by Joyce Lamb
“Please, I’d like to get up now.”
She put a hand against his chest for leverage and started to move off of him. The change in position made her ass grind right against his crotch. He jerked in a breath, shocked at how quickly blood rushed to that spot. Fuck, he was getting hard. “Uh, you might want to be still.”
She froze, her gaze flying up to his. Color flooded her face. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
He had to laugh. She was apologizing for his inability to control himself.
“What should I do?” she asked, her voice lower now, hoarse.
He groaned and closed his eyes. It was as though the raspy words had stroked right over his most sensitive spot. Throbbing began in earnest, his length already so hard he desperately needed to reposition himself to ease some of the pressure. Yet if he moved, he would end up rubbing against her more fully, and that would make things worse. Christ, just thinking about it was making things worse. He wasn’t going to be able to will this away. Hell, a cold shower might not take care of it. He was such an asshole. A sex-starved asshole.
“Just give me a minute,” he muttered, eyes tightly closed. A minute? More like an hour. He breathed in slowly, evenly, only to have the tropical scent of her hair swim through his senses. Jesus.
Her hand left his chest, and the tiny amount of friction the movement caused against his crotch made stars burst in his head. Another possible embarrassment roared into his brain. If she moved like that again, he might come like a damn teenager. Holy shit, he was pathetic. And more turned-on than he’d ever been. For a crazy moment, he considered suggesting it’d be a shame to let this raging erection go to waste. But instead he clenched his teeth together and began to count to twenty. He lost his train of thought at fifteen when he felt her breath caress his lips.
And then her soft mouth touched his, and his eyes snapped open.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Noah sprang to life under her, his hands flying up to plunge into her hair and hold the sides of her head while his mouth devoured hers. His tongue, both seeking and bold, took her breath, and he was rising with her in his arms, shifting her as if she weighed nothing until her legs could wrap around his waist. She moaned a little when the dress hiked up and her center settled against his rigid length. Oh, God, what had she started?
Oh, God, don’t let it stop.
When he’d grasped her arm, she’d lived those seconds when he’d been hit by the bullet, lived his moments of fear, regret and pain. He’d thought he was going to die, and she’d felt his anguished disappointment that he hadn’t done more with his life, been more. He’d thought about his parents, wishing he’d made more effort to be there for them when they got older. He’d thought of the sister he hadn’t seen in years, the nephew he never tried to get close to. He’d thought of a young man, a close friend, in a pool of blood and gore while blinding shame tore through him. And he’d thought of Laurette and how he’d let her down, first by not being a better man and second by not finding her killer before his own death.
Charlie didn’t know how she’d managed to feel all of this in the seconds she was inside his head. Maybe the intensity of his emotions when he’d been shot had ramped up the intensity of her experience. Whatever the case, she now knew Noah Lassiter in a way she had known no other person. He was troubled, passionate, flawed. He craved connection. He feared love. He wanted to live.
So when she’d been sitting on his lap, watching his fierce concentration as he’d tried to control his body’s response to her, it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world for her to press her lips to his, to give him what he craved and receive what she craved in return. Connection.
Now, he pitched forward onto the bed and came down on top of her, the movement driving him hard against the aching spot between her legs. She jolted at the incredible sensation, her gasp swallowed by his mouth covering hers. His hands were everywhere, undoing the front of the dress, sliding under her bra, cupping her breasts. She didn’t know when he’d unhooked her bra, but he laid it open and his mouth went to work on her right nipple. His tongue rolled, and his lips sucked so hard that stabbing need arched her up off the bed.
And then he had the dress completely off, and his fingers were sliding into her panties, oh, God, driving her to heaven. She wanted to tell him to slow down. She hadn’t even had a chance to touch him, but his hunger was overwhelming and before she could even squeak out a suggestion, he was stripping away her underwear and nudging her thighs farther apart. She raised her head to say something, she didn’t know what, but the words turned into a moan of astonished pleasure when he plunged his tongue into her heat. She grabbed at the sheets beneath her to keep from bucking him off.
