Finding You

by Maureen Child

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled, and she could practically see excitement outlining her body like some sexually charged aura.

  “Oh boy,” she whispered, and her mirror self grinned. She wouldn’t think about consequences. She wouldn’t think beyond tonight. The moment. The need hammering at her until she could hardly see. No … she’d take Stevie’s advice. She’d make love without hanging all of the extras onto it. She’d accept it for what it was—well, what it was going to be: blindingly good sex—and let it go at that.

  She bolted out of the bathroom, snatched up her sandals, and hopped across the living room, putting them on and moving at the same time. Heck, the end of celibacy at least called for her to be on time.

  Grabbing the doorknob, she threw the door open and smacked right up against Jackson’s broad chest. Pushing her hair back out of her eyes, Carla said, “I was just coming over and—”

  “I couldn’t wait,” he said, his voice thick, his blue eyes smoky with a need that slammed into Carla with the power of a velvety fist.

  “I’m glad.” More than glad. Delighted. Excited. Hungry. They both knew damn well they’d been building toward this moment for the last few weeks. And now there was no time for thinking. No time for worrying about whether this was the right or wrong thing to do.

  For right now, it was the only thing to do.

  “Nice dress,” he said, his gaze raking her up and down, quickly, thoroughly.

  “Thanks.” Her gaze locked on his mouth. God, that was one great mouth. All she could think about was their last kiss … and their next one. And where else that mouth might go.

  “How fast can you get out of it?”

  “Speed of light mean anything to you?”

  “My kind of woman.” He grabbed her and Carla fell into his embrace. His arms swept around her middle, holding her tight, lifting her feet right off the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted her mouth on his. He took a step farther inside and kicked the front door shut. Then he slammed her back against the wall, and pinned her in place with his body, like a butterfly in a glass case.

  His mouth claimed hers in a deep, hungry kiss. He drank her in, his tongue exploring her warmth, her heat. He stole her breath, then gave her his own. She took it, swallowing it, holding it deep within as his hands prowled her body. Roughly, frantically, he touched her, grazing his palms over every inch of her that he could reach. The soft cotton of her dress rubbed with every stroke he made, heightening the sensations. Her upper thighs tingled as she lifted her feet and hooked them around his waist. Her center pushed against his abdomen and she rocked into him, desperate to feel him touch her there. To take her higher, faster, than she’d ever been before.

  He cupped her breasts, his thumbs and forefingers peaking her nipples until she moaned into his mouth with a wild screech of pleasure she hardly recognized as her own voice. Tearing his mouth free of hers, he trailed damp kisses along her jaw, her throat, and the base of her neck. He pushed her higher on the wall, unwilling to let her go. Unwilling to move. He had to have her. Here. Now.

  Carla tipped her head back and stared blindly up at the ceiling. Her body swirled with so many sensations at once, it was impossible to separate one from the other. Heat spiraled through her, searing her blood, scorching her soul, and melting her heart. She felt herself winding tighter and tighter as he touched her, sliding his hands up to her shoulders. His thumbs hooked those narrow strips of fabric and pushed them down. Carla shifted in his arms, helping him, pulling her arms free of the straps, letting the dress fall to her waist. Chilly air kissed her flesh and Carla shivered. Then Jackson’s hands cupped her breasts and she gasped, arching into his hands.

  “Oh God.…” Her body ached and throbbed with a need so deep, so primal, that she writhed against him, looking for a peace only he could give her.

  Jackson reacted. He shifted his hands from her breasts to her waist and lifted her high enough to taste her nipples, one after the other. His tongue circled each pebbled tip, tasting, savoring. His breath dusted her skin, and chills snaked along her spine.

  “Jackson…”

  “God, you taste so good,” he murmured against her flesh.

  Her fingers clutched at his shoulders as she braced herself on his strength, and she knew if she didn’t have him soon, it would kill her. Tension raced through her. She felt the heady rush toward completion begin and knew that the slightest intimate touch from him now would set her off.

