“Grace!”
She stroked his member lightly. “Is that a yes?”
God help him, yes. He guided her back to him.
For the next minutes, his world narrowed to the wet warmth of her mouth, the teasing play of her tongue. When he could stand no more of the torment, he dragged her up beside him.
Her breath came in ragged pants through flared nostrils.
“I wasn’t finished.”
“Well, you almost finished me, sweetheart. And that, my love, I don’t think you’re quite ready for.”
“Oh. Oh!”
She laughed, and Ray grinned at the sound. This was new, this easiness, an unexpected product of laying himself bare, letting her in. Lord God, he loved her.
Suddenly, the humor was gone. There was nothing left now but need.
“I hope you’re ready for me,” he rasped, rolling her under him, “’cuz in about five seconds, I’m gonna be inside you.”
“Ray Morgan, I was born ready for you,” she breathed against his ear, even as she guided him to her entrance.
He slid home with one strong thrust. Both of them froze.
“Ray?”
“Yes?”
“Do that again. Pull out all the way and do it again.”
Her words excited him. Words she never would have dared say a month ago, a week ago.
It struck him then, what he’d deprived her of. The right to express her sexuality, explore it. He’d rectify that, he vowed, even if it killed him. Starting now.
He pulled out of her body, then buried himself in her slick heat again. She stifled a sob. Bracing himself on his arms, he looked down at her. Her face was flushed, her eyelashes lying sooty against her white skin, her lush lips parted.
“Open your eyes, Grace. Look at me.”
She lifted her lids, her blue gaze meeting his, and the sheer desire reflected there jolted him to the bone. Grace, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take this from you.
“What’s it feel like?” he managed to say.
“Good.” The word came out on a sob.
“No, tell me. What’s it feel like when I’m inside you?”
Her fingernails bit into his shoulders. “Ray....”
“Talk to me. Tell me how it feels. Tell me everything. Tell me what you want.”
He felt the shudder that rippled through her. Once more, his arms trembling, he pulled almost completely out, then thrust strongly into her again, sheathing himself to the hilt.
She moaned. “It feels like ... oh, God, like I’m being impaled. Like if you were any bigger, I’d be able to taste you in my throat.”
He surged into her again, unable to control his response to her words.
She picked up his urgency. “It feels like you’re never going to fit, but then you do.”
He withdrew and plunged into her again.
“Oh, God, Ray, you fit so good.”
He felt her words slam into him. Slow down, Morgan. Slow down. “What do you want, Gracie?”
“Everything. Anything.” She clutched at him with her hands, digging her fingernails in. “As long as you’re right here with me, like this.”
“I want what you want.” He thrust into her again. “Just tell me, Gracie. Anything. Whatever you want.”
She whimpered.
“Grace?”
“Fast. I want it fast, Ray. Hard.”
He looked into her eyes. The need he saw there electrified him, but he made one last grab for control. “The baby....”
“The baby’s safe. The doctor said.” Her words emerged on short, pants breaths. “Please, Ray.”
Thrusting hard into her, he bent to bite her shoulder.
“Oh, yes! Like that.”
The rest was a haze. Beyond all thought, beyond reason, he pounded himself into her. There were no more words, at least not intelligible ones. Just broken sobs—his, hers, theirs—as they plunged closer and closer to completion.
Then, suddenly, she was convulsing around him, shimmering, flying apart. Seconds later, he followed, his own release ripping the lid right off his world.
Slowly, like a feather on the breeze, he felt his spirit lilt back and forth until finally it settled to earth again.
Incredible. He’d just had the hottest sex of his life, and he’d had it with his wife of almost five years.
He rolled, taking Grace with him. She went easily, happily, nuzzling into his neck. Her left hand settled on his chest, right over his heart, right where the new thing uncurled.
Happiness so pure it was pain. Love.
Ah, hell, forget the mind-blowing sex. The question he should be asking himself was this: how could it take a man five years—five frickin’ years—to finally learn to love his wife? To really see her, know her, appreciate her?
