by Meg Benjamin
Absolutely not.
They both needed some cooling-off time before they saw each other again, and she needed another quick dose of reality about her real chances with somebody like Ray Ramos. She’d grab something on her own.
And then she’d come back here to check on Siobhan Riordan.
***
Ray studied the box of nails he’d picked up at the hardware store. Carbon steel. High quality. Maybe he should have looked a little harder for wrought iron, but he figured he’d have problems making iron nail heads flush with the doorjamb. Besides, he’d done a little research on Google and steel seemed to have the same protective properties as iron against supernatural invasion.
And if that wasn’t a fairly insane thing to be doing research on, he didn’t know what qualified. He just hoped nobody looked at his search history and decided he needed medication.
He picked up a nail and pulled the hammer off his tool belt. He could have used his nail gun for this, but he didn’t want to. Somehow it seemed important to drive each nail with his own hands, feel it go into the wood, make sure it was well seated and driven deep.
He worked in the same pattern he’d seen on the door at Rosie’s place. A sort of wide zigzag, only he didn’t have the bits of obsidian to place in the triangles, and he wasn’t ready to invest in them, given how much they’d already spent on this freakin’ house. He reached the bottom of the first side and stood up, stretching his back.
A door further down the hall slammed shut abruptly.
He allowed himself a slow smile. “Don’t like the iron, huh? Tough.”
He took the next nail and started on the opposite side of the jamb, working his way down. His shoulders tensed as he did, waiting for the next door to slam, but it was a window near the landing on the staircase that he’d propped open. It slammed down so hard and so quickly that he thought the glass might break.
Squaring his jaw, he hammered in the next nail and the next, working his way down the jamb toward the bottom. Across the hall, his measuring tape and an empty coffee cup flew off the utility table he had next to the door and bounced on the carpet, exactly as if someone had swept a hand across the tabletop. Ray kept hammering.
He reached the bottom of the jamb and stepped back, wondering if he really could feel a difference in the room or if that was wishful thinking. Another door slammed down the hall and he found himself grinning. “Gotcha,” he muttered. “Now for the bathroom.”
“Ray?”
He started, then recognized the voice. He moved back toward the door again. “Up here.”
Emma’s steps echoed on the stairs. She paused at the top, smoothing down her brown suit jacket over her white blouse as she stared at the objects on the floor in front of the table. “Earthquake?”
“Temper tantrum. What’s up?”
“I thought maybe you could break for dinner. I’ve found some stuff at the historical society that I’d like to go over with you.”
He checked his watch. Five thirty. “Sure. I didn’t realize it was so late. Come on over to Rosie’s and I’ll get cleaned up.”
“Okay.” She still looked a little dubious. He considered telling her the temper tantrum had been the ghost’s, but decided against it. That probably wouldn’t make her feel any less dubious.
She started down the stairs ahead of him, and he glanced back, just in time to see his measuring tape flying toward his head. He put his hand up to ward it off and managed to catch it. “My house,” he said through clenched teeth. “My rules. You don’t get to make decisions here. And you don’t get free access anymore.”
Emma glanced back at him. “Excuse me?”
“Just stating something for the benefit of my lodger.”
“Oh.” Now she looked dubious again.
As he headed down the stairs behind her, he heard another door slam.
She turned back at the foot of the stairs, her forehead furrowed, now more concerned than doubtful. “What was that?”
He started to tell her it was the wind, but then he shrugged. She was a sensitive, and he was supposed to listen to her. “Angry ghost. I put in some stuff she didn’t like and she’s letting me know.”
Emma stood poised for a moment, staring back up the stairs again. “She needs to get over herself.”
“She does.”
“Dinner?”
He nodded. “Definitely.” But he heard banging from the upstairs floor as he locked the door behind them, like someone kicking the walls. Hard.
Chapter 11
Emma watched Ray unlock the door to Rosie’s house, letting her pass in front of him. She paused in the doorway to the living room. “Where’s your sister?”
“Gone for the weekend. Her boyfriend’s in Chicago and she flew up to see him.”
“Oh.” She stood for a moment, trying to decide what to say next. That’s nice? Do you have any plans? Would you like to share them with me?
“I’d better go take a shower. Feel free to rummage around the kitchen if you’re hungry.” He gave her one of those slow grins she found so invigorating. Steady, Emma. We’re going to slow this whole thing down, okay? You’re definitely not in the same league here.
She forced herself to smile back. “Okay, thanks.”
He turned and half sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Either he was really hungry or he was really . . . something else. She blew out a breath. How did he always manage to look so good even when he was covered with sweat and dust? She’d done everything she could to keep from staring at the outline of his chest muscles that showed through the T-shirt molded to his body. And then she’d ended up staring at them anyway.
If only she looked that good after a couple of hours in the sweltering upper floor of the historical society. So not in the same league.
She dropped her suit jacket on a chair, heading toward the kitchen. With any luck she didn’t smell as sweaty as she felt. Her silk blouse was faintly damp, and her hands were sticky with dust from the books. She leaned over the sink to wash them.
