by Kylie Brant
A wholly masculine surge of satisfaction filled him. The sound of her passion stripped away the last veneer of civility he possessed. There would be nothing between them but this. The pleasure they gave each other as they rode the vicious ache of desire to its inevitable shattering conclusion. Just the thought of it, the wild release that was just tantalizingly out of reach, made his blood rage.
He lifted his head enough to rasp out, "Open the door."
Juliette was slow to respond. Movements sluggish, she reached out, hand trembling on the keypad. After a couple failed attempts she recited the combination for him and he punched it in with barely restrained force. With her still wrapped around him, he strode into the apartment and to her bedroom.
The sun was still bright as it streamed into the room, patterning the bed with ribbons of light. He laid her back on the bed, obeying her unspoken command as she pulled him down with her. Kicking off his shoes, he skimmed his mouth over her shoulders, down her arms and began a slow, thorough exploration of her body.
He found soft secret places that were exquisitely sensitive. Places that made her sigh, others that made her moan. The bend of an elbow. The crease behind her knees. He was on a journey of discovery, taking as much pleasure in the task as he gave.
A whimper of frustration escaped her and she clutched at his shoulders, tried to pull him back up to her. "Now."
With slitted eyes he studied her, brushing her heavy mass of hair back from face. "Not yet." He nuzzled the baby soft skin in back of her ear, his hand stroking her stomach not quite soothingly. His fingers grazed the silk covering her mound, found it damp. "There's more. Give me more." He covered her mouth with his even as he moved aside the elastic band of her panties, found the wet heat beneath. Her body shuddered and bucked beneath him as he parted her slick folds, penetrated her with one smooth stroke of his finger.
Her heels pressed against the bed, her back arched. She was moist hot silk as he stroked her, her nails biting into his shoulders as she slowly went wild beneath him. And need slashed through him like a flash of a blade, edgy and keen.
Sam levered himself up enough to strip the panties from her before divesting himself of the rest of his clothes. He was searching through his pants pockets when she reached over, opened the drawer on the nightstand to reveal some foil packets. As he unwrapped one she swayed forward, delicately licked a pearly drop of liquid from the tip of his manhood. His hips jerked in involuntary reaction, one hand spearing through her hair to cup her head. It took every ounce of control he possessed to allow her to unroll the latex over his length, with excruciating slowness. When she'd accomplished that task she cupped him, exploring him with those slender, clever fingers.
He withstood the exquisite torture as long as he could. But a red mist was hazing his vision, signaling the end to his control. He reached for her, hands rougher than he meant them to be when he tossed her back on the bed. Nudging her knees apart he settled between her legs, fit himself intimately to the notch in her thighs. Her slumberous eyes were dark depths of desire that an unwise man could drown in. Her swath of hair was a pool of black silk across the bedspread. And in that instant Sam knew he'd never wanted a woman like this before, until his mind reeled with the strength of the longing. With a flicker of desolation he wondered if he ever would again.
Her hips surged under his, impatient and demanding. He rubbed his lips over hers, even as he reached for her knee, pressed it toward her thigh. He used the position to ease his penetration, sliding inside her with one hard thrust.
Juliette bucked beneath him, body shuddering, arms clasped tightly around his back. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. She was tight as a fist around him, and he could feel the delicate pulsations as her inner muscles adjusted to his entry. Each of her movements seated him more deeply inside her, and his world narrowed in a whirling vortex until she was the focus. She was all he could see. All he could feel.
He surged against her in a slow steady rhythm, ignoring the bite of her nails as she urged him deeper. Faster. But when her legs climbed his hips, clasped around his waist, he knew there was no denying the inevitable. They moved together in a greedy race of urgency. He watched her eyes go blind as she crested, swallowed her cry. And when her body went taut beneath him, drawn tight with shock and pleasure, he hammered himself into her, waiting for her limbs to go lax with the shuddering release. Only then did he allow himself to dive into that freefall of pleasure. And as he followed her over his own jagged brink, all he heard was his name on her lips.
The sunlight had long since faded. Sam and Juliette dozed, woke to reach for each other again, then drifted into light slumber before the desire started anew. She was sprawled on top of him now, her body lax and boneless after their last bout of lovemaking. He stroked her lightly, feeling the delicate vertebra, the rounded curves of her bottom. But his mind wasn't on the satiny texture of her skin. Something far heavier weighed on it.
"I could arrange for you and your grandmother to go to another country," he said more abruptly than he'd intended. He felt her body grow still, and cursed his clumsiness. He was capable of far more finesse, but for some reason this issue seemed beyond diplomacy. "Anywhere you want. Any identity you want. I doubt you lack for money, but if you do, I can get you some. Enough to set you up in a shop. Pay for college. Whatever you choose."
Her voice, when it came, was carefully expressionless. "I can already go anywhere I want. Be anyone I want."
She couldn't have said more clearly that she didn't need him. Not his help. And certainly not his concern for her. "It's only a matter of time until you're caught," he said quietly. His eyes were sightless as he stared into the darkness. "If not by law enforcement then by someone Oppenheimer has hired. Either you end up in prison or dead. What kind of choice is that?"
