"This is a mistake." She was already raining kisses over his face, his throat. "I know it's a mistake."
"Everybody makes one now and again."
"I'm smart." While her breath hitched, her fingers hurried to unbutton his shirt. "And I'm level-headed. I have to be, because…" She let out a groan as her fingers found flesh. "God, I love your body."
"Yeah?" He nearly staggered as she tugged his shirt out of his jeans. "Consider it all yours. I should have known."
"Mmm…" She was busy biting at his shoulder. "What?"
"That you'd have a first-class bed." He tumbled with her onto the satin covers.
Already half-mad for him, she dragged at his shirt. "Hurry," she demanded. "I've wanted you to hurry since the first time you touched me."
"Let me catch up." Equally frantic, he crushed his mouth to hers, sinking in.
Breathless, she yanked at the snap of his jeans. "This is insane." She struggled to find him, drinking hungrily from his mouth as they rolled across the bed.
He couldn't catch his breath, or even a slippery hold on control. "It's about to be," he muttered. Tugging her robe open, he found the thin swatch of matching silk beneath. A moan ripped through him as he closed his mouth over her cream-covered breast.
Silk and heat and fragrant flesh. Everything she was filled him, taunted him, tormented him. Woman, all woman. Beauty and grace and passion. Temptation and torment and triumph. All of it, all of her, obsessed him.
They thrashed over the slick satin spread, groping for more.
Here was fire, the bright, dangerous flash of it. It seared through him, burned, scarred, while her hands and mouth raced over him, igniting hundreds of new flames. He didn't fight it back. For once he wanted to be consumed. With an oath, he tore at the silk and dined greedily on her flesh.
His hands were rough and hard. And wonderful. She'd never felt more alive, or more desperate. She craved him, knew that she had, on some deep level, right from the beginning.
But now she had him, could feel the press of that hard, muscled body against her, could taste the violent urgency of his need whenever their mouths met, could hear his response to her touch, to her taste, in every hurried breath.
If it was elemental, so be it. She felt lusty and wanton and absolutely free. Her teeth dug into his shoulder as he whipped her ruthlessly over the first crest. She cried out his name, all but screamed it, arching upward, taut as a bow.
He arrowed into her, hard, deep.
She was blind and deaf from the pleasure of it, oblivious of her own sobbing breaths as they mated in a frenzied rhythm. Her body plunged against his, tireless, driven by a need that seemed insatiable.
Then body and need erupted.
The light was on. Funny he hadn't even noticed that, when normally he was accustomed to picking up every small detail. The lamp's glow was soft, picking up the cool sherbet tones of her bedroom.
Ryan lay still, his head on her breast, and waited for his system to level. Beneath his ear, her heart continued to thunder. Her flesh was damp, her body limp. Every few moments a tremor shook her.
He didn't smile in triumph, as he might have done, but simply stared in wonder.
He'd wanted to conquer her. He couldn't—wouldn't—deny it.
He'd craved the sensation of having her body buck and shudder under his from the first moment he saw her.
But he hadn't expected the tornado of need that had swept through them both, that had them clawing at each other like animals.
He knew he'd been rough. He wasn't a particularly gentle man, so that didn't bother him. But he'd never lost control so completely with any woman. Nor had he ever wanted one so intensely only moments after he'd had her.
"That should have done it," he muttered. "Hmmm?" She felt weak as water. Achy and sweet. "It should have gotten it out of my system. Gotten you out. At least started getting you out."
"Oh." She found the energy to open her eyes. The light, dim as it was, had her wincing. Slowly, her mind began to clear; quickly, her skin began to heat. She remembered the way she'd torn at his clothes, wrestled him into bed without a single coherent thought except having him.
She let out a breath, drew another in.
"You're right," she decided. "It should have. What's wrong with us?"
With a laugh, he lifted his head, looking at her flushed face, her tousled hair. "Damned if I know. Are you okay?"
Now she smiled. The hell with logic. "Damned if I know. What just happened here's a bit out of the usual realm for me."
"Good." He lowered his head, skimmed his tongue lightly over her breast. "I want you again, Natalie."
