He blurred in her sight. She was shaking. Her whole body rippled in a shuddering parody of convulsions, whipping against his while her mouth opened, gasping at air, and her voice uttered sounds she'd never heard from it in her entire life.
"Get it,'' he groaned. "Yes. Get it...!"
He cried out and then his body, too, began to shudder rhythmically. A sound like a harsh sob tore from his throat. He groaned endlessly as his body shivered into completion. Seconds, minutes, hours, an eternity of pleasure later, he collapsed on her.
They both shivered in the aftermath. She felt tears on her face, in her mouth. She couldn't breathe. Her body ached, even inside, and when she moved, she felt pleasure stab her in the most secret places, where she could still feel him.
She sobbed, her nails biting into the hands pinning her wrists.
He lifted his head. "Look at me," he whispered, and when she did, he began to move again.
She sobbed harder, her legs parting, her hips lifting for him, her whole body shivering in a maelstrom of unbelievable delight.
"I can go again, right now," he whispered huskily, holding her eyes. "Can you? Or will it hurt?"
"I can't...feel pain," she whimpered. Her eyes closed on a shiver and then opened again, right into his. "Oh, please," she whispered brokenly. "Please, please...!"
He began to move, very slowly. "I love watching you," he whispered breathlessly. "Your face is beautiful, like this. Your body..." He looked down at it, watching its sensuous movements in response to his own. "I could eat you with a spoon right now, Mrs. Hart," he added shakily. "You are every dream of perfection that I've ever had."
"And you...are mine," she whispered. She lifted up to him, initiating the rhythm, whimpering softly as the pleasure began to climb all over again. "I love you...so much," she sobbed.
His body clenched. He groaned, arched, his face going into her throat as his body took over from his mind and buffeted her violently.
She went over the edge almost at once, holding on for dear life while he took what he wanted from her. It was feverish, ardent, overwhelming. She thought she might faint from the ecstasy when it throbbed into endless satiation. He went with her, every second of the way. She felt him when his body gave up the pleasure he sought, felt the rigor, heard the helpless throb of his voice at her ear when he shuddered and then relaxed completely.
She held him close, drinking in the intimate sound and feel and scent of his big body over hers in the damp bed. It had been a long, wild loving. She'd never imagined, even in their most passionate encounters, that lovemaking would be like this.
She told him so, in shy whispers.
He didn't answer her. He was still, and quiet, for such a long time that she became worried.
"Are you all right?" she whispered at his ear. Over her, she could hear and feel the beat of his heart as it slowly calmed.
His head lifted, very slowly. He looked into her wide eyes. "I lost consciousness for a few seconds," he said quietly. He touched her lower lip, swollen from the fierce pressure of his mouth just at the last. "I thought...! might die, trying to get deep enough to satisfy us both."
She flushed.
He put his finger over her lips. He wasn't smiling. He moved deliberately, letting her feel him. "You aren't on the Pill," he said. "And I was too hot to even think of any sort of birth control. Janie," he added, hesitantly, "I think I made you pregnant."
Her eyes searched his. "You said you wanted to," she reminded him in a whisper.
"I do. But it should have been your choice, too," he continued, sounding worried.
She traced his long, elegant nose and smiled with delicious exhaustion. "Did you hear me shouting, Leo, stop and run to the pharmacy to buy protection!"
He laughed despite the gravity of the situation. "Was that about the time I was yelling, 'get it, baby'?"
She hit his chest, flushed, and then laughed.
"You did, too, didn't you?" he asked with a smug grin. "So did I. Repeatedly." He groaned as he moved slowly away from her and flopped onto his back, stretching his sore muscles. "Damn, I'm sore! And I told you I could go all night, didn't I?"
She sat up, torn between shock and amusement as she met his playful eyes. "Sore? Men get sore?"
"When they go at it like that, they do," he replied sardonically. "What a wedding night," he said, whistling through his lips as he studied her nude body appreciatively. "If they gave medals, you could have two."
