by Lori Foster
He reached a hand toward her and Celia took it. They stepped into the shower together.
CHAPTER NINE
ALEC COULDN’T RECALL ever being so charmed, or so turned on, in his life. No woman had ever sung to him—if you could call Celia’s slightly off-key, tipsy crooning a song. He wasn’t familiar with the singer or the lyrics, but then music had never played a big part in his life, and he couldn’t recall ever singing a note. Especially not disco.
On rare occasions he’d listened to a little jazz. On very rare occasions. Fifteen years ago, he could remember coming home to the swelling sounds of a jazz band while Marissa danced around the floor, entertaining herself. He’d be dog-tired, sweaty from a long day of working in the sun, and she’d greet him with a swirl of her skirts and a huge smile, ready to take him to bed and ease his aches and pains. It had taken little more to make him content back then.
But the smiles and the greetings hadn’t lasted for long.
Alec realized later that it hadn’t been the music, so much as her happiness, that he had been drawn to. He’d fed off it like a starving man. Since then, he hadn’t had much reason, or any burning inclination, to listen to music.
Music sort of went hand in hand with partying and a carefree attitude, and he’d sure as hell never been the type to enjoy crowds, raucous laughter, or frivolity.
But Celia obviously was. And he had a feeling his recent show of sexual restraint had something to do with her dredging up that specific tune. Don’t leave me this way? He smiled. It wasn’t exactly a subtle hint, but then Celia wasn’t exactly a subtle woman, not where he was concerned.
But none of that mattered now. He had Celia naked, all soft and warm and ready, and his waiting was at an end. He hurt with wanting her from the top of his head down to his big feet with highly concentrated places in-between, and now the only thing holding him back was a desire to make it last a nice long time, the whole damn night if possible.
She tried to face him, but he turned her so her back nestled his chest and the spray from the shower could wash over her breasts. Her nipples peaked and her thighs tightened. She was so hot she made him feel like a horny kid again, ready to explode over just a look. “Let me take care of you first, honey, okay?”
She surprised him by whispering, “Anything you want, Alec.”
Damn. Words like that could well push him over the edge. Her body trembled and he knew she was already aroused, which had a similar cause and effect on him. Her body was perfect to him, soft and feminine, but lightly muscled. He thought of the exercise equipment strewn around the floor of her room and he hugged her tighter. She never ceased to surprise him.
In a low rumble, he said, “Relax against me so I can suds you up.”
She tipped her head back to see him. “Take your hair out of the ponytail first. I want to see it.”
Alec surveyed her curious expression. His hair was long out of disinterest, not out of any need to make a fashion statement. When he worked, as he had tonight, he tied it back to keep it from interfering with his vision. Practicality drove him, not fashion.
But from the day he’d met her, Celia had been fascinated by his lack of social conformity. Her brother was polished; hell, her whole family was polished, down to designer shoes and two-hundred-dollar haircuts that made certain not a single curl strayed out of place. Celia’s own hair was usually in a sleek, sophisticated pageboy, but since going undercover, she’d worn it various ways, and he admired her new vamp persona.
If she liked his hair, then he was more than willing to oblige her. He reached back and pulled the band loose. His hair, now long enough to hang to his shoulders, fell free, and Celia gave him a dazed, hot look. “I like it. It makes you look savage, especially with the earring.”
Alec grinned again. He had her naked in the shower, both of them strung tight on desire, and they were carrying on a conversation about his hair. “I like you. Now hold still while I attend to certain things.”
With his hands soapy, he began washing her, starting with her shoulders and upper chest, bypassing her sensitive breasts, regardless of how she squirmed and tried to get his hands to slick over there. He had to go carefully or it’d be done with before he even got started. He’d wanted her so long, fantasized about this for what seemed like forever, that his control was precarious at best. He should have been concerned that she might not be thinking clearly; she’d had a rather eventful night and obviously too much to drink.