Her linen skirt looked fatally wrinkled and slightly grubby. What in the name of heaven had possessed her to wear linen to a place like the historical society? She was getting a little tired of dressing for success every single day of her life. She wasn’t even that successful, now that she thought about it.
She reached for a bag of pita chips on the counter, then put them back. Mindless eating was something Calorie Counters was adamant about resisting. If only she weren’t so hungry. Lunch had ended up being a bag of peanuts from a vending machine since all the restaurants around the historical society had stopped serving by two. After she’d gotten back to her desk, she’d only had time to run a quick check on Siobhan Riordan, turning up another short list of citations, mostly notices in the King William paper. The headers seemed to be concerned with the house Siobhan had built, but there were also one or two generalized references to her “business.” Those were the ones she’d pursue tomorrow.
She pulled the pile of printouts and photocopies out of her purse, managing to catch the lipstick and two quarters that fell on the floor as she did. Amina Becker and Livingston Grunewald. At some point she and Ray would need to talk about them. Maybe after dinner.
“Hey.” Ray stepped into the room. He wore a clean T-shirt and jeans that rode low on his hips. He’d switched his steel-toed boots for black running shoes. His hair was wet from his shower, pushed back from his face to show the clean lines of his jaw, the sculpted curve of his cheekbones. Nobody should look that good wet.
Nobody should look that good period. Particularly when she still felt bedraggled. They definitely weren’t in the same league. Maybe they weren’t even playing the same game. “Hey,” she replied, trying for casual and probably failing.
“Ready for dinner?”
“Sure.” She took a deep breath as she walked back through the living
room. She definitely wasn’t going to let herself get sidetracked again by this crazy attraction to Ray Ramos. Of course, the way her pulse was hammering didn’t help.
“Or . . .” He paused at the foot of the stairs.
“Or?”
He slid his fingertips across her cheekbone, suddenly not smiling at all. “Or we could pick up where we left off last night.” He rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “Unless you’re feeling really hungry right now.”
In reality, she could cheerfully have eaten an entire standing rib roast. On the other hand, her body had other ideas. Her breasts felt tight, her nipples peaking. An ache began low in her belly.
You weren’t going to do this. You’re starving, remember? But her brain and her stomach weren’t communicating. “I can wait for food,” she murmured.
His teeth flashed again as he smiled, and he dipped his head toward her, his lips brushing hers lightly, and then not so lightly after all. She raised her hands to cup his face, sliding her fingers into his damp hair.
He still tasted of spice, still smelled of musk, and she was suddenly right back beside the bridge where they’d been the night before, straining her body against his. At least this time they had a place to go if he wanted to. And she really thought that he did, judging from the hard arousal she felt pressing against her stomach.
His tongue plunged deep, rubbing against her teeth, her tongue, the warmth of her mouth. She brought her teeth to his lower lip, nibbling, then sucking hard.
He groaned against her mouth. “Jesus, lady.”
She frowned. She wasn’t all that experienced at this. Maybe she wasn’t doing it right. “Problems?”
“Nope.” He reached down, sliding one arm beneath her knees, then lifted her against his chest as he climbed the stairs again. “I figure it’s just about time for this. Past time, in fact.”
He pushed one of the doors open with his knee, then let her slide to the floor, holding her against him so that she felt the hard curves of his chest muscles against her breasts. Oh my, oh my, oh my.
She had enough time to glance around the room, the late-afternoon sunshine pouring through the lace curtains, the wide carriage bed with its striped coverlet, the duffel bag with his clothes tumbled around it. And then his mouth touched the side of her throat and her eyes drifted shut.
It was like she’d touched a live wire—her body seemed full of sparks and heat. The warmth of his hands on her hips, his mouth against her skin, all of it sending shocks of sensation through her body. Her skin felt flushed, hot, even though she could hear the whir of the air-conditioning in the background.
Her heart thumped hard against her breastbone. Making out with a man had never felt like this before. Maybe she’d been doing it wrong. Or maybe he was doing it right for a change.
He pulled on the buttons of her blouse, sliding them loose so quickly she was afraid they’d fly off. And I wouldn’t care if they did. He pushed it off her shoulders impatiently, then reached for the button on her skirt. She stood in front of him in her underwear, suddenly unbearably self-conscious.
He stared down at her, and her breasts seemed much too ordinary, her body much too doughy. She’d never felt less desirable in her life. Crap! I should have pulled the blinds or something. Which wouldn’t have removed any of the last five pounds she really needed to lose or given her seductive lace lingerie instead of the pale blue cotton she was currently wearing. She was so unprepared for this.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said softly. “Just like I knew you’d be.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to disagree with him, but she couldn’t. All of a sudden, she felt, well, sort of gorgeous.
She reached for the bottom of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it somewhere in the general vicinity of his duffel bag. For a moment, she stared—there was a lot to take in. Those wonderful, hard muscles she’d seen before, the slight spray of golden hair, the way his jeans rode low, showing his navel and the thick arrow of darker hair that pointed downward below it. The ache between her legs grew more intense. Speaking of gorgeous.
