Enough. They could be wet for this. Even better.
He had them spinning back into the bedroom area. The towel fell to the floor with a whooshing sound. Then she fell back onto the bed with her hands by her head and a sexy smile playing on her lips.
They were wet and a mess . . . and the moment was perfect.
Without breaking eye contact he reached for the nightstand drawer next to the bed. On the first try he missed and heard a thud.
She laughed. “There’s a condom on the nightstand.”
The words refused to translate into anything that made sense in his head. “What?”
“Grab. It.”
That order worked. He glanced over long enough to get what he needed then he was on top of her, his body sliding over hers. She opened her thighs and dragged him closer. He could smell her, feel her. She felt so soft, so right, and underneath him.
Before he could blink she took the condom. She had it out and was rolling it on him. Her hand moved between their bodies, causing his hips to buck. Primed and ready, his body took over. His fingers slipped over her, into her, again. He could feel her open for him. When he tried to adjust his position, she grabbed on to his butt and held him tight against her.
The woman wanted what she wanted and he was damn grateful that it was him. The need traveled both ways. It pulsed between them, twisting and tightening. His body ached from wanting to join with hers.
With his hands on her hips, he gave in. His body slid into hers. A slow, demanding press that had them both gasping. For a second, his vision blanked out on him. All thoughts of slowing down or making this last fell away. Deep in her heat with her internal muscles clamping down on him, the world tipped right again. All the pain rushed out of him. In its place, a thundering need.
He moved in and out. His pace picked up and his hands tightened on the back of her knees. He held her open, plunged inside her, while he kissed the length of her neck. There wasn’t a part of her body he didn’t cherish. He wanted to shower every inch with attention. That was his last thought before the orgasm hit him. He gasped as his body took over.
Swirling his finger over her, he tried to bring her with him. His head fell forward and his mouth rested in that delicious juncture at the base of her neck. He heard her sharp intake of breath and he kept going. Sliding deeper into her, touching her in the place sure to make her body dance and jump. Kept up the sexy double play until her hips arched off the bed.
Her breathing came faster and fell harder. He felt every move she made beneath him. Felt the tremble move through her. And when she started to come, he closed his eyes and gave in.
Minutes passed, maybe longer than that. He didn’t really care. He didn’t want to open his eyes. All that mattered was Cate laid over him in a sprawl. Her hand rested on his stomach and her cheek against his shoulder. He wasn’t even sure when they turned over or how they landed in this position.
The closed curtains plunged this area of the room in shadows. But he didn’t need to see her to know she was relaxed. He could feel her breath blow over the bare skin of his chest. She relaxed against him, balancing her weight against his side.
He’d just assumed she’d fallen off to sleep when he heard her yawn. “That was nice.”
He knew she was messing with him because he could feel and see her smile, but still . . . “Nice? Ice cream is nice. A warm day is nice.”
“Ice cream?” She lifted her head and stared down at him. “Cookie dough ice cream is way more than nice.”
“I’m not a huge fan.”
She shook her head. Even managed to look disappointed. “I will never understand you.”
He thought he had been pretty clear about his love for the meat family, but she felt so good resting against him that he didn’t bother to point that out. “Likely not.”
“But . . .”
With her face all shiny and happy, he couldn’t fight off the urge to kiss her. He leaned down, touching their lips together in a lingering touch.
When he lifted his head again, she smiled at him and he had to make a joke. “Any chance you’re going to finish your sentence?”
“I think you’re going to like it.”
He liked her. Too much. That was the potential problem that started to haunt his days. “I’m intrigued.”
“I could use a hamburger.”
The laugh burst out of him before he could stop it. “See? It’s the perfect food.”
She snorted. “I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t ruin it. For a second there you were the perfect fake girlfriend.”
“I was hoping to win that award.”
“I am willing to make a burger run.” When she opened her mouth to say something, he rushed to finish his thought. “But you have to admit burgers are nature’s perfect food.”
She looked over the side of the bed. “I probably have a granola bar I can eat.”
Her laughter filled the room as he flipped them both over and hovered above her. “You will not win this food battle.”
“Are you sure?” Her stomach picked that minute to rumble. “Traitor.”
“Did I mention I’d throw in a few orders of fries?”
Her eyes widened. “Why didn’t you say that from the beginning? That’s the perfect perk.” She pushed against his chest. “Get going.”
He groaned as he sat up. “I think you want me for my food.”
“Get me food and I’ll show you how much I want you.”
He was out of bed and in his jeans four seconds later.
She let him get to the door before calling out to him. “If you can find a piece of fruit, maybe buy that, too.”
“Do you promise to stay naked while I’m gone?” Because if she did he might wreck the car thinking about it.
She rolled her eyes instead.
“I’m serious.” Suddenly, he really was. The idea of her being there, waiting for him. Of them eating then falling back to the bed. It sounded like the perfect night to him.
She sat up with the sheet sliding off her breasts toward her waist, flashing him. “Yes, but you better hurry.”