She peaked fast, choking back a cry, and just when she thought he was going to let her catch her breath and perhaps let her return the favor, he was kissing his way up her belly, stopping to explore her navel with his tongue, and then each nipple, laving and sucking and nipping. By the time he got to her mouth, she was still panting. Her head swirled with shock at what he’d just done to her, and how quickly, and prayers that he wasn’t finished with her yet.
“That’s better,” he murmured as he spread light kisses along the underside of her chin.
She released a soft laugh, her head spinning with his heady, musky scent. He was so large that she felt small, even fragile, beside him. His hand cupped her breast, and she glanced down, gasping as he caught her nipple between two large fingers and gently squeezed.
“Your nipples are so sensitive,” he said, and bent his head to take the other one into his mouth.
She let her head fall back, shifting restlessly under this new assault. She ran her hands up his arms, marveling at the sharp definition of his tensed muscles, then up around his neck and into the thick hair at the back of his neck. Everything about him was big and hard, yet smooth and satiny. And she wanted him naked, wanted him inside her with an urgency that stunned her. In fact, everything about this moment was stunning. Before doubts could temper her bliss, she moved her hand to the waistband of his shorts, slid her fingers under.
The tight muscles under her hand contracted, and Noah’s breathing deepened. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.
She paused, confused. He didn’t want her to touch him?
“Trust me,” he said. “I want you so much it’s killing me, but I’m not so sure this is what you want.”
She raised her gaze to his, almost laughed. “Are you nuts?”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating his chest against her arm. “I hear myself saying it, and in my head, I’m telling myself to shut the hell up.”
“I’ll say it, too. Shut the hell up and let me—”
His fingers closed over her wrist before she could claim the prize. “If you were someone else, I’d already be inside you,” he said, his voice guttural.
Frustration at the image that loomed in her head made her groan, and she looked up into his green eyes. “Like who? Who would I have to be?”
He smiled, though it looked strained. “Anyone but you.”
Huh? “I’m not sure how to take that.”
He sighed, lightly skimming his hand over her left breast until her nipple stabbed at his palm. She swallowed at the ache his touch sent spiraling down to her center. He was right there, hard as steel and ready for the taking, caressing her almost reverently, yet he was holding back. It had to be painful.
“This is exactly where I wanted you,” he said, “the minute you walked through that door tonight, but I don’t think you’re thinking on all cylinders. And I’m not the kind of guy to take advantage. At least not with you.”
He lowered his head and kissed her. The stroke of his tongue against hers wiped her brain clean of questions and insecurity. When he raised his head, she was breathless and achy and wondering whether she could wrestle him onto his back and take him against his will.
She looked up into his eyes as she glided a hand from his cheek down to the front of his broad, ha
ir-free chest. The pad of her thumb found his right nipple, and she pressed and wiggled it, still holding his gaze. His breath sucked in, and he muttered, “Oh, hell, who am I kidding?” before his mouth came down on hers again, hot and insistent.
She arched against him, so relieved she laughed against his lips. “Thank God.”
With an answering laugh, he rolled on top of her and settled between her legs. “Thank God indeed.”
Eager to have him fill her, she worked her hand between them and stroked her fingers over the front of his gym shorts. He was so thick and hard and hot that her mouth watered with anticipation.
“Someone needs to come out and play,” she whispered as she caught his earlobe between her teeth.
He shuddered, then braced above her on his hands to grant her free access. She smoothed her hands down his flanks, loving the hard ripples of muscle, then moved her hands over his hips, sliding his shorts down to his thighs. His cock sprang free of its constraints and bobbed above her, its tip glistening with evidence that it was more than ready for action.
“Wow,” she breathed, fascinated and a little afraid. He was never going to fit, yet she couldn’t wait to try him on.
