by Mary Campisi
“I meant pregnancy.” What the hell kind of traveling disease fest did she think he was?
“There’s no need to worry about that.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s not a concern.”
“For whom?”
She blew out a frustrated sigh. “Either of us.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Are you on the pill?”
“No.”
“Tubes tied?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know you’re not pregnant?” The thought of her belly filling with his child sucked the breath from him.
“Lower your voice.” She leaned across the table and hissed with the ferocity of a she-cat, “I just finished my period and I’m not ovulating. Now do you understand?”
“In great detail.”
She straightened her shoulders and eyed him. “So do I have to get tested?”
“For what?”
Her nostrils flared and he thought she might spring across the table and go for his throat—or another part of his anatomy. “A sexually transmitted disease, you big oaf.”
Rourke cocked his head to one side, considering her question. She really was adorable when she played feisty witch. What would she look like angry and naked? “It’s not a concern.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t need to be worried about it.” Angry, naked, and panting beneath him.
“Not good enough. With all the women you’ve been with, I’ll have to get tested for everything.”
“Hold it.” Now she was annoying him. “I’m not a man-whore for Chrissake. And I always use a condom.”
“Not always,” she bit out.
“You are truly trying my patience. Let me rephrase that. I always use a condom unless I’m with you. Then I seem to lose my senses.” She looked pleased with that confession.
“Really?”
Oh, what the hell, he’d already said too much. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Her lips tugged at the corners. “Then I guess we’re even.” She held out her hand.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
Rourke shook her hand but when she tried to release her grip, he held firm. “Come to my bed, Kate. Let me show you how good it can be.” She licked her lips. Twice. He remembered the taste of those lips.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He smiled. “I’ve never been more serious.”
Chapter 15
“There’s never been another you, Kate. Ever. And God knows I’ve tried.”—Rourke Flannigan
Rourke turned the key in the lock of the Montpelier Manor and opened the door. Kate followed him inside, inhaling the scent that clung to the room. If she were blindfolded and placed next to three hundred men, she’d still be able to sniff out Rourke Flannigan. He threw his keys on the desk and turned toward her. She could tell from his guarded expression and the stiffness in his posture that she would have to take the next step. She offered him a hesitant smile. “Make love to me.”
His jaw twitched the tiniest bit. “You’re sure?” She nodded. He drew her to him and searched her face. “No regrets, right?”
She could barely breathe let alone think. He was so close, so real, and she’d dreamed of this for so long. The truth seeped through her desire. “Of course I’ll have regrets, but that isn’t going to stop me.”
“I don’t want you to live with regret. There’s been enough of that between us.” He trailed his lips along her temple and murmured, “I want us to get to know one another again.”
Kate squeezed her eyes shut to block his words, but she’d dreamed them too many times to pretend she wasn’t desperate for them.
“I’ve never forgotten you, Kate.” His broad hand rested at the base of her neck, fingers splayed to touch her skin. He met her gaze and eased his hand down the front of her shirt until he found the opening. He undid the first button, then the next and the next, slowly, painfully, until her shirt fell open, leaving her vulnerable and wanting. “Even when I wanted to hate you for what you’d done, I couldn’t.” His gaze dropped to her breasts. “Pink lace. My favorite.”
“I remember.” She’d worn a pink lace bra the first time he unbuttoned her shirt. They were in the backseat of his Malibu, supposedly on their way to the movies. He’d traced every swirl and dip of frothy material, first with his hands and then his tongue…
“Do you ever wear any other colors?” His fingers outlined the scallop of fabric covering her right breast. “Black? Red?”
She swallowed. His fingers were so close to her nipple, if she moved the tiniest bit, he’d touch it. Just a hint closer…
“Kate?”
“Black. Sometimes I wear black.”
He flicked his thumb over her nipple and smiled when she stifled a whimper. “I’d like to see you in black. Black bra, black panties, black garter belt.”
“Hmmmm.” Right now, she’d paint her whole body black if he asked. He cupped both breasts, stroking them as his thumbs worked her nipples. “Rourke.” She closed her eyes and arched her back. “Please.”
“Please what? Please stop?” His fingers stilled. “Please don’t stop?” The stroking started again. “Or, please do this?” His tongue poked through the lacey fabric to lick the rigid peak of a nipple. When he began to gently suck, she gasped and clutched his shoulders.
“You’re driving me crazy.”
“I’m trying for certifiably insane.” He reached behind and unfastened her bra. “But I think I’ll beat you to it.” He let out a muffled groan as he eased her bra off and buried his face between her breasts. “God, you were always perfect.”
She stroked his back, tugging at his shirt until she reached bare skin. “I want to feel you inside again,” she murmured into his tangle of hair. “Deep inside.”
He groaned. “Stop. We’re taking it slow this time. I’ve waited too long for this and I’ll be damned if it’s going to be over in fourteen minutes.”
