She known him a grand total of—she had to count—eight days. Barely over a week. An intense week, but still. What was wrong with her?
She didn’t say a word, only lifted the now-browned chicken out of the pan, added some oil and, when it was bubbling, dumped in the sliced bell peppers and onions. As they sautéed, she heated tortillas in the microwave.
“Do you want to eat at the table?” she asked without looking at him.
She heard him slide to his feet. “What can I get?”
“Drinks. Sour cream. Silverware. Napkins. These can be messy.”
Chicken went back into the skillet along with a little of the marinade. Rice...looked done, so she turned off the burner under it and scraped it into a serving bowl. The spiced chicken and veggies went in another one, the tortillas on a plate. She’d thoroughly learned the contents of his kitchen cupboards today. In fact, she’d given her nosiness free rein except when it came to his home office and bedroom.
Apparently they were both going to drink milk. She didn’t often, but oh, well. It was good for bones and all that.
Seth constructed a hefty fajita and slathered sour cream atop it. Bailey, who wasn’t all that hungry after her day’s overindulgence, made a considerably smaller one.
Not until she was done did she ask, “So you arrested this guy?”
“For assaulting a police officer. The killing is still up in the air. We need to run ballistics tests. Even if they line up, he says he taught his stepsister to shoot. We found both their fingerprints on his handgun. She’s hysterical, says he must have killed Moore out of jealousy. He’s gotten smart enough to clam up.”
“What do you think?” She was calmer now. Maybe milk had a tranquilizing effect.
“I’m leaning toward him. When we knocked on his door, instead of assuming we were there to ask him about his stepsister, he started angry and ramped it up fast. Was sure we were going to ‘pin it on him.’ The guy has an ugly temper. That said—” he shrugged “—he’s been in trouble with the law plenty of times before and he doesn’t like cops. Add in that temper and a streak of paranoia, his less-than-friendly greeting makes sense even if he didn’t kill anyone. And the stepsister, she’s cold.”
He finished the last bite. “Damn, this is good.” Without taking a moment to let the first one settle in his stomach, he set about putting together a second, equally enormous fajita wrap.
“Lucky I didn’t decide a salad would do us for dinner.”
Seth chuckled. He picked up his fork, then looked at her. “Your turn. What did you do today?”
She was a microinch away from lying, but he might find out. Anyway, Bailey felt a weird disinclination to lie to him, of all people. He’d been really straight with her. He deserved the same.
“Nothing,” she admitted. She focused on her plate. “I was a sloth.”
“Yeah?” His voice was predictably kind. “No invitations you couldn’t turn down?”
“They all left messages. I haven’t listened to them.” She squished a blend of sautéed peppers and onions into a puree with her fork.
“And now you’re feeling guilty.”
“I should at least have returned calls.”
“Bailey, you’ve been hit by a lot. My guess is you needed to process.”
She stared at him. He really did understand her, but how?
“If processing happens subconsciously, I’m good,” she said. “Otherwise... I watched Game of Thrones—multiple episodes—I ate half a tub of ice cream, made a serious dent in your bag of potato chips, read, napped...”
Seth only grinned. “Of course processing is a subconscious activity. Everything important probably is. We’re lucky that’s true, given the attention span even smart people have.” He chewed, his expression becoming meditative. Swallowed. “Do you have bad dreams, Bailey?”
Something very like apprehension came close to shutting down her breathing. “You mean nightmares. About him.”
“Or about being left behind by him. Or even the years in foster care.”
She looked down. “Yes.”
“Are they bad?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t exactly remember, but wake up freaked or just feeling oppressed.” She lifted a shoulder. “You must see things that give you nightmares.”
“Occasionally. But gruesome isn’t the same as reliving something done to you personally.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.” Those dark eyes were steady on her. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s okay. Remember those years of therapy I told you about,” she said, almost lightly. “Therapists are big on dreams.”
