Memories of Us
Page 12
Tom wrapped a hand around the railing, his knuckles aching. He’d never made her smile like that, not even in the early days of their marriage. He swallowed. She was happy, happier than he’d ever seen her. She’d moved on, completely. Somehow, that left him free in a way he couldn’t quite understand.
He turned away, pulling his keys from his pocket. In his car, he tapped a thumb against the steering wheel as the air conditioner chilled the warm air around him. He needed to let go. With a harsh curse, he dragged a hand down his face, then reached for his cell.
“St. John.” Celia picked up on the third ring, her lush voice smoothing over him.
“Where are you?” He winced at the harshness of his own voice. Eyes closed, he rested his forehead on his fist, elbow on the door.
“We’re checking out Wesley Campbell’s story,” she said, her tone cool. In the background, Cook muttered something over the squawk of a police radio. “Hang on a second.”
He caught a snatch of her conversation with Cook as she asked him for a private moment and the investigator grumbled about being thrown out of his own damn car. A door closed with a thud.
“What did you want?” Celia asked.
“I want to see you later.”
“I think we established that earlier, McMillian.”
Call me Tom, damn it. He swallowed the words. “Not like that. I meant have dinner with me again tonight.”
A pause vibrated between them. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
He blew out a breath. “Why not?”
“Because.” Irritation hovered in the word. “Do we have to talk about this now?”
“Have dinner with me tonight, Celia. Just dinner. I swear.”
“Like that’s going to happen.”
He picked up the self-deprecating humor in her voice and smiled. Remembered sensations tumbled through him—her skin soft under his hands, the silky wetness of her body around his, her head thrown back on a moan. He shifted. “Say yes, Celia. I want to see you.”
“Why?” Uncertainty trembled between them.
He pressed his fingers against his temples. “Because I meant what I said. I want to get to know you as a woman. Last night was fantastic, but it wasn’t enough. I want…listen, we’ll have dinner. We’ll talk. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it.” He swallowed hard. “Please. I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t bother.” At her words, his gut plummeted. A hesitation stretched. “My place. Seven o’clock.”
Flipping the phone closed, he killed the connection. His ears roared and he sucked in air to lessen the sudden tightness of his chest.
What the hell was he doing?
—
He was late.
The back door stood open and Tom mounted the steps to Celia’s porch, a knot of tension sitting at the base of his neck. How had being with her gotten to be so important so fast? Slow music wafted from inside and he knocked once on the doorframe. “Cee?”
“Come on in.”
He followed the music and her voice through a small, neat laundry room and into the vintage kitchen he’d glimpsed from her living room two days before. He paused in the squared-off doorway to her dining area. A pizza box waited with a couple of plates. “Hello.”
“Hey.” From the other side of the table, she watched him. Snug jeans hugged her hips and thighs and a shimmery pink haltertop skimmed her curves, leaving her shoulders bare. She lifted her chin and tucked her hands in her back pockets, the gesture emphasizing the swell of her breasts. “I hope pizza and a beer is okay. I was running late.”
“It’s fine.” He was with her and she was worried about what they were going to eat? He swallowed a strangled laugh. Food was the last thing on his mind, despite the way his empty stomach gnawed away at him. He stepped forward, wrapped his hands around the back of a dining chair. “You look great.”
“Thanks.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She tilted her head toward the kitchen. “Do you want a beer?”
“Yeah. A Sam Adams if you have one.”
She laughed and the sweet trill actually sounded genuine. “Somehow I figured you wouldn’t be a cheap date. You have your choice, Counselor, of a Bud Light or a Corona.”
“Corona’s fine.”
She slipped by him into the kitchen, fluttering a hand across his arm as she went. His skin tingled under the easy contact. “Your other choice is pizza off a plate or out of the box.”
“The box is fine.” He leaned against the doorjamb to watch her pull a pair of beers from the fridge and pop off the tops. When she reached him and held out one of the bottles, he took it, holding her gaze. “I’m just glad to be here with you.”
She didn’t look away, but bit her bottom lip. “We changed everything last night, didn’t we?”
He nodded. “I’m not sorry about that, Cee. Are you?”
Sadness invaded her eyes and she dropped her gaze. She walked to the table and flipped open the box. Savory aromas of tomato and cheese rose. “I can be sorry later, can’t I?”
Something in her voice pulled at him. He crossed to stand beside her and set his beer aside. Cupping her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Celia?”
Eyes closed, she shook her head. “This wasn’t very smart, McMillian. We can’t go back now. We have to work together. Hell, you’re my boss—”
“Not here.” He slid his hands over the smoothness of her shoulders and upper arms, soothing the palpable tension there. “Not tonight. Here, now, I’m just the man who wants to be with you.”
She opened her eyes then. “What are we doing?”
Fingering the silk of her hair, he tucked it behind her ear. “We’re moving on.”
“What does that mean?” She tugged away from his easy hold. “You said it wasn’t enough, McMillian, and you’re right. I thought I could be your lover, let it be all about the sex, but I can’t. It’s not…it’s not me.”