She quivered once. "Good."
When the alarm went off, Natalie groaned, rolled over to shut it off, and bumped solidly into Ry. He grunted, slapped at the buzzer with one hand and brought her to rest on top of him with the other.
"What's the noise for?" he asked, and ran an interested hand down her spine to the hip.
"To wake me up."
He opened one eye. Yeah, he thought, he should have known it.
She looked just as good in the morning as she did every other time of the day. "Why?"
"It goes like this." Still groggy, she pushed her hair out of her face. "The alarm goes off, I get up, shower, dress, drink copious cups of coffee, and go to work."
"I've had some experience with the process. Anybody tell you today's Saturday?"
"I know what day it is," she said. At least she did now. "I have work."
"No, you don't, you just think you do." He cradled her head against his shoulder, casting one bleary eye at the clock. It was 7:00 a.m. He calculated they'd had three hours' sleep, at the outside. "Go back to sleep."
"I can't."
He let out a long-suffering sigh. "All right, all right. But you should have warned me you were insatiable." More than willing to oblige, he rolled her over again and began to nibble on her shoulder.
"I didn't mean that." She laughed, trying to wiggle free. "I have paperwork, calls to make." His hand was sneaking up to stroke her breast. Fire kindled instantly in the pit of her stomach. "Cut it out."
"Uh-uh. You woke me up, now you pay."
She couldn't help it, simply couldn't, and she began to stretch under his hands. "We're lucky we didn't kill each other last night. Are you sure you want to take another chance?''
"Men like me face danger every day." He covered her grinning mouth with his.
She was more than three hours behind schedule when she stepped out of the shower. So, she'd work late, Natalie decided, and after wrapping a towel around her hair she began to cream her legs. A good executive understood the merits of flextime.
Yawning, she wiped steam from the bathroom mirror and took a good look at her face. She should be exhausted, she realized. She certainly should look exhausted after the wild night she and Ry had shared.
But she wasn't. And she didn't. She looked… soft, she thought.
Satisfied.
And why not? she thought, dragging the towel from her hair. When a woman took thirty-two years to experience just what a bout of hot, sweaty sex could do for the mind and body, she ought to look satisfied.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, she'd ever experienced, came close to what she'd felt, what she'd done, what she'd discovered, during the night with Ry.
So if she smiled like a fool while she combed out her wet hair, why not? If she felt like singing as she wrapped her tingling body in her robe, it was understandable.
And if she had to rearrange her schedule for the day because she'd spent most of the night and all of the morning wrestling in bed with a man who made her blood bubble, more power to her.
She stepped back into the bedroom and grinned at the tangled sheets. Lips pursed, she picked up the remains of her chemise. The strap was torn, and a froth of lace hung limp. Apparently, she decided, her merchandise didn't quite live up to Ry Piasecki's idea of wear and tear.
And wasn't it fabulous?
Laughing
out loud, she tossed the chemise aside and followed her nose into the kitchen.
"I smell coffee," she began, then paused in the doorway.
He was breaking eggs into a bowl with those big, hard hands of his. His hair was damp, as hers was, because he'd beaten her to the shower. He was barefoot, jeans snug at his hips, flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows.
Incredibly, she wanted him all over again.
"You have next to nothing in this place to eat."
"I eat out a lot." With an order to control herself, she moved to the coffeepot. "What are you making?"
"Omelets. You had four eggs, some cheddar and some very limp broccoli."
"I was going to steam it." She cocked her head as she sampled the coffee. "So you cook."
"Every self-respecting fire fighter cooks. You take shifts at the station." He located a whisk, then turned to her. Wet hair, glowing face, sleepy eyes. "Hello, Legs. You look good."
"Thanks." She smiled over the rim of her cup. If he continued to look at her in just that way, she realized, she would drag him right down onto the floor. It might be wise, she decided, to tend to some practical matters. "Am I supposed to help?"
"Can you handle toast?"
"Barely." She set her cup aside and opened the cupboard. They worked in silence for a moment, he beating eggs, she popping bread in the toaster. "I…" She wasn't sure how to put it, delicately. "I suppose when you were fighting fires, you faced a lot of dangerous situations."