But strangely, he knew this to be the right decision, for both of them. And truth to tell, he simply wanted her too much to be swayed by scruples he couldn’t even pretend to possess.
Washing her slender thighs, he whispered, “Open your legs.”
She whimpered softly, but complied. Alec slipped his hands over her, brushing his fingers through her soft intimate curls, letting the rough touch of his callused fingertips mingle with the tantalizing spray from the shower. Celia arched a little, pressing back against him. Her sweet breasts, glistening with water, rose and fell as she struggled for composure; her breathing accelerated, her hands dug into his naked thighs. She was already so close, and he pushed her, his fingers finding a rhythm and stroking deep over slick, tender, swollen flesh.
“I want to kiss you, Alec!”
Heat washed over him, he was so pleased with her. She didn’t want to reach her peak without him, afraid, he was certain, that he’d leave her again. He turned her, cradling her shoulders, and kissed her deeply. Against her lips, he explained, “I want you to come now for me, honey, because the devil knows once I get inside you, I won’t be able to last long.”
She groaned and one small hand slid down his chest to his erection.
Alec sucked in a breath. “That’s not going to help, babe.”
“We have to be fair,” she whispered, looking at him through dazed golden eyes. Her makeup was washed away, her fair hair slicked back by the shower, emphasizing the fine, delicate bones of her face. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed with desire. She was by far the most appealing woman he’d ever seen.
She smiled at him. “You’re so gorgeous, Alec, so lean and hard and long-limbed. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I think about touching you all the time.”
He laughed, a little taken aback by her compliment. “I’m not exactly handsome, Celia.” He knew, if anything, it was his look of menace that drew women, not classic good looks.
She kissed his chest, his throat, all the time holding him in her small palm, not moving, just holding him, making him crazed. He had to fight the instinct to move his hips, to thrust through her fingers.
“You’re rough and dangerous and sinfully sexy. No woman could resist you. I used to feel guilty for wanting you so much.” She peeked up. “For all the lurid thoughts I had.”
Catching her wrist, he pulled her hand away and pinned it behind her back, which pressed her plump breasts to his ribs. He could feel her stiff little nipples, sliding against his slick wet skin, and adding to his sexual frenzy. When she reached for him with her other hand, he captured it as well, twining his fingers with hers. “You sure as hell held off long enough.” The words were low, growled. “Do you have any idea how crazy you make me?”
She squirmed against his tight hold. “Alec, I need you now.”
Every time she said it, she drove him closer to the edge. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “Do you still feel dirty, Celia?”
“No.” Her wet, naked body writhed against him.
“Are you sure you want me? ’Cause, babe, this won’t be a one-time deal. It’s going to take a hell of a lot for me to get my fill of you.”
Nuzzling against his chest, she found his nipple and licked delicately. “You can take all the time you need.”
His control snapped. He released her and within two minutes had finished bathing and rinsing himself. Celia watched, touching him, exploring his body each time he moved. He turned the water off and jerked the shower curtain open. Celia, with a smug, very feminine smile,
reached for a towel.
“To hell with that.” He picked her up, dripping wet, and walked to the bed.
Now she laughed as he stepped over and around exercise equipment. “Alec, we’ll ruin the sheets!”
He didn’t bother to answer her as he laid her among the tangle of bedclothes, then went back into the bathroom to fetch his wallet from his jeans. He tossed it onto the nightstand, coming down beside her at the same time and immediately catching a soft breast in his palm. His mouth closed over her nipple, sucking strongly, and Celia gasped. One hand tangled in his hair while her other hand gripped his shoulder, her nails stinging. Licking water from her chest he tasted every inch of her upper body, pausing often to sate himself on her luscious little breasts. Her nipples were rosy, tight, and he couldn’t get enough. He thought he might be going too fast, but he wanted to devour her, to devastate her as much as he felt devastated.
When he slipped one hand over her soft belly and thrust two fingers in her, she cried out. She was wet and so damn hot he couldn’t wait. His hand moved easily, readying her further, preparing her for him. He felt her muscles clamp down on his fingers, at the same time she moaned.