She curled into him, practically purring. He responded by wrapping himself around her.
Morgan, you are one slow sonofabitch.
Grace lay looking at the ceiling in dazed pleasure.
They’d made love again, with her astride him, her eyes locked on his, communicating silently as she rode him to a triumphant orgasm. He’d grasped her hips and surged into her for another minute, finding his own release in a hot surge of semen.
“You know what I’d like right now?” she asked, when their heart rates had returned to normal and they lay together in blissful exhaustion.
His breath whooshed out, half laugh, half groan. “Grace, honey, if this is going to require an erection on my part, I should warn you it may not be within my power to grant.”
She laughed. “Nothing quite that hard, if you’ll pardon the pun. What I’d really like is a cup of coffee. A decaf, double cream would be heaven.”
“Now, that I can do.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and rolled away. “There’s a Tim Horton’s just down the street. I’ll run over and get us some coffee.”
She lay back, watching him drag on his jeans and pull his t-shirt over his head.
“A honey cruller, too. And maybe a Boston Cream.”
“Heck, I’ll spring for a dozen. Be right back. Remember....”
“Don’t open the door for anyone but you,” she finished.
“And throw the bolt as soon as I’ve gone.”
“I will.” She got up, wrapping the sheet around her, and followed him to the door.
He pressed a kiss to her mouth, then left. Smiling, she threw the security bolt.
Life was good, she thought as she headed to the bathroom. She had her husband back. Better than back.
In the mirror, she watched her lips curve upward in a satisfied smile. She had Ray’s baby growing inside her. And thanks to Ray, there was every chance they’d get their lives back, literally.
And soon, she would have coffee and doughnuts.
Grinning, she turned away from her reflection and started the shower. When the temperature was regulated, she dropped the sheet and stepped under the spray. Five minutes later, as she toweled herself off, she heard a rap on the door.
“Just a sec, Ray,” she called.
Quickly, she tossed the wet towel into the tub, re-fastened the sheet sarong-like around her. Hairbrush in hand, she strode to the door. At the last minute, she remembered Ray’s caution and pressed her eye to the viewer.
Landis.
The hair brush fell to the floor with a clatter.
“Open up, Mrs. Morgan.”
Mrs. Morgan? She was registered under a false name. How had he found her?
“We have your husband.”
Oh, God! Her heart thundered so loud in her chest, she could barely think. What would Ray have her do? He’d told her not to open for anyone but him. If he were really out there, surely he’d call out, tell her what to do.
“Mrs. Morgan? Are you going to open this door?”
“I don’t believe you,” she croaked.
“He’d confirm it for himself, but I’m afraid he’s bleeding rather a lot—”
“Don’t hurt
him!”
“That’s entirely up to you, Mrs. Morgan.”
Grace dragged the bolt back and opened the door. Landis shouldered his way in, pushing her backward with a grip on her arm, his other hand brandishing a deadly-looking handgun. She glimpsed another man in the parking lot, but no sign of Ray.
“Where’s Ray? What have you done to him?”
Still grasping her arm, he dragged her to the bathroom to satisfy himself she was alone.
“Yes, well, I’m afraid I lied about that part,” he said, his tone politely civil. “I don’t have him ... yet. But it’s good to know you’re expecting him soon. I’ve got a charter to catch.”
Grace tried to wrench away from him, but he tightened his grip on her elbow so hard it felt like bones were rubbing together. Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision.
“And thank you, by the way, for letting me in. It’ll be so much easier, catching him unawares like this.”
“Bastard.”
“Quite. Now let’s get you settled.”
Before she knew what his intent was, he released her elbow, grasped the sheet knotted between her breasts and yanked it off. A shove sent her sprawling onto the bed. Panic clawing her insides, she rolled away but he grabbed her foot and dragged her back, this time pinning her leg to the mattress with his foot.
