to get in when he got here. I'd locked the door. Would he think of the balcony?

   Hicks grabbed a handful of my hair and gave it a hard enough yank to bring tears to my eyes. "Do the cops know my name?"

   "Yes," I gasped.

   "Shit." He yanked my hair again. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

   Anything I said would only make things worse, so I didn't answer him.

   He turned the knife over so the sharp edge was against my skin. "I asked you a question."

   "I didn't give them your name," I said desperately. "I didn't know your name. They knew it. They figured it out from your fingerprints in my car."

   "God damn it!" He kicked my bedside table so hard the lamp fell off and I heard it break. I couldn't turn and look because of the grip he had on my hair. "I should've worn gloves. But I didn't want to miss feeling this," and he let go of my hair to touch my breasts with his filthy hand. I shrank away and he slapped me.

   And then I heard it. A siren. He heard it, too, and glared at me, pressing the knife against me so that it drew blood. The siren stopped outside and he swore again and let go of me, taking a desperate leap through my bedroom door and heading out the way he'd come. But I heard a crash as my door was kicked in and Hutch's voice: "Freeze, asshole. Police!"

   Hicks must have fallen over something, I don't know what, because I heard a thud. And another siren which stopped outside. I recovered enough to realize I was all but naked, and I grabbed for my robe, lying across the foot of my bed, and threw it on and swung my legs to the floor.

   I had just reached my bedroom door when Starsky flew through my front door and dove toward Hutch and Hicks, struggling on the floor. He didn't hesitate for an instant, simply threw himself into the fray and I saw the dull flash of the knife blade and heard a sound of pain, but I couldn't tell who it came from.

   Then Hutch drew his hand back, the hand with the gun in it, and I heard the impact as he hit Hicks, hard, with the gun. Hicks slumped, and Hutch reached into his hip pocket for handcuffs.

   "Starsk?"

   "I'm okay," Starsky said, sitting up and holding one hand against his body. It was too dark for me to see how badly he was hurt, but the way he was cradling that hand with the other one, it must've been causing him pain. He looked over and saw me and scrambled to his feet, swaying just a little. "Are you okay?"

   I nodded and burst into tears. It had all just been too much for my unstrung nerves. Starsky glanced over his shoulder toward Hutch, apparently decided Hutch had things under control, and put his gun away. He came to me and wordlessly put his good arm around me and let me cry on his shoulder for a few moments. By the time I could speak, Hutch was there, too, dragging Hicks, in handcuffs. Hutch wasn't treating him too gently, either.

   "What are you doing here?" I asked Starsky, who had reached for the box of tissues I keep beside my bed. He handed me one and gave me a grin.

   "Hutch called me on his way over. Thought he might need a backup."

   "Are you hurt, Jenny?" Hutch asked, concern all over his beautiful face.

   "No, I'm fine," I said.

   "You're bleeding," he pointed out. He gave Hicks' arm a yank. "Did you hurt her, you son of a bitch?"

   Hicks sullenly refused to answer. I looked down and saw blood seeping through my robe and remembered Hicks cutting me with his knife. And in the light from the bathroom, I could see Starsky's right hand was covered with blood.

   "It's only a scratch," I told Hutch. "I'm mostly just scared. But Starsky-- "

   Keeping one hand on Hicks' arm, Hutch reached out and took Starsky's hand and examined it. He glared at Hicks for a moment, then turned back to his partner, and in the instant it took to turn his head, the expression on his face changed from fury to compassion.

   "It's enough to add 'assault with a deadly weapon' to this turkey's charges," Hutch said with anger in his voice. "Maybe we can even make that 'attempted murder.'"

   "And 'breaking and entering,'" Starsky added cheerfully, though his eyes were pinched with pain. "Not to mention 'rape,' 'kidnapping' and 'grand theft, auto.' I'd say you're gonna to be going on a nice, long trip, Walter."

   Another siren approached and a couple of uniformed cops arrived and took charge of Hicks. As soon as he left with them, Hutch turned all his attention to his partner, gently putting his arm around Starsky's back and leading him into my bathroom, where he sat him down on the closed toilet and proceeded to take care of the nasty cut on his hand as professionally as any nurse. I offered to help, but Hutch shook his head. Clearly he wanted to do it himself. And just as clearly, he knew how, so I backed off and let him.