Cursing, he shoved himself to her side and frantically groped around on the nightstand for his wallet. Celia came to her knees, hugging him from behind, making it more difficult than it should have been to find a condom. When he finally had it on, he flipped her to her back, hooked her legs through his elbows and opened her completely.
She didn’t object; her head was back, her eyes closed and her breath came fast and uneven.
Alec slowed, leaning forward by small degrees and watching as his erection pushed into her, past her soft, pink folds. He groaned. “Celia.”
Her eyes opened, the hazel like warm gold, her pupils dilated. Her cheeks and breasts were warmly flushed and her body trembled beneath him.
“Look at me, babe.”
She did, panting in tune to Alec’s thundering heart. Their gazes locked. “Tell me you want this, that you want me.”
Her fingers knotted fretfully in the sheets and she licked her lips. Her entire body was tight, straining. Alec pushed in a little deeper. He tortured them both, but it was the most sensational thing he’d ever felt.
“I want you, Alec,” she groaned, her voice raw and filled with need. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time.” Panting, her hands smoothed over her breasts, as if appeasing an ache, and Alec lost it. Seeing her touch herself was like throwing gasoline on a live fire—instant combustion.
With a harsh growl, he buried himself inside her, forcing his way past the slight natural resistance of her body. Stilling, he dropped forward and they both moaned. Celia locked her legs around him and Alec pressed his face to her throat, smelling the sweet scent of her body, her hair, of Celia. Too good, he thought, too damn good. Making a quick adjustment, he put one hand beneath her hips and lifted her so she could take all of him and at that moment, she came, shocking the hell out of him and pushing him over the edge.
Her body arched so hard she lifted him from the bed. He thrust just as hard, pinning her down again.
He could feel the clenching of her inner muscles, the slight sting of her nails, and again, her sharp little teeth. He shouted, the pleasure was so acute, and with every muscle straining, he buried himself in her again and again, then joined her, coming until he felt too sated, too incredibly weak, to draw another single breath.
He rested there on her, trying to gather his scattered wits and reconcile how incredible it felt to make love to Celia Carter. He’d known it would be good—knowing had kept him awake many nights and reduced him to an animal on the prowl. But he hadn’t expected this, something more than mere sex, something beyond the physical. He didn’t like it, but didn’t quite know what to do about it.
Her rapid breaths still fanned his ear, and her gentle hands coasted up and down the long length of his damp back. He wanted to shout that he didn’t need her comfort, her gentleness, not after she’d so physically satisfied him. But the words wouldn’t come. He could barely draw breath. He felt her hesitate, then touch his right biceps.
“Alec?” She spoke softly, breathlessly. “Where did you get the tattoo?”
He closed his eyes. Maybe she’d think he was asleep. Maybe she’d even think he’d died, which actually had been a pretty close thing judging by the furious drumming of his heart and the lack of coordination in his limbs. But his luck wasn’t that great.
She tightened her hold, giving him a full body hug, then asked, “Alec?”
He sighed, resigned. Well damn. Bliss can’t ever last for more than a few minutes.
Alec pushed up to his elbows. Celia looked so sweet with her wet hair tangled, her cheeks still warm. Almost against his will, he kissed her gently, and he never wanted to stop kissing her. That made him frown as he pulled away. “My wife talked me into it. Fifteen years ago.”
Her eyes widened and her face went pale. “You have a wife?”
Rolling to his back and propping his arms behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. Light from the bathroom cast long shadows and showed a fading watermark directly over his head.
He’d known, sooner or later he’d have to tell her if he slept with her. Not that she needed an entire accounting of his life, no one did. But intimacy in the sack brought about other intimacies. And Celia was a curious woman, always digging in where she shouldn’t be. If the situation were reversed, if she’d tried to hide aspects of her life rather than presenting herself as an open book, he’d already have gotten into her personal file at Dane’s office, or he’d have run a check on her. But Celia wasn’t a natural snoop, and the thought never would have occurred to her to invade his privacy.
