Emm shied away from her own flushed face in the mirror. “Traitor!” she muttered to herself, grabbing up her stuff and slamming out.
On the way to the buildings to meet Ross and the engineer, she tried the bromide, Just business, but it was no more palliative than sleep had been. No matter how she lectured herself on the facts—that she’d be gone soon, that she didn’t belong in Texas and Ross would never leave, that she’d just landed her dream job and couldn’t quit—she felt inevitability hovering over her like the thunder brewing in the distance.
In the end, as with most complicated things when they were distilled to their essence, reality was both stark and simple: She wanted Ross Sinclair. And he wanted her, too. Regrets aplenty she’d have afterward, but she’d always been a very poor practitioner of what might have been. At least she’d have a few happy memories to sustain her, for she had a feeling she was unlikely to ever again meet a man similar to Ross Sinclair.
Feeling at peace with herself for the first time since her arrival in Amarillo, Emm didn’t have to pretend a big smile when she saw Ross waiting in the lobby of the unlocked old building. He did a double take when he caught her expression, as if he’d never seen it before. His own eyes darkened, and his pupils dilated. He’d just opened his mouth to say something when the structural engineer arrived.
The next few hours were very professional. If the engineer, Burt, caught the strange undercurrents between Emm and Ross, he didn’t let on. He measured and took borings of the foundation and curtain wall, while the soils engineer took borings in the parking lot to confirm the soil was still supporting the old structure as designed after almost a hundred years. The soils analysis would also be the determining factor in whether more square footage and height could potentially be added to the building.
Explaining he was conducting something called a Rapid Visual Screening, Burt squinted at the “as builts” Emm had copied for him and walked every corridor, looking for signs of weakness or failure. He made notes on his iPad, and when Emm looked over his shoulder she saw a complicated Excel matrix he was feeding into as they investigated. He even took stud samples at a few places that showed a bit of sagging. He walked the basement and, with Ross’s permission, exposed a beam he was concerned about by using a small saw to cut a neat long hole in the wall. He took tiny scrapings of the old iron beam and shined a flashlight in both directions as far as he could see, testing its vertical stability with a laser-held device. Then he did the same on the higher floors and finally reached the roof. He walked it, staying away from the crumbling, darker area but agreeing with Emm that it was probably the source of the leak she’d found below. He took more measurements with the laser, making notes on his iPad until he was satisfied.
Then, shortly after noon, he bade the two of them good-bye and promised a detailed report in a week, about the same time the soils analysis was due.
“Twelve thousand dollars later . . .” Ross grumbled as he watched Burt saunter away.
“The bulk of his time is the analysis he’ll spend a week compiling, not the survey itself,” Emm pointed out.
Ross glanced at his watch and then back at her. “Do you have time for a late lunch?”
“Don’t you have appointments for the rest of the day?”
“I cleared my schedule until four or so.”
“In that case, I’d love to.”
He opened the door and escorted her out. “Where would you like to go?”
Emm hesitated so long he gave her that curious look behind half-mast eyes that was becoming both familiar and beloved to her. He raked his hand through his hair, leaving it more mussed than usual, and she realized he was nervous, too.
That knowledge gave her courage. “I’ve been wanting to try the room service menu at my hotel,” she blurted as she skirted past him, careful not to touch him.
When she didn’t feel him follow her, she turned back. He was standing still half in, half out of the doorway, staring at her with eyes so deeply, brilliantly blue they shone even in the shadows. They weren’t half-mast anymore. They were wide open, aware of exactly what she was implying.
Blushing, Emm moved toward her car. “If you’d rather stop somewhere closer, I understand.” Her voice was too high-pitched, and he probably thought she was an idiot. She was about to melt into a puddle of humiliated goo on her seat, but in a few strides he closed the gap between them and gently shut the car door she’d left open. He caught her elbow to press her against the side of the car with the entire long length of his body.
“I don’t want any more misunderstandings between us, so I’ll just ask—are you inviting me for more than lunch?”
The sun was behind his head so she couldn’t see his expression, thankfully, for she was already trembling, half sorry she’d obeyed her very unruly impulses. She had never felt so at war with herself. She stared at the pulse beating in his throat, but she’d started this and she wouldn’t back out now. All she could manage was a nod.
He seemed to sense her unease, for he only lifted her hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss it, back and then front. Her fingers tingled, as if she’d been shocked by a taser. Her knees went weak, both at the sexual chemistry bubbling between them and at her own daring.
He whispered into her palm, “I accept. Shall I drive? I’ll bring you to your car before I go back to the office.”
Again, she could only manage a nod.
The short drive to her hotel involved zero conversation but rampant speculation on both sides. She saw his quickened breathing, the slight flush on his high cheekbones, and she knew that inside, he was almost as worked up as she was; he was just better at concealing it. The elevator ride was equally boring, at least on the outside.
She had to fumble several times to get her door open until finally he took her key card and opened it for her. He closed the door behind them, then slowly, decisively, he reached behind him without looking and put the chain in place. “Eat after.”
