by Dawn Brown
The sudden onslaught of sensation made her gasp. Her fingers tangled in his hair while his hands gripped her hips tightly, as if to hold in her place. He alternated tongue and teeth over her sensitive flesh, driving her need higher and higher, then switched, capturing her other nipple and exposing it to the same sweet torture, propelling her closer to the thin edge of her control.
The hands at her hips eased forward, his fingers tugging at her fly. He lifted his eyes to hers, pinning her with his hot gaze.
She wanted him inside of her right then, in the hall, bringing her the release she so desperately craved.
She started to tell him, but instead drew a trembling breath as he pulled her jeans down just below her hips. Without looking away, he traced the edge of her underwear with his finger, following the line low beneath her belly button, making her hot and shivery all at once.
His hand slid beneath the smooth material, his finger easing between the soft folds of her flesh. White, hot need stretched taut inside her like a spring ready to snap.
She gripped his shoulders to hold herself up as he continued to tease her swollen cleft. She arched against his palm, silently pleading for more. And he obliged, thrusting his finger deep. Her every muscle trembled as she hovered on the brink of mindlessness.
“Ye’re so wet and hot,” he murmured against her ear. “Open more for me.”
She did, and he immediately took advantage, sliding a second finger inside her and working her clitoris with the flat of his hand.
Heat built inside her to the point of explosion.
“I want you,” she gasped. “I want you inside me.”
“God, yes.” His voice was reverent like a prayer.
“Hello, anyone home?” Joan’s voice drifted up from the hallway.
Nooo! Oh God, she’d been so close.
“Bloody hell,” Caid moaned as though he were in physical pain. His hot breath came in short pants against her neck as he slid his hand from her underwear. “I left the door unlocked when I was taking things outside.”
“Caid? Hillary?” Joan tried again.
“We’ll be right down,” Hillary called. Her voice sounded breathy even to her. Hopefully, the older woman would assume her breathlessness was the result helping Caid with his work rather than unfulfilled sexual release that had left her more than a little punchy.
She turned her frustration on Caid. “How could you leave the door open? We’ve been broken into how many times?”
Caid moved away. “I know it was a careless thing to do, but I wasnae expecting to be so pleasantly…distracted.”
Hillary’s face heated as she pulled up her jeans, then bent, snatched her shirt from the floor and tugged it on over her head, all the while struggling to squelch the dull ache throbbing inside her.
“You’ll have to go down without me,” Caid said.
She glanced at his erection still straining against the fabric of his jeans. At least she wasn’t the only one suffering. The thought made her chuckle
“You know, it does little for a man’s confidence when a woman laughs at certain parts of his body.”
“Not that. I was just thinking Joan’s already your biggest fan. If she saw that, she might just go out and start a club.”
“Very funny. I’m going to take a shower. This isnae finished between you and me.”
“Not even close,” she agreed.
With her body still in bitter turmoil, Hillary started down the stairs. Plans to get Joan out of the house as quickly as possible and pick up where she left off with Caid played out in her mind.
Was sleeping with him smart? Probably not, but the mutual attraction was undeniable. And this was the first time she’d been interested in sex since Randall.
The situation was ideal, really. Sleeping with Caid would be a fling in the truest sense of the word. Eventually, she would return home and he to his normal life, so there would be no heavy emotional strings, no worries for their future. They could simply enjoy each other.
“Sorry,” Hillary said as she joined Joan in the chaotic hall. “I didn’t hear you from upstairs.”
Joan, clutching a basket in her arms, frowned at Caid’s carefully piled mess. “You’ve been busy.”
“I can’t take any of the credit. Caid’s been at it all day.”
“I see. I’ve brought some dinner. I thought the three of us could have a nice supper. I’ve no guests the now.” Joan studied the blue-beige dust coating Hillary’s front and frowned.
Heat crept into Hillary’s face and she resisted the urge to brush herself off. “That would be great. Neither Caid nor I do much cooking.”