A smile escaped her lips as she eased open the top button of his shirt to expose a dark sprinkle of hair. She flipped open another button and then another. Rourke was here, and he was hers, at least for this moment. “Unless a lot has changed, the first time was only a warm up for the second and third time.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” His fingers slid to the zipper of her jeans.
She leaned forward, brushed her breasts against his chest and whispered, “I like to think of it as a wish.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “You know how to bring a man to the edge with a single sentence.”
“Are you saying I have a big mouth?” She nipped his earlobe and glided her tongue along the cord of muscle on his neck.
“I’m saying you have the perfect mouth.” He clasped her face between his hands and drove his tongue between her lips. “Playtime’s over.”
She stepped between his legs and pressed her body against his. “Thank God.”
Rourke’s slow methodical lovemaking switched to urgent, out-of-control need as his hands roamed her body and slipped inside her jeans, searching for a swatch of lace panty. Kate yanked his shirt from his shoulders and reached for his belt buckle.
“Wait.” He leaned over, pulled a condom from the nightstand and tossed it on the bed. Then he pulled her on top of him. “I don’t want to stop once we get started.”
“Awful sure of yourself, weren’t you? Or did Mrs. Gibson provide these instead of the standard mint on a pillow?”
His expression hardened. “I bought them this morning. Call it wishful hoping.”
The box wasn’t opened, which meant maybe he really hadn’t been with Janice.
“I want to see you naked. I want to memorize every curve.”
“I’m not eighteen anymore.” Not model perfect like Janice either. “I’ve had a child—”
“You’re beautiful.” He inched her jeans over her h
ips and murmured, “Perfectly beautiful.”
His gaze flashed with a heat that said she was the only one he wanted. Kate pushed a lock of hair from his forehead and kissed him softly on the mouth. Her heart had always belonged to him even though she’d married Clay and maybe that was a sin she’d carry with her forever. But right now, didn’t she deserve this tiny slice of happiness, no matter how fleeting?
Rourke drew in deep, uneven breaths as she worked his zipper over the very obvious bulge in his pants. “Let yourself go, Rourke.” She inched her fingers inside his jeans. “Let’s be eighteen again.” Two fingers slid inside his navy boxers to stroke the tip of his penis.
“Witch,” he muttered, tearing at the scrap of lace panties, yanking them off to expose her nakedness. He scooped her up and flipped her onto the bed, covering her with his large body. “You want to be eighteen again, hmmm? I remember you at eighteen. Every delicious detail.” His eyes glittered as he stroked her breasts. “And I remember everything about that night at the lake.”
“So do I.” She wrapped her arms around him, licked his bottom lip.
“Damn.” He reached for the pack of condoms and tore one open. “You really do make me lose my head.”
“Let me.” She took the packet from him, ripped it open and with painfully slow strokes, eased it over his penis. Sweat peppered his forehead by the time she finished. “All done.”
“Hardly.” He laced his fingers with hers and pinned her hands above her head. “Look at me, Kate. I want you to look at me when I bury myself inside you.” Then he dove into her, hard and fast, his silver gaze burning her soul.
She cried out and wrapped her legs around his waist trying to pull him deeper into her. He plunged his tongue inside her mouth and took her with a need that pulled her back fourteen years. It had never been like this with Clay, no matter how much she pretended.
“Kate,” he groaned, thrusting into her, long and hard. “Kate,” he said again, gripping her fingers tighter.
He was hers, a magnificent blend of heart and soul and flesh. Her climax burst from her, tearing a zillion tiny shreds of ecstasy from deep inside her soul. Rourke followed, arching and pumping one final time before he cried out her name and collapsed against her. It was the aftermath that almost made her cry. He didn’t roll off and fall into a deep, immediate sleep as Clay had always done. Rourke remained wedged inside as he lifted his head and placed a soft kiss on her lips, her forehead, and her chin.
“Thank you.”
She ran a finger along his jaw. “Thank you.”
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this?”
“Tell me.”
He kissed her lips. “Every night since our first night together.”
“I seriously doubt it was every night. Some nights I’m sure you were otherwise occupied.” The thought of him making love to another woman squeezed her insides until they hurt.
His smiled slipped. “There’s never been another you, Kate. Ever. And God knows I’ve tried.”
She did cry then.
“Don’t be sad.” He swiped her cheeks with his forefinger. “Be happy. We’ve found each other again.”
More tears slipped down her cheeks. Easy to say when he wasn’t distracted with his Hollywood life and women like Janice Prentiss. And what if he found out she’d lied about Julia?
Rourke kissed her mouth, gently at first and then with more urgency. “There’s only one way I know to get you to stop crying,” he said on a sigh. “And I’m just the man to do it.”
They made love again, with hearts and hands and bodies. There were no words this time, only sensation and the power of their need flowing between them. After, Rourke pulled her into his arms and they slept. An insistent buzzing woke her minutes or maybe hours later. “Rourke?”