“No need for hysterics, Mrs. Morgan,” he drawled. “As tempting a package as you might present, I’m a little pressed for time at the moment. I merely need the sheet to tie you up.”
Tie her up? She couldn’t let him do that. If she were tied, she’d be no use to Ray.
Landis’s shoe bit deeply into her calf, effectively tethering her face-down on the bed as he tore a strip from the sheet.
Think.
She could scream, but that would surely bring the thug from outside, and they’d subdue her twice as fast, twice as easily. As she heard Landis rip a second strip, she knew she had to act.
Dragging in a deep breath, she kicked with her free foot at the leg that pinned her. Lying face down, she couldn’t get much power behind the kick, but somehow the sideways blow managed to dislodge his foot. It also hurt like hell as his leather-shod foot slid off, since he’d been applying considerable weight to her leg.
Ignoring the pain, she rolled away, this time gaining her feet. She’d almost reached the door when he caught her arm.
He yanked her back, almost tearing her arm from its socket.
“I think I mentioned I don’t have time for this.”
Then he struck her—a casual, measured clip to the side of her face with the butt of the pistol. White-hot pain exploded in her head. She crumpled. Though her vision grayed, she didn’t pass out.
“There’s a good girl.” He shoved her back down on the bed.
Grace’s vision wobbled. The whole side of her head felt like it was on fire, and something warm dripped down her cheek. Blood. Her blood.
Her stomach wanted to revolt. She closed her eyes against the nausea, but opened them again seconds later as she felt Landis binding her wrists. She should struggle, do something, but she couldn’t make her trembling limbs obey. Besides, there seemed to be two of everything, including Landis.
I’m so sorry, Ray.
She lay there limply as he bound her ankles. Then he produced a length of the cotton sheet, dangling it in front of her.
“Just one more. I hate to have to do this to a lady, but I’m going to have to gag you.”
She peered up at him. Her left eye had begun to swell shut, but at least she was seeing only one version of Landis.
Too bad her mind didn’t seem to be clearing as fast. If she were thinking clearly, she’d understand why he was doing this. As it was, she couldn’t fathom it out. When he stepped closer with his makeshift gag, she blurted it out.
“Why are you doing this? I know you’re going to kill me anyway.”
“I’m afraid I am,” he admitted. “But to be perfectly fair, I told you as much when I gave you the opportunity to disappear. I would have sworn you were smart enough to take it.”
“I understand why you did that now,” she said, trying to keep her terror from making her voice waver. “You wanted to set my husband up, make it look like he took money from you.”
Landis smiled, a chilling thing. “A definite bonus,” he conceded. “Now, enough talk. Let’s get this gag on you.”
She had to keep him talking. Ray could be back any minute. If she could avoid the gag, she might be able to warn him.
“Why not kill me now?” she blurted.
His eyes widened, and she was struck by what a handsome sonofabitch he was. How could evil disguise itself so effectively behind that urbane mask?
“Such a hurry, Mrs. Morgan. You know, most people prefer later rather than sooner.”
“I just want to understand. You’ve said you’re going to kill me anyway. You also said you were in a hurry. So why all this trouble?”
“Why? Because your husband has proven just a touch hard to kill. If he gets difficult tonight, you’ll be my ace in the hole.”
Landis squatted by the bed, drawing the cold muzzle of the gun across Grace’s midriff. Unable to control her revulsion, she shrank away.
“How many seconds do you think it’s going to take him to throw down his weapon, Mrs. Morgan, when he assesses this situation? Hmmm? How long?”
Ray’s weapon! He hadn’t taken it. She was sure of it.
She glanced furtively around the room. Not on the night table, not on the TV. Maybe it was still in the holster, inside his jacket, which was on the floor on the other side of the bed. He’d shrugged out of it, when they’d made love.
It didn’t matter, though, did it? Gloom descended on her as she remembered that Ray would walk into this trap unarmed. He’d probably never know what hit him. And she’d never be able to get to his gun in time to stop it, even if her hands weren’t bound.
