Full Circle (RUSH, Inc. Book 3)

by Carol Caiton

  * * *

  Jessica tried to ignore her fear and stared at the black leather belt a mere inch from her fingers. It rested low on his waist—a waist that was half again the size of hers. His shirt was starched and so white, it softly glowed in the dim lamplight. He was her husband. Kyle. Who gave her his love, his protection, and later, in the future, would give her the children she wanted.

  This act of intimacy, of removing his clothing, was one she'd never performed. She'd assisted her father with his suit jacket often, she'd adjusted his tie many times. But she'd never removed a man's clothing.

  She traced a thumb over the narrow silver buckle, noting the slight tremor of her fingers. An understandable reaction. As was the erratic beating of her heart. Kyle made her feel the things she'd read about once in a book that was written, ironically, by an American author and translated to German. They were things that stirred her, disturbed her, and then embarrassed her when her father frowned at the risqué cover as though he knew precisely what was written inside its pages. Within minutes of his turning away, she'd disposed of the book, unfinished, and had never bought another like it. But she remembered those sensations of longing, both physical and emotional, because Kyle awakened those same sensations each time he touched her. It didn't seem to matter if it was with a protective arm, or the brush of his fingers along her jaw, or with the intimacy that sent her spiraling into ecstasy.

  Drawing a last shaky breath, she freed the black leather from its buckle, feeling its smooth glide through her fingers. Then she reached for the fastening of his trousers, unhooked it, and took the zipper between her thumb and finger.

  His breath came hard and sharp and she looked up quickly. Then her own breath caught at the deep flush staining his cheeks, his eyes glittering with fiery heat.

  "Finish it," he rasped.

  Her heartbeat doubled. At one and the same time she was both frightened and powerfully excited. She lowered the zipper and opened his trousers.

  She didn't mean to touch him, hadn't intended the backs of her fingers to brush against his hardness. But he was very large and she couldn't draw her eyes away from the burning passion in his.

  He latched onto her wrists and moved them away. Then he stripped the shirt off himself and threw it to the floor in a fevered movement of his wrist. In the next moment, before she could so much as blink, he took her down to the bed and came down beside her.

  "Kyle?" Her voice quivered.

  He clamped his jaw and she saw the muscle there twitch several times.

  "God, Jess," he grated out, staring down at her.

  His hand smoothed over the skin of her stomach, her ribs, then upward until he reached the clasp at the front of her bra. She felt a tremor there, in his hand, and her heart constricted with the knowledge of her own powerful affect on him.

  Reaching up, she released the clasp for him and lifted the cups away.

  His eyes drifted down to her nakedness, lifted again to hers, then he held her in his palm and lowered his head.

  It was everything she remembered, the wet heat of his tongue dragging over her nipple, circling, pulling a teasing draw, then circling again.

  She pressed her breast to his mouth, but he gave her no more. The release, the explosion of sensation, was waiting. It was near. She whimpered and tried to reach for it and when his hand traveled back down her stomach to the place between her legs, she opened for him, lifting toward his wonderful fingers as they caressed and explored and began to push up inside her again.

  But each time she started to glimpse the heavens, he drew back. Again and again, until she cried out with need unlike any she'd ever known.

  "Kyle!" she demanded. He knew what she wanted. He must know what she wanted.

  He nudged her thighs wider apart with his knee and made a place for himself there. She was open to him, fully exposed, and she felt him guide himself to her center.

  But once again he teased, rubbing against her wetness, caressing her with that velvety hardness. He pressed in ever so slightly, only to draw back and tease her once more, and she writhed with wanting, opening wider to him.

  "Please," she whispered. "Please, Kyle."

  Slowly he pushed inside. Bigger—much bigger than his finger.

  She stilled, waiting for the pain, waiting for him to enter her all the way. But he paused and teased and the pain she expected didn't happen. He stretched her and she felt her inner muscles clench around him, surprising her. When it happened again, he groaned, deep in his throat. Then he lowered his head and drew her breast into his mouth, sucking deep and strong and she exploded into those millions of stars at last. Then, just before they began to dissolve, just before they melted away, he drove deeply into her body, breaking through her maidenhead in an unexpected surge of shock and pain.

  * * *

  Her cry ripped into the quiet. Tears sprang to her eyes and slid down the sides of her face and goddamn, he tried to fight the bliss that surrounded him. But he was already shooting into her and he could no more stop those short deep thrusts into her body than he could take her pain for himself.

  "I'm sorry, Jess," he gasped, even as spasms shook his body. Then he tried to make it end quickly, but she wrapped her legs around his waist and, still crying, she lifted her mouth to his chest and brushed her own tongue over his nipple.

  Holy shit. Holy shit.

  He shot into her some more and his vision blurred. Finally his arms gave out and he fell on top of her, dragging in gulps of air that wouldn't fill his lungs.

  He gave himself a minute, knowing his weight crushed her, and tried to move. He'd hurt her and he dragged up the strength to lift up again and pull out of her as carefully as he could. Then he rolled over onto his back and gathered her, still crying, against his chest.

  "Shhh," he soothed, pressing a kiss to her hair and wishing he could reach her face. "It'll never hurt like that again. I promise."