“Hmmm?”
Kate opened her eyes and tried to locate the sound. “It’s your phone.”
“Ignore it.”
“What if it’s Abbie? She and Maxine may have finished up early and are on their way back.”
“They’ll leave a message.” The buzzing stopped.
“Rourke, what if they’re on their way here?” Kate jerked up in bed and scanned the room for her clothes. She threw back the sheet and was about to step out of bed when he grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t go.”
He lay against the pillow, tousled and sleepy, all male and much too handsome. “Kate—” The phone buzzed again. “Hold on.” He reached down and grabbed his jeans, fishing around in the pocket until he located his cell phone. He flipped it open and said, “Hello?”
What if Abbie and Maxine were on their way here right now? Maybe Abbie had grown bored of the movies and convinced Maxine to call it quits early. What if—
“I told you Miles, everything is under control. No. Not yet. I know. When? Are you sure?” Rourke glanced at Kate. “I’ll take care of it. I don’t know. Christ, don’t push me. Okay. I’ll get back to you.” He hung up the phone and tossed it on the floor.
“Bad news?”
“No, just something I need to take care of.” He lay back down and dragged her on top of him. “Phones should be banned from bedrooms.” He trailed a hand along her hip and stroked the outside of her thigh.
“I should go.” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw it was almost eleven.
“I’m not letting you out of my bed yet. Besides, Abbie won’t be home until three.”
Kate pressed her lips against his chest and inhaled his scent. “Well in that case…”
She woke some time later, sore and exhausted from their third round of lovemaking. Rourke proved a thorough and demanding lover who reveled in her enthusiastic responses. She pushed back a nibble of guilt when she thought of Clay and his honest, even attempts at lovemaking. It wasn’t as though he’d ever disappointed her. He just wasn’t Rourke. Kate untangled herself from Rourke’s arm and eased off the bed. Apparently, she wasn’t the only exhausted one. He slept on his belly, one hand under his pillow, the other flung out where he’d held her. As much as she wanted to crawl back into bed for another hour, she had to get to work. Angie would be looking for her and Julia would be finished babysitting in another hour. Kate picked her clothes out of the pile on the floor and slid into them.
She wanted to leave Rourke a note and tell him—what exactly? This was great. let’s do it again sometimes soon? Thanks for the sex, it was super? What kind of note did one leave an ex-boyfriend after sleeping with him? Kate decided on Off to work. See you later. There was no notepaper on the desk and nothing inside the drawer. Darn Mrs. Gibson and her campaign to remove distractions from her guest’s lives. Kate spotted Rourke’s briefcase next to a chair. What businessman didn’t carry a notepad of some sort? Would it be pressing boundaries if she opened the briefcase and took a piece of paper? Her desire that he find something besides an empty bed outweighed her concern over invading his personal space.
Kate flipped the locks and opened his briefcase. She lifted the manila folder resting on top and tore a piece of paper from the notepad beneath. She scribbled a few lines then tiptoed to the bed where she laid the note on the pillow next to Rourke. As she watched him sleep, a tiny part of her heart opened and she began to believe in second chances.
Chapter 16
“This big bad wolf, what’s his name?”—Kate Redmond Maden
Rourke fastened his watch and slipped his keys in his pocket. He had a few more minutes of quiet before Abbie got back and started yammering in his ear. He’d concede there were moments these past few days when he’d wondered what it would have been like if he and Kate had been together and Julia was their child. Damn Georgeanne Redmond for ruining that possibility. A twinge of disappointment pinched his gut as he acknowledged Julia was Clay’s daughter. There would be no need for a blood test because Kate was incapable of subterfuge. He’d realized that a few hours ago when she gave herself to him—openly, honestly, and completely.
He’d made the bed, fluffed the
pillows, and emptied the trash can with the thoroughness of the cleaning woman who visited each morning. There were no signs that Kate had ever been in this room. Even the last traces of her hyacinth scent had evaporated into the yellowing pores of the wallpaper. He wished she’d woken him before she left. They needed to talk, the sooner the better. They belonged together, and if Kate belonged with him, so did Julia.
He pulled out his briefcase and flipped it open. The plain manila envelope that held the investigative report for Clay Maden stared back at him, an unwelcome reminder that the man threatened to once again keep Rourke and Kate apart.
***
Kate punched in Edmund Dupree’s number as she drove home from the manor. He’d called her cell phone four times in the past two hours but she’d left it in the car. She’d been so consumed with Rourke that the phone could have been on her pillow and she would have ignored it.
“Dupree speaking.”
“Mr. Dupree? This is Kate Maden. Is something wrong?”
“Thank God I found you.” His voice skittered through the line with excitement. “I need to speak with you immediately. I can be at your house in ten minutes.”
“Okay. I’m on my way home right now. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes indeed. Couldn’t be better.” He let out a high, giddy laugh. “Go straight home and wait for me. Do not speak with anyone.”