He dropped his hands to the button on his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear and tossing them behind him. Her breath caught again. He was fully aroused and really, really big. The other times she’d had sex had been in the dark, but she was pretty sure none of those men had looked quite like this.
She reached forward almost without thinking, sliding her hand along the length of his shaft, then closing her fist over the head.
He gasped, reaching forward to grasp her shoulders. “Not yet, sweetheart. Not if you don’t want this to end within the next few minutes.”
Reluctantly, she loosened her grip, and his hands dropped to her upper arms, pulling her tight against him. His mouth came down hard against hers, his tongue moving, demanding again. She turned her head slightly to let him plunge deeper, already wishing she’d had time at least to pull off her panties.
And then he was pulling them off for her, her bra too, and tossing them across the room. His lips left a searing line along her throat, her collarbone, the top of her breast before he fastened on her nipple, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the areola until she felt it tighten. She grasped his arms, her head falling back, her knees perilously close to collapsing.
Sweet baby Jesus. She was very sure she’d never felt anything quite like this before. As his mouth moved to the other breast he toppled her slowly onto the bed. At least it was right behind her.
Ray lifted his head and turned back toward the floor. “Just a sec.”
She tried to catch her breath again as he turned away from her. Her pulse was racing, her body was on fire. Nothing was exactly the way it was supposed to be, but everything was terrific. More terrific than it had ever been before. So this is what it’s really supposed to feel like. She felt a little like doing a fist pump. Yes!
He leaned back over her again, dropping a foil wrapper on top of the bedside table. A condom. She should probably have discussed this with him while they were both still sane. “I’m on the Pill,” she murmured.
The corners of his mouth edged up again. “Do you trust me?”
She frowned. “I guess so. I mean, why wouldn’t I?”
“STDs? I’m clean. You too, right?”
“Oh. Right. I mean, yes, me too.” When would she have had time for STDs? She felt perilously close to giggling.
“Then we’re good to go.” He leaned over her again, running his tongue along the edge of her collarbone and down, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touched. She closed her eyes, sinking her fingers into his hair, letting the sensations roll over her like her own private ocean. This was it. This was absolutely it.
His fingers drifted to her inner thighs, and then he was kissing the sensitive flesh, pushing her legs apart, his thumbs sliding against her labia. His tongue scraped gently across her clit, and she lost her breath all over again.
“Oh God, Ray,” she moaned.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “It’s okay. It’s fine.” He rubbed his tongue across her clit again, sliding one finger deep inside her.
Desire almost overwhelmed her. She dug her heels into the bedspread, groaning as his teeth fastened on her clit. He sucked again, his fingers plunging deep over and over, and she came undone, her body bucking hard against the mattress.
The blast of heat and light was like a starburst, taking her breath, pushing her up over the edge into darkness. She lay still for a moment, trying to catch her breath again. Holy shit. If I ever run into any of my ex-boyfriends, I’m going to kick them right in the shins.
He pushed himself to his forearms, staring down at her, his lips quirking up in a faint smile. “Okay?”
She nodded. She wasn’t too sure how much voice she had at the moment.
“All right then.” She felt the head of his cock at her entrance, and then h
e moved inside, impossibly wide and thick, stretching her to fit him like a sheath. He pushed in once, staring down at her, his face intent, as if he wanted to make sure she was ready for him. She could have told him she was. Oh yes, oh yes.
He moved deeper, down and back, her muscles clenching and releasing as he shifted his body. She bent her knees, wrapping her legs around his waist, her heels against his buttocks. He raised his head, pressing his lips against the side of her throat as he quickened the stroke, sliding into her again and again. The sound of their bodies moving together filled the silent room.
She felt it first, the rising pressure, the heat, the desperation. Oh my, oh my, oh my. Her body tightened, then erupted as the heat flew through her. Dear God, twice in one night! That had never happened before.
Above her, Ray’s body tensed, and then he groaned, jerking deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he shuddered, rhythmless. His breath was hot against her cheek until he collapsed on top of her, shifting his weight slightly so that he didn’t push her down.
Finally, he tucked his head into the curve of her shoulder, his arms circling her waist. She closed her eyes, caught somewhere between waking and sleep.
“That was . . . good,” Ray murmured sleepily. “Really, really good.”
“Ummhmm.” She didn’t really want to talk. On the other hand, that statement was something she definitely wanted to agree with. She drifted further toward sleep, and his voice became fuzzy.
“We need to do that again. Soon.”
Something else she’d agree with, but right now she was far too sleepy to say anything more. She turned her body against his and let herself float away.
***
Ray propped his head on one hand, looking down at Emma. Nothing like a short nap to get the juices going again. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her she was gorgeous. She was. That corkscrew mass of reddish-brown curls, the delicate porcelain skin, the deep blue eyes. Even the fan of red-brown lashes against her milky cheek was delectable.