The older woman sniffed. “I suspected as much.”
Hopefully that was all Joan suspected. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen? It’s pretty much intact.”
“Yes. Good.” Joan managed a stiff smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I heard from Bristol that you’ve been having some problems while staying here.”
Hillary shrugged and started for the kitchen, unsure how much to say or how much Bristol had told her. “He thinks someone`s trying to frighten me.”
“You mustnae be too angry with our Inspector,” Joan said, falling in step beside her. “He has a lot on his mind and, I hate to say so, but he’s in over his head.”
“Because of what’s going on here?”
“No’ that.” Joan set the basket on the kitchen table and lifted out a covered casserole dish. “Here, this’ll need heating.”
Hillary took the dish to the oven and set it on the rack inside before turning on the gas.
“What do you mean, then?” she asked as she gathered plates and flatware together, then brought them to the table. Hillary sat down and Joan did the same.
“Well, until Jimmy and Nancy Fraser, it’s all just been accidents. Clara Hanley was the first. About seven months ago. She hit her head and drowned in her bathtub.” The words came quickly and Joan’s voice trembled. “About a month later Charlie Radcliffe was hit by a car on his way home from the pub. Then for months, nothing until Agnes fell down the stairs. Now the Frasers and that horrible car accident last week. Jimmy died on his way to the hospital and Nancy passed away this morning.”
“I’m so sorry.” Hillary had never seen Joan so upset.
Joan nodded and dropped her gaze to the floor. “But it wasnae an accident. Someone tampered with the steering mechanism, causing them to lose control.”
A chill settled over Hillary. “How do you know that?”
“Roy Little, the mechanic who towed the car from the accident, has been blathering to half of Culcraig about it.” Her voice lowered to a thready whisper. “He’s saying it’s murder.”
The savory smell of Joan’s casserole filled the air, but Hillary’s stomach, cold as stone, remained unmoved. She reached across the table for Joan’s hands in an attempt to offer some comfort. The older woman’s boney fingers gripped Hillary’s like a lifeline.
“Do you think that what happened to the Frasers is somehow connected to Agnes and the others?” Hillary asked.
“This is a quiet village, so many accidents and in less than a year. It’s all so strange I dinnae know what to believe.”
“Hullo, Joan.” Caid entered the kitchen, a wide smile on his face, his hair still damp from the shower. He’d changed into clean jeans and a loose blue fisherman knit sweater. His gaze fell on Hillary and practically glittered with hungry anticipation. Heat crept into her cheeks and he turned his attention to Joan.
“Did you bring us dinner? Smells wonderful. Hill and I have been living on tinned soup for most of the week. This’ll be a nice treat.” He stopped, as if sensing the mood in the room, and his smile fell away. “What is it?”
Joan repeated her story as Caid sat across from her. Hillary took the food from the oven and dished it out on plates. They sat together, but no one really ate.
“I drove past that wreck,” Caid said. “But I dinnae think that collision has anything to with these poor old souls
who’ve died accidentally.”
“Five in less than a year? You dinnae find that odd?” Joan asked, clearly offended.
“Aye, but no more than a coincidence. I remember Charlie Radcliffe from when I was a lad. He’d be staggering home in the dark all over the road even back then. And wasnae he hit by a car once before?”
“Twice,” Joan corrected. “But Clara and Agnes?”
“Hundreds of people a year die accidentally in the bathroom,” Hillary offered.
Caid shot her a quick, grateful smile.
“That’s right, and Agnes,” he hesitated, lowering his gaze to his plate. “Bristol’s certain that her fall was accidental.”
“But the Frasers were murdered,” Joan said.
“Terrible that someone could do such a thing, but I dinnae believe for a moment one has anything to do with the other.”
Hillary had to hand it to him, he sounded very convincing.
“Aye.” Joan nodded, letting out a slow breath. “Ye’re likely right.”
