by Rebecca York
The small gasp that escaped from her lips was like a jolt of electricity through his own body.
Closing his eyes, he nibbled at the edge of her cheek. “You are so, so sexy,” he murmured, “so responsive.” He opened his eyes again, looking down at her breasts, liking his vantage point. “When we were talking on the phone, I was picturing how you looked. I wanted to touch you so badly.”
He played the vibrator across those nicely rounded swells for another moment, then eased away just far enough that he could reach under the back of her knit top and unhook the snap of her bra. One-handed. Very proficient, Grant, he thought, with a satisfied grin.
He felt her breathing accelerate as he shifted his free hand to the front of her again, then pushed her top up, taking the bra with it, bunching the fabric around her neck and shoulders. He drew in a quick, sharp breath as he looked down at her breasts, following the creamy curves to their tight, hard centers. The color looked darker than apricot to him, probably because of the increased blood supply.
The vibrator was an extension of his hand as he used it to circle those hard tips, first one, and then the other, feeling her arch into the caress.
He wanted to taste her. But he couldn’t do it now, because that would violate the rules of the game he was making up as he went along.
He kept the vibrating wand on one nipple, then used his free hand to play with its mate, loving the feel of her puckered flesh between his fingers.
“Oh . . .”
“You like that?”
“Yes,” she gasped out.
He liked it too. Very much. But it wasn’t enough. Not hardly.
The waistband of her shorts was elastic—made for easy removal. He kept the vibrator at breast level but slid his free hand down her body, pausing to caress the expanse of skin below her breasts before flattening his hand and sliding his fingers under the elastic of her shorts.
It pulled away easily, permitting him comfortable access to the treasures hidden by the garment.
She moaned and wiggled against him, pressing her bottom against his rigid cock. He swallowed a gasp of pleasure.
He itched to tear off her clothing, strip her naked. But the part of his brain still functioning suspected that might be going too far, under the circumstances. He contented himself with slipping his hand farther under the fabric, combing his trembling fingers through the springy hair at the juncture of her legs, and then dipping lower, into the hot swollen folds of her most intimate flesh.
When he pulled his hand away, she whimpered in protest—he hoped because now she needed him to do something about the fire he’d kindled in her blood.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his lips nibbling at her ear as he reversed the position of his hands, sliding the vibrator down her body, while his free hand came up to play with one breast.
He had never used a vibrator on a woman, but he was pretty sure the tingling sensation he felt in his fingers would be even more effective on her clit. “Do you put this thing inside you?” he asked.
“Not usually. I. . .”
“I think I can figure it out,” he whispered. He held the magic wand vertically against her clit, rocking it slightly, feeling her squirm in his grasp. He felt her heart pounding under his other hand, heard her breath hissing in and out of her lungs. She threw her head back against his shoulder, and he could see her eyes were squeezed shut. He kept pleasuring her with the vibrating shaft while he played with first one nipple and then the other. She made a small pleading sound just before her whole body went rigid and she cried out with the force of her orgasm. He kept the vibrator where it was until she slumped back against him, knowing that the orgasm would be better if he continued giving her stimulation until she was finished.
When he felt her relax, he pulled the penis-shaped device out of her shorts and switched off the motor, but his hand still grasped the hard plastic as he tried to bring his own reactions under control.
“Zachary?”
Her question brought his mind back into focus.
“I think you know me well enough to call me Zach,” he said, brushing his lips against the top of her hair.
“Zach,” she repeated in an unsteady voice. “I. . .” She didn’t finish the sentence. She still stood with her face away from him. But her head was bent, and he knew that now that she’d come back to earth, she was probably abashed by what had just happened. He wanted to get the damn vibrator out of his hand. Tossing it on the bed would be sort of crass, he thought. Instead he set it quietly down on the bedside table.
Then he skimmed his lips against her jawline as he reached to pull her bra down and her shirt back into place. He thought about hooking the bra, then decided he should leave that for her.
Still nuzzling her neck and the side of her face, he whispered, “That was incredible.”
She cleared her throat and tried to turn, but he held her where she was. “What about you?” she asked, her voice very husky and very sexy.
“I’m fine,” he answered quickly.
“You’re. . .” She reached around behind her, and was sure she was trying to force the issue. Which he wasn’t going to allow. Instead, he took a quick step back, catching the hand that was headed for his cock.
“We’ll worry about me later.”
“I’m not in the habit of . . . of taking my pleasure and not giving anything back.”
He thought about telling her that being in this condition was all too familiar for him, then decided he’d be a fool to open himself up to that extent.
But he needed a reason why they weren’t going to be doing anything else right now. The answer came to him in a flash, and he felt a surge of embarrassment of his own. When he swore under his breath, she turned her head to look at him.
“What?”
“We came here to get your clothing because you were being stalked by the guy who broke in here last night. We were going to get in and out of the house as fast as we could so he wouldn’t get another crack at you. Fooling around wasn’t on the schedule.”