His chuckle had an edge. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
She reached for him, closing her hand over hot velvet skin that encased unyielding iron. “It’s way too late,” she said, and reared up to capture his lips.
He settled onto her with a groan, catching his hands in her hair. She shifted eagerly to center him.
“Wait,” he choked, the slight thrust of his hips bumping his cock against her heat.
“Now what?” she gasped, ready to scream with frustration.
“Condom?”
“Pill.”
He swallowed hard, positioned right at her entrance, his tip applying only slight but maddening pressure. “I’m clean,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“Is that a turnoff?”
“That you’re clean?”
“No, that I brought it up now.”
She nipped at his chin, reveling at the scrape of his whiskers. “Not at all.” Then she kissed him hard, telling him with her tongue what she wanted him to do. Now.
But instead of plunging, he grasped her hands and pinned them to either side of her head. His cock was so rigid that he didn’t have to guide himself to her. He just eased into her an inch and groaned, the cords in his neck standing out. “You’re so tight.”
She let out a breathless laugh but couldn’t form words to respond. The pressure was almost as overwhelming as the pleasure as he eased in another inch. Impossibly, she felt herself building to another climax and he wasn’t even halfway in.
He lowered his head, concentration tightening the muscles in his face as he rotated his hips in a way that wrung a moan from her throat. She was almost there, reaching, straining.
“I’m not going to last,” he gasped. “You feel too good.”
She moved against him, trying to take more of him, wanting all of him before it was too late. “Hurry, please, hurry.”
He answered her with a short thrust. She bowed back, sucking in a harsh breath. Oh, God, he was huge, stretching her, filling her. When he began to withdraw, the heavy dragging sensation against the center of her world sent her head back into the pillow. His lips pressed to her arched throat before he thrust again, harder this time, filling her with more, more, until he rocked against the spot that made her world implode.
She cried out, pulling her hands free and grabbing his hips to hang on as he surged into her, again, again, again, his powerful thrusts drawing out her orgasm until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could do nothing but mindlessly ride the waves crashing into her.
And then he stiffened, throwing his head back and groaning through clenched teeth as he came. He kept thrusting, as though he couldn’t stop himself, thrusting and coming and groaning.
In the next instant, everything in Charlie’s head transformed with a dizzying jerk. A shuddering sensation like she’d never known surged up from the center of her body, and she felt herself drive forward into soft, wet heat, thrusting, thrusting as a dark bliss clamped down on all sides, engulfing her, sucking at her, squeezing. A freight train roared in her head. Oh, God, oh, God, so tight, so hot, not enough, it’s not enough. And then every muscle went rigid and suddenly she was gushing, spurting, rocketing. Charlie. Oh, God, oh, Jesus. Charlie.
She came back to herself with a harsh inhalation, aware first of Noah collapsed beside her, one big hand splayed possessively over her belly as he struggled for breath. Once his breathing calmed, he kissed her, his lips and tongue languid and gentle, serene. The depth of the kiss brought tears to her eyes. He settled back beside her but kept running his hand over her breasts, her abdomen, up over her chest and throat, as though he couldn’t get enough of touching her, caressing her.
As her heart dropped out of overdrive, she replayed what just happened. That last orgasm had been so different, so unusual . . . as though she had somehow been turned inside out—
Her heart rate kicked back into high gear as it hit her.
That wasn’t her climax. It was his.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Charlie let herself into her hotel room, her heart still racing, her whole body feeling flushed and languid. Noah, Noah, Noah. Heat suffused her face as she chanted his name in her head. A mixture of elation and incredulity flowed through her that she’d connected with him in a way that even now seemed impossible. And who knew it would be so incredible? Who knew she would get the added bonus of popping into his head and experiencing his shattering orgasm?
God, her body still seemed to hum with energy. Maybe it was adrenaline, but she preferred to think of it as life. She’d been dying a little every day for the past month, ever since she and Mac had split, stressed and unhappy and even a little desperate. Noah had reawakened her. Noah.