His mouth twitched. “I suppose so.” He appeared to be considering a third helping, but sighed instead and rubbed a hand on his stomach. “That was really good. Thank you. If you hadn’t been here, I’d have gone through some fast-food joint on the way home.”
Guilt kicked in again. “Seth, I hope when you really want me gone, you’ll say so. I won’t be insulted. I’m getting... I think I could deal with going to the Lawsons’.”
His eyes never left her face while she spoke. “Here’s the thing.” His voice had a deeper than usual timbre. “That won’t be happening. Me wanting you gone. I really like having you here. Knowing I have someone to come home to.”
Had there been a slight hesitation before he said “someone”? As if he’d been about to say “you”? Her heartbeat accelerated.
“Oh,” she heard herself say inanely. “Well, um, that’s good, right?”
For a moment, she thought his face looked bleak before he gave a faint smile. “Sure. It’s good.”
They stared at each other, her having the alarming yet also exhilarating realization that she wanted to make love with this man. Preferably right now.
He didn’t want it to be an experiment. He’d said sex wouldn’t be casual for him. And he’d rather it wasn’t for her, either.
Bailey was quite sure it wouldn’t be casual for her, either. Which made the idea even more frightening. But what if she chickened out and ended up going back to LA in a few days or a week? Wouldn’t she always wonder?
“What are you thinking?” he asked in the husky voice that gave her an idea what he was thinking.
“That I want you,” she whispered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SETH CLOSED HIS eyes briefly, prayerfully. She wanted him. Thank God. The kiss had made it damn hard for him to continue being a friendly, supportive not-quite friend.
He should have the pride to wonder whether, no matter what he’d said, all she wanted was to experiment, but knew he wouldn’t. For one thing—hell, how could it help but be? Did he want her to lie to him?
No.
And if that’s all it was, making this good for her might be the difference between her being able to live a full life instead of deciding men, marriage, children were off the table.
His breath huffed out. Yeah, put a little pressure on, why don’t you?
She was waiting, as nervous as a doe hearing an unexpected noise. Poised to run, but not yet sure she should.
Seth pushed back his chair and held out a hand. “Hey,” he said roughly. “Come here.”
“Come...there?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Dare you.”
She bit her lip, eyed him narrowly, then seemingly made up her mind and pushed back her own chair. By the time she reached him and laid her small hand in his, he was fully aroused. Not a good way to start. Tonight had to be about her, not his own satisfaction.
“Hey.” He tugged her onto his lap, then slid a hand to gently squeeze her nape. He bent to touch his forehead to hers. “Do you know how hard you hit me when you came to headquarters that day?”
She stiffened. “Hope Lawson in the flesh? Are you kidding? I saw your shock.”
“I was shocked to have the living embodiment of that drawing appear,” he conceded. No way to argue with that. “But I was stunned by Bailey Smith, too. You’re beautiful and...” He didn
’t even know how to explain. “I was sure you’d fit me.” What he’d felt was more like the shocked knowledge that he’d found the woman he’d been waiting for without knowing it. The One. Something he’d never believed in. He’d been fighting that certainty ever since because this woman was so damaged—and because he knew that, even if she was attracted to him, too, she had no concept of entering a long-term relationship, never mind settling down in a town fraught with buried memories. He hated to imagine how she’d react if she had the least idea how serious he could be about her.
“Oh.” She nuzzled him. “I sort of felt the same. Only I thought, no way.”
He chuckled and kneaded her neck beneath the bundle of fine, silky hair, feeling her relaxation. “Let me kiss you, Bailey.”
She leaned into him and slipped an arm around his neck just as she pressed her lips to his.
It took more willpower than he’d known he possessed to keep the kiss exploratory, teasing. Coaxing. She’d claimed she wouldn’t be afraid, but he didn’t believe her. He sucked on her full lower lip and ran his tongue inside it. Her tongue tentatively touched his, and soon they were playing. He didn’t pull her tight against him, not yet, but he slid his free hand beneath the sweatshirt to roam her back. Her vertebrae were so delicate, her shoulder blades sharp without the pads of muscle to protect them he had. But he felt shivers of reaction move through her, and he deepened the kiss.