He trailed a finger down the side of her throat, brushing the fine links of the silver chain about her neck. “We don’t have to set all the parameters now, Cee. Why don’t we just let things be, see where they go?”
She gave him a look. “Oh, I don’t know, McMillian. Probably because if they implode, we still have to work together—”
His kiss stopped the words. “Enough. For tonight, it’s just you and me. No office, no cases, just the two of us. Okay?”
With a sigh, she nodded. “All right.”
“Good.” He kissed her again. “Because right now, all I want to do is look at you and listen to your voice and forget about how close Nate Holton came to taking us both out.”
A shudder traveled over her and he felt it under his hands. She pulled away. “I heard you already had a run-in with Judge Baker about him.”
“That was real productive.” He accepted the warm slice of pizza she proffered and sank onto one of her dining chairs. She curled into another, feet tucked under her. “Although I swear if Baker lets him off with a reduced sentence this time, I’ll file a complaint.”
A grin flirted with her mouth. “You’re a tough son of a bitch, McMillian. I like that.”
He swallowed the urge to ask her what else she liked, along with a bite of pizza. Savoring the spicy blend of cheese and pepperoni, he cast about for something to say. She left him tongue-tied in a way he couldn’t remember another woman ever had.
All right, hot shot, you said you wanted to get to know her. Keep up your end of the conversation.
A look around the room didn’t offer any clues to her life outside the job. He washed the pizza down with a swig of Corona. “So tell me about Celia St. John away from the office.”
She lifted her bottle and sipped, her gaze shuttered. “There’s not much to tell.”
He leaned back, spinning the bottle on the table. “No pleading the Fifth, Ms. St. John. What are you doing while I’m swimming, watching the Braves and collecting baseball cards?”
“Celia. Stop evading.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged, an uncomfortable roll of her shoulders. “I go to the range and work on my aim. Cicely and I do this movie-and-dinner thing every couple of weeks. I run several times a week. I used to play tennis, but my doubles partner moved to Macon, so it’s been awhile.”
“I play, although my backhand’s not as strong as my handicap.” He let the bottle rest and reached to pick up her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. A grin tugged at his mouth. “We could play one Saturday. You can wipe up the court with me.”
Her fingers tightened around his briefly, warming him. “Sounds like false modesty, McMillian.”
They finished eating, washing down slices of pizza with sips of beer and small talk. Tom felt the tension gripping his neck and shoulders slip away. Afterwards, he carried the empty pizza box out to her trashcan and returned to the kitchen to find her stowing empty bottles in a recycling container under the sink. He paused in the doorway, struck by the ordinariness of the evening. When was the last time he’d found such satisfaction in such simplicity?
He honest to God couldn’t remember.
She straightened, and catching his gaze on her, smiled. This time, the expression lit her eyes, turning them to shining crystal. Arms crossed over her midriff, she leaned against the counter, her gaze traveling over him like a touch.
Under her scrutiny, he altered his stance. “What?”
Still smiling, she lifted her chin and crossed the distance between them. Heat kicked off in his gut, arousal buzzing to life in his groin. She rubbed a finger down his tie. “I love this tie on you.”
A surprised laugh tore from his throat. “Yeah?”
She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her hand wrapping around the blue silk. “Oh, yeah. But I think I might like it better off.”
Fumbling with the knot, she pulled him into her. He dipped his head, taking her mouth, and she laughed against his lips, tugging him toward the dining room.
“I thought this was all about dinner,” he said, rubbing his hands over her bare back. Even as he uttered the words, he knew they were a token protest. No way he would turn down the opportunity to make love to her again. He hardened, excitement sizzling through him.
“You talk too much, McMillian.” Hands flat on his chest, she pushed him into a dining chair. She straddled him, resting on his thighs. He shifted, unbearably aroused, and she leaned in to stroke the tip of her tongue over his lips. “Maybe you should put that talented mouth to better use.”
He gripped her waist and pulled her tighter against him. With a harsh chuckle, he nuzzled the curve of her jaw. “Like this?”
“Like that.” She slid his tie free and tossed it aside. He slid his mouth to her ear, grazing the lobe with his teeth, and she shuddered. “Just like that.”
She pulled his shirt open, hauled his undershirt free and ran her hands over his abdomen. At her urgent touch, his muscles contracted, a flush of excitement tingling into his belly and lower. She ground into him, an exquisite pressure. He groaned. “Damn, Cee.”
Her head fell back and he trailed his mouth along her throat, pulling the tie of her halter loose at the same time. He slipped his hands up to cup the warmth of her breasts, his gaze tracing the line of her necklace. A silver uniform button rested against her cleavage. With his mouth, he caressed the spot just above the “V” of the chain. She made a tiny sound in her throat, a cross between a moan and a sigh.
Opening her eyes, she caught his gaze, her eyes dark with need. She pushed up. “I want you inside me. Now.”
She snapped open the button-fly on her jeans and skimmed them down, taking a scrap of white satin with them. His eyes on her, Tom lifted one hip to free his wallet. He laid the plastic-encased condom on one thigh and fumbled with his own fly. She gave him a wicked smile and brushed his hands away. “Let me.”
