A hunger to discover all the secret places that only two lovers could know about one another.
The moment they crossed the threshold into her apartment, they went from two separate people working for a common goal to two would-be lovers longing to fuse into one.
Cindy’s scope of experience was woefully lacking. Before Dean there had been a boy in high school who had painfully fumbled away her virginity, leaving her more frustrated and embarrassed than fulfilled. Dean had been a good lover, at least the first few times they had been together. But soon afterward, his touch only made her cringe and there was absolutely no joy, no heart-pounding anticipation associated with what happened between them in the bedroom. There were only episodes of sex, of couplings she forced herself to endure, silently counting the minutes until the experience was over.
What was happening now between her and Dylan made her realize what lovemaking could be like, what it should be like, if the two people involved were right for each other. And this felt oh so right.
His touch was tender, as if he was first tentatively exploring regions to ascertain whether or not it was all right for him to continue. Once he was sure, he turned it up a notch, and then two, and then three and more until she was utterly certain that she was going to go up in flames and was more than happy about it.
Desire raged through her, bringing with it an eagerness completely unfamiliar to her. A wild eagerness she discovered herself savoring and rejoicing over.
Damn, but she was a revelation. He hadn’t expected the petite woman to be so in tune with his every movement, so receptive to his every touch. Hadn’t expected to react to her at this intense a level.
Each curve he caressed only made him want to caress her even more. The tiny sounds she made as he familiarized himself with the feel of her, the very taste of her skin, enflamed him and made him more eager to touch her, to kiss her, to explore every inch along her body, discover every secret it was demurely keeping.
Each pass had his heart actually pounding faster. He was in awe of her and of his powerful reaction to her. By evening’s end, he wanted to know her body better than he knew his own.
And then, as he wandered through this brand-new frontier, she caught him by surprise. Instead of lying there, sweetly, almost innocently, receptive, Cindy reached for him. And then she began to feather her long, delicate fingers along his sides, his back, his hips, mimicking his movements and yet making every single one of them her own. Overwhelming desire hardened him with the speed of light.
As she touched, stroked, smiled, Cindy managed to steal his breath away and brought him to the brink so quickly, he had to exercise extreme control at the last moment in order to be able to prolong this experience between them.
It was far from easy. Looking back, he was convinced that it was probably the most difficult thing he had ever undertaken, but somehow, he succeeded in holding back a little longer.
Long enough to prime her and bring her to the explosive flowering of her first climax with just the right pressure of his tongue along her ultra-sensitive skin.
As she cried out, he saw her eyes widen, saw the stunned look of surprise on her face and made the correct assumption. She might not have been a virgin, but this, he was fairly sure, was her very first time for a complete experience.
Empowered, his own willpower hanging on by a shredded thread, Dylan laced his fingers through hers, positioned himself over Cindy’s damp, eager body and with one swift movement, entered her.
In precisely one second he had sealed their two bodies, making them one.
And then Dylan began to move, at first slowly, then more quickly, choosing a tempo that he could only hope would coax Cindy up to her second crest of all-encompassing satisfaction.
Pacing himself as best he could, Dylan still found himself racing with Cindy to capture the adrenaline-pumping, elusive prize.
Her spontaneous cry against his lips, the way she arched hard into him at the very last moment, told him that he had succeeded even as his own ability to think was temporarily wiped away. He became caught up in the grip of consuming ecstasy.
And when it happened, surging, powerful and meteoric, he didn’t want to let the sensation go.
But there was no choice in the matter and slowly, despite efforts to the contrary, he began the descent back to reality and Cindy’s more than slightly rumpled queen-size bed.
As consciousness of his surroundings gradually began to seep in, he realized he was still holding Cindy tightly to him. Still experiencing a degree of tenderness toward her that was remarkably new for him.
He continued to hold her to him a moment longer, then eased himself back. What he did next was also out of character for him. Shifting his weight from her, Dylan remained on the bed rather than getting up and getting dressed. He felt no hurry to leave, no desire to separate himself from what had just happened. Instead, he tucked Cindy against him as if that would somehow prolong the experience they’d just shared.
This protective feeling was something new, something unusual. Explanations and justifications to himself were for later, he decided, when his brain was once again up and running at its maximum capacity. Right now, he had to admit, only a small portion of his brain was functioning at all.
Dylan took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly, centering himself.
Going with instincts rather than bothering to mentally sort things out and waiting until he was in full mental control, he kissed the top of Cindy’s head and murmured, “You are full of surprises, Chief Staff Assistant Jensen.”
Euphoria was still wrapped around her, but its grip was loosening. Was this what it was supposed to be like? she wondered. Was making love with a man supposed to feel like a thousand New Year’s Eve celebrations all rolled up into one? And that absolutely wondrous explosion—for lack of a better word—how was it that she had managed to miss experiencing that over these last few years? Was it because Dean had devolved into a narcissistic, inept lover, in effect, emotionally and physically raping her the last time they were together? Or was there some other explanation for having missed out on this gratifying last step all this time?
