Marissa looked up into his face, which was dark and streaked with shadow. She was faced with the irony again— the irony that was becoming her daily companion and her daily burden. Dylan was protecting Josh—protecting him the way a father would protect his son. Was it just a fluke, a coincidence? Was it just Dylan doing his job, looking out for a kid in trouble the same way he was looking out for Randy? Could it possibly be that simple, or was there something more? Dylan had no way of knowing that Josh was his son. Was it just her guilt that saw the link between them, or was there an awareness there?
“That’s why you did it, isn’t it,” she said in a whisper. The darkness and the emotion had the whole night feeling surreal and illusory—as if it were happening just outside the realm of the real world, in another time, another place. “That’s why you didn’t go after Skip—to protect Josh and Randy.”
Dylan’s jaw clenched tight. There was something in her voice, something in the words she had said that had him uneasy. He’d heard the emotion, heard the gratitude, and it made him uncomfortable.
Where Marissa Wakefield was concerned, he struggled with his own emotions—both the assortment of emotions from the past, as well as a whole battery of new ones. From the moment she’d walked into his office on that hot summer morning all those weeks ago, he’d been fighting against the feelings that had lain dormant in him for sixteen yearsfeelings like anger, disappointment, pain and…love. He’d done his best to cope with them, to try and understand what he was feeling and why. But it hadn’t been easy when she stirred in him a myriad of new emotions—emotions that had nothing to do with the past and everything to do with the fact that she was a very desirable woman.
The last thing he wanted was for her to start feeling grateful to him. That would simply be asking too much on his already frazzled emotions. Gratitude only made it more difficult, muddied waters that were already dark and murky—and he was barely able to keep his head above water as it was. He couldn’t handle her looking soft and vulnerable right now—not now, not with the two of them alone in the dark, empty house.
“Look,” Dylan said dropping his hold on her and taking a step back. “Before you start pinning any medals on me, you should know that if Skip had actually succeeded in busting in here tonight, I’d have had him down at the station so fast his head would still be spinning.” He was pleased that his voice sounded harsh and cold, and he turned around and walked through the dark living room to the sofa. “The fact is, there was no break-in, no robbery. I would only have had a trespassing charge at best.” He reached down and grabbed the blanket Marissa had tossed over him several hours before and made an attempt to fold it. “Skip Carver isn’t going anywhere. I can wait. I’m not going to blow a real case against him for a trespass. As far as Josh goes, if he keeps his nose clean, he’s got nothing to worry about.”
Hearing his caustic tone and gruff words, Marissa watched his dark silhouette fumble with the blanket, and she felt a burst of awareness free itself from some hidden place in her heart. It was dark in the room, but she felt like she was seeing things clearer than she ever had in her life. She thought back to the countless times he had joked, how he had scoffed and jeered, in order to cover what it was he really felt.
He talked so tough, acted so jaded, it almost had her believing he didn’t care. But she’d seen something just now— something he was trying very hard to cover up with harsh talk and tough words, something that had all the pieces falling into place.
He was afraid of her—had been afraid of her all along. Afraid of being alone with her, afraid of touching her, afraid of getting too close. But what did he have to fear from her? It didn’t make sense, it didn’t add up, unless…
“You know, you’re very good at that,” she said, unable to keep the smile from stretching across her face. She crossed her arms over her chest and started across the room, her bare feet soundless on the carpet.
Frustrated, he stopped grappling with the blanket and tossed it down onto the cushions in a wadded mess. “What?” Dylan asked sarcastically. “Folding blankets?”
“Hardly,” she snorted, peering down at the blanket lying in a heap on the sofa, then shook her head. She looked back up at him. Even in the darkness she could see his smirk, and the way he worked his jawbone—clenching and unclenching—and it only made her smile wider. She suspected the Sheriff of Amador County wasn’t accustomed to squirming, because he looked awkward and uncomfortable doing it now. “No, I was referring to the tough cop routine. You’ve really got it down.”
“You think it’s a routine, do you?” he asked caustically. But with the windows shining behind her, he could see her willowy figure through the nightshirt, and his mouth suddenly went as dry as sand.
“Sure do. Isn’t it?”
