by EC Sheedy
She studied the lines of his solemn face, the darkness of his thick, sleep-disheveled hair, the corded muscles of his arms. The shadows of regret in his eyes. It saddened Camryn how little she’d really known her friend—how much she was learning since her death. “And now. What do you believe now about love?”
He looked at her for what seemed forever. “I’m not sure.” He leaned closer. “All I’m sure of right now is that I want to make love with you.”
Camryn let silence linger, then pulled her hand from his. He’d been honest with her; he deserved the same from her. “You should know that I haven’t ‘made love’ in a very long time.” She picked at the blanket still covering her knees. “What I’ve done is… have sex. Pretty boring sex, actually.”
He frowned. “Explain.”
She took a breath. “I’m saying you’re not the only one who married for the wrong reasons. I married my . . . friend, because my biological clock’s alarm went off. I loved Craig—just not in the right way. I wanted kids more than I wanted him. And because of that”—she chewed over her next words—“he walked out on me.”
This time Dan left the room to silence, then gave her a crooked smile and said, “Looks like we have a lot in common. We’re a matched set of marital losers.”
Everything about what was happening between Dan and her was wrong, yet so right, so real, that its presence was a solid force in the room. If being with him was a mistake, it wouldn’t be her first, and she’d make it with wide-open eyes. A smile took root in her heart and blossomed on her lips. “Looks like,” she finally said.
He stood, held out a hand.
Hesitating, she looked up at him, then let her eyes skim the taut muscles of his chest and powerful biceps, the fullness at his groin. Her breathing skipped. “No promises,” she said, having no idea where this night would lead, and at the moment not wanting to know.
He nodded slowly. “Not past tonight.”
Anticipation growing, she took his hand, rose from the chaise, and walked with him to her bed. Bedside, she took off her robe and let the regret—a brief but eternal every-woman moment—that she wasn’t wearing a Victoria’s Secret silk nightgown slide with it to the floor.
Soft cotton would do—and a hard man. Her ears filled with the sound of her own breathing, the pound of her own heart. It had been so very, very long since she’d wanted like this.
Her skin warmed. Pulsing heat, long forgotten, burgeoned low in her belly, lower still, and when she looked in Dan’s eyes and saw the same heat reflected there, every sinew in her body curled and tensed—strung tight with the need for sex.
Heart-stopping, time-stopping sex . . . and a long, lingering coming. She tried to remember when she’d last felt this powerful an urge, last rode the rough wave of desire to its crest. Not with Craig. Never with Craig. Her fault. Her lousy love life, along with a million other things, was her fault. It had come with her stubborn refusal to accept the truth.
Tonight was sex for sex’s sake. Nothing more and nothing less. She liked Dan Lambert. Desired him. It would be enough.
She inhaled deeply, prepared to slip the narrow straps of her cotton gown from her shoulders.
“Uh uh. My job.” He took her hands and placed them at her sides. “All you do is stand there and let me look at you.”
She swallowed. “Easy for you to say.”
He smiled, shifted the straps of her gown low on her shoulders, and kissed her throat and neck. His hands skimmed under the straps and released them, letting her gown drop to the floor and join her velour robe. His gaze wandered her body, deliberate and intense. Appreciative. “Beautiful,” he said, adding, “Perfect,” in a whisper before pulling her close and taking her mouth in a kiss . . . to seal their bargain.
No promises, past tonight.
Camryn, pulled flush to Dan’s naked chest, was okay with that, okay with not thinking past the urges of her body or his, urges made clear when he ground his lower body against her pelvis and murmured into her ear. “We’ll be good together, Camryn. I’m sure of it.”
When his mouth moved from her mouth to her throat, and his teeth tugged on her earlobe, she sighed and relished a new truth: despite worry, fear, lurking strangers, and gunshots, she’d never felt so safe, so absolutely right in her life.
Tonight she’d be the Camryn she hadn’t been in years, the Camryn she needed to be, wanted to be.