Now she realized what all the noise had been about, why people put themselves out time after time. They were all desperately searching for what she had just experienced for the very first time.
Thanks to Dylan.
Despite all precautions, she felt her heart warming toward him.
The teasing tone he’d taken with her faded, moved aside by a sliver of concern. Cindy wasn’t talking. Had he hurt her? Frightened her? Done something, despite his best efforts, to upset her? Why wasn’t she responding to his playful wonder at her abilities to arouse him so fully?
“Cindy? Are you all right?” he asked. He raised himself up on his elbow to look at her face. “Say something. Are you all right?” he repeated.
“No,” she answered quietly. “I’m not all right.” And then the flash of teeth as she grinned gave her away. “I’m terrific. Absolutely, wondrously terrific.”
Stretching against him like a seductive, sensual feline, Cindy turned her body toward his as she stretched again. Crucial sections brushed against one another, stirring him.
Stirring her.
“Was that what it’s supposed to be like? That wild, wild feeling inside, is that—?” Her voice trailed off as she waited for him to fill in the blank.
With a delighted laugh—something he realized he hadn’t been capable for a while now—Dylan brushed the tip of his thumb along her lower lip and discovered that the very act excited him.
“Just a preview of things to come,” he promised, completing her sentence.
“A preview?” she echoed quizzically.
“Yes.” His smile slipped under her skin and curled itself into her belly. “Here, let me show you,” he proposed.
It was the last word that was exchanged between them for quite a while as he set about giving her an encore performance, taking them both back to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.
In a room where men checked their names at the door, pretending to maintain an aura of anonymity, a tall, heavyset imposing man sat in a wide, winged chair, frowning at the glass of cognac he held in his hand.
The liquid within the glass shifted ever so slightly, coating the sides of the glass, momentarily leaving a telltale film to prove it had been there. But even now it was fading.
A little, he mused, like men’s lives.
Eagle-sharp, gray eyes peered out from beneath eyebrows that had become steadily shaggier over the course of seven decades.
He raised those cold, humorless eyes to regard the man standing nervously before him. The man who had brought him a report that he found to be far from satisfactory.
He took his time before he spoke, knowing that the longer he took the more nervous the spineless wonder before him became.
He enjoyed making those beneath him squirm. And they were all beneath him.
“And do we know where the good senator is now?” he asked in a steely voice that sent daggers of fear into the hearts of those lesser individuals.
The man who had been summoned to report did his best not to show fear. Displays of fear only served to enrage the venerable man who headed their small, elite society.
“He’s staying at his estate. His son came the other day to help him mount a defense.”
“Which son?” he questioned sharply.
“Dylan. The lawyer,” the messenger added.
“It’s not the courts he should be afraid of,” the seated man commented, stating something they both knew to be true. The Society was far more powerful than any court because it was not governed by courts or by any extraneous rules.
Taking another sip of the thick, dark liquid in his glass, he let it slide down, savoring the 112-year-old cognac before speaking again.
“You know what to do. He needs to be made aware of the consequences—and reminded exactly who he is dealing with.” The flat eyes darkened, sending a chill through the room. “Teach him a lesson.”
“Yes, sir.”
The first man left the room, all but bowing as he backed out slowly, never averting his face even as he crossed the threshold. It wasn’t just a sign of respect. He knew better than to turn his back on the man in the winged chair. Men had lost their lives that way, dying with stunned looks frozen on their faces for all eternity. Dying because of sins they were not even aware of having committed.
There were always consequences when dealings with the man who presided over the Society went awry.
Chapter 13
The signals Dylan felt he was receiving from the woman who had become his constant companion this last week and a half were mixed, and because of that, he found them somewhat confusing.
In the evenings, after they had both put in long hours at his father’s office, trying to pull in all the various pieces that comprised the current life of Senator Henry William Kelley, they could figuratively let their hair down with one another. It was then that they stopped being responsible, functioning adults searching for an elusive key that would unlock the mystery that surrounded this sudden exposé surrounding the senator.
Leaving all that behind, they turned into just two normal people, exploring the uncharted terrain of a brand-new relationship.
His evenings, Dylan thought as he looked across his father’s antique desk and watched Cindy work her way through yet another file, were rich with foreplay, resplendent with starbursts of satisfaction and all-encompassing warmth. His evenings were filled with a comfortable afterglow.
But the days, he had discovered, were far edgier. They were filled with purpose and a feeling of racing against the clock for reasons that were both apparent and possibly not so apparent. It was during the days that he detected a difference in Cindy.
Oh, she was still sweet, still innocently thrilling, but at times he would look up unexpectedly and catch her watching him, as if she were waiting for something. During those moments, when he’d try to make eye contact, she would lower her own eyes and pretend to be taken with whatever it was that she was working on.