“So he walks in, you shoot him, and when you’re sure he’s dead, you shoot me,” she said dully.
“Right again, Miss Hotshot Reporter. But then I guess it didn’t tax those keen deductive powers of yours too much, hmmm? Now I really do need you to shut up so I can get this gag on.”
Don’t let him do it.
Her heart pounded in her throat as he bent closer, and her breath came in ragged, panicked gulps. So hard to think. Terror was making her brain sluggish.
Not knowing what else to do, she rolled, trying to evade him, but with her bound limbs she couldn’t wriggle away fast enough. He caught her easily.
Scream. She’d rejected the idea before, but now there was nothing else for it. Maybe she’d bought Ray enough time. Maybe he’d be close enough to hear her cry before Landis silenced her. Maybe she could give him that little edge.
Filling her lungs, she opened her mouth and screamed—for all of about a tenth of a second.
Anticipating her again, Landis shoved a pillow over her face almost before the first sound broke. Unable to breathe, she panicked, thrashing and bucking.
This was it. She was going to die. Even as she fought, she knew it was useless. In a remarkably short time, her consciousness started to dim. So, too, did the panic. All that was left was a piercing regret.
I’m so sorry, Ray.
Chapter 14
RAY HAD BEEN WAITING on the coffee and doughnuts when it hit him, that dull feeling low in his gut.
He shouldn’t have left Grace.
For a moment, he argued with it, using logic to try to beat back that ominous feeling. No one knew where they were. No one knew who they were. No one had followed him on the bike; he’d made damn sure of that. Even if they’d found the Harley, he’d left it in the parking lot of an apartment complex blocks away. There were at least three other motorcycles in the apartment lot, so it wouldn’t draw undue attention.
And Landis was otherwise occupied dealing with the perceived challenge from the Disciples. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.
The leaden sens
ation in his gut wouldn’t lift. Dammit, he shouldn’t have left her.
“That’ll be six eighty-five.”
He threw a twenty at the startled server and left without his purchase.
He hit the pavement running. A minute later, he’d reached the edge of the motel’s parking lot. He could see their unit’s door from here, see that the drapes were pulled just as she’d left them.
A thin shaft of yellow light was visible where the curtains just met. It looked just the same as he’d left it, but somehow he knew it wasn’t. His instinct was to rush the door of the unit, to pound on it until Grace answered. But that would be rash, stupid, and he couldn’t afford any mistakes here. Not with Grace.
Melting deeper into the shadows, he paused a moment to bring his breathing under control. Then he crept closer to the west side of the building, keeping to the cover of the cars until he had a good view of Room 116. He forced himself to be still and just watch. No small feat when his heart pounded like a jackhammer and his muscles screamed for action.
His hard-won caution was rewarded a moment later when he spied the man standing motionless beside a dark SUV, scanning the parking lot with slow and thorough deliberateness. Then the man lifted his hand and drew on a cigarette. He’d cupped the cigarette to shield the light, but from where Ray crouched, the dim, fleeting illumination was all he needed to ID the guy.
Vladimir Rusakevitch. Landis’s man.
Ray’s heart slammed against his ribs. If he hadn’t forced himself to slow down, he’d have caught a bullet in the back before he ever reached Grace’s door.
And what were Landis’s thugs doing here? How had they found them? Had something gone wrong with his ploy to lure out Landis’s men? Did Landis have someone inside the station? Someone who’d listened in on Ray’s conversation with Quigg and put the pieces together?
With that thought came another adrenaline jolt, but this time he embraced it. This time it fueled muscles already cramped from crouching as he worked his way closer to Rusakevitch, ghosting from the cover of one car to the next.
Damn, he wished he had his weapon.
Of course, he wouldn’t use it anyway. Not yet. And not because he had any compunction about shooting Rusakevitch. He’d kill him in a heartbeat. But if anyone got a shot off, it could be curtains for Grace.
Saving Grace (Serve and Protect Series) Page 19