She slid her hands around his taut, narrow waist, pulled him close. Closer.
Tonight she’d let her heat burn them both.
Chapter 19
Dan couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t slow down. Her mouth on his, opening for his tongue, letting him play, then playing right back, set him to crazy.
He was so hard, so much in need, he was in sexual pain. He didn’t like pain. He liked smooth. He liked hot, and he liked to take his time.
And damn! He liked this woman—wanted this woman!
Using every ounce of willpower he had, he pulled back from her and said, “Much as I hate to ask, can you wait a minute?”
Thank God, she didn’t look as if the idea of waiting thrilled her. At least he wasn’t the only one impatient.
“I’ve got protection, but it’s”—he filled his lungs—“in my truck.” Which at the moment might as well have been Outer Siberia.
Her confused expression turned to one he couldn’t quite read.
“What?” he said, dipping his chin to better catch her eyes.
“Nothing, but . . . Oh, damn. Might as well say it.” She moved from his arms, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled the quilt over her lap, and up far enough to half-cover her breasts. He could see her jaw moving, then her setting it to determined. Whatever the lady wanted to say, it wasn’t coming easy. “Are you . . . healthy?” she finally asked, with only the slightest tremor in her voice. “Sexually speaking, I mean.”
“Perfectly,” he said.
“So am I,” she said. “So you—we—won’t need protection.”
She rose from the bed, let the quilt drop, and as much as he wanted to get back to where they were, he hesitated, planting the hands he’d planned to have all over her on his own hips. “There’s other reasons for using protection.” Okay, so he was stating the obvious, but it had to be said, because when it came to having kids, either by the old-fashioned way or any other, Dan didn’t take chances. He’d let his guard down with Kylie, let her into his life. He’d made promises to her that he intended to keep—wanted to keep. That didn’t mean he wanted any more kids. Two were enough—especially when he’d already lost one and was having trouble hanging on to the other.
Camryn raised her eyes to his; they were strangely defiant. “Not with me. I can’t have children.”
This was a first, and he wasn’t exactly sure where to go from here. He had sex on his mind, not procreation, and he was having trouble making the shift. He tried. “And not your call, right?” he asked, remembering her father’s mumbled words about her wanting a child.
“Right.”
“You’re sure?” he asked, more to satisfy himself than her. He didn’t think for a moment she’d lie, which gave him a moment’s pause, because it went solidly against his usually cautious approach to women.
“Three-doctors sure, and . . . personally sure.” She looked a bit grim but didn’t add anything else, nor did she look as if she wanted him to ask more questions.
“Then I’m sorry.”
She nodded, the gesture terse, prim. “I thought you should know.”
He wasted a few seconds wondering why, but couldn’t stay focused on anything but the pale skin of her shoulders, the long column of her throat, her breasts pale in the dim light and waiting for his hands. If there was a word for Camryn’s body it was delicious.
Maybe this issue had to be explored, but not tonight. Tonight was about a man and a woman exploring each other. “Now I do know.” He reached for her and brought that delicious body to his. Camryn was lush—narrow in the right places, full in the others. Curves, not angl
es. She fit him perfectly. “And it doesn’t change the way I want you. Need you.”
He kissed her again, pulled her hard to where he wanted her the most; the kiss was long, deep, and hot—and in one fiery instant it took them back to pre-confessional mode. Exactly where he wanted to be. And judging from the heat and pulsing in Camryn’s body, so did she.
“Lie down,” he whispered against her throat, loosening his grip, sliding his hands over her buttocks, then thrusting against her before releasing her. “I have to get out of these jeans the old fashioned way. Unlike the Incredible Hulk.”
She stretched out on the bed and grinned at him. “Ever notice, during all that muscle-bulging, fabric-ripping, and seam-splitting, he never did burst from his pants?”
“Yeah.” Dan unzipped. He sure didn’t have that problem. “Poor bastard.”
He stripped, jeans and briefs, and stepped toward the bed.
“No. Wait.” She shifted to bedside, stared at his erection. “Impressive.”