Her eyebrows arched. "Really? I was...I was all right?"
He tugged her down to him. "Women have egos too, don't they?" he asked tenderly. He pushed her damp hair away from her cheeks and mouth. "You were delicious. I've never enjoyed a woman so much."
"I didn't know anything at all."
He brought her head down and kissed her eyelids. "It isn't a matter of knowledge."
She searched his eyes. "You had enough of that for both of us," she murmured.
"Bodies in the dark," he said, making it sound unimportant. "I wanted to have you in the light, Janie," he said solemnly. "I wanted to look at you while I was taking you."
"That's a sexist remark," she teased.
"You took me as well," he conceded. He touched her mouth with a long forefinger. "I've never seen anything so beautiful," he whispered, and sounded breathless. "Your face, your body..." His face clenched. “And the pleasure.'' His eyes closed and he shivered. "I've never known anything like it." His eyes opened again. "It was love," he whispered to her, scowling. "Making love. Really making love."
Her breath caught in her throat. She traced his sideburn to his ear. "Yes."
"Do you know what I'm trying to tell you?" he asked quietly.
She looked down into his eyes and saw it there. Her heart jumped into her throat. "You're telling me that you love me," she said.
He nodded. "I love you. I knew it when Clark assaulted you, and I went at him. It hurt my pride that I couldn't make him beg for forgiveness. I cleaned you up and dried your hair, and knew that I loved you, all at once. It was a very small step from there to a wedding ring." He brought hers to his lips and kissed it tenderly. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Not after that."
She smiled dreamily. "I loved you two years ago, when you brought me a wilted old daisy you'd picked out in the meadow, and teased me about it being a bouquet. You didn't know it, but to me, it was."
"I've given you a hard time," he told her, with obvious regret. "I'm sorry."
She leaned down and kissed him tenderly. "You made up for it." She moved her breasts gently against his chest "I really can go all night," she whispered. "When you've recovered, I'll show you."
He chuckled under the soft press of her mouth, and his big arms swallowed her. "When you're recovered, I'll let you. I love you, Mrs. Hart. I love you with all my heart"
"I love you with all mine." She kissed him again, and thought how dreams did, sometimes, actually come true.
A week later, they celebrated their first Christmas together at a family party, to which Janie's father, aunt Lydia and Hettie were also invited. After kissing her with exquisite tenderness beneath the mistletoe, Leo gave Janie an emerald necklace, to match her eyes he said, and she gave him an expensive pocket watch, with his name and hers engraved inside the case.
On New Year's Eve, the family gathered with other families at the Jacobsville Civic Center for the first annual celebration. A live band played favorites and couples danced on the polished wood floor. Calhoun Ballenger had mused aloud that since Jacobsville's economy was based on cattle and agriculture, they should drop a pair of horns instead of a ball to mark the new year. He was red-faced at the celebration, when the city fathers took him seriously and did that very thing.
While Leo and Janie stood close together on the patio of the second floor ballroom to watch the neon set of long-horns go down to the count, a surprising flurry of snow came tumbling from the sky to dust the heads of the crowd.
"It's snowing!" Janie exclaim
ed, holding out a hand to catch the fluffy precipitation. "But it never snows in Jacobsville! Well, almost never."
Leo caught her close as the horns went to the bottom of the courthouse tower across the street and bent to her mouth, smiling. "One more wish come true," he teased, because he knew how much she loved snow. "Happy New Year, my darling," he whispered.
"Happy New Year," she whispered back, and met his kiss with loving enthusiasm, to the amused glances of the other guests. They were, after all, newlyweds.
The new year came and soon brought with it unexpected tragedy. John Clark went back to Victoria to get his jailed brother a famous attorney, but he didn't have any money. So he tried to rob a bank to get the money. He was caught in the act by a security guard and a Texas Ranger who was working on a case locally. Judd Dunn was one of the two men who exchanged shots with Clark in front of the Victoria Bank and Trust. Clark missed. Judd and the security guard didn't. Ballistics tests were required to pinpoint who fired the fatal bullet.