It had been that way almost from the beginning of their intimate relationship. Her thoughtful stares had grown more pronounced, more frequent. He found himself needing to know what was going on in her head, what was prompting those unfathomable looks.
Finally, he had to ask.
“What?” he prodded.
Startled, Cindy shook her head, as if he’d caught her by surprise and she had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean ‘what?’”
He leaned back in his father’s soft imported-leather chair, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Exactly that,” he replied, then repeated, “What? Why are you looking at me as though you expect me to evaporate or just go up in smoke?”
“Oh.” Now the question made sense. She supposed she had been staring, but she didn’t think he’d noticed. She’d tried not to be obvious. “Not smoke,” she corrected.
“Okay, you put a name to it.” What she called it wasn’t important. He wanted to know what was behind her looking at him like that. “What is it you’re waiting for me to do?” he wanted to know.
Cindy pressed her lips together, debating between coming up with a white lie or telling Dylan the truth. But she’d never been good at lying, a fact that one of the other people in the office had pointed out was rather ironic, given that she earned her living working in the political arena.
“Leave,” she finally said, running her tongue over her dry lips nervously the moment the word was out.
He didn’t quite follow what she was saying. The obvious seemed too far out in left field, but he asked anyway. “You want me to leave?”
Her eyes widened like two morning glories at the first stroke of sunrise, completely captivating him and interrupting his train of thought. Reminding him how much he enjoyed making love with her. How much he wanted to do it now.
“No, oh God, no,” Cindy cried.
All right, he was now royally confused. “Then what do you—?”
Taking a breath, Cindy tried again, striving to be clearer. “I’m waiting for you to leave. Expecting you to leave, actually,” she clarified, her voice low. “Or change.”
“Change,” he echoed. “Into what?” he wanted to know. “Some kind of supernatural creature?” What was she talking about?
She knew this had to sound crazy to him. And then again, maybe he was just feigning ignorance. Despite everything that had happened between them and the incredibly fast rate at which it had happened, she was still afraid to let her guard down completely.
“Into someone else,” she finally told him.
Now it was clear. And somewhat insulting, he thought. “Like your ex-husband.” Dylan reined in his temper because she probably didn’t even realize that something like that would bother him. But it did.
She nodded her head. “Yes.” With effort, she tried to continue reading the file she was going through, but the words were all swimming before her, not making any sense.
Dylan straightened up and leaned in closer over the desk. He’d thought this was behind them. Obviously not. “Didn’t we already have this discussion?”
Cindy pressed her lips together before raising her eyes again. “There’s a difference between words and actions,” she pointed out quietly.
“No argument.” For a long moment, he said nothing as he quietly studied her. What did it take to convince her? “Have I acted like him?”
“Yes. The before version,” she quickly qualified. “Only better.”
Dylan built on what she gave him. “Have I done anything to make you believe that I’m going to shape-shift, or morph, or whatever you want to call it, into the monster that he ultimately became?”
“He wasn’t exactly a monster,” she quickly protested, not out of any sort of loyalty to Dean, but out of a d
esire to keep things completely honest. She didn’t want to have Dylan thinking that she was given to wild exaggerations.
“He hit you, had sex with you against your will,” Dylan pointed out, his face stony. “That makes him a monster in my book.” And then he paused as he struggled to make sense out of this new puzzle he was faced with, far more personal than the one involving his father. “Okay, what’s your definition of a monster?” he wanted to know.
She hesitated only for a moment, then decided that Dylan had been right to fix the label on her ex. Dean was a monster.
“Dean,” she said almost in a whisper.
Dylan’s eyes kept hers prisoner. He needed to see her eyes when she answered him. “But not me, right?”
Feeling like someone about to make her way onto a tightrope stretched across a chasm, she said, “No, not you.” But then, she knew that if she wanted to be honest with him as well as with herself, she had to qualify her answer. “Yet,” she whispered.
He was surprised as well as frustrated with her reply.
The beginning of a heated protest, born of impatience, was on the tip of his tongue, ready to emerge amid an explosion. But raising his voice, losing his temper, none of that was going to help gain Cindy’s trust or put her at ease.
So he struggled and managed to keep his voice on an even keel.
“Not ever,” he told her firmly, his eyes pinning her in place. “Got that?” he asked tersely. “Not ever. Not even when you drive me crazy and I lose my temper. None of that is an excuse or a justification for sub-human behavior, which was what your ex exhibited.” Both hands pressed against the side of the old desk, he pushed the chair he was sitting in away from it. “I’m ready to call it a day, how about you?”
Cindy looked down at the file she’d been going through. She was almost finished with it and knew that she really shouldn’t walk away until she’d gone through the entire thing. “I need another half hour or so.”
He raised an eyebrow, instantly transforming into his father’s defense attorney right before her eyes. “Are you on to something?”
Private Justice Page 14