One reality touched his tired brain: knowing would likely disgust her and put the distance he needed back between them. Not a physical distance, because he planned to keep her right where she was until he got the ache out of his system and could think rationally again. But the emotional distance was something he needed, and knowing a bit about his past ought to accomplish it. That alone was reason enough to tell her.
He sighed again, then said with no emotion, no inflection whatsoever, “Not anymore. She’s dead.”
Alec had half expected her to leap from the bed, or to curse him. Knowing Celia, he’d definitely expected some sort of volatile reaction. All he got was a heavy silence that felt like an anvil sitting on his windpipe, before she turned and cuddled up at his side. Surprised, he hesitated, then put one arm around her and prayed she wouldn’t start crying. He really hated it when she cried.
“Did you love her?”
Alec stilled. Shit, he hated questions like that. He’d rather deal with a tear or two. “Celia…”
“You must have,” she whispered, her voice low and reverent, filled with tenderness, “to put something permanent on your body.” With one finger, she lightly traced the faded heart on his arm. “Right here, where the color’s kind of smudged…did you have her name removed?”
Her name, but the memory had lingered, so overall it’d been a wasted effort. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you have the whole thing taken off?”
He glanced down at her. Her bare body curled against his, one slender thigh over his thicker, hairier one, her belly pressed up against his hip. Her skin was so fair against his darker body. He felt the renewed stirrings of desire and wanted to end the conversation as quickly as it had started.
With a hot look, he told her, “It hurt like hell, having the thing lasered off, so I took off what I had to and figured to hell with the rest.” As a warning he added, “No one ever asks me about it.”
“Why did you have to have her name taken off?”
He looked away in disgust, his temper starting on a low boil. Celia heeded his warnings with as much caution as the wall might. “Look, Celia, why don’t we talk about this some other time?”
“Because I know you won’t. Please, Alec?”
Damn, he both hated and loved the w
ay she asked him so nicely whenever she really wanted something. Her softly spoken words had the effect of bringing his body to full attention; there was no way she could miss his blatant erection.
She didn’t. Her hand crept down his belly, stroking the line of dark hair there, paused to toy with his navel for an excruciating moment, then continued on until she curled her small fist around him. His stomach muscles felt like iron, he was strung so taut.
Without inhibition, she explored him, softly cupping his testicles, petting his rigid length, letting her thumb stroke over the very tip of him…Alec ground his teeth together. Talk about torture…
“All right. I had her name taken off right after she died because I…Well…”
It wasn’t like him to stumble over his words and he resented her for making him do so now. He turned, grabbed both her hands and pinned them over her head. Looming over her, his frown fierce, he barked, “So you want all the gory details, do you?” Her eyes widened, and she held her breath. “All right.”
Celia bit her bottom lip. “Alec—”
“My wife was the town slut.” He stared down at her, refusing to let her look away. She’d pushed for details and now she could just deal with them. “Like most guys ruled by hormones, the first time I got laid, I stupidly mistook lust for love.”
He had to laugh at his own idiocy. Telling Celia about it should have made him uncomfortable, but their circumstances—naked in a bed after having just made love—superseded all other emotion. He wanted the telling through so he could have her again. And again and again, until the wanting went away. He didn’t like wanting her; anytime he’d wanted someone, it had ended up hurting like hell. His jaw locked with that pathetic thought and self-loathing filled him. He was a grown man now, and he’d long since learned to take life for what it was, without the illusions. Maybe it was time Celia learned, too.
“I’d had a less than sterling home life after my mother died of ovarian cancer. My old man had run off on us when I was just a little kid, so my grandfather ended up with me. The old guy tried, I’ll give him that, but we didn’t have much in the way of luxury, and I was already mad as hell at the world. I didn’t make things easy on him. Whenever I’d push him too hard—and I was always real good at pushing—he’d get out a birch rod. The old coot had a hell of a swinging arm.”