She was the one to press her breasts to his chest. Her little moan made him shudder. He unhooked her bra, but had no access to her breasts with her plastered against him the way she was. That was okay. Slow, he reminded himself.
He struggled with the cloth-covered band that captured her hair until she pulled back to deftly slip it out. Her hair cascaded down over his hand. Threading his fingers in it, he said thickly, “I’d swear that’s my favorite sweatshirt you’re wearing.”
“Was. Was your sweatshirt.”
“Guess that’s okay in LA, since they don’t have their own football team.”
She was saying something when his mouth closed over hers again. About a smell? Wasn’t that bad? If his sweatshirt stank, she wouldn’t want to wear it, would she? But the concept was beyond him right now. He planned to get her out of the shirt soon.
Maybe now. A groan vibrated in his chest when she found bare skin with her hand, stroking his side and squeezing between their bodies to flatten on his belly. He tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt she wore.
“Can I take this off?”
Bailey lifted her arms. He peeled it off. The pale blue satin bra almost went with it, but in the end caught on her breasts and stayed in place. As if by instinct, for an instant she clutched it protectively in place. Then, gaze locked to his, she shrugged her shoulders and let the bra slip down her arms. Seth took it from her and dropped it on the floor on top of the Seahawks sweatshirt. She tipped her head to one side and watched him studying her.
He had a feeling her boldness was pretend, but he had trouble tearing his gaze from generous breasts tipped with dainty, peaked nipples.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely.
“Thank you.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “Will you take your shirt off, too?”
“Fair’s fair.” He wrenched it over his head. His erection throbbed at the way her eyes dilated as she looked at him. He clenched his teeth and let her look her fill while he did the same.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it. He cupped her breasts, letting the rich swell of flesh settle in his palms, then rotated his hands, loving the way she shivered. She flattened her hands on his chest, then explored his muscles, grazed his nipples and squeezed the thick muscles that ran from his neck to his shoulders. Her lips parted, she appeared fascinated, even wondering, as if this was new to her. Her breath came fast, in time with his heartbeats.
He seized her mouth with his and took some of what he needed, forgetting for an instant what she needed. The kiss went deep and hungry, her fingertips biting into his shoulders, his hands still covering her breasts. She tasted so good, let her head fall back when he finally tore his mouth away and nipped at her jaw, her earlobe, the smooth line of her throat. He fought the desperate need to have her now, to strip her and set her in place right here. Or, God, shove the dishes aside and lay her out on his table.
No condom here.
And she was a woman who’d been repeatedly raped.
The thought hit him hard, made him shudder and ease back. “I love kissing you,” he murmured.
“Yes.” She didn’t let him get away. She took his mouth with small, biting kisses that were as hungry as he felt, if a little clumsy. She’d implied she had been promiscuous, but he had to wonder what that actually meant. Had she been a real participant, or just let guys stick their tongues down her throat, suck on her breasts and pound into her, slam, bang? The latter, he thought with a sharp pang but also something like gratitude. This was new to her.
He kissed her back, but let her take the lead.
Finally he said starkly, “I’m dying here,” and rose to his feet, gripping her thighs to lift her with him. She gave a squeak and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, riding him in a way that made the walk through the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom the sweetest of torture.
He’d been afraid to jar her out of the mood, but she pressed her mouth to his neck, even licking as if she wanted to taste him. He wanted to taste her, too. All of her.
When he reached his bed, he freed one hand to yank the covers back before laying her down. Against the navy blue sheets, her skin was ivory, almost luminous, her hair silver-gold rivers of silk. He looked his fill, his body tightening to the unbearable point. He didn’t know if he could wait any longer than it took to peel her jeans off, but he knew he had to. She stared up at him, and as he watched, her dazed, dreamy expression transformed slowly into awareness that he feared would turn into nerves.