   It was fascinating to watch. Murmuring words of comfort, Hutch washed the blood off in the sink. He poured peroxide over the cut -- which was obviously painful, but not bad enough to require stitches -- and when Starsky winced and swore, Hutch stroked his partner's curly hair with a look of such deep concern it was as though he felt the pain, too. Then he dried off the hand, very, very gently applied ointment, and wrapped it in gauze, handling that hand so delicately that I could see his very touch was healing to Starsky. Their attention was riveted on each other, and the love between them was a living presence I could almost touch. This wasn't the first time one had tended the other's wounds -- and I'd be prepared to swear all the wounds hadn't been visible ones.

   Once Starsky was taken care of, Hutch turned to me. He put his arm around me and gave me a hug.

   "You sure you're not hurt?"

   I nodded and clung to him for a moment. "I'm fine. Thank God you gave me your phone number. If I'd had to wait for the cops..."

   "Hey, we're cops," Starsky said, pretending to be insulted.

   "You know what I mean," I answered him, and actually managed to smile.

   He grinned back. To Hutch, he said, "I'm goin' in to book Hicks. You comin' or stayin' here?"

   "I'll come with you to book him," Hutch said. "But I'm coming back afterwards," he added to me. "I don't want to leave you here alone with your door broken."

   I hadn't even thought about my door. When I went to look at it, I saw that Hutch had made quite a mess of it.

   "Sorry," he said, a little shamefaced.

   "Are you kidding?" I demanded. "I was so glad to see you burst in here I could have kissed you."

   Hutch took that as an invitation and leaned over to kiss me. He did that pretty thoroughly, then touched my cheek, smiled at me, and said, "I'll be back in a little while. And Starsk and I'll fix your door tomorrow. That's a promise."

   He shut my door as well as he could, considering it was pretty mangled, and I got dressed and made some coffee for when he came back. It took awhile, but I had anticipated that. Dorothy finally reappeared and sat on my lap and stared at me as if she also wanted to be sure I was okay.

   "You're no watchdog," I told her, "but you did warn me and give me enough time to call Hutch. Remind me to buy you some tuna tomorrow."

   I'd bandaged the cut on my chest -- it really wasn't very deep or serious -- and by the time Hutch returned I was feeling almost calm again. But it sure did help to see his face.

   He sat next to me and put one arm around me and petted Dorothy with his free hand. "Hicks won't be going anywhere for a while," he said. "His bail's going to be so high it'll make the national debt look like a kid's weekly allowance. So you can relax."

   I let out a deep breath and I felt like I'd been holding it for weeks. And I smiled up into those blue eyes. "I don't know how to thank you. Will undying gratitude do?"

   He grinned. "Sure. That'll be fine."

   When I heard his knock on my door the next Friday, I was actually ready to go. It was the first day I'd looked into the mirror and seen my own face looking back, instead of the black eyes and bruises and scratches I'd had to look at for days that seemed endless. So I'd taken some trouble with makeup and hair and I was pretty well satisfied with the result. I opened the door -- fixed, as promised, by Starsky and Hutch, with a lot of amiable arguing while they worked.

   He looked pretty good, himself. He was wearing an off-white shirt with a blue denim vest that made his eyes positively glow, and a pair of brushed-denim bells that fit exactly right. He smiled at me. "Wow. You look terrific."

   "Thank you, Sergeant," I said. "Want to come in or do you want to head right out?"

   He leaned against my door frame and let his eyes travel up and down very deliberately before he answered. "I think maybe we'd better go, or we might not get there. And I made reservations."

   I recognized the look in his eyes and tonight...well, I didn't intend to let him leave tonight. So I picked up my purse and jacket and slid my hand through his arm.

   We had a wonderful dinner at a nice place where the lights are a bit dim and the music is hushed and nobody bothers you.

   And when we came back to my place, I made us coffee and turned on the stereo, low, to keep the mood. Hutch had taken off his vest -- apparently he'd left the gun at home for a change -- and was on the couch waiting when I came back. I snuggled up next to him.

   He put his hand under my chin and turned my face toward him so he could kiss me. "How're you feeling now? Better? Not scared anymore?"

   "Scared?" I smiled at him and stroked his hair away from his face. "Of what? I have my own personal cop."

   He smiled back and kissed me again. And this time, unlike before, I could feel the urgency behind the kiss, an urgency he was struggling to hide. I tried to let him know it was okay, that I was ready for more, but I didn't quite know how without just coming out and saying it. His breathing had quickened -- so had mine -- and his hands on my shoulders were damp enough I could feel it through the thin material of my blouse.