  He let her slide back along the wall, keeping his hands at her sides, steadying her, holding her, as if he would never let her go.

  And that worked for her.

  Then he shifted one hand, sliding it between them, slipping his fingers beneath the fragile silk barrier of her panties. She’d wanted to wait until she held his body within hers. But it was too late. Now she needed it. Needed that pulse-pounding crash of release. She moved into his touch and he dipped two fingers inside her. “Jackson!” she cried out as her world splintered into thousands of tiny jagged pieces. She shook and trembled in his steady grip, riding the explosion that threatened to tear her in two and welcoming it like a long-lost friend.

  Before the last of the tremors had faded away, Jackson tore his hand free and said, “Bed,” congratulating himself on getting his voice to work. Hell, he felt as tight as an over-tuned guitar string. Watching her climax claim her had damn near killed him with a ferocious want that was like nothing he’d ever known before.

  Carla’d been in his thoughts, his dreams, for weeks, and now that they were finally together, he needed to be a part of her so badly, it was an ache that went far deeper than just physical need.

  He wanted to feel the warmth she offered and surround himself with it. He wanted to give her the same kind of pleasure she gave him. He wanted to watch her eyes go soft and hazy with completion again and he wanted to be inside her when that moment came, this time.

  And he couldn’t do all that standing up in the foyer, fully clothed.

  “Oh, wow. Definitely bed,” she agreed, threading her fingers through his shower-damp hair.

  “Where?” he groaned.

  “The hall.” She dipped her head to kiss his neck, his throat, her lips moving over his flesh, her words muffled. “Through the living room.”

  Jackson braced her behind with his forearm and carried Carla across the small cluttered room in a few long strides. She pressed herself close to him and he felt her nipples, peaked and hard against his chest. His heartbeat thudded painfully and his breath jammed solid in his lungs. She tightened her legs around his waist and dug her heels in as she moved against him.

  “Hurry,” she whispered, and that one word echoed inside him over and over again.

  Hurry. God, yes. No time for niceties. No time for soft music and sweet-smelling flowers. No time for romantic words or slow, languid caresses. Need pushed them both and Jackson surrendered to it, knowing it was give in or go crazy.

  Only three doors led off the tiny hall. One opened into a bathroom where wet towels littered the floor and makeup paraphernalia lay scattered across the sink and counter. He ignored it. Another door was closed, but the third stood ajar and he spotted the clothes she’d worn earlier that day, tossed across the foot of the bed. He stepped inside. Curtains over the window that opened onto the backyard were open, and moonlight spilled into the room like a silver river.

  Holding her tightly, Jackson bent down, grabbed the edge of the quilt, and tossed it aside and out of his way. Then he dropped Carla onto the mattress and heard the old springs scream in protest as she bounced. While he tore at his clothes, he watched her shimmy out of her dress, then slide her panties down and off.

  His mouth watered.

  His throat tightened.

  And an erection that was already painfully hard throbbed with an ache only she could ease.

  Dropping onto the bed beside her, Jackson claimed her mouth as his hands roamed her body, stroking, rubbing, exploring. His palm skimmed across her nipp
les, one after the other, then down her rib cage, across her flat abdomen to the nest of dark curls that guarded her secrets. He dipped first one, then two fingers into her liquid heat again and sucked in a gulp of air when her hips lifted into his hand. Ready for more, she rocked her body against him, taking him deeper, demanding his touch.

  His tongue entwined with hers, he drove her higher, refusing her air, refusing her anything but the sensations he caused. He wanted everything else to fall away for her. He wanted her mind emptied of anything but passion, and that was only for him. This woman, this moment. He wanted her, needed her, so desperately, his heart twisted painfully in his chest.

  Carla loved the feel of him. She skimmed her hands along his back, down his hips, and back up again. The clean, male scent of him drove deep within her and she clung to it. Want and heat and a deep ache that pulsed along with her rapid heartbeat pushed her to feel him, all of him. She shifted just enough that she could take him in her hand. He groaned as she rolled her fingers over his erection and stroked him in as tender and intimate a way as he did her.