Still, as they ate, Joan seemed quiet, distracted, and when she stood to leave, her hands shook a little.
Hillary watched Joan go, and thought Joan looked afraid.
Chapter Seventeen
After dinner, Caid saw Joan to the door as Hillary tidied the kitchen. She piled the dishes next to the sink and slipped the leftovers, of which there were plenty, into the fridge. Even Caid’s reasonable explanations couldn’t bring back their collective appetites.
As she filled the sink with sudsy water, Caid stood in the doorway, his expression hesitant. Heat stole into her cheeks when she remembered his mouth on hers, his hands moving over her, his fingers inside her. She bit her lip. A slow ache swelled low in her belly.
“I need to go to the shop,” he blurted. “Do you want anything?”
She frowned. Not exactly what she’d been expecting him to say. “Um, no thanks. I’m good.”
“Right then, I’ll be back shortly.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “I meant what I said before, about no’ being finished.”
Thank God. “So did I.”
He smiled, slow and ravenous. A shiver tingled over her skin.
“I’ll be quick.”
Once alone, she washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen, then jumped into the shower to scrub away some of the dust and grime that had transferred from Caid to her while they’d been making out in the hall. The mere memory heated her skin more than the hot spray ever could.
When she emerged from the bathroom, he still hadn’t come back. So now what? She toyed with the idea of waiting for him in his room, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Just imagining herself posed sexily across his bed made her face burn. Not really her style. Maybe she’d get a little more work with the journals done until he got back.
She dressed quickly, left her room, but came to an abrupt halt. Caid walked down the hall toward her, a small paper bag in one hand.
Her heart beat a little faster. “You’re back.”
“Aye, I am.” His eyes, dark and intense, fixed on her face.
She wiped her damp palms on her jeans. “Where did you go?”
“The chemist.” He smiled faintly and tilted the bag so the box inside slid into his hand. Condoms. “I wasnae really prepared.”
“Oh, good.” Holy God, this was really happening.
He moved toward her, took her hand and pulled her close. His mouth brushed over hers, soft, teasing. The air in her lungs vanished.
“Alone at last,” he murmured.
Goose bumps raced over her in waves and her heart rate quickened. Why did Joan have to interrupt them? Before, everything had happened so fast, so natural. There’d been no time to think, no time to second-guess herself.
A fling? What had she been thinking? She didn’t have flings. She wasn’t made that way. She had relationships based on shared interests and genuine friendship. Granted, not the stuff of mindless passion, but hell, she didn’t even believe that sort of thing existed.
“What is it?” Caid asked, slipping his finger under her chin and tipping her head up.
If he would just kiss her like he had before, then maybe the nerves tittering at the base of her skull would stop. Should she take the initiative? Would he like that?
She stood on tiptoe and rested her hand against his cheek. Invisible stubble scraped her palm. With a slightly trembling breath, she leaned forward and touched her lips to his. Immediately, he cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as his mouth hungrily opened for her.
A slow warmth spread into her limbs as she melted against him, her awkwardness and doubt forgotten.
“My room,” he murmured, his lips moving over her jaw toward her ear.
Tiny spears of need darted low in her belly. She nodded and took his hand, her fingers lacing with his as he pulled her across the hall. Once inside, Caid’s arms wrapped around her, his demanding mouth devouring hers, sending her mind whirling.
She slid her hand under his sweater, desperate for the feel of his smooth flesh. He groaned, nipping her bottom lip while he clutched her backside and pressed her against his hardened sex.
“Now,” he said, his voice deep and raspy. “Where were we?” He took a step back. “That’s right, I remember.” He gripped the edge of her sweater and yanked it over her head in one quick pull. “About here?”
He moved in, his hands covering her breasts, and the heat from his palms seeped through the thin fabric of her bra, making her ache. She moaned as his lips brushed her throat, neck and ear. His teeth scraped her skin and she shivered.