“Challenge accepted.”
Chapter 20
Cate suddenly hated breakfast. Sitting at a table with Damon and his father in the middle of a room bustling with people going back and forth to the buffet was her new nightmare. It felt as if everyone watched them, even though she knew they were a bit more subtle than that.
So much talking and moving around . . . except for their table. Damon had barely said a word. The few he did were reserved for her and centered on getting food. He’d acknowledged his father with a nod as they sat down. Nothing more.
He spent the rest of the meal stirring the milk in his cereal bowl, probably wishing it was a bowl of ground beef. The thought of kicking him passed through her head more than once. Steven wasn’t her family but she’d run through every single bit of mindless chitchat in her repertoire with the guy. Even she couldn’t talk about trees and the weather for an hour. And it had only been fifteen minutes of painful silence.
She blamed Damon for the discomfort. His father asked them to join him for breakfast. Again, he did it in the form of a note slipped under their door. Not her favorite way of making a request. Since Damon ripped it up, she guessed he wasn’t a fan either. Actually, she didn’t need to guess because he spent most of the morning stomping around, not saying a word except for the occasional I can’t believe we’re eating with him.
In hindsight, she probably should have taken that as a no and suggested they go back to the diner. She could be there, eating toast and enjoying an overflow of strawberry jelly without anyone watching, but no.
They were stuck now, in the rectangle room filled with a mix of four- and six-person tables and longer ones flanked by benches. People fell into several obvious groups. Apparently in cult-like communes people still naturally divided into cliques.
The younger people sat together. Those who looked more like professors from back whe
n this place actually was a school congregated at the smaller tables near the coffee setup. She sat across from Steven and watched him section a grapefruit with the precision of a surgeon.
Lucky her.
He must have sensed her staring because he glanced up and smiled. His gaze bounced to Damon then back to her again. “Thank you for joining me.”
“We figured your table served the best food,” she said, trying to make a joke and failing miserably. “Or at least got the chance to eat first.”
Steven lowered his spoon as a frown formed. “Everyone shares here. The food distribution is equal.”
She debated explaining the concept of sarcasm to him but went with drinking her tea instead. But for the first time in three minutes—she knew because she was counting—Damon’s head lifted. He watched his father. Without saying a word, they stared at each other.
Damon was the first to break. “I’m pretty sure she was kidding.”
“Oh.” Steven sounded confused by the idea but kept right on talking. “There’s someone I want you to meet, if you haven’t already.”
He motioned to someone behind them. Cate turned, silently hoping not to see Liza standing there. She was nice enough and dedicated but naïve in a way that set Damon off. Cate really wasn’t in the mood to referee again this morning.
“Hello.” Trevor’s deep voice rang out as he came around Damon’s side of the table to stand next to his father.
Damon didn’t even blink. “We’ve met. He introduced himself the first day.”
Steven’s frown disappeared. He looked satisfied, likely because he thought that meant his employee, or whatever Trevor was supposed to be, had listened to orders.
“Good.” Steven motioned for Trevor to take the open seat at the table. “Trevor will be helping you.”
Damon’s eyebrow rose. “Excuse me?”
It was official. She was impressed. She also had no idea how they pulled it off. They clearly had this big Band of Brothers bond and a shared past, yet they acted like almost-strangers. She wondered if she should be worried about the ease with which they lied. Truth was kind of a big thing with her and Damon had already tiptoed through her tolerance on that point.
“We kept the older documents,” Steven said, launching right into an unexpected topic. The only nod to the importance of their conversation came in the way he lowered his voice, not to a whisper but quiet enough that anyone around them trying to hear would have to strain. “Lists of who lived here, went to school here. Records. Files.”
Damon shoved his bowl to the side and leaned on the edge of the table on his elbows. “What exactly are you saying?”
Trevor waited for a nod from Steven before talking. Managed to look every inch of the quiet guy obeying orders. “Before breakfast, your father took me aside and asked me to spend whatever time was needed to guide you through Sullivan’s paperwork.”
“What?” Okay, she squealed a little but it wasn’t her fault. Being undercover was not one of her skills.
Damon stayed calm. “Why you?”
“Trevor didn’t live here through any of the . . .” Steven cleared his throat. “Problems.”
That word seemed to cover every circumstance around here. Maybe he was trying to be helpful but having people refer to her sister dying as little more than a nuisance made a ball of anxiety start spinning in Cate’s stomach. She worried it wouldn’t subside until she hit something. “Problems?”
“I thought you might want a neutral eye. Someone to help who didn’t also have the burden of living here at the time.” Steven stared at his son. “I assumed you would trust that more.”
“Maybe it would make sense to talk with people with firsthand knowledge.” Damon held up a hand as he glanced at Trevor. “No offense.”
He shrugged in response. “None taken.”