  “You’re killin’ me here,” he whispered against her neck, his breath dusting her skin, sending shivers of delight coursing through her.

  “Oh, not yet,” she promised, and rubbed the pad of her thumb across the tip of him.

  “Carla.” Her name was a groan, a harsh plea just before he kissed her again. He touched her deeply, pushing his fingers inside her, stroking his thumb over the core of her until the small, delicious spirals of completion gathered on the horizon like storm clouds in the distance. It was coming again. She felt it. Knew it was there, waiting for her.

  Carla planted her feet on the bed and rocked her hips over and over again into his touch. Tearing her mouth from his, she cupped his face with one hand as the tension within mounted. She looked up into his eyes and saw desperation shining there.

  She stroked him harder, stronger, glorying in the hard, thick feel of him. Loving the knowledge that she was bringing him to the brink.

  “Say my name,” she whispered brokenly.

  “Carla,” he said, dipping his head for a brief hard kiss that tasted of frenzied passion. “Always, Carla.”

  Her breath hitched. She fought for air. Fought to find the words she needed so desperately. “I love it … when you call … my name. I—oh … God, Jackson. I’m coming now.” She shook her head, fighting it. “Too soon. Want you … inside me this time. Want to feel—”

  “Come, baby,” he crooned, letting his voice ease her over the precipice. “There’ll be more. Much more. Come now and let me see you.”

  Her eyes squeezed shut as the tremors claimed her, but she forced them open—she wanted to watch him this time. Wanted him to see what he did to her with a touch. Wanted him to know what it meant to have his fingers inside her.

  She rode the wave of pleasure, higher than before, groaning his name, digging her nails into his shoulders, holding on to him even as he pushed her over the edge.

  As the last of the tiny ripples of satisfaction died away, he shifted position and pushed himself deep inside her.

  Strong. Deep. So deep.

  A sharp, sweet sting of renewed glory burst within her and she lifted her hips to meet his first thrust. Again and again, they moved together, racing toward the finish line. He threaded his fingers through hers. Planted their hands at either side of her head and stared down into her eyes, her bottomless, warmth-filled eyes, and lost himself in all that she was … in all that she offered him.

  And when soul-rocking pleasure crashed down around them, he called her name—a raw, powerful shout that dragged at his heart. This time, when she came, Carla wrapped her legs around his middle and pulled him in so deeply he’d never be able to leave.

  * * *

  “Shtevie?”

  She shoved her hair back from her face, squinted at her bedside clock, and groaned. One A.M.? Who the hell?

  “Hello?” Her voice was a croak of sound and she cleared her throat, swallowing hard. “Who is this?”

  “’Sme, Nick.”

  Stevie pushed herself up in bed, reached to the nearby table, and flicked on a light. Good God. No one should be awake at this hour. And certainly no one should be making a phone call—unless there was an earthquake or similar natural disaster. She squelched a groan and blinked. “Nick, you idiot. Why are you calling me?”

  “You gotta come get me.”

  She pulled the receiver away from her ear, stared at it for a long minute as though she could actually see the moron on the other end of the line, then slapped it back to her head. “What are you talking about? Get you from where? Where are you?”

  “Jail.”

  “What?” She stared blankly ahead, then automatically reached for the TV remote that she’d left on her bedside table. Once again, she’d fallen asleep with the TV on, wanting the sound of voices in the empty loft.

  “Jesus,” Nick mumbled. “Do you hafta shout?”

  “You jerk, you woke me up and now you’re complaining?”

  “C’mon, Shtevie, be a pal. Tony won’t lemme out ’less shomebody comes to get me.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Thass wha’ Tony says.”

  Irritation rushed through her, quickly replacing any concern she might have had a minute ago. Arrested by his own brother for being drunk. She was willing to bet there weren’t many men who could claim that honor.

  “I’m not coming to get you,” she said, even though her body apparently disagreed. Her legs were hanging off the side of the bed, and her feet were already scooting into a pair of sandals. Old habits were hard to break. Even after two years. Deliberately she kicked them aside.