   "Hutch," I said at last, pulling away just enough to look into his eyes. "It's okay."

   He raised an eyebrow. "What's okay?" His eyes had dilated until there was only a bit of blue showing around the black pupil.

   "Don't be so careful." I took his hand and kissed the palm. "I'm not afraid to..." I felt the blush that rose at what I'd almost said. Still my mother's daughter, trying to be a lady while seducing a man.

   A slow smile started at his eyes and lit his whole face, but when he realized what he was doing, he stopped. "Are you sure?"

   "I'm sure." To prove it, I leaned forward and kissed his chest where his shirt was open. He had only buttoned it about halfway, anyway. He took a sharp breath when I did that and stroked my hair so gently it made my heart speed up. I unbuttoned another button or two while I was there and laid my palm against his chest. I could feel how hard his heart was beating and his jeans were getting tighter by the minute, I noticed. I lifted my eyes to his.

   He said no more. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me and I could feel the change in him. His kisses grew more urgent and he let his hand travel down and touch my breast. His hand shook a little -- he was trying so hard to hold himself back. It was sweet.

   But when his hand made contact, I couldn't hold back the little gasp that came to my lips and I tightened my arms around him and buried my hand in his soft golden hair. It wasn't long before both of us were breathless.

   Hutch's shirt was all the way open now and I could get a long look at his chest, so smooth and lightly tanned and rising and falling with his breath. I couldn't help touching it and laying my cheek against it with a kiss. He drew another sharp breath and said, "A little more of that, honey, and I'm not going to be able to stop."

   "Who asked you to stop?" I said, rising and holding out my hand. "Let's move to somewhere a little more comfy, shall we?"

   He looked at me blankly for a moment before his eyes softened and he rose, took my offered hand, and we went to my bed. I'd changed the sheets and prettied up the room in anticipation of this moment. I don't know if he noticed exactly what I'd done, but he did pause and glance around the room for a moment before turning his eyes back to me and very, very carefully undressing me. I waited until he was done and had stepped back to look at me as if I were a present he'd just unwrapped. Then I did the same for him -- and found his gun, strapped to his leg. I couldn't help grinning up at him.

   "Do you go anywhere without this?"

   He reached down and pulled me to my feet and said in a husky whisper, "What the hell good is a 'personal cop' without his weapon?"

   Instead of answering, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him against me and it felt so nice, skin to skin, with nothing in between, that I didn't think of anything else. He backed us up to the bed and we lay down and he was so sweet and gentle and caring that at first I thought I might cry. Such a difference from the way Hicks had touched me. But that thought was the only time I thought of Hicks and what he'd done to me for a very long time.

   Hutch touched me with soft caresses and went slowly to give me plenty of time to get used to his touch before he took the next step. When he lowered his head to kiss my breasts, he really kissed them. A lot of men just grab on like a kitten suckling, but he didn't do that and his breath tickling me sent a shiver up my spine. He looked up with concern, but I stroked his hair and let my fingers comb through it to encourage him and he smiled, mostly with his eyes.

   And when he lowered his body onto mine, he paused just before entering me with a question in his eyes. By then I was too far gone to do much more than whimper and reach for him and with a long breath, he and I were joined. It was exquisite. There are no words to describe how delicately he loved me that night, whispering into my ear, kissing me, stroking my hair with much the same gesture I used to stroke his. And we came together, me with almost a sob of gratitude at how wonderful it felt, and him with an unselfconscious moan that would have sent me over the edge even if I hadn't already been there.

   As I lay there with my head on his shoulder afterward, I reached up to touch his hair again and he smiled. "First girl I ever knew with a hair fetish," he teased gently.

   I smiled back. "I love your hair. You're my first blond, you know. And it's so soft and smells so good, I can't help myself."

   "Your first blond?" he said and laughed so hard it shook the bed. "I'm honored, I'm sure," he added when he could speak again.

   I giggled, too, mostly because it was so nice to lie there in someone's arms, someone who was sweet and gentle and caring. It was too early to say "I love you," but I wanted to say something, so I kissed his cheek and snuggled my face into his shoulder where his hair curled against his ear and said, "Thank you."

   "For what?"

   "Just for being here. For being you."

   His arms around me tightened a little, and we fell asleep like that, and all my dreams that night were sweet ones, of a blond knight with blue eyes and a smile that lit up the darkness like a beacon.

THE END