They still didn’t act as if they knew each other as anything more than two guys who said hello for two minutes days ago. Their ability to compartmentalize and play this game fascinated her. She looked for any signs of cracking behind the façade but couldn’t see them. Neither acted nervous. Their voices stayed steady. They looked at each other, but not for too short or too long a period of time.
“You are free to talk to anyone.” Steven let out a sigh. “I didn’t specifically order it, not in those words, but I suggested it would be good for Sullivan if people were open and honest with the two of you. Even if it hurt.”
“Okay.” She didn’t know what else to say, so she went with that.
“Trevor already began gathering what you need this morning.” Steven held out his hand and Trevor passed over a file and a zip drive. “I have contact information for some of those who used to live here and will get in touch with them first to let them know I approve of this mission you’re on.” Steven opened the file and scanned whatever he saw inside. “Roger and Vincent might be good resources.”
She couldn’t help but wonder what time Trevor got up to get started on this project. And how soon after that he sent all of the information back to Wren and the office to get working on their end.
Damon’s attention stayed locked on his father. “Why are you doing this?”
“Despite what you might think, we don’t have anything to hide here.” Steven picked up his spoon then put it down again. “So much of the history of this place is out in the open, in the public view through investigations and television shows.”
“You mean the documentary.” Damon shook his head. “It didn’t say much.”
Steven sighed. “Then hopefully the paperwork will.”
The tension ratcheted up as the Sullivan men spoke. She could feel the people sitting at other tables glance over. Their voices hadn’t lifted but the body language was all wrong for a friendly breakfast chat. Trevor sat without moving but something in his position, the way he hunched over the edge of the table, ready to pounce, made her think they were on the verge of another verbal battle.
She was not in the mood for a second round. She also wanted to get her hands on the documents, though she doubted they would say anything of importance. “Where is the rest of the material?”
“Our private . . . in the family’s rooms. At the house.” Steven visibly swallowed.
Even she felt sorry for him in that moment. The man’s family had been taken from him, sometimes through his own actions and sometimes not, but there was no debating he was alone.
“You kept those?” Damon said the words nice and slow, leaving a space between each one.
“I had hope.”
Damon’s eyes narrowed. Just a fraction. “Of what?”
How could he not know? Looking at Steven, even she knew.
“That I’d see you again,” he said. “Or did you think the calls and messages through lawyers and attempts to find you even after you changed your name were just for show?”
“You have to be kidding.” Damon’s voice lifted that time. It carried over the din of the room and even more people glanced their way. “You shut me out while I was in jail.”
“You spent a lot of time trying to discredit Sullivan and our mission here. That took a long time to forget.” When Damon started to respond, Steven talked over him. “But you are my son.”
“I’m very aware of that fact.”
“And you’re here, aren’t you? I guess I should thank Cate for that.”
She waved off the compliment since it was based on a lie. “Damon came back to Sullivan for me.”
That much was the truth. He could call it a job or his responsibility or pretend his friends forced him, but she knew better. Damon was not the type to do anything he didn’t want to do. Him being here meant something. To her, it meant everything.
The chair screeched against the concrete floor as Steven pushed it back without getting up. “I have a file room that’s kept locked. Trevor, I temporarily changed the security code to the same one you use for the storage shed. You have complete access to the house, as do they.”
Trevor looked at Damon
for a few extra seconds before turning to Steven. “Of course. Let us know when we can start.”
“Now. I’ll move out of the house to temporary accommodations for a few days.” Steven stood up then. Pushed in his chair and plastered a blank look on his face. Generally looked as if he hadn’t been talking about heart-wrenching topics five seconds ago. “In fact, I need to finalize those arrangements with Liza.”
Maybe it was the pain thrumming off him or the brief peek she got into his yearning for a real relationship with Damon. Either way, Cate felt guilty about kicking the guy out of his own bed. “You don’t have to move out.”
“Yes, I do.” Steven shook his head. “Being there is hard enough without opening that door.”
He lost her. “What door?”
This time his smile was sad. “You’ll see.”
An hour later, Damon couldn’t get comfortable in his chair. He threw that half pillow thing poking into his back on the floor. What were those for, anyway? Then he shifted . . . and did it again. Nothing helped.
Being in this building had him on edge. Just walking up to the stone house set back in a cocoon of trees started a kicking in his gut. He grew up here but hadn’t been back for years. Three stories of gray stone with a deep porch with stone pillars and a swing. The porch stretched most of the way around the house. Flowers in a riot of purple and pink sat in pots out front and in boxes under the windows.
He knew the Sullivan horticultural team had something to do with the fresh happy look. But that didn’t stop the pain from slashing through him when he remembered the way his mother fussed over the flowers she planted here. Trimming and talking to them. How she asked Dad to build those flower boxes.
Walking inside the double doors hit him just as hard. The large open entry and wooden staircase highlighting the hall. His grandfather built a portion of the building and his father added on. It had been the perfect place for a president of a university to live. Plenty of entertaining space with living space on the top two floors, the upper one belonging to him. It was also a little boy’s dream.
The Protector Page 19