She’d left him snoring, slipping out the door with her bra jammed in her purse, too wired to sleep and not wanting to disturb him. Besides, she needed some time to think.
Sighing, she dropped onto the edge of the closest bed and picked up the phone to check her voice mail at home. A message from her dad, surprisingly, and three messages from Alex, not surprisingly, each one sounding more concerned than the last. Crap, she should have called her sister a long time ago, but she hadn’t wanted to worry her. Instead, she’d probably worried her even more. Geez, she couldn’t seem to get anything right these days. Except sex with Noah. Now that had been about as right as anything could get.
Releasing a shuddery sigh at the memories, she listened to her last message.
“Yes, hello, Simon Walker of Walker Media calling, and I fear I’m about to leave you a highly disorganized message, as is my habit. I just arrived in your fair city and I’m a bit taken aback by how simply splendid the weather is here. I flew in from New York, where the jet had to be deiced before we could take off. It’s a frightening thing, sitting there and watching them spray that pink foam on the wings. You have to worry about whether they’re being thorough enough.” He stopped, took an audible breath and chuckled warmly. “Ah, yes, why I called. Word on the street is that the Java Bean has excellent coffee. I do hope you’ll meet me there, Charlie Trudeau. I have a proposition for you, of the journalism kind. How about seven P.M.? I do hope to see you there.”
Click.
She lowered the phone, stunned. Billionaire newspaper magnate Simon Walker wanted to meet with the woman soon to be famous for single-handedly killing a community newspaper? He probably wanted to know how to prevent stunts like hers from occurring at his hundreds of daily newspapers across the nation. Great. More salt for her wounds.
She checked her watch. Almost a quarter of seven. Should she bother or pretend she didn’t get the message? Except it was Simon Walker. If she ever wanted to work in journalism again, she probably shouldn’t dis the biggest cheese.
Sighing, she tried Alex’s number at work.
&
nbsp; “Alex Trudeau.”
“It’s me.”
“Where the hell are you?” Alex shouted into the phone. “I’ve been worried sick. Logan said you’ve checked in at the Royal Palm, but he wouldn’t tell me what’s going on. He said that was up to you. Bastard. Makes me want to take his head right off.”
Charlie couldn’t help but chuckle. “If I’d known Logan’s life was at stake . . .”
“It’s not funny, you bitch.”
She heard the joking, and relief, in Alex’s tone but sobered anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“What room are you in? I’m coming over there after work.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. You’re going to tell me what’s going on with you if I have to sit on you and force it out.”
“What about the menagerie?” Charlie asked. Alex had a second career taking in stray dogs in her neighborhood.
“I’ll check in on them before I come by. So stop arguing already.”
“Fine, fine. I’m in 514.”
“I’ll bring the margarita mix.”
After a quick shower and a change into khaki slacks and a red polo, Charlie walked into the Java Bean at five to seven and paused to scan the customers, having no idea what Simon Walker looked like. The usual suspects were here. Three teen girls huddled on a sofa, giggling as they took turns casting longing glances at a table of two hunky but apparently clueless guys. At least four patrons sat alone at small tables, their attention fixed on the laptops opened before them. A young couple, tan and beautiful, sat across from each other, holding hands as they alternately sipped coffee and gazed into each others’ eyes. Charlie thought of Noah and enjoyed the tingle that ran up her spine, and through other, private, areas. Maybe she’d have time to visit him again before Alex showed up tonight.
The tempting scents of coffee and warm chocolate filled her head, and her stomach growled to remind her she hadn’t had dinner. Seeing as how no one had acknowledged her entrance, she assumed Simon Walker wasn’t here yet. She was about to approach the counter to get a snack to hold her over, perhaps one of those big-ass chocolate chip cookies the Bean was famous for, when the door behind her opened. She turned to see an older man with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and craggy features amble in.