She nodded. She was so nervous, hunger had fled, and besides, now she could see his face and eyes, she was wondering if she’d been premature. Oh, he wanted her, no doubt about that. She could see the bulge in his pants. But still, he stayed where he was, looking at her. Waiting.
Suddenly, she realized why. He didn’t want to scare her, had picked up on her skittishness. She had begun this, but she had to indicate her willingness to explore the sexual promise that had sizzled between them since they’d met outside his ranch on a long and winding road . . . was it only a few weeks ago?
Emm felt the dampness beading between her legs, but still she stayed frozen; whether heaven or hell awaited, she truly didn’t know. And never would if she didn’t take three short steps.
His breathing evened out a bit and his voice was deep, low, but still controlled when he asked simply, “Why are you doing this, Emm? Are you having second thoughts?”
She took such a big breath her breasts rose and fell. When his gaze lowered, her heart skipped a beat at the almost tangible caress. She debated hedging, but she owed him honesty, and she’d have regrets aplenty back in Baltimore without adding lying to the memories. “Because after I leave here, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what it would have been like.”
At her raw honesty, he took a compulsive step toward her. She couldn’t help it, she backed away. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down so hard she saw the full lip go white. “Don’t torment me if you’ve changed your mind.” He leaned against the door again, as if he needed the support.
He was tormented, too, and that realization broke through to her. Things had gone too far between them to turn back. She also knew that even obviously aroused, he’d leave her alone if she asked. Perhaps there was no future for them beyond this afternoon, but what came tomorrow was decided by what began today. For once she’d do what she wanted to, right or wrong, prudent or foolish. She spanned the short gap between them until they would have been almost nose to nose if she hadn’t had to tilt her hea
d back to meet his eyes. He’d left his hat in the car, so his thick hair was tousled, as if inviting her to mess it up further.
Emm gave him what she hoped was a seductive smile, but she was clumsy when she went to unbutton his shirt. It didn’t help that her hands were shaking.
Still standing against the door, he clenched his hands at his sides, as if only then could he control his need to ravish her. But as he eyed her awkwardness, he gave her a smile that was so tender it almost brought tears to her eyes.
Then he said something totally unexpected. “I apprehend the ruses of sexual conquest are not in your hitherto vast lexicon?”
Emm’s hands froze. Sweet nothings, lies, and even the promises men and women exchanged at such moments could not have moved her like his teasing statement. It spoke volumes of his innate understanding of her character, for him to use such “big words” to both tease her gently and put her at ease. Not to mention the fact that both his diction and etymology were perfect, unlike the other men she’d dated . . . She had to swallow the lump in her throat and bury her face in his soft chest hair, hoping she could master the urge to cry.
Then Emm, the PhD, the history and science lover, the verbose and the loquacious, could manage only two words: “Thank you.”
With a husky chuckle, he lifted her chin and swooped toward her mouth, giving her the gift of laughter and himself.
But there was one more thing . . . She covered his mouth with her hand and looked up at him, her eyes so dilated they were more black than blue. “Just sex.”
“Texas friendly, ma’am. So I won’t bite . . . much,” Ross replied, his deep voice still tinged with laughter, like a promise on her mouth.
With the first touch of male to female, all the controlled stillness that had kept him leashed erupted into fluid movement. He yanked her to him at the same time, lowering his head to encourage her tentative fingers to explore all she wanted. She was pleased that even this first time, when usually men had to feel their way in pleasing her, Ross had read and encouraged her wish to bury her fingers in his thick hair and learn the perfect shape of his skull. But in giving her that leave, he took his own. At the same time, his knee nudged her legs apart so he could tilt her lower body into the hard vee of his. He broke the kiss for a second, only to slant his head at the perfect angle to hers.
This time, his lips took her. There was no other word for that complete possession.
He’d been tender and patient in his kiss before, letting her learn him. Not this time. This time, he kissed her open mouthed, his tongue urging her mouth to open for him and accept the demanding thrust of what was to come. Simultaneously, he rubbed his hips against her, tilting her so far over the arms clasped around her waist that she would have fallen if he wasn’t supporting her. The tingling that had begun in her hands forked through her body, centering between her legs in an almost painful throb. Helplessly, she opened to his explorations, submissive in a way totally foreign to her. Her mouth opened wider still, and her tongue began to duel with his, presaging what was to come in a way almost as arousing.
Still, it wasn’t enough . . . She wriggled, her hips moving in tandem with his, trying to press every molecule in her body to its counterpart in him. As if she belonged to him, as if all the primal rights between men and women since time began ruled them in this twenty-first-century hotel room. He didn’t quite wear a bear skin and carry a club, but he was all Texas arrogant male by way of wealthy New York Yalie, and the complexity of who he was fit her own duality perfectly.
She’d intended to take some control—it was her invitation and her hotel room after all—but her knees were so weak she could barely stand. Laughing even more throatily against her mouth, he lifted his head and picked her up in his arms. She expected to feel the soft mattress against her back, but he surprised her again by instead whirling her around in a circle three times, holding her carefully, exulting in the weight of her and the joy to come.