“I wasn’t planning to fool around,” she murmured.
He made his voice soothing. “I know that. What happened was entirely my fault. Well—let’s not think of it in terms a felony. I saw a very sexy opportunity and I took it. But now we’re going to get back on track. Collect your stuff--quickly.”
###
Amanda gave him a little nod, and he exited the room, leaving her still standing by the bed. Glad to be alone again, she quickly fit her breasts back into the cups of the bra, adjusted the straps, and then worked the hook at the back.
Breathing out a little sigh, she looked around the room. The vibrator was lying on the bedside table. Snatching it up, she shoved it into the box of clothing that she’d emptied from the drawers. Then she went into the bathroom where she started putting toilet articles into another box.
At first she was glad to let the activity occupy her mind. Then she found herself thinking about Zachary. Zach.
He’d made love to her as they stood beside the bed. Well, not exactly making love. But he’d touched her and kissed her and brought her to climax with the hard shaft of the vibrator—after he’d told her that finding the damn thing in her drawer was sexy. He’d given her great pleasure, and she’d been prepared to return the favor any way he wanted. Before she could, he’d backed away.
She didn’t think many guys would have gone that route. What was Zach Grant thinking—really?
He’d come up with the perfect excuse. In fact, she understood that they had to get out of here. But she was willing to bet that he’d cited the danger because he didn’t want the physical stuff to focus on him.
Why not?
Did she know him well enough to ask him?
And what would he say. Either the man was very good at manipulation, or he was hiding something about his personality—something that they should bring out into the light.
She glanced toward the bed, then remembered what had happened the night before
. He’d been in the grip of a nightmare, and she’d tried to help. He’d awakened and assumed she was his enemy. He’d been upset about that. Maybe he was still upset. Maybe he was thinking that he didn’t trust himself in bed with her again.
Well, if that was the problem, they could work on it together. But this was the wrong time and the wrong place.
She finished packing her toilet articles and makeup, then returned to the bedroom. After stripping the bed, she folded up the bottom sheet and comforter into a pillowcase. Then she used the top sheet as a makeshift garment bag for the clothing hanging in the closet—which reminded her to get her luggage from the front hall closet.
When she returned to the living room, she found that Zach had put her books and magazines into boxes.
He was carefully wrapping a vase in newspaper, which he set into a box with other wrapped objects.
“What else?” he asked, keeping his voice very matter of fact. And she knew he was hoping she would stay focused on the packing.
She decided not to disappoint him. And when she started removing the few knickknacks she’d brought from Annapolis, she saw him let out a little sigh.
Finally she started opening kitchen cabinets and drawers Most of the dishes and other equipment had come with the house. But there were a few things she’d brought with her—like some of her favorite coffee mugs.
“I think we just have to load up the food,” she said.
“I’ll take the refrigerator. You do the cabinet,” he suggested.
“Thanks.”
They worked together efficiently, and in less than ten minutes everything was ready to go.
When they’d both carried the boxes to the Honda, Zach looked from the vehicle to her car, a considering expression on his face. She’d come to know that expression very well.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to get you home safely.” He glanced up and down the street. “Because somebody could be watching to see where we end up after we leave here, I’m going to take a roundabout way back to your new place. I want you to do the same. Take a circuitous route—and watch your rearview mirror. But don’t go home. Drive to the shopping center that’s about a mile from your new house. We passed it, remember?”
“Yes.”
“When you get there, find a space near the entrance to the grocery store where you’re visible to a lot of people. Make sure your doors are locked, and wait for me there.”
“That seems kind of elaborate. Is all that necessary?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, I think it is. You have your cell phone?”
She reached into her purse and found it. “Yes.”
“Well, call me immediately if you see anything suspicious.”
###
From behind a screen of trees fifty yards away, Tony watched them standing in the driveway. It sounded like Mr. Buttinsky was giving her directions, laying out what they were going to do.
The Honda pulled out of the driveway and O’Neal followed in her car, both of them turning in the direction away from where he watched.
Buttinsky wouldn’t want anyone to know where they were going, so he probably had something tricky in mind. Like sending both of them on a long, winding route that would be hard to follow. Probably, the guy was primed for trouble. Probably they were expecting anyone staking out the place to follow O’Neal.
Was that his best choice? Or should he go with the guy?
He didn’t like this damn complication. If Buttinsky hadn’t appeared in the scene, he’d have Amanda O’Neal in his power already. That’s where he wanted her. Because she’d taken over that damn column from Esther Knight.
As he thought about his plans for her, he felt himself growing hard. It hadn’t started out as sexual—when he’d killed Esther Knight a couple of months ago. But he’d been pleasantly surprised by the sexual jolt he’d gotten out of slamming that car into her.
He’d liked the feeling, and he’d realized that he’d shortchanged himself by being impersonal when he took her out. She’d been on the street. He’d been in the car. And the thrill of wiping her off the face of the earth had been over much too quickly. But he wasn’t going to make that mistake with Amanda O’Neal. The two of them were going to spend some quality time together. Get to know each other. He was looking forward to it. Very much. Because any woman who thought she could step into Esther Scott’s shoes deserved anything she got.