  "I know," she murmured. "I know." She sniffed. "It's already beginning to feel better."

  He smiled. Of course it was. He wasn't inside her, thrusting against the rawness he'd inflicted. But damn, he felt good.

  He rested quietly beside her, smoothing his thumb back and forth over her shoulder and began to appreciate the magnitude of what her father had taught her. From the first time she'd felt a man's mouth on her breast, to her first orgasm, her first touch of intimacy, and now, as her first lover, he'd been given a gift so solitary it left him without words. Every one of those firsts belonged to him. Only him. He'd been the one to watch her blush with each new discovery, and he'd be the one to answer her questions. There was no one he'd be compared to. He'd never have to wonder if he was better or worse than some other lover. She was his. And he was hers.

  At last he could breathe.

  * * *

  "Good morning, Mrs. Falkner."

  He'd been watching her for a while. Watching her and thinking and alternating between the satisfaction of knowing she finally belonged to him, then fighting down the panic he'd committed himself to.

  At least that frigging desperation was gone. Most of it anyway. And taking her virginity . . . He'd never expected to feel such a sense of satisfaction and possession.

  "Kyle?"

  "Mmm?"

  She was facing away from him toward the window. He slid in closer, draping an arm over her waist and one leg over hers.

  "Kyle, I was wearing stockings when I fell asleep."

  He leaned over to kiss her shoulder and his morning erection pressed against her butt. "I took them off for you."

  "When?"

  "After you fell asleep."

  "But I never felt it."

  "I know."

  "I was very tired."

  He smiled. "I know." He smoothed his hand up her arm, brushed aside her hair, and nuzzled her neck. "Do you think you might turn over and look at me sometime today?"

  "No." She shook her head. "Not until I'm finished being embarrassed."

  He slid his arm over her waist aga
in and reached up to cup her breast. It nestled right into his palm.

  "When do you think that might be?" he asked.

  "I think . . . maybe not until tonight."

  He bit down on her neck and felt her nipple harden.

  "We were married last night, Kyle."

  "Yes, we were. Actually it was early this morning. Today's our wedding day."

  "Yes, you're right, it is. What should we do to celebrate it?"

  He brushed his thumb over her nipple and she tried to get him to do it again. Yes. "How are you feeling this morning," he asked.

  "I feel very fine."

  "Yeah, I think you feel very fine too."

  He smoothed his palm down her stomach to her abdomen. But when he reached the curls between her legs and pressed a finger inside her, she winced, reaching for his wrist.

  "But I think we'll wait a while to celebrate like this again," he said.

  He drew back out and she finally turned onto her back and looked at him.

  "I'm sorry."

  "No apology necessary."

  "Kyle?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Where are we going to live?"

  He'd been giving that some thought himself. "What do you think about sharing your loft with me while we build a house somewhere?" And he wanted his name added to her lease agreement so he'd have legal access to that building at all times.

  "I think that's a good idea. Do you own land for our house?"

  "Not yet."

  He'd also been thinking about that lot across from Michael's house. But Michael might not like the idea of having him so close. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't look elsewhere in Clermont.

  "We'll start looking around after we get settled. Which reminds me since I still have to go to work tomorrow, why don't you think about where you'd like to go for a honeymoon, and I'll see about taking some time off."

  "I've already decided."

  "Really? That was fast."

  "No, I thought about it last night. Your mother would like us to come to Philadelphia to visit."

  "Honey, visiting Kathy and Derek isn't a honeymoon."

  "I know this. But she said they haven't seen you for almost a year. She loves you as her own son, Kyle, and it's difficult for parents to be away from their children."

  "I'm twenty-nine—"

  "Even when their children are grown," she interrupted. "She's invited Michael and Rachel to visit as well."

  He held her gaze. "Is that really what you want?"

  "Yes," she said. "I've traveled the world and I'd like to see my own country now. Philadelphia is a wonderful place to start since my new family lives there. Unless you don't want to go."

  He thought about it for a minute. He knew Kathy and Derek wanted him to come back to Philly, but Florida was home now. Not only was Jessica's only sister there, but no way in hell was he going to lose Michael again. And since he was diving in with both feet now, he'd go for broke and try to talk Derek and Kathy into retiring to Orlando.

  You surround yourself with people who'll have your back—and hers.

  "Okay, Jess, we'll go to Philadelphia."

  He had some unfinished business to take care of there anyway. And Michael had said he'd left something behind seventeen years ago. Some things were better left alone, but if Michael had it in his head to go back, then Kyle wasn't going to let him walk those streets alone.

  "What time is it?" she asked.

  He reached for his watch on the bedside table. "Ten after twelve."

  "Noontime?"

  "Yeah."

  She scrambled out from under his leg, tugging on the bedspread to wrap it around herself though it could have done the job five or six times over, and climbed off the bed.

  "What must everyone think of us?"

  "They'll think we're a newly married couple, that's what. But just to ease your mind, they're probably all still in bed too."

  "I must get in the shower." She dragged the king-size spread across the floor while trying not to trip over it.

