by Thea Devine
And a receptionist who looked as if she might be helpful.
Or maybe not.
“Get Carrie Spencer.” A tough voice, matched by a tough stance, it was the only way.
The receptionist picked up the phone. Dropped it. Couldn’t keep her eyes off him. “Um, Carrie can’t be reached.”
“Reach her.”
He could see she was waffling. “There’s a big meeting upstairs today. I’m sure she’s involved in it, and she won’t be available until very late.”
“Get her.”
She punched in some numbers very fast, spoke in a low voice to whomever she reached on the other end and then looked up at him.
“Have a seat?”
“No. Is she coming?”
“They said they’ll...um...send her right down.”
“I’ll wait by the elevator then.”
“Right.”
But what “they” meant by “right down” was wholly different from what he meant.
Damn them all. They. The mysterious, omnipotent they...
Ten minutes passed, fifteen... The receptionist was watching him warily. He must have looked dangerous, unstable. He felt that way.
Truck wheeled around to pin down the receptionist, and he saw her, coming from another direction, from behind the reception wall.
Leather and silk. That was Carrie. She looked thinner, or maybe he was hoping this project had been such a drain, she’d run into his arms, thankful to be rescued.
Fat chance. No, this was going to require drastic measures.
The receptionist pointed toward him.
Carrie turned, almost in slow motion, and she saw him walking purposefully toward her, dark, daring, dangerous. There.
Her breath caught. He had come for her. Come for her. It was the most breathtaking moment of her life. Her knees went weak, her heart started pounding wildly.
He had come far her at the very moment she needed to see him more than anything else in her life.
Hadn’t she lived on the very memory of him? Hadn’t she ached for him? Regretted every moment she’d spent away from him?
Been stupid and stubborn and wrongheaded about everything—including him?
Did it have to take three months away to make her understand all of that? And just what her feelings were for him?
She watched as he stalked toward her. He looked like an outlaw, as if he was coming to rescue his woman, and would never let her go.
Exactly what she wanted.
But he had always known exactly what she wanted...
He came toe to toe with her and she stood there, riveted by the sight of him and the obdurate expression on his face.
“We’re going home.”
This was not a moment to say please, yes, or thank you. Or to tell him she’d signed off on the project and out of the company—forever.
She just stood there, not saying a word, and he couldn’t think of anything else to do but haul her up tightly against him and crush his mouth against hers.
“God almighty, tell me how I waited this long to kiss you again,” he muttered against her lips, “because I sure the hell don’t know.”
“I don’t either,” she whispered, but he swallowed her words in his devouring kiss.
How had she lived all this time without that kiss?
She was vaguely aware that everyone was staring, and she didn’t care.
The elevator dinged, the arrow pointing down, toward the moment of truth.
Truck wrenched his mouth from hers, and picked her up over his shoulder and marched inside.
“Are you crazy?” Carrie demanded as the doors closed to the sound of a faint spattering of applause.
He eased her down. “You’re damn right I am. God, I am out of my mind for you.” He cupped her face, and his mouth came down on hers, hard, hot, hungry. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. God—Carrie...”
“Me neither,” she murmured, feeling him shudder as she reached for him, ran her hands all over his face. “It was a stupid idea.”
“Which? Your coming, or your going?”
He knew everything. “Going,” she whispered. “I missed you, I did. I was counting the days, the minutes until I could get out of there. Don’t stop. Truck, just don’t stop...”
“I haven’t stopped,” he growled, his voice raspy. But he wanted to stop everything else, and just savor this moment.
He wanted to stop time.
The stop button was right by his hand. He pressed it firmly and the elevator jolted to a standstill.
Bells rang somewhere. Horns wailed.
He nudged his leg between hers. “How fast, how far?”
“How about across the street?” she whispered, nipping at his lips, touching him everywhere she could reach. “I don’t have to be out of my hotel room till noon...”
“Only if you promise never to leave again.” He backed her against the elevator wall, his body covering hers as tenaciously as if they were already in bed, as if he would keep her next to him forever.
Here was the heart and soul of his need for her, all the heat, lust and desire, and she was ready, finally, for the ultimate surrender. She needed him too, and more than that, she wanted everything that he wanted, and everything he’d ever dreamed.
Carrie had no reservations now, she understood finally that there were never any guarantees, and the future would take care of itself.
And she meant to tell him that too. No more running. No more fighting her feelings. She was coming home for real, for good.
“Forget the hotel room,” she whispered, melting against his strength and the rock-hard reality of him pressing against her.
“That could be arranged,” he murmured, slanting his mouth over hers in an urgent stoking kiss that made them both writhe with its heat and its promise. “What did you say you’re wearing under that skirt?”
“I’ll let you find out...” She lost herself again in his grinding possessive kiss. She couldn’t get enough of him; she was starved for him. She felt him nudging her, spreading her, smoothing his hand up her thigh, and she moved to ease his way.
A minute more and she would be connected to him for a lifetime.
They never heard the crackling of the speaker until a voice barked, “You okay up there?”
Truck groaned as he pulled a bare inch away from her lips. “Do we have to talk to him?”
“They’ll send someone after us.”
“We’ll still have time to...”
“No, we have to tell him.” Someone had to tell him, but Carrie wasn’t sure she was in any shape to tell anyone anything. “We’re okay,” she called back, her voice quivering, her body quaking.
They couldn’t get out of there soon enough, she thought fuzzily. Making love in the hotel room first. And the rest of their lives to follow.
It sounded like a plan to her.
The elevator began to move. She looked at Truck, who was looking a little dazed too. “Are we okay?”
He pulled her tightly against him.
“Actually,” he murmured, “actually, I think we’re in love.”
ISBN : 978-1-4592-5772-6
NIGHT MOVES
Copyright © 1999 by Thea Devine.
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention
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