and seldom failed to reach its objective. It was in his eyes, as well, in his voice, that thing about him, always so casual, and yet…
What was his real objective?
Tonight, she decided, it was her.
Tonight there was nothing rushed about him. He studied her eyes again for a long time, as if waiting for a protest, knowing there would be none, but still giving her a chance to turn away.
She had no intention of doing any such thing.
At last his lips touched hers, and every remaining bit of resolve she might have felt fled. Her arms moved around him, fingers threading into his hair, and she tasted the kiss, explored the texture of his lips, felt the exhilarating sweep of his tongue.
His hands worked magic, cradling her nape, pulling her closer. The length of his body was a fire, rock-hard strength, something she wanted, needed. And where before it had been anticipation of all that was new, now it was memory of what was real, electric and compelling.
There had been a strange honesty in getting to know him…at least in this. She pulled away and said softly, “I do have a bedroom.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And I’d love to see it.”
She hesitated. He was giving her another out.
“Are you staying?”
“All night. I have to leave early. If that’s all right.”
“It wasn’t a demand.”
He lifted her chin again. “I think I would stay forever if I could.”
Strange words. A line? At a different time, that possibility might have bothered her. But not tonight.
She turned, her hand in his, and started up the stairs. He followed close behind. She didn’t put on the bedroom light; with him beside her, she liked the shadows, a realm where her own uncertainties could be hidden. With him in her house, she wasn’t afraid of whatever lay beyond the door. The darkness offered no threat.
If he wanted light, he said nothing. She stripped the comforter from the bed and watched as he undressed, while she did the same. It seemed so bizarre. She had never had an affair like this before. She wondered vaguely if being together twice constituted an actual affair.
Then she didn’t wonder about anything. He came to her in the shadows, touched her, and his naked flesh against her own seemed to be the most erotic splendor she had ever known. She allowed her fingers to play down his chest, feel the beating of his heart, knead the length of his back. The shadows gave her confidence, and from his back she slid the feathery brush of her fingertips lower, teased his buttocks, then stroked the rise of his erection. And then…
She found herself lifted, lying on the cool sheets, startled by the extreme difference between the crisp coolness of the bed and the heat of his body.
The pressure of his body aroused her. Their lips fused, hands stroked wildly. They broke apart, panting in the darkness, came together again. Her fingers moved through his hair. His lips moved to her throat, to her collarbone, below.
The touch of his fingers, the simmering, liquid heat of his lips and tongue, slowly trailed down her body. She writhed as if she longed to become part of him. She was in thrall to a brush, a stroke, a feathered sensation that left her yearning for more, a deeper, firmer exploration of fingers and tongue…acts of sheer intimacy that amazed her, exalted her, ever so slightly frightened her. She was barely aware of her own sinuous movements, flesh erotically sliding against flesh, the twist and curve of her body as she accommodated his, the sleek motion in which scent and movement, heat and pressure, combined, and it seemed that the world revolved upon the rise of her need and the climax he promised.
She let out a soft cry as the first little ripple of pure pleasure seared through her, a shot that catapulted, and continued, a slow tease that radiated. He rose above her, and in a corner of her mind she was ever so slightly afraid. Afraid because she had found the perfect fit, a man who thrilled and excited her, who captured her soul with the sound of his voice, his merest touch, the way he moved, in bed and out. A fear that he wasn’t real, that this total consumption of body and soul would never come again.
Then he was in her and around her. She was striving, twisting, turning, hungry to become a part of his very being. Each thrust took her higher on a wave of eroticism, and the feel of his flesh, burning and powerful, beneath her hands, was almost more than she could bear.
Then there was the moment of ultimate climax, darkness shattered, a brilliant burst of light that shot violently into her mind, a feeling of sheer ecstasy so high and complete, that it shattered into a million pieces of crystal. There was one last powerful surge of his body, and then the collapse against her that signaled the volatility of his own climax, followed by the feel of his arms around her, the return of the shadows, the slowing thunder of her heart and a feeling of incredible completion.
His fingers, moving through her hair…
His arms, wrapped around her…
His words, soft and teasing. “Where have you been all my life?”
She moved against him. “Here. Right here.” She tried to tell herself that no matter what had transpired between them, she barely knew him. Her feelings were insane. She didn’t just want him, she was fascinated by him. Sex was incredible, but sex was not enough. She wanted to get beneath his skin, into his soul, know what made him tick, see his smile, feel wrapped in his laughter….
She’d never been this foolish in her life, falling in love so quickly, so completely, forgetting all too easily that she needed to be wary….
But wariness eluded her. Only one question formed in her mind but went unspoken.
Where will you be the rest of my life?
11
BETH WOKE WITH A START. Alone. She ran a hand over the side of the bed where he had been, feeling a sense of loss. He had said he couldn’t stay late.
And yet…
Alone, with the morning light flooding in and washing away the shadows, she wondered why.
A meeting with the guys?
After a while, she rose, remembering that she needed to run by the club to pick up her design for the flyer so she could drop it off at the print shop to be made into a poster, then head down to Nick’s to meet Ashley.
The thought of meeting Ashley jolted her into faster action. Now, more than ever, she was burning to know why Brad and Sandy were wanted for questioning.
If Brad and Sandy had stolen the Retired!, and if she had really seen a skull on the island, it seemed likely that the pair must have murdered the Monocos. The thought was chilling.
And had they also been the ones who attacked the couple in Virginia?
When she had showered and dressed, she hurried downstairs.
He had left coffee brewing for her.
Interesting. He was a man who took off at the first light of day, but he left brewed coffee.
She drank