Jack Clark, still in jail in Victoria, was let out long enough to attend his brother's funeral in Victoria. He escaped from the kindly sheriffs deputy who was bringing him back in only handcuffs instead of handcuffs and leg chains. After all, Jack Clark had been so docile and polite, and even cried at his brother's grave. The deputy was rewarded for his compassion by being knocked over the head twice with the butt of his own .38 caliber service revolver and left for dead in a driving rain in the grass next to the Victoria road. Later that day, his squad car was found deserted a few miles outside Victoria.
It was the talk of the town for several days, and Leo and Janie stayed close to home, because they knew Clark had scores to settle all around Jacobsville. They were in their own little world, filled with love. They barely heard all the buzz and gossip. But what they did hear was about Tippy Moore and Cash Grier.
"Tippy's not Grier's sort," Janie murmured sleepily. They didn't do a lot of sleeping at night, even now. She cuddled up in her husband's lap and nuzzled close. "He needs someone who is gentle and sweet. Not a harpy."
He wrapped her up close and kissed the top of her head. "What would you know about harpies?" he teased. "You're the sweetest single human being I've ever known."
She smiled.
"Well, except for me, of course," he added.
"Leo Hart!" she exclaimed, drawing back.
"You said I was sweet," he murmured, bending his head. "You said it at least six times. You were clawing my back raw at the time, and swearing that you were never going to live through what I was doing to you..."
She tugged his head down and kissed him hungrily. "You're sweet, all right," she whispered raggedly. "Do it again...!"
He groaned. They were never going to make it to the bed. But the doors were locked...what the hell.
An hour later, he carried her down the hall to their bedroom and tucked her up next to him, exhausted and still smiling.
"At least," he said wearily, "Hopefully Clark will go to prison for a long, long time when he's caught. He won't be in a position to threaten you again."
"Or you." She curled closer. "Did I tell you that Mar-ilee phoned me yesterday?"
He stiffened. "No."
She smiled. "It's okay. She only wanted to apologize. She's going to Europe to visit her grandmother in London. I told her to have a nice trip."
"London's almost far enough away."
She sighed, wrapping her arms around him. "Be generous. She'll never know what it is to be as happy as we are."
"Who will?" he teased, but the look he gave her was serious. He touched her hair, watching her succumb to sleep.
He lay awake for a long time, his eyes intent on her slender, sleeping body. She made wonderful biscuits, she could shoot a shotgun, she made love like a fairy. He wondered what he'd ever done in his life to deserve her.
"Dreams," she whispered, shocking him.
"What, honey?"
Garden Cop (2003)
To Joan Johnston.
She and I really did sing with the marines at a conference we both attended in Atlanta, but she did it better!
One
The woman was brazen. She couldn't have picked a more public spot to grow those marijuana plants. They were right on the main street in the small north Georgia town, right on a leg of the state highway. It was as if she were daring the police to do something about them.
Little did she know, of course, that Curtis Russell, FBI agent, was visiting his mother right across the street from this brazen woman and her illegal substance. Just because he was on vacation, that pert little blonde shouldn't expect him to look the other way when the law was being broken. He was just off a high-profile murder case in San Antonio, and newly a member of the FBI. He could hardly wait for his first real case.
His dark eyes narrowed as he stared out his mother's picture window across the street, where Marijuana Mary was busily fertilizing her bumper crop. He had to admit, she did look good in those beige shorts and top. She had nicely browned skin, and prettily rounded arms. She lived alone in a small rental house, and drove one of those new VW Beetles, pea-green with a sunroof. He wondered what she did for a living. She'd just moved in three months ago, according to his mother. Just in time to plant marijuana and get it almost to harvest. It was planted in a neat row beside an equally neat row of tall red flowers.
Curtis, no gardener, had no idea what any of it was, except the marijuana. He'd seen that in pictures.