"Yeah. So?"
"The scars on your shoulder, your back." She'd discovered them in her explorations in the night, the raised welts and scarred ridges over that taut, really beautiful body. "Line of duty?''
"That's right." He glanced up. In truth, he didn't think about them. But it occurred to him in the harsh light of day that a woman like her might find them offensive. "Do they bother you?"
"No. I just wondered how you got burned."
He set the bowl aside and placed a pan on the stove to heat. Maybe they bothered her, he thought, maybe they didn't. But it seemed best to get the matter out of the way.
"Our friend Clarence. While I was pulling him out of the fire he started, the ceiling collapsed." Ry could remember it still, the rain of flame, the animal roar of it, the staggering nightmare of pain. "It fell down on us like judgment. He was screaming, laughing. I got him outside. I don't remember much after that, until I woke up in the burn ward."
"I'm sorry."
"It could have been a lot worse. My gear went a long way toward protecting me. I got off lucky." Deliberately focused, he poured the beaten eggs into the pan. "My father went down like that. Fire went into the walls. When they ventilated the ceiling, it went. It all went."
He cursed under his breath. Where the hell had that come from? he wondered. He hadn't meant to say it. The death of his father certainly wasn't typical morning-after conversation. "You should butter that toast before it gets cold." She said nothing, could think of nothing, only went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back.
"I didn't know you'd lost your father." There was so much, she thought, that she didn't know.
"Twelve years ago. It was in a high school. Some kid who wasn't happy with his chemistry grade torched the lab. It got away from him. Pop knew the risks," he muttered, uncomfortable with the sensation her quiet sympathy was stirring. "We all know them." She held on. "I didn't mean to open old wounds, Ry."
"It's all right. He was a hell of a smoke eater." Natalie stayed where she was another moment, baffled by what she was feeling. This need to comfort, to share, this terrible urge to be part of what he was. Cautious, she stepped back. It wouldn't do, she reminded herself. It wouldn't do at all to look for more between them than what there was.
"And this Clarence—how will you find him?"
"I could get lucky and track him down through contacts." With a quick, competent touch, Ry folded the egg mixture. "Or we'll pick him up when he scouts out his next target."
"My plant."
"Probably." More relaxed now that there was a little distance between them, he shot her a look over his shoulder. "Cheer up, Natalie. You've got the best in the city working to protect your nighties."
"You know very well it's not just—" She broke off when her doorbell rang. "Never mind."
"Hold on. Doesn't your doorman call up when someone's coming to see you?"
"Not if it's a neighbor."
"Use the judas hole," he ordered, and reached for plates.
"Yes, Daddy." Amused by him, Natalie went to the door. One look through the peephole had her stifling a shout and dragging back the locks. "Boyd, for heaven's sake!" She threw her arms around her brother. "Cilia!"
"The whole crew," Cilia warned her, laughing as they hugged. "The cop wouldn't let me call ahead and alert you to the invasion."
"I'm just so glad to see you." She bent down to hug her niece and nephews. "But what are you doing here?"
"Checking up on you." Boyd shifted the bag of take-out he carried to his other hip.
"You know the captain," Cilia said. "Bryant, touch nothing under penalty of death." She aimed a cautious look at her oldest son. At eight, he couldn't be trusted. "The minute Deborah called us about the second fire, he herded us up and moved us out. Allison, this isn't a basketball court. Why don't you put that down now?"
Territorial, Allison hugged the basketball to her chest. "I'm not going to throw it or anything."
"She's fine," Natalie assured Cilia, stroking a distracted hand down Allison's golden hair. "Boyd, I can't believe you'd drag everyone across the country for something like this."
"The kids have Monday off at school." Boyd crouched down to pick up the jacket their youngest had already tossed on the floor. "So we're taking a quick weekend, that's all."
"We're staying with Deborah and Gage," Cilia added. "So don't panic."
"It's not that…"
"And we brought supplies." Boyd held out the bag filled with take-out burgers and fries. "How about lunch?"
"Well, I…" She cleared her throat and looked toward the kitchen. How, she wondered, was she going to explain Ry?