“Not quite,” she told him, barely recognizing the low, thick voice as her own. She reached under his sweater, pushing the hem up. He helped her pull the sweater over his shoulders. As it landed in a pile on the floor, she ran her hands over his taut chest, traced the grooves between his lean stomach muscles with her fingers. He sucked in his breath and the flesh beneath her touch bunched, tiny goose bumps stippling his skin.
“Much better.” She lifted her gaze to meet his, but her smug grin fell away under the heat of his indigo eyes. How was it possible that she had inspired this kind of heat, this kind of want in him?
Caid watched the emotions sweep across her features, from a cocky sort of confidence to doubt, like a cloud casting a shadow over a sunny field. Everything was there in her face, naked and real. Humbling.
Something flickered in the vicinity of his heart, but he did his best to ignore it, continuing the game, instead. “Still no’ quite right, though.”
He opened her fly, sliding the zipper down with exquisite slowness, never letting his gaze break from hers. As he curled his fingers over the waistband of her jeans, any trace of doubt vanished from her face.
Hunger filled her eyes now.
His fingers splayed her flat stomach. Every part of her was soft and smooth. He could have lost himself just touching her.
He slid his hand into her panties and pressed a finger into her tight, wet heat. With a gasp, she tilted her head back and he lowered his mouth to feast on her neck.
She rode his fingers, her hips rocking against his hand, tiny whimpers and gasps escaping her lips. She was so much hotter than he’d expected her to be, and the discovery played havoc with his already tenuous control.
With his free hand, he tugged her bra down, exposing one small, plump breast. He brought his mouth to the tip, flicking her hardened nipple with his tongue, then tugging it with his teeth. She cried out, the convulsions of her orgasm tightening around his fingers.
He had to get inside her. His erection, hard almost to the point of pain, pressed against his jeans. Then her mouth caught his in another brain-scrambling kiss.
Half-crazed for her, he somehow managed to edge them closer to the unmade bed and lowered her to the mattress. She lifted her hips so he could slide off her jeans and underwear, then shed his own clothes, tossing them aside.
“Hold on,” he muttered and snatched the box of condoms from the bed where
he’d tossed them when they’d first walked in. He tore open the box, dug out one of the packets and ripped the packaging with his teeth. Hillary’s hungry gaze remained fixed on his actions. She watched with rapt fascination as he slipped the latex over his erection.
He covered her body with his, his mouth moving over skin at an almost frantic pace. Her breath hitched and she arched her hips up, pressing herself against the tip of his cock.
Now. It had to be now. He couldn’t have stopped if he had a gun to his head.
He thrust into her, groaning as her velvety heat closed tight around him. Hillary whimpered, her teeth nipping at his chest.
He began to move inside her, slow at first, reveling in the feel of her, then gradually picking up speed. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in deeper. His hips pumped forward and back almost of their own accord, driving inside her fast and hard.
“Oh, God, Caid.” Her fingers gripped his hair as she came again.
His name on her lips, combined with her tight contractions around his cock were all he could bear. He stiffened, groaning as his own release shuddered through him.
Once spent, he collapsed on top of her. Damn, that was good. Better than he’d thought it would be. Better than he wanted it to be. He shoved the thoughts aside, determined to enjoy the moment.
Hillary realized she’d been wrong. She was meant for flings. And hot, blinding, mind-numbing sex was not the stuff of fiction, but wondrous reality.
Caid’s ragged breath whispered against her ear, his pounding heart matching her own frenzied rhythm. She could have stayed right where she was for the rest of her natural life and been quite happy.
“Am I crushing you?” he asked, lifting himself a little and gently brushing his lips over hers.
“A little,” she admitted.
He rolled off of her. “I’ll be right back.”
He strode from the room, probably to dispose of the condom, and she watched his tight backside as he left.
Now what? Should she stay here, sleep in his bed? Or was that presumptuous? Should she just head back to her own room? Or would that be rude?