  He watched her and smiled. Yeah, he smiled a lot when he was with her. Like that bedspread was really going to be of any help when he followed her into the shower. She'd learn though.

  And while she was learning, he was going to enjoy every one of her firsts.

  CHAPTER 26

  Simon was not in a good mood Thursday morning. In fact, he decided, the only time he wasn't in a bad mood anymore was when he didn't have a blue link. And today . . . well today's trouble was just about ready to hit the fan, and his blue link wasn't even here. She wasn't in the office, she wasn't at home . . . she wasn't even in the state of Florida. She'd taken the entire week off to enjoy Las Vegas, which had probably tripled his blood pressure when he'd found out. Especially since everyone else had returned Sunday night. Especially since he hadn't set eyes on her since learning she, not Jessica, was his link. And especially since he should have been out in Las Vegas with her.

  Instead, he'd been lured in on another of his mother's exaggerated attempts to bring him to New York. She'd caught him unawares this time because more than a year had passed since her last ploy. And the gravity of her call—to his father's supposed bedside for what turned out to be an outpatient carpal tunnel procedure—had been a tearful plea for the presence of her only son, though she'd had no time for that son until he'd entered his twenties.

  This time, however, she'd overstepped his limits of tolerance. This time her selfishness had not only been a cry of wolf with regard to his father's health, but she'd senselessly demanded his attendance at a time when it mattered, when he would have very much enjoyed being present to see Jessica get married, when he could have begun actively pursuing Hannah, and when he could have found a reason to remain in Las Vegas and spent time alone with her.

  His mother wouldn't be calling again. Not under false pretenses, at least. This time he'd made sure she understood he had the same patience to spend on her antics as she'd had for his. Then he'd threatened to program his phone to block her calls if she ever called him with anything less than the truth again. And after that he'd walked out, spent the night in an airport hotel, and had flown back to Orlando the following day. But by then, of course, Jessica had been married, and Hannah was beyond reach.

  It wasn't until late Monday morning that he learned she'd stayed behind in Las Vegas. Alone. What would a woman alone do out in Las Vegas? He couldn't see Hannah playing the slots day after day. Then again, he'd spent so much time avoiding her and telling himself she was a never-ending irritant, he didn't know a lot about Hannah. He intended to find out though. She'd been an untouchable temptation for nearly three years. Now, however, circumstances had changed and the rules of the game were in his favor. Learning that she was his, this woman he'd been drawn to for three years, a powerful urge to pursue and conquer baited him until he felt almost driven to have it done. So the rules of the game better not take a radical turn during the next hour.

  Gathering up his report, he headed for the conference room. Ethan and Michael would be at the meeting today. Ethan rarely contributed more than his vote on the various issues that arose. But Michael continued to scan the system and monitor Holly McGarvey's activity, and that was what Simon thought about as he made his way down the corridor.

  By now, Michael would not only have pinpointed Holly's irregular maneuver into the linking program, he would have traced it, played around with it, and discovered the manipulation and rerouting of information along questionable channels. Once again, Simon's affairs were about to be aired to one and all and he'd have some explaining to do if he wanted to save the young woman's job.

  He wasn't late, but everyone was already seated and bantering back and forth. All seven of them had meshed remarkably well for a group who had come together simply because one of them knew someone else who knew someone else . . . .

  Simon contemplated Michael when he spotted him through the wall of glass. Michael was never late anymore. His attire hadn't changed. He still attended every board m
eeting dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. But there was a noticeable difference in him now. He was as cocky as always, but there was a sense of completion about him . . . a relaxed sort of contentment.

  Simon wasn't the only one who saw the change. He'd heard Oliver talk about it to Elliott, and he'd seen Malcolm watching thoughtfully when Michael wasted no time heading for the parking garage, intent on getting back to his wife. He was eager to leave at the end of each meeting. He wanted to take Rachel out to lunch, or he had to go pick her up because they were going to a car show, or he simply wanted to go home to his wife. And if anyone speculated as to Michael's physical relationship with a woman who couldn't bear to be touched by anyone else, those speculations died the day Rachel was seen in a maternity top. Apparently that particular problem didn't apply where Michael was concerned, and Michael was going to be a father. Mentally, Simon shook his head.

  He knew nothing of Michael's past prior to the age of fifteen. But he could take a damned good guess, and what he came up with wasn't pretty. To see him as he was today, wholly devoted to his wife, basking in the love of a young woman who clearly adored him, Simon was envious. If that's what a status-2 blue could be, if there was any chance he could have that with Hannah Breckenridge, he'd put his personal affairs on the table, front and center, every time until he got it. Because having now seen real evidence of mutual, unquestioning love up close, he acknowledged without hesitation that Michael had something he wanted, something that had never before touched his life, and there wasn't a lot he wouldn't do to get it.

  He opened the conference room door and went in.

  "Yo, Simon, how's it goin'?"

  At least his insides weren't vibrating with tension this time. Hell, was he getting used to this? "Good, Michael. You?"

  "Yeah, I'm good too."

  "Michael tells us our young interpreter got married last weekend."

  Simon smiled. "I heard something about that." He looked across the table at Michael. "How did it go?"

  "Great. Fast."