Keenan, with the curiosity of an active five-year-old, had already discovered him. From the kitchen doorway, he grinned up at Ry. "Hi."
"Hi yourself." Curious to see just how Natalie handled things, Ry strolled out of the kitchen.
"Want to see what I can do?" Keenan asked him before anyone else could speak.
"Sure."
Always ready to show off a new skill, Keenan shinnied up Ry's leg, scooting up and around until he was riding piggy-back.
"Not bad." Ry gave the boy a little boost to settle him in place.
"That's Keenan," Cilia explained, running her tongue over her teeth as she considered. "Our youngest monkey."
"I'm sorry. Ah…" Natalie dragged a hand through her damp hair. She didn't have to look at Boyd to know he'd have that speculative big-brother look in his eyes. "Boyd and Cilia Fletcher, Ry Piasecki." She cleared her throat. "And this is Allison, and Bryant." Now she sighed. "You've already met Keenan."
"Piasecki," Boyd repeated. "Arson?" Just the man he wanted to see, Boyd thought. But he hadn't expected to find him barefoot in his sister's kitchen.
"That's right." Brother and sister shared strong good looks, Ry mused. And, he thought, an innate suspicion of strangers. "You're the cop from Denver."
Bryant piped up. "He's a police captain. He wears a gun to work. Can I have a drink, Aunt Nat?"
"Sure. I—" But Bryant was already darting into the kitchen. "Well, this is…" Awkward, she thought. "Maybe I should get some plates before the food gets cold."
"Good idea. All she has is eggs." Ry eyed the bag Boyd still carried, recognizing the package. "Maybe we can work a deal for some of your french fries."
"You're the one investigating the fires, right?" Boyd began.
"Slick," Cilia said, glaring at her husband. "No interrogations on an empty stomach. You can grill him after w
e eat. We've been on a plane for hours," she explained when Bryant came back in and tried to wrestle the ball away from Allison. "We're a little edgy."
"No problem." Ah instant before Boyd, Ry snatched the ball that squirted out of flailing hands. "Like to shoot hoop?" he asked Allison.
"Uh-huh." She gave him a quick, winning smile. "I made the team. Bryant didn't."
"Basketball's stupid." Sulking, Bryant slouched in a chair. "I'd rather play Nintendo."
Ry juggled Keenan on his back as he turned the ball in his hands. "It so happens I've got a game in a couple of hours. Maybe you'd like to come."
"Really?" Allison's eyes lit as she turned to Cilia. "Mom?"
"It sounds like fun." Intrigued, Cilia strolled toward the kitchen. "I'll just give Natalie a hand."
And, she thought, pump her sister-in-law for details.
Chapter 7
The last place Natalie expected to spend her Saturday afternoon was courtside, watching cops and fire fighters play round ball. She sulked through most of the first quarter, her elbow on her knee, her chin on her fist.
After all, Ry hadn't mentioned the game to her, hadn't directly invited her. She was there to witness what was obviously an important annual rivalry only because of her niece.
Not that it mattered to her, she assured herself. Ry was certainly under no obligation to include her in his personal entertainment.
The pig.
Beside her, Allison was in basketball heaven, cheering on the red jerseys with a rabid fan's passionate enthusiasm. Her brandy-colored eyes glinted as she followed the action up and down the court of the old west-side gym.
"It's not such a bad way to spend the afternoon," Cilia commented over the shrill sound of the ref's whistle. "Watching a bunch of half-naked guys sweat." Her eyes, the same warm shade as her daughter's, danced. "By the way, your guy's very cute."
"I told you, he's not my guy. We're just…"
"Yeah, you told me." Chuckling, Cilia wrapped an arm around Natalie's shoulders. "Cheer up, Nat. If you'd gone along with Boyd and the boys to unload at Deborah's, your big bro would be grilling you right now."
"You've got a point." She let out a sigh. Despite herself, she was following the action. The cops were double-teaming Ry consistently, she noted. Not a bad strategy, as he played like a steamroller, and lad already scored seven points in the first quarter.
Books by Nora Roberts Page 414
