by MJ Fredrick
Friends don’t hurt each other the way we did.
He should make her go home before he hurt her again.
He wasn’t going to be able to sleep, not with that image in his head. He rolled out of bed and walked over to open the sliding glass door onto the balcony. The rhythm of the waves, the scent of the sea had never failed to calm him, but being up here—he was too far away. He needed the sand, the water.
Mallory was right—he wasn’t meant for four walls.
Wishing for his sleeping bag, he grabbed a towel instead and headed downstairs.
The beach was mostly empty this late—it had to be close to two in the morning. But there, knee deep in the surf, illuminated by the moon, stood a blonde in a thin T-shirt, facing the open water, arms stretched over her head.
Mallory.
The feeling hit him hard, like a kick in the chest. Mine.
Chapter Ten
The surf had done its trick. Mallory finally felt calm enough to go inside, go to sleep, not dream of Adrian, of everything that had happened since she’d decided to come to Belize, of all the doubts that plagued her mind. She’d been so careful constructing that wall around her emotions when it came to Adrian. But after the conversation in the truck, the incident in the tub and the talk in her hotel room, she felt that mortar crumbling.
Before, she’d talked herself into believing she was here for the ship. Now…God. She knew exactly why she had returned.
She was a glutton for punishment.
She turned to walk out of the surf and saw Adrian sitting on the beach, legs folded in front of him, arms looped over his knees as he watched her, that grin curving his mouth, his teeth glinting in the moonlight.
Defensiveness kicked in, battling the punch of pleasure, of excitement at seeing him—and losing. She had to keep her head. She had to. What would she risk if she lost it? “What are you doing down here?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He pushed to his feet in a fluid movement, moved toward her as she stepped out of the waves onto the packed sand. Even while her brain told her to stop, to slow, to turn away, her legs carried her forward, the wet hem of her T-shirt—his T-shirt—catching on her bare legs as if trying to remind her why she shouldn’t be doing this. She didn’t pay attention, focused only on Adrian’s eyes.
He lifted his hands, curved them on either side of her face, his fingers rough against her skin. That maddening grin taunted her even as he lowered his head and she rose on her toes.
Just that, just his kiss, the taste of him, the feel of him, easy but still carrying the punch of lust, was enough to chase doubts from her head. No future. No consequences. Only she and the man she’d loved since she was twenty.
He stroked her jaw with a callused thumb, combed his fingers through her hair. She whimpered and deepened the kiss. He caressed her hairline, the line of her throat, his rhythm unmistakably sexual, his pace slow, gentle, savoring. This new, older Adrian had learned some control himself.
She eased against him, coasting her hands up his bare arms, caressing the defined muscles there, feeling them ripple as he slid his hands down to cradle her hips, bring her against his arousal.
Suddenly three years apart felt like an eternity. With only a step and a little shove, she dropped him to the sand and came down on top of him, straddling his lap. She found his mouth again with hers, so easy, tracing the line of his lips, hungry to taste him as she edged her hips closer to nestle his erection, gliding her hands up over his naked chest, revving her own desire.
He bent and brushed his lips across her throat as he coasted his palms up her thighs. The sizzle that went through her charged him as well. He pressed his lips against her ear. “I’ve missed you, Mal.”
She dragged her teeth over his earlobe. “Yes. God, yes.”
He drew back just enough to look into her eyes. “I don’t want to make love to you out here. Not where anyone could come up. Not when we have two beds waiting.”
His thumbs traced circles on her thighs, below her panties. His eyes brightened when he realized she wasn’t wearing shorts underneath the T-shirt. But those lazy circles jangled her nerves so much she didn’t know if she could stand, much less walk to the hotel. Nitrogen narcosis had nothing on Adrian Reeves.
“You have to stop that, or don’t stop.” She pushed her hips closer, urging his touch higher, needing relief, release.
With a grin, he dragged his palms down her thighs to her knees before he gave them a gentle shove to move her off him. “Let’s go.” He dumped her off his lap, rolled to his feet and reached to help her up. She clasped his hand and stood, swaying close, brushing against him. He drew in a sharp breath.
The grin flashed again before he led her to the hotel. They were breathless by the time they reached the lobby. He shushed her giggles as they echoed off the walls of the empty place. Sandy footprints marked their path as they hurried to the elevator.
When it dinged, the doors slid open with a whoosh. He crowded her inside, against a corner and parted her legs with his knee. The hair of his thigh tickled, arousing her, as he covered her mouth with his. He stroked his tongue deep as he slid his hands under her T-shirt, gliding over her waist, teasing her with the proximity of his touch. She moved into him just as the door dinged again, opened, and he eased out, his hands on her hips to guide her into the hall.
“Your key?” he asked against her ear.
She reached inside the neck of her shirt and tugged out a chain with the keycard clipped to it. He slipped it over her head to unlock her door, then turned to pull her inside, dragging her T-shirt over her head while he circled her toward the bed, then lowered her to it.
This kiss was deeper, hungrier, as if the last of his control had escaped its leash. He closed his palm over her breast, the sensation both alien and familiar. She bowed into it, opening her mouth on a moan. His tongue delved deeper, his hips pressing into hers, his arousal undisguised. She shifted on the bed so he was poised at the junction of her thighs. He pushed against her once, twice, before rising off her.