  “Dammit, Shtevie, who else’ll come for me?”

  “Why should anyone have to?” she asked, and hung up before she could get sucked back into Nick’s orbit.

  Big lie.

  She was still in Nick’s orbit. Probably always would be. Because she loved the Candellanos too much to distance herself.

  Damn it.

  Flopping backward onto the bed, she folded her arms around her middle and hung on. But it didn’t seem to help. Loneliness curled up inside her chest, took hold of her heart, and squeezed until a single tear rolled down the side of her face and disappeared into her hair. She wasn’t crying for Nick … the tears were for what-might-have-beens.

  * * *

  “She not comin’,” Nick muttered, and hung up the phone.

  “And this surprises you?” Tony demanded. Grabbing his brother’s arm, he half-dragged him out of the office and down the hall to one of the two empty jail cells. Giving Nick a shove into one of them, he slammed the iron door and locked it.

  “I’ll go home wi’ you,” Nick decided, squinting at his older brother through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “We’re family.”

  “No, you’re not comin’ home with me. And yeah, we’re family. Why do you think I’m so pissed?”

  “Eye hurts.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all that hurts.”

  “C’mon, Tony, lemme go.”

  He shook his head. “Drunks sleep it off here. In jail.”

  “Not a drunk.”

  “You drove your car onto Reverend Michaels’ front lawn and destroyed his wife’s garden goose.”

  “Damn thing ran out in front’a me.”

  “It’s plaster.”

  Nick laughed. “Nope. I am.”

  “Nope,” Tony replied, turning his back on his younger brother, “you’re an idiot. Stevie took your keys for your own good. Did you have to hot-wire the car?”

  Nick lay back on the cot and tossed one arm across his eyes. “Sheemed like good idea at th’time.”

  “Yeah? Wait’ll Mama finds out.”

  Nick groaned.

  * * *

  “Wow.”

  “That about sums it up,” Jackson agreed.

  “That was…”

  “Amazing? Incredible?”

  She turned toward him,
running her hands up and down his chest until his body stirred and he issued a muffled groan. “I was thinking more like … foreplay?”

  Jackson slid one hand down the side of her body, along the curve of her hip, and down her thigh before going back up. He was hard again.

  “Lady,” he promised, determined to enjoy every minute of this night with her, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  “Surprise me.”

  Obliging both of them, Jackson flipped her over onto her back and trailed his mouth down the front of her, sucking on one nipple, then the other, while she writhed beneath him. Then he moved again, laying a trail of damp heat down the center of her body, licking, tasting, exploring until finally he settled between her thighs.

  “You’re really good at this ‘surprise’ thing,” she said as she licked dry lips.

  “Here comes the best part,” he murmured, and slipped off the bed to kneel beside the mattress.

  Carla’s stomach whirled. God. She knew what was coming. Her.

  He pulled her toward him, drawing her close until her rear was on the edge of the bed. Then he lifted her legs and laid them across his shoulders.

  “Oh, God.…” Carla pushed herself into a sitting position and looked down at him. “Jackson, you don’t have to—”

  His eyes gleamed with passion when he looked up at her. “Surprise,” he whispered just before his mouth covered her.

  Carla gasped and looked down at him as he worked her body in the most intimate way possible. Her fingers dug into his hair and hung on. Her breath strangled in her lungs. And she watched him as his tongue took her on a roller-coaster ride of sensation.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  REESE’S TUMMY HURT.

  But it was a good kind of hurt. Like when you’re going somewhere special and you get all excited and everything inside turns into knots and your tummy aches ’cause you just feel so good.

  She liked it here at Mama Candellano’s house. No, she thought, Nana’s house. Reese smiled. Nana had said all of her grandchildren should call her Nana, and then she had kissed her and said she would be Reese’s Nana, too. Nana smelled good and she always smiled and never got mad or sad or made Reese feel bad about not talking. And she cooked popcorn on the stove in a big pot.