One knee on the bed, he bent to suckle her breast. Softly at first, circling each nipple with his tongue, nipping, drawing it into his mouth and using the suction to pull rhythmically. She arched and grabbed at his head, her fingers threaded in his hair. The little sounds that escaped her drove him crazy.
He rubbed his cheek against her belly, then brought all his concentration to bear on unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans, finally peeling them off, taking the panties with them. Her feet had been bare; he’d found himself staring at them while he watched her cook. He loved her feet. Now he took them in his hands, savoring the fine bones and the way her toes curled, and stroked the arches. He wrapped his hands around her ankles, slid them upward over her calves and knees that he couldn’t help noticing, with an odd feeling of tenderness, were a little knobby. Her thighs—ah, they were perfection, slender but taut with muscles. He touched her small birthmark. And there was the V of hair, unusual in being as pale as the hair on her head.
Seth fleetingly wondered how a man could be repulsed by the buds of womanly breasts or the appearance of silky, curly pubic hair, then made himself banish thoughts of him. The son of a bitch wasn’t welcome here.
“Beautiful,” he heard himself say again, before he kissed her there.
She reared up. “Seth!”
He stroked his tongue between the folds, the heady scent and spicy taste increasing his agony.
She moaned. He licked again and again, penetrated her with his tongue, his hands gripping and squeezing her butt as he lifted her to him. Her fingers had tightened painfully in his hair, but she wasn’t pushing him away. Instead, her hips rose and shifted, following his mouth and tongue. Her small cries shot like arrows to his groin.
He reared to his knees, then slid back off the bed to his feet. His hands shook as he shed his own jeans and boxers. He heard himself cursing when he fumbled with laces, tossed the shoes aside and tore off the socks.
In a fit of optimism, he’d dropped a couple of condoms in a bedside drawer last night. He retrieved one, ripped open the small packet and put it on, only then lifting his hea
d to see that Bailey had gone very still as she stared. In alarm?
Damn it. He closed his eyes and grabbed for the tattered remnants of his self-control. Instead of spreading her legs and driving himself into her the way he craved, he lowered himself to lie beside her and pulled her against him for a long, lavish kiss. With his hands and lips and teeth, he immersed her in pleasure until her body moved mindlessly in response to his every touch.
Only then did he push into her tight, slick sheath, grinding his teeth to keep from thrusting hard and deep.
“Look at me,” he said roughly, and she did, lifting astonished eyes to meet his. For a moment he held still, knowing he’d never forget the shocked pleasure he saw on her face.
He gripped one of her thighs, lifting it high, and began to move, his gaze never leaving hers. Deeper, faster, holding on when he didn’t think he could, until she suddenly cried out and tightened around him. Only then did Seth close his eyes and let himself go, hoarsely calling her name as ecstasy that was near to pain emptied him out.
* * *
BAILEY FELT BONELESS, her body shimmering with the aftershock of something she’d only been able to imagine before. Beneath her ear, Seth’s heart beat hard and fast, and his chest rose and fell with his gasps for air.
She’d made men happy before by letting them have her body, so that part shouldn’t feel so new. Shiny. But it did. It had to do with him insisting she open her eyes and look at him while he moved inside her. That made her more than a body. He saw her. She’d felt raw, knowing she wasn’t hiding anything from him. But she couldn’t regret that, because he’d let her see what he felt, too. And that was so much.
She heard him say, with a husky timbre, With you, Bailey, sex won’t be casual. Not for me.
Anxiety stirred, although as amazingly good as she felt, it was slow to work up any momentum. Still, worry crept into her mind that he might want more from her than she knew how to give. She’d said enough, he had to know she’d never really loved anyone. The word love came from movies. Caring about friends or people like the Neales, that was one thing. She might feel bad if they were distressed, or go out of her way to help if she could. But for her, there was always a distance. If that person was suddenly gone from her life, she’d be mildly sorry and that was all. She wasn’t capable of anything deeper. How could she be? You had to learn when you were young.
Yesterday's Gone (Two Daughters Book 1) Page 18