“Adrian, no,” she protested, reaching for him.
He merely cocked his head in amusement, then shucked his shorts and knelt over her again, to drag her panties down her legs. She glided her fingers over his stomach and felt his skin ripple before she closed them around his length, sliding from base to tip, dragging a shuddering groan from him before he pushed her hand away. She held her breath, waiting for the next step.
Well, she knew the next step, but with Adrian, she couldn’t be sure what form it would take.
He took her face in his hands, kissing her with the same tenderness he’d shown earlier. With gentle prodding, he laid her down on her side, stretching out beside her. His eyes never left hers as he lifted her thigh over his hip and entered her.
All the foreplay, all the arousal, melted away. No longer did she feel desire as such, only an overwhelming sense of right. This was where she belonged. With Adrian. In his arms, in his bed.
In his life. She felt complete.
She wanted to close her eyes, but he watched her with such intensity. He had to feel it, too. And if he did, what then?
He shifted his hips. The hunger returned, not as fierce as before, tempered with a gentleness that might have been love. Unable to bear his watchfulness any longer, she took his face in her hands and kissed him as they found a rhythm and rode it till it was no longer enough that he was inside her. Now they needed satisfaction.
He turned onto his back, guiding her over him, hand on her hips. She followed the pulse of her heart, bringing him in deeper and stronger with each thrust. She encountered the edge of his bandage as she sought a handhold, settled on his biceps as he curled up to kiss her breasts, lips skimming sensitive flesh, sending shivers of pleasure through her. Sweat dripped from her onto him. She was surprised she didn’t hear the sizzle as it landed on his flesh.
Her rhythm faltered as he sipped her nipple between his lips. She stilled and cupped her hand over the b
ack of his head, holding him to her, pressing against him. He brushed his fingertips up the inside of her thigh and his touch had her driving against him.
The pleasure held her there, on the plateau, for endless moments. Her senses were open to everything, the sound of his labored breathing, the scent of him, the scent of them, the familiar thrust of him inside her. She curled her fingers into his shoulders and arched her back to bring him deeper, seeking what he was so good at giving her.
Finding it, and in the haze of her pleasure, feeling him follow.
“Good to know we haven’t lost our touch,” Adrian murmured, one arm flung over his eyes as he caught his breath.
Mallory had nestled against him, her cheek against his shoulder, but she moved away now, onto her back, putting distance between them.
More than just physical, he feared. He could damn near hear the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure out what this meant, what this would mean. He had to stop her from thinking. His first instinct was to distract her with sex, but even as long as it’d been since the last time he’d made love to her, he didn’t think he could recover that quickly.
He shifted onto his side to face her, wanting to touch her, unable to read the tension in her body. Would she accept his touch or withdraw? Not wanting to risk it, he tucked his hand under his pillow and watched her do her damnedest not to look at him.
“This used to relax you more,” he murmured.
She sat up with a grimace and dusted off the polyester comforter, then reached for her shirt. “All this sand. I’ve apparently turned into the princess and the pea.”
“Mal.” He curled into a sitting position and stroked the indentation of her spine before she drew back under the guise of putting on her shirt. God, she was working so hard at not looking at him. “Did I—did I hurt you?” He’d tried so hard to be careful, gentle, loving, but he’d never been much successful at controlling himself where Mallory was concerned.
She shook her head, threading her hair loose from the neck of the shirt. The movement brought her scent toward him. Well, maybe sex wouldn’t be out of the question as a distraction.
And more. If she would allow him to touch her again.
“Mallory, I want to hold you.” He damn near choked on the words. That was more information than he wanted to hand her at this point, when everything was still so jumbled.
She glanced back at him with a tiny smile. “Let me shower first.”
“Be happy to help you with that.”
The smile grew bigger as she let her gaze travel down the length of his body, yes, recovering just fine. “This is probably a bad idea.”
Hope flared. “I think it’s the best one I’ve had all year.”
She spun to face him and held out a hand. Ignoring it, he edged to the end of the bed and tucked his hand around her waist, sliding up her body as he rose. She softened against him as he hardened against her, still naked. He sank his fingers into her bare hips. When she shifted and rubbed up against him, he backed her toward the bathroom.
“Impressive recovery time,” she murmured when he reached into the shower to turn on the water without releasing her.
He twisted with a grin. “It’s missed you.”
Her fingers drifted down his stomach to stroke him. He drew in a breath through his teeth. Flashing a grin of her own, she stepped past him into the shower.
“Mind your arm, now.”
Yeah, because keeping his arm dry was what he was thinking about. Still, he guided her to the far end of the tub, pinned her to the wall and lost himself in her.
Minutes later, the water ran cold. Mallory could barely stand. Adrian was pretty damned sure he wouldn’t recover for hours when they staggered back to bed. All he had to do was drag down the bedspread and fall into bed, pulling her with him. She nestled in his arms, her breath evening out almost immediately, her arm flung across his chest.
For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t sleep, not because he was worried, but because he was happy.
Mallory slid her hand across the empty bed, the sheet cool under her fingers as she woke. She lifted her head from the pillow that smelled of him and looked around, listened for the shower. No water running, and the connecting door was closed. Where was he? Her stomach growled as she rolled onto her back. Maybe he’d gone for breakfast. While that sounded good, well, it probably wasn’t wise to spend any more time than necessary in the room. Temptation was not something they dealt well with, clearly.
As she took inventory of her aching muscles, she recalled how they got that way. One thing Adrian had always been was thorough. Just remembering how he had touched her, turned her, filled her, made her want to start all over again.
All the more reason to get out of this room. Pushing the covers back, she dragged her duffel close to the bed to retrieve fresh clothes. She grabbed panties and was digging for a bra when she heard the snick of the lock and Adrian opened the door, in his same clothes from last night, balancing two glasses of orange juice and yet another greasy white bag.
The grin that creased his face had heat spreading through her body. He set the glasses on the dresser, tossed the bag on the nightstand and crawled up from the foot of the bed.
“I thought maybe we’d get an early start, but I didn’t think I’d find you still in bed.” He slid his hand under the sheet, his thumb stroking the hollow of her ankle before gliding up her calf. “Still naked.”
“Adrian.” She should have pulled away, but arousal already heated her blood in advance of his touch.
He flicked his gaze to hers, those silver-blue eyes crinkling mischievously. “It’ll be a long time before we get a bed again. We’d better take advantage.”
Her mind fought for coherence. “When we get back, this is over.”
He stilled a minute, his hand on the inside of her knee, pressing it toward the mattress. “No.” He stretched out beside her and nuzzled her shoulder before kissing her throat. “You’re moving into my tent, with me, where you belong.”
“Ade.” She pressed her hand against his chest, not really wanting to push him away, but needing the emotional distance.
He only took advantage of the new position to look into her eyes, threading his fingers through her hair, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. “I missed the hell out of you, Mal. I’m glad you came back.”
Those words, and God, the look in his eyes that darkened them, melted all her reserves. Even as she cursed her ability to be manipulated so easily by her emotions, she reached for him, lost herself in the sensations of his hands, his mouth. She slid her palms under the hem of his T-shirt and over his warm, hard body, over the curls on his chest, digging her fingertips into his shoulders.
He flipped onto his back, pulling her with him. Her pulse skipped as she braced her hands on his chest and looked down. As he curled into a sitting position, he positioned her legs on either side of his hips. Making a shushing sound, she wriggled his shirt over his head. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think, just wanted to feel. God, she loved the feel of him, the heat, the strength. She trailed her fingers down his stomach. Even as his skin twitched beneath her touch, he grinned.
“Don’t tease,” he murmured.
She wrestled with his fly. “You never did know how to pace yourself.”
He squeezed her butt. “When I see what I want, I go for it. And you never complained before.”
“Not complaining now.” She freed his erection and glided her palm over the length of him, then leaned forward, nipping his lower lip. He coursed his hands up her back, urging her closer. Hooking her feet behind his butt, she brought him inside her, covering his mouth with hers as she did, feeling the vibration of his moan from her lips to her toes. Laughing softly at his response, she eased back, brought him deeper. A quiver went through him as she moved over him, and the power she experienced at having him at her mercy only increased her arousal. Her hair fell forward, brushed his shoulder as they found their rhythm, a familiar, sensual d
ance, one they knew so well, punctuated with gentle moans, quick gasps as the pleasure built, plateaued.
Part of her wanted to remain on this plateau. This would be their last time, after all. She couldn’t continue this once they were back on the dig, couldn’t risk getting hurt again, getting pushed aside once more. So she wanted to savor even as her body craved the climax.
He took the decision out of her hand, tilting her onto the bed, driving into her, his hand stroking down her side, up her thigh that curved around his hip, shifted so he opened her more to him, plunged deeper, faster, his breath coming quick, his forehead beaded with sweat, his eyes intent on hers.
The orgasm was long and slow, the pleasure rippling through her body, hot and sweet, tightening everything in her, then melting the tension away so that all she wanted was to lie in his arms forever, here in this bed, here with this man.
The words she feared most floated to the surface, and only the strength of her will kept her from murmuring them as she stroked her husband’s damp hair when he collapsed over her.
She would not say, “I love you,” though she was very afraid she meant it.
“I just need to get my manuscript from next door.”
Adrian had moved more quickly than Mal after their lovemaking, had showered and dressed while she still stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she’d let this happen. Now both were dressed, packed, fed and ready to hit the road. He walked to the adjoining door and flicked the lock before he swore and stopped.
Mallory looked up from zipping her duffel. “What is it?”
But he’d gone into action, disappeared into the other room. Mallory followed, uncertain of what she’d find.
The room was spotless. None of the yellow papers that had been strewn across the bed, the dresser, the table by the window last night remained. None were in the trash, either.
“The maid’s been here,” she murmured, even as her heart sank. His notes, his manuscript, even those six pages were hard-earned and hadn’t been duplicated. Why would the maid throw out the papers on the bed and dresser?