In moments, she dispatched his button and lowered his zipper. She wrapped a hand around his erection and he closed his eyes, a smothered growl escaping him as she stroked him, up, down, up again.
“Celia.” He forced her name out and opened his eyes, need burning. “Come here.”
With a sultry laugh, she rolled the thin latex over his hard dick and sank onto him, thighs flexing against his, the silky wetness of her body enfolding him. He thrust upward, seeking, needing to be deeper inside her. Her husky laughter turned to a slow, guttural moan that punched him in the gut.
Shaking back her tousled hair, she settled her hands on his shoulders, lifting and rising over him. Her teeth caught her lower lip, face flushed with passion. He stroked the sides of her breasts, cradling them, flicking at the hardened tips with his thumbs. He pushed harder inside her, lost to everything but her and the sensations sparking between them.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“McMillian.” His name left her lips on a torn murmur and jolted him with an urge to taste it. He cradled her head in one hand and pulled her mouth to his for a series of nipping kisses, matching the rhythm of his upward thrusts.
Damn, this felt right, being with her, losing himself in her.
His thumb brushed the tiny bandage on her chin, covering the small cut there, and a visceral shudder worked through him, images of Holton’s truck barreling through the intersection alive in his head again. He could have lost her, in an instant. The idea hurt more than it should.
“Don’t,” she murmured against his jaw, her voice broken and raw. “Don’t think about it. Not now.”
The warmth of her pushed the chill from his skin. Urgency built in him, something not quite satisfied by the movements of her body on his. He wanted more, needed more.
He needed something to set him apart, something that gave him a unique spot in her life. He refused to examine the why of that, but he accepted it.
“Say it,” he whispered near her ear.
“Say what?” She arched into him, her voice breathless. Her nails bit into his shoulders.
“My name. Let me hear you say it, Cee.”
Her eyes slid closed and she bit her lip again. “McMillian—”
“No, not—”
Her breathy moan warmed his skin, her body contracting around him. His body reacted, the sudden climax slamming into him, stealing his ability to think, to breathe.
She collapsed against him, panting, laughter shaking her.
He rubbed a hand down her damp back, shaking off the cold emptiness trying to take up residence in his chest. He didn’t want that here with her. “What’s funny?”
Pushing her hair away from her face, she lifted her head, sultry amusement glinting in her eyes. “Your tie is all I got off.”
It sank in then, the erotic picture they must make—him still fully clothed in the straight chair, a naked, satiated woman sprawled over his lap. A satisfied exhale rumbled from his chest and he hugged her close, smoothing both palms down her back. He closed his eyes, even as her sweet laughter wrapped around him, filling the gaping hole he’d carried around with him forever.
Celia sighed against his throat. “Hmmm, that was nice.”
“Nice?” He laughed, inhaling the warmth of her scent mingled with his own. “That was fucking fantastic.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” She looped her arms around his neck, her cheek against his shoulder. With a gentle finger, she traced the edge of his collar. “McMillian, I don’t…it’s been a while since I’ve done this, the whole getting-to-know-you thing. I’m not…I haven’t had time for it.”
He hadn’t made time for it, hadn’t wanted to get to know any other woman the way he did this one. He molded the line of her spine, her skin smooth under his questing fingers. Warm tendrils of acceptance and contentment unfurled within him. This was good, simply being with her this way. With her hair tickling his cheek, he nuzzled her ear. “I’m glad you found time for m
e.”
“So am I.” She lifted her head and slid her hands forward to grip his collar. She kissed him, mouth clinging to his, nipping lightly at his lower lip. He held her closer, soaking in the peace and the way being with her felt totally right. Her fingers made short work of the remaining buttons on his shirt and she pushed the fabric aside, a whimsical smile curving her lush mouth. “Why don’t we carve out a little more?”
Chapter Eight
“Glad I dropped by for breakfast?” McMillian’s deep voice purred near her ear.
Celia laughed, her hands shaking a little as she tried to measure coffee into the filter. The heat of him along her back, the pleasure of his hands cupping her breasts, his touch warm through her short gown, made it difficult to concentrate. “I don’t think breakfast is what you came for.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He nipped at the side of her neck and rubbed his thumbs over her aching nipples in slow, teasing circles. “Ms. St. John, surely you’re not implying I had other motives?”
“Not motives, plural,” she sighed, abandoning the coffee to lean into his strong form. Her eyes slid closed, reawakened desire stirring in her. Amazing she could still want him this much, after everything they’d done the night before. “More like motive, singular.”
“Oh, I’ve definitely got one thing on my mind.” He rolled a hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending pleasure through her, wringing a gasp from her lips. “You.”
She settled her hands on his thighs, muscles taut beneath her touch. She pushed back into his evident erection. “The famous McMillian focus?”
He chuckled, a hand easing down her waist to her hip, along her thigh to the hem of her gown. Hot fingers slid beneath, moving the fabric upward, slowly, inexorably.
“Something like that.” He turned her in his arms and she caught a glimpse of smoldering blue eyes before he lifted her to sit on the counter. A hand planted on either side of her, he loomed over her. “Tell me about that fantasy from the other night.”