When she would have moved away from him his arms tightened, keeping her in place. "It's my choice." The words were soft, but with a note of finality. "I … can't explain. But I know what I'm doing, and I … have to finish it. You wouldn't understand. But the risks I take are worth the end result."
Rolling her to her back, he urged, "Think about it. Do you really want to take the chance your grandmother will end up alone? Or even go to prison with you?" The mutinous expression that came across her face made him want to shake her. "For God's sake, wake up before it's too late. No amount of money is worth the danger you put yourself in. Give it up. Before it's too late."
He was prepared for a rousing argument. A heated discussion in which he could make her see reason with flawless logic. But he wasn't prepared for her face to soften with an emotion he couldn't quite discern. Her hand rose to cup his jaw and her words, when they came, were spoken in an aching whisper. "I can't."
He rolled away from her, filled with a dismal certainty. No amount of arguing was going to persuade her. Her refusal to listen could only have one result. He almost choked on an unfamiliar surge of helplessness. Because he was equally sure the path she'd chosen was going to lead to her eventual destruction.
It was that certainty that had him pushing further. "Why?" Frustration edged his tone. "What's so damn important about this vendetta you have against Oppenheimer that you won't…"
Somewhere in the apartment a phone rang, interrupting him. He sat up, identifying the sound as a cell phone. His first impression was that it was awfully early for Miles to have word back on that file.
But by the second ring he realized his mistake. Getting out of bed, he switched on the lamp sitting on the bedside table and strode naked to his luggage. It wasn't the phone he used to communicate with Miles. It was his private cell. The one whose number was known only to his family. He answered, fully expecting to hear Jones on the other end. The last person he expected to hear from was his oldest brother, James.
The conversation was brief, chillingly succinct. Long after it had ended, Sam found himself clutching the phone, tamping down wave after wave of urgent, violent emotion.
"Sam? Is something wrong?"
* * *
Chapter 11
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Juliette had always found her apartment to be more than roomy. But after watching Sam pace it for four hours, the space seemed to have shrunk to the size of a handkerchief. For the hundredth time he went to the window, lifted the blinds to peer out, then dropped them again. She doubted he really saw anything when he looked out. And her heart, that organ she'd carefully shielded for most of her life, ached for him.
She didn't have siblings to worry about. There was only her grandmother, and to a lesser degree Jacques, who were close enough to elicit this kind of emotion from her. But she imagined she knew how she'd feel if one of them were lying on a surgeon's table a continent away. Helpless. And because that emotion would burn, there'd be fury as well, that she couldn't be there. Couldn't change things through sheer force of will. It was doubtful that Sam felt much differently.
"You could get a flight out," she suggested. She'd heard him on the phone with someone called Jones, heard him tell the person to do that very thing. But not once had Sam mentioned doing the same, despite the worry that seemed to be eating him alive. "Airlines make special arrangements for family emergencies."
He was shaking his head before she'd even finished her statement. "I can't leave. Not with this thing breaking on Oppenheimer."
Not for the first time, she wondered just what 'thing' he thought he had on the man, but now wasn't the time to ask. Her attention had shifted to his leg. She didn't think it was her imagination that over the course of the past few hours, he'd taken to rubbing his thigh more and more frequently. No doubt it had stiffened up on him. The only, surprise was that it hadn't given him problems before this. Their exertions on the estate had been more than a little physically taxing, and the car and plane rides couldn't have helped.
"Maybe you should take your weight off your leg for a while."
He gave an impatient roll of his shoulder, and continued to prowl the room. "It's fine."
"If it were fine, I doubt very much you'd be massaging it," she pointed out.
"I'm not…" He looked down, seemed to be surprised that he was doing just that. He let his hand drop to his side. But he didn't stop pacing the area, a sleek dangerous jungle cat on the prowl.
She wasn't a woman used to offering comfort. Even the temptation to do so was foreign. She didn't get close enough to people to allow them to matter. Most people were satisfied with a shallow civil veneer, she'd found. Few had seemed to look for more. And only Sam had been compelled to dig further, to strip layers away from the surface until he'd discovered … far more about her than was comfortable.
The reminder had her looking away. He'd gotten closer to her last night than any other man had ever been permitted. Not that there had been a conscious decision on her part to allow it. She was an expert at remaining detached, under any circumstances. But he'd made that impossible. Heat suffused her at the memory. There had been only hunger and emotion, a flashing firestorm of the senses. And that meant he was far more of a danger to her than any other man she'd ever known. Because emotion shifted priorities. Affected decision-making. And her decisions had been made long, long ago.
So it shouldn't have mattered so much to realize that she'd disappointed him last night with her answer. Pressing her lips together, she told herself it didn't matter. He couldn't know what he was asking her to give up. What he was asking her to forgive. She knew he was an honorable man. And perhaps one with his sense of decency would have found a way to live with what had happened. But she'd only found one way. And she couldn't turn away from it now.