He shifted uneasily. She was moving again, and the closer she got, the more uncomfortable he became. “I guess I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Sure you were,” she insisted. He was uncomfortable, she realized, almost edgy. “You do it all the time.” She was making him nervous, and she found that not only empowering—but exhilarating. “As a matter of fact, you’re doing it right now.”
“Am I?” he mocked, making a play of indulging her. “I must say, that’s very interesting.”
He’d forgotten about Skip and his nocturnal visit, forgotten about sheriffing and devotion to duty. He was too busy trying desperately not to think of the darkness, and the silence, and the quiet, empty house. And he really didn’t want to think of the woman before him who was naked beneath the nightshirt.
“I find it interesting, too,” Marissa was saying as she watched him fidget and take a step back. She wasn’t aggressive by nature, and she certainly had never been overly confident when it came to men. Maybe if she had been, she never would have felt the need to impersonate her sister in order to get a date with him in the first place. But she felt aggressive now—aggressive, powerful, and not only sure of herself, but sure of what she wanted. She had the sheriff on the run, and she was in full pursuit.
“Well, I’m glad you find this so entertaining,” Dylan taunted, but his fists clenched tight at his sides. He felt jumpy and agitated, a little like an animal trapped in a cage. Things were moving too fast; she was giving him no time to recoup or recover. He wanted to get as far away from her as he could. But he couldn’t move, could no longer make his body obey his commands.
“Oh, I do find it entertaining,” she continued, dropping her arms to her sides as she slowly made her way towards him. “And I suppose it comes in handy, too—you know, in those awkward moments.”
“Awkward moments?” he snorted carelessly. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you know, those sticky situations that deal with emotions and having to feel something,” she said, pausing only briefly. “Like now.”
“Now? You’re talking crazy,” he said glibly. “Is this a sticky situation?”
“Oh, sure it is,” she said, moving close. Watching him stumble back a step had her laughing just a little. “And I think it’s about to get a whole lot stickier.”
Dylan took another step back. “Look, Marissa, I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”
“What?” she asked, reaching out and sliding her hand up his shirt. “This?”
Dylan swallowed hard. He could stop himself from touching her, but he was helpless to stop her from touching him. “Yes.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No, I don’t,” he said honestly. “Maybe it would be better if I left.”
“But, Sheriff, wouldn’t that be running away?” she asked, backing him up against the sofa. “And you know, tough guys never run away.”
She had worked him like a big-game hunter works her prey. He was trapped, cornered—snared in a trap he hadn’t even known was set. He watched as she reached out her other hand, flattening it against his chest.
“Marissa, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you
doing this?”
“You mean this?” she asked, sliding her hands slowly up his chest. “Or this?” She pressed her body close.
Dylan closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “I…I don’t think you realize what you’re doing.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, moving her hands along the solid wall of his chest. “I might be a little rusty, but I’m going to seduce you.”
“Look, Marissa, okay,” he conceded, feeling more desperate, more helpless, than he had in his life. “You made your point. You can stop now. This isn’t funny anymore.”
“You’re right,” she murmured, moving her body against his. “It isn’t.”
“Marissa, please.” He groaned, feeling the soft pressure of her breasts against him. “Maybe…maybe we should wait—”
“Dylan, I don’t want to talk,” she said, cutting him off. “And I don’t want to wait.” She moved her body again, feeling him hard and hungry against her. She looked up into his dark eyes, bringing her lips within a whisper of his. “It’s been sixteen years. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough already?”
Dylan capitulated, powerless to do anything. He’d hoped for caution, had searched for reason, but both had heartlessly deserted him. If there were arguments to be made, he’d forgotten them. If there were hazards to be alerted to, he’d risk them. Maybe it wasn’t so important that they hadn’t charted a path, hadn’t mapped a route, or steered a straight course. None of that seemed important with her mouth on his. At the moment there was nothing else—just the woman before him—and a need clawing at him like no other he’d known.
He’d held out as long as he was able, had given her every chance that he could. But he was, after all, just a man—a man whose greatest sin was wanting this woman more desperately than he wanted his next breath. The movements of her beautiful body along his fueled the desires he’d been trying for weeks to suppress—stoking the embers, bringing them to flame, causing an inferno. With a groan that came from the very depths of his soul, he moved his arms around her, and gave himself over to her capable hands.