"Curt, I do believe you've got a crush on that lovely young woman across the street," his mother called amusedly as she mashed potatoes in the kitchen.
"Why do you think so?" he asked abruptly.
"For one thing, you've spent the past three days staring out the window at her," came the teasing reply.
"It isn't a crush," he said with pure disgust. He unwound his six-foot frame from the chair he'd been occupying and stretched lazily, taut muscles rippling down his broad chest, before he wandered into the kitchen where his mother was working at the counter. "Do you know her name?" he asked hopefully.
"Mary Ryan," she replied. "I don't know anything else about her."
"Who owns that house?"
"Greg Henry," she told him. "Why?"
"No reason," he murmured, and pulled out a kitchen chair to straddle. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, his dark hair unruly, his brown eyes smiling at his mother. It had been just the two of them since he was six and his father had died of an untimely heart attack. His mother had held down two jobs just to keep food on the table, working full-time as a reporter for a daily newspaper and doing feature material for a regional magazine as a district staff writer.
Curtis took a paper route when he was ten, and he'd done odd jobs to bring in a little extra money. When he was sixteen, he went to work after school to help take some of the financial burden off her. The only thing he hadn't liked about the Secret Service job he'd had before, or the FBI job he had now, was that he had to be so far away from Matilda Russell. But she had her church work and her circle of friends, and she wasn't a clinging parent. In fact, she still did the odd feature for her old newspaper, but no news. Although she did seem to know a lot of things that weren't in the paper. She had contacts everywhere, in the most surprising sort of places, on both sides of the law.
"Are you still hanging out with that convicted gun runner?" he asked suddenly.
His mother, an elfish silver-haired woman with wicked dark eyes, smiled vacantly. "He wasn't convicted," she said pleasantly, transferring potatoes to a bowl. "Besides, he went straight. He's a college professor now."
"Imagine that?" he asked the table. "Teaching what?"
She pursed her lips. "Ethics."
He almost doubled up laughing.
"Just kidding," she added as she put the last bit of her hot, cooked lunch on the table and went to get place settings for the two of them. "He teaches criminal justice."
"That's still ironic."
"Lots of young men
get into trouble once," she pointed out and gave him a speaking look as she put plates, silverware and napkins at two places. She went back for coffee cups and the carafe that held the coffee, adding a cream pitcher and sugar bowl to the menagerie on the inexpensive lace tablecloth.
"At least I had the decency to wreck my own house instead of a stranger's," he said with a rueful smile.
"And the good sense to know friends using illegal drugs could lead to trouble," she added. She sighed, studying her only child. "I was never so scared in my life when you were involved in that bust and we went before the judge with your attorney," she added somberly. "I'd covered drug-related stories for ten years. It was terrifying to see it firsthand."
He got up and hugged her warmly. "I never messed up again," he reminded her with a kiss. "I catch guys who do that, now," he added.
"You go after much bigger game than teenagers experimenting with drugs," she replied, holding him by both arms. "I'm very proud of you. That was a first-rate job you did in San Antonio, helping to track down and return that hacker from South America to trial in Texas. Even the state attorney general praised you."
He shrugged. "Shucks, it weren't nothin'," he drawled.
She popped him one on the upper arm and went to sit down. "Just watch your back," she cautioned. "It was bad enough thinking you might have to throw yourself in front of a bullet for some visiting dignitary," she said, referring to his earlier stint in the Secret Service. "It's worse having you working homicide cases."
"Why is it worse?" he teased.
She leaned toward him. "Because I'm retired! Can you think of the scoops I’d have had if you'd done this when I was still an ace reporter?"
He grinned. "You could always come out of retirement and write news instead of little feature articles on some guy's giant pumpkin."
"I like sleeping all night," she mused, pouring coffee into both their cups. "I like not having to spend holidays looking at crime scenes or listening to politicians defend harebrained policies that don't work. Roses," she added, "are much less demanding than editors, and I don't have to pack a laptop and a camera everywhere I go."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 324