And she laughed back, body, mind, and, though she feared to admit it, soul. This was the joy she was made for, but only he had ever called forth such total intimacy. The room spun, and his face became the center of her world. He was gloriously, righteously male, luxuriating in his possession of her. And again, in this wordless way, she realized how much he’d wanted her, that he’d feared never seeing her again, too, so he was extending the moment of possession like the precious thing it was to him, setting their intimate world symbolically spinning even before the sex act.
His boyish joy was infectious. Any semblance of shyness or hesitation was left scattered on their private whirlwind.
Her feet knocked the bedside lamp.
The papers on the small table fluttered in the whoosh of air to the floor.
His boot caught the chenille spread, which fell in a heap to the carpet. It also upset his balance enough to make him stumble, but like a good Texas Ranger captain, he had a great sense of direction—straight onto the bed.
He was even in control enough to land on the bottom so he didn’t crush her. And so it was that Mercy Magdalena Rothschild, for one stolen afternoon, learned at almost forty what it truly meant to be a woman for the first time, in the arms of a man who fit her perfectly in every way. She looked down at his laughing face, totally unaware of how dark her own eyes had gone. Her smile faded. She straddled him, scrabbling at her blouse.
His laugh broke off abruptly. She pulled at the fabric, her fingers too shaky to manage the small buttons, so he gallantly offered his help by ripping off her shirt. She reached behind her back to unlatch her bra. It fell, and she tossed it across the room, sighing as she finally felt free, in every way. She’d expected to be shy this first time, but instead she sat very still and let him look.
Wanted him to look.
He cupped her full breasts in his tough rancher hands, learning texture and weight. “I knew you’d look like this, peaches and cream, my favorite. How do you taste?” He put one hand behind her waist and lowered her down to his mouth, his free hand cupping the opposite breast, stroking her nipple with one delicate finger while his mouth learned the hardness of the other. Her heart felt like it exploded in her chest, but it only pounded beneath the suckling, as if even it knew this man was meant for her. Her nipples had always been very sensitive, and she had to pull most of her lovers back from being too harsh, but Ross, the first time, seemed to read her well. He suckled softly, releasing her just as pleasure became pain, only to cover her breast again with kisses and once, shockingly, the gentlest scrape of his teeth, heightening the sensations of the moment and the pleasure to come.
Then she was squirming, trying to reach for his pants while still leaving her breasts hanging free to his mesmerizing touch. His golden laughter was muffled against her bosom. “Need some help?”
“No. I’ll do it.” She slipped to his side so she could unzip his pants. While she worked at that taut front, he more skillfully unzipped her skirt, running both hands around the soft curve of her stomach to her back, which arched at his touch, bringing her breasts tight against the side of his chest. Only then did she realize his shirt was unbuttoned. She didn’t recall doing that . . . and when did he lose his boots?
The next thing she knew, her skirt was gone, leaving her in a skimpy pair of black lace panties, which she’d selected quite deliberately this morning. In fact, she’d planned this entire encounter, but not for the first time Ross had turned her assumptions and her world upside down. While she was still fumbling at his zipper, he lifted his hips, easing the strain at his crotch, unzipped his pants and kicked them down and off, simultaneously shrugging out of his shirt.
Then, both attired only in underwear, they paused, thoroughly appraising with their eyes the territory their hands itched to conquer. Emm was so busy reveling in the look of him that she barely noticed how thoroughly he absorbed her with his eyes, as if he’d been on the verge of starvation and only she was sustenance.
He was, quite simply, beautiful. His arms were lithe and muscled, his shoulders we
re as wide as they’d felt, and his chest was centered with a scattering of dark hair. His torso angled down to a lean waist and long, powerful legs that had been made, she saw now, to stride into her life and sweep her away to this moment.
She put one hand flat on his chest, feeling him flinch at her touch, but she knew it wasn’t because he didn’t want her to, but because he wanted so badly for her to touch him now, often, in any way she liked. She saw the need in his flared nostrils and midnight sky eyes. She accepted the wordless invitation. She scooted in front of him on her knees to put both hands on his shoulders and let them drift downward.
He was hers. She’d enjoy him.
This would be a long, slow, luxurious building up of memories for the alone time to come. “Be still,” she commanded, her voice hoarse. And she was woman enough to want to tease him back, a little. She saw sweat break out on his upper lip, but he kept his hands limp at his sides and let her palms skim over him.
He felt so good. Smooth skin sprinkled with a light dusting of hair, but everywhere she touched he was hard. She couldn’t resist teasing him by tickling his hard ribs. He spasmed, his nipples hardening. Laughing her own version of female triumph, she lowered her mouth and laved his nipples, one side, then the other. He tasted so good; she was so involved in her exploration, it took her a second to realize he was tugging at her underwear.
She lifted up and let him pull them off, lying back to let him look. It was his turn to learn her like a blind man, except he had the double pleasure of sight. His hand drifted over her, barely touching. When she squirmed to get closer, to deepen the contact, his lips quirked, but he only transferred the light caress to her other side, arm to waist to hip to ankle. A delicate caress that was more torment than pleasure.
Sinclair Justice Page 14