When she moved closer and reached for him, he clamped his jaw closed. If she touched him, chances were good his last few months of celibacy would have him erupting like Vesuvius, but no way would he stop her. Hell, he couldn’t wait to feel her hands on him.
She slid her hand between his thighs, took the weight of him in her hands and fondled him.
Dan’s breath left him in one long, harsh groan. He spread his legs for balance and ground out, “That’s probably not a good idea.” He knew he was beading, knew he wouldn’t last. He had to move. Couldn’t move.
She closed her hand around him, looked up into his face, which by now had to look like a slab of granite, and said, “You’re beautiful, too.” She leaned in as if to kiss him—
He lifted her by the shoulders, laid her back on the bed and covered her with his body, a body now hot and hard enough to stall his brain. All he wanted was in, one long, deep plunge into female heat. Camryn’s heat.
Too fast, way too fast.
He rolled over, pulled her on top of his thighs—back from the danger zone—took her face in his hands and kissed her hard. She let him, digging her nails into his shoulders and squirming up his body until her softness met his steel—until his mind blanked and his cock pounded like a runner’s heart. How he’d thought having her on top would slow him down, he couldn’t figure.
“Okay, okay,” he muttered. Holding her back from him, he sucked up some air. “This is going to be worse than I thought.” He stilled himself, striving for control.
She leaned over him, her hair, where the dim lamplight caught it, turning to gold at the tips. He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear her exhale—the raggedness of it. He smelled the clean minty scent of her toothpaste before she bent her head to his neck and nipped him. “I’ll take that as a good thing.” She reached a hand down and between them, lifted herself enough so she could touch him.
He closed his eyes, prayed to some distant and unknown sex god to intervene with a dose of patience. “You keep doing that, and I won’t—” he stopped when she stroked him gently, almost idly.
“Won’t last the night?” Her words lashed his feverish skin.
Before he could answer, she said, “What makes you think I want you to?” She lifted herself, positioned herself at the tip of him. “Give me what you’ve got, Dan. All of it. Now.”
He cursed or prayed, he wasn’t sure which, then He gripped her hips, thrust up, and buried himself as far and deep as nature allowed. But he held on.
She moaned, threw her head back. He heard her gasp, then moan long and low.
Still joined with her, he said, “Lean back.” She did—exposing what he needed. He found her sweet spot, heard her intake of breath, then as skillfully as a man could who was breaking apart, he touched her, played with her. His thumb circling her. Easy. Hard. Around her point of heat until her delicate extension sat exposed.
He rubbed. Stroked.
Her final rush was liquid fire, a deep inner clenching that went straight to his core. Gripping her hips, he held her to him, thrust up and released into her desperate frenzy.
She shuddered and her head fell back. After some long, hard breathing, she lowered herself to his chest, sprawling over it like a rag doll.
Nestling her face close to his neck, she murmured, “That was amazing.”
“That was crippling.”
She lifted her head, then a hand to brush his sweat- dampened hair off his forehead. “Meaning what? You’re not up for seconds?”
“I’m up for all of you I can get.” He ran his hand down her slick back. “But I need a minute.” He liked this particular minute after sex, two bodies lax and fused by the juices of sex.
She put her face back to his neck. “Me too.” She murmured something he couldn’t hear against his cooling skin. He was certain she’d laughed.
He touched her hair. “What was that?”
She rolled off his chest, away from his body. Propping her head in one hand and resting the other on his chest, she said, “I was thinking how true that old bumper sticker really is.”
He arched a questioning brow.
“A hard man is good to find.”
He smiled. “So is a hot woman, one who knows what she likes—and goes for it.”
She made a circle with her index finger in his chest hair, then stroked it flat. “Scare you?”
“Yeah, right!” He looked at her, frowned. “You’re not kidding.”
“Not completely.” Silence. “I generally take my time, think things through before I make a decision and go for something. But when I do decide, I tend to, uh, over-focus. As in not knowing when to quit. I think I might have done that with you.”