Sam dropped into an easy chair across from her. Reaching over, he picked up her favorite ivory piece and worried it with his fingers.
It occurred to her that their roles had switched, at least for the moment. She was the one who thought best on the move, while he'd always remained still. Not necessarily peaceful, not with that lethal energy that always radiated from him, but giving a semblance, at least, of calm.
She'd never know why she did it. But she rose, went to the kitchen and poured him a tumbler of the Scotch he'd ordered the first night he'd so infuriated her by insisting on staying in her apartment. Going to him, she placed it in his hand and said, "Come on."
He glanced at the glass, and then at her. "Where are we going?" Standing, he set the ivory piece on the table and obediently trailed after her to the master bath. Then watched, with a bemused expression as she turned the jets on in the hot tub. "I didn't expect another invitation into here."
"Actually, it's your first invitation here, since last time you really didn't wait to be invited."
He didn't smile, but his face softened a little, as if the memory pleased him. "A polite hostess wouldn't have mentioned that."
The water was bubbling and frothing. Stepping away from the tub, she looked at him. "Unfortunately for' you, I'm neither polite, nor your hostess. Which is why I'd rather have you soak that leg than wait for you to collapse entirely. I wouldn't make a very good nurse."
Looking torn, he said, ' T need to wait to hear from James."
With brisk movements she was taking out towels, setting them near the tub. "The last I checked, cell phones were perfectly functional in bathrooms. You can take the call in here if you can manage not to drop the phone in the tub."
Because her attention was on her task, she was surprised to find her hand taken in his. Even more surprised when he lifted it to his lips, dropped a kiss on her palm. Her pulse fluttered.
"I'll agree on one condition. That you join me." She must have looked as stunned as she felt because he went on to add, "We established that first night, there's plenty of room for two in that tub."
Everything inside her violently rejected the suggestion. What she needed right now was distance. Time to regroup. No doubt it was a momentary lapse caused by exhaustion and proximity, but he'd gotten too close, -too fast. And so she stalled. "Someone should stay out there." She waved a hand vaguely toward the door. "Miles might call. With word on the file."
"The last I checked, cell phones were perfectly functional in bathrooms." He managed to repeat her words with a perfectly sober expression as he passed by her. "I'll go get it."
Drawing in a decidedly shaky breath, Juliette straightened her shoulders. She could deal with this, she thought firmly. Handling things was her area of expertise. And handling men had never posed any particular problem in the past. Sam was no different, because she wouldn't allow him to be. He'd be gone in a day or two. If she felt a pang at the thought she was determined not to acknowledge it. And once he was gone, she'd go on with her life.
She believed that implicitly because she needed to. And when Sam reentered the bathroom, second cell phone in hand, the look of surprise on his face to find her stripped and in the tub was almost worth the knots in her stomach. Almost.
He made it easy, she thought minutes later, so incredibly easy to relax with him and pretend, at least for a time, that things were not nearly as complicated as they seemed. The groan of satisfaction he'd given when he'd stepped into the water made her certain that her decision here had been the correct one. And even when he positioned himself between her legs, his back resting against her breasts, his head pressed against her shoulder, she had no doubt she could keep a part of herself separate. Her defenses were too well developed to fail her again.
He was silent for a while, but she could feel the tension seep from his limbs, one fraction at a time. She took a loofah sponge from the side of the tub, dipped it in the water, then squeezed it over his chest. The repetition of her motions soothed them both.
"I remember one other time Cade was in the hospital, I was just this worried. Terrified, really."
Her hand stilled on his torso. "He's been shot before?"
"No. He'd fallen off the ga
rage roof. Broke his collarbone and his right ankle. Honesty compels me to admit that I might have given him a small shove. Accidentally, of course."
She tugged at the hair on his chest. "Beast. Please tell me you were a kid."
"I was ten, and he was eight. We'd made our own hang gliders, wanted to try them out. Seeing as he was smaller, lighter, seemed only logical that he go first."
"Perfectly logical."
A smile sounded in his voice, as if the memory was a good one. "Once I figured he was going to live, I started giving thought to my more immediate demise. Had my grandmother found out what we'd been doing, I'd have been in the bed next to him."
It wasn't the first time he'd mentioned his grandmother. She was curious, despite herself. "Your grandmother lived with you?"
He slid his hand up her wet thigh, a not quite innocent glide. "From the time I was nine. My parents had been killed in an accident and there was no one else."
There was no one else. The words resonated, more deeply than they should have. She knew what it was like to be alone, although certainly not at the age he and his siblings had been.
Reaching for his drink, he tipped the glass to his lips then continued his story. "I was pretty grateful Cade lived, of course. Even more so when he kept quiet about what had happened. That was before I realized that he was going to make me pay for my part in it. Had to wait on him hand and foot all summer long. Always thought he stayed on crutches an extra month, just so I'd have to fetch and carry for him."
"Served you right," she said unsympathetically.
He set the glass back on the edge of the tub. "Guess I knew that, even back then, so I didn't complain too much." She could feel the tension start creeping back into his limbs. "Dammit all to hell, why doesn't that phone ring?"