Chapter Eight
Dear Esther,
I met a man whom I can’t figure out. I mean, I like him and I think he likes me. I haven’t known him long. But he’s constantly doing stuff that surprises me. Well, sometimes stuff that makes me uncomfortable, actually. There are times I’m sure he doesn’t trust me. Other times, I’m certain he wants to protect me. He’s very complicated. And our sexual relationship is complicated, too. I’ve done things with him that I’ve never done with anyone else—things that might embarrass me with another man. But he makes it seem okay. Well, except that I blush when I think how far I’ve gone with him in such a short time. What do you think I ought to do? Ditch him? Or let him help me explore my sexuality?
Amanda sat in her car, composing a letter in her mind to occupy her thoughts while she peered out the windshield, waiting for Zach to appear.
Let him? Was that the right phrase? Was she letting him talk her into stuff that made her uncomfortable?
Once again, she wished there was somebody she could consult. Not Esther Scott. One of her old friends from Harmons. But she’d walked away from her support system. Well, walked away from the friends she’d left. The rest of them had turned their backs on her.
For just a moment, she thought about calling her sister. Emily was a computer programmer living in California. She’d probably like to hear from her. But they’d never been close. And her sister had absorbed their parents’ values. Probably she’d be embarrassed if Amanda tried to ask for advice about her relationship with Zach.
She sighed. Was it a relationship? A sexual relationship.
Well, the first episode with him had been all talk. The second had been all hot touching and kissing.
Her hands clenched and unclenched as she fought to ward off the feelings that came along with the memories.
They had the power to arouse her. And arousal should be the furthest thing from her mind, now.
Instead, she tried to focus on Zach, the man. Their relationship was artificial. They’d been thrown together because he was a private detective investigating the murder of the woman who’d written the Esther Scott column. But he’d chosen to stay with her. Which must mean something. But she couldn’t figure out what it was.
She craned her neck, looking first at one entrance to the parking lot—then the other. But she didn’t see Zach.
She’d been here for twenty minutes, watching people go in and out of the store, seeing some of them eyeing her—probably wondering what she was doing sitting here all that time.
At first she’d been keyed up. Now she was worried, if she was going to admit the truth to herself.
She had expected Zach to meet her before this. But there was no sign of him. Too bad she hadn’t gone inside the store and done some grocery shopping. While she’d been sitting here, she had thought of several things she needed.
And she’d been thinking that, if she bought some chicken or some sirloin steak, she could impress him with her chicken cacciatore or her beef stroganoff. She might not be a whiz in the kitchen, but over the years she’d collected a few good dishes that she could always rely on.
She made a small snorting sound. She was thinking about bowling him over with her cooking? Great!
She dragged her mind away from that topic. Then, unable to stop herself, she went back to worrying again. She could dial his cell. But that would give away that she was on edge, and she didn’t want to call him—probably because it was exactly what her mother would have done. Mom’s specialty had been calling to find out why you hadn’t arrived at the ex
act time she expected you. That trait had annoyed Amanda, which was why she’d vowed never to do it.
But this was completely different. Maybe it was time to break her own rules. She had just pulled out her cell phone when she saw Zach’s Honda coming down the curb lane. Quickly she put the instrument away.
He swung into the empty space beside her and rolled down his window.
“The coast is clear. You can follow me back.”
“Okay,” she answered. She’d been worried that Zach was somehow in danger because of her. Because of the murder investigation. The moment she saw him and knew that he was all right, she went back to worrying about their relationship.
She stayed in back of him as they returned to the new house he’d found for her, the whole process gobbling up fifteen minutes longer than if they’d taken the direct route.
The property was on a large lot, with a deep backyard that faced the creek. Zach pulled up at the curb, then waved her around to the back, where her vehicle couldn’t be seen from the street.
She wasn’t sure she liked all the cloak and dagger stuff. But she wasn’t the security expert.
When she looked in the rearview mirror, she saw that he’d pulled his car to the end of the driveway, effectively blocking her exit from the property, and she fought a sudden trapped feeling that tightened her chest.
Then she silently ordered herself to calm down. He hadn’t locked her in. He was simply protecting her. He was a former cop. Now he was a private detective. Probably watching his back at all times was as ingrained in him as brushing his teeth in the morning.
“I should have gone shopping,” she said when she’d climbed out of her car.
“I was thinking that after we unload your stuff, we could go out to dinner.”
“We can?” she asked. “I mean, I thought we had to hide.”
“Basically, we have to stay off the beaten track. But I was considering our options. There are plenty of little restaurants in out-of-the-way corners of the county. One of them ought to be a safe place to have dinner.”
“Okay. I’d like that.”
“Work first. Play later,” he said, his voice light. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, she found herself thinking that they’d already been playing.