Dan shifted to his side, wedged his leg between hers. She was still warm, still wet, and she smelled like sex and roses. He put a hand on her face, met her gaze—a gaze honestly concerned. “Definitely not a problem. You can focus on me as much as you want for as long as you want because quitting is the last thing on my mind.”
“Glad to hear it.” She kissed his ear, then nipped his earlobe. When her warm breath touched his ear, his chest contracted.
Okay, he might have to wait a minute or two for old dick to rise to the task, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fast-forward things for the lady in his arms.
“But this time,” he added, bending again to kiss her breast, “we’ll take it slow. Real slow.” He lifted his head, smiled down at her, and glanced toward the still-dark window. “Given your focus and my determination, we should be able to last until first light.” He ran his hand down her stomach, spread his fingers over her warm skin. “Hell, there’s parts of you I haven’t even kissed yet.”
She inhaled sharply. “Can’t have that.”
“We won’t.”
First light, Camryn thought, her brain dimming as his mouth moved over her, down her … if I survive Dan Lambert long enough to see it.
Chapter 20
A rough, careless hand shook Gina awake, and the barest of light filtered through her half-opened eyes. When they opened wider, she saw Delores glaring at her, her face mere inches away.
“What’s the matter with you? What are you doing down here?” Delores said.
“Nothing, I—” Gina couldn’t think clearly enough to finish the sentence. She squinted, tried to orient herself. She was in the living room, but it was cold and damp, and the wet wind was rushing over her exposed skin, coming in from the open patio doors. Her very bones were frigid, and the smell of sweat and dirt filled her nostrils. Some non-essentials registered: Her mother was in her chair, maybe a foot away. She wore a pink top—dark pink—and black slacks. And makeup.
“For God’s sake, cover yourself up,” Delores said.
She looked at her mother, saw her jerk her head toward Gina’s chest where her naked breasts spilled from the torn front of her nightgown. One of her breasts was scratched, a sodden brown leaf adhering to the edge of the scrape like a misplaced Band-Aid. She peeled it off, looked at it, and closed he
r eyes to catch a memory. Her mind flitted like a bird, thought to thought, until . . .
Adam . . . Where was Adam?
Adam was why she was here.
“What time is it?” There was no trace of light outside.
“Almost six.”
Focused now, she sat up, so quickly her brain ached, and pulled the remnants of her gown to her chest. Eyes wide and dry, she looked around. She had to be careful; she’d almost voiced her question about Adam. That wouldn’t be smart.
Delores knew Adam. Delores had fucked Adam. Delores couldn’t be trusted. She didn’t know Adam was here, or that he was going to stay. Forever.
“Your feet are bleeding.” A pause. “All over my carpet! Get up. Get a towel. Do something!”
Gina looked at her feet. They were mottled with blood and soil. Staring at them, the events of the evening came back.
It had started with a smear of lipstick. They’d fought. Adam had told her to get the hell out of his room, accused her of being irrational, “stupidly jealous,” and said if she didn’t trust him, wouldn’t do what he wanted, he’d leave. Find someone else to help him.
Someone else . . . the words hit her like shrapnel.
She closed her eyes against what happened next. Her going back to his room, begging forgiveness, pleading with him to make love to her. But he’d refused. He wouldn’t touch her. All he could talk about was getting custody of his daughter and about Camryn . . .
First Holly, now Camryn. She couldn’t bear it. Hated him for it. Hated them even more.
Her brain boiled, its putrid contents bubbling, swelling, threatening to spew, overwhelm. She forced herself to concentrate, to remember. After she’d left Adam, she’d gone to her room, then she’d . . . She rubbed her forehead.
She’d got the gun from the top of her closet.
“Where were you, Gina? I want to know,” Delores demanded. “Speak up, girl, or this conversation will take all night.”
“I’m not . . . sure. I must have been sleepwalking.” Frantic, she tried to remember where she’d left the gun. She remembered it in her hand, but what did she do with it? What?