Marissa settled her lips squarely on his, coaxing them apart, and tasting him deeply. She heard his groan, felt it reverberate through her, and savored the flavor of it in her mouth. She sunk her hands into his hair, pulling him close, holding him fast. She’d never been so determined, never felt so sure, or acted so boldly. She knew exactly what she wanted, and had no qualms, no reservations, no doubt about going after it.
She understood his need to struggle, knew he’d tried to resist and hold back. But she’d known the war he’d waged hadn’t been against her—it had been against himself. She had let him grapple with his conscience, let him fight with his pride; she had let him argue and scrap because she’d already declared herself the victor. She wanted Dylan James, and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Marissa,” he moaned almost painfully against her lips. He looked down into her eyes, the world reeling in a blur of color and mass around him. “Tell me you’re sure. Tell me, because…because I don’t think I can stop.”
Marissa felt a bubble of silent laughter rise to the surface. Sure? He wanted to know if she was sure? She couldn’t remember having been so sure of anything in her life. This was Dylan—the man she’d fallen in love with a lifetime ago, the man who had filled her dreams, who had changed her life, whose child she had carried in her womb. She’d spent years trying to hate him, trying to forget and move on with her life, but she’d failed miserably in her attempts. He was her man, and she was his woman. She wanted him—for the moment, for tonight, or for however long he wanted.
“Dylan,” she whispered, slowly pulling at his polo shirt, slipping it free from the waist of his jeans. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He’d capitulated, now he surrendered. His arms came around her, crushing and unyielding, and his mouth ravaged against hers. He was flesh and bone, not ice and stone—but even if he had been, she would have been able to melt him. She wanted him, and that was all his weary brain could comprehend.
For one brief, fleeting moment Marissa could only stand there. His almost violent submission had left her stunned, unable to think. The air left her lungs, making her feel shaky and faint, and the floor beneath her suddenly seemed less steady, less firm.
She felt his mouth on hers, felt the force of his arms, and the heat from his body. A shiver traveled up her spine, causing her to tremble in anticipation. It was only then that life began to slowly seep back into her dazed senses, and purpose returned to guide her. She felt every nerve come alive, and with it came the hunger, the need and the desperation.
She wrapped her arms around him tightly, meeting his kiss and giving herself over to its special magic. She felt wild and reckless, invincible and invulnerable. She’d always been the practical one—the one who had played it safe, who had played by the rules. But this time there were no rules. She’d wanted him from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, and she’d wanted him every day that had passed since then. With him she had not only broken the rules, she’d obliterated them completely. When it came to Dylan, there would be no playing it safe.
Dylan’s hands moved over her, restless and hungry. She felt lush and supple through the thin cotton of the nightshirt, and it made the ache in him almost unbearable. His heart pounded like thunder in his ears, and the blood in his veins turned to fire. He found the end of the nightshirt and slipped his hands beneath.
The skin along her leg felt like liquid silk—alive and bursting with heat. He felt her body tremble beneath his touch, his hand traveling the length of her—thigh, hip, belly, waist. When his hand skimmed the delicate nipple of her breast, her entire body reacted. She gasped against his mouth, and a deep growl sounded from somewhere deep in her throat. Dylan felt it rumble through him, echoing through the canyons of his soul like a phantom plea—urgent and heartfelt.
He lifted his mouth from hers, staring down into her fervent blue eyes. To him she was perfect—like a fantasy come to life. Her skin looked flawless, and glowed like fine porcelain in the faint light of the room. Her long hair spilled over her shoulder, and framed her face in an aura of white gold.
Had he ever noticed how truly perfect her face was before—how blue her eyes, how delicate her chin, how faultless her skin? Had he ever held another woman without thinking of her, had he honestly thought he could want anyone else when it was her his soul cried out for? He had come full circle—into the arms of the woman he’d loved and lost, the woman he wanted never to lose again.
“So beautiful,” he whispered almost soundlessly, as the blue in her eyes darkened into a rainbow of green.
“Tell me, Dylan,” she murmured thickly. Her mind was made up, for her there would be no going back. But she had to hear the words. “Say that it’s me. Tell me I’m the one you want.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned against her lips. “Marissa. Beautiful Marissa. Don’t you know? Can’t you tell?” He placed one gentle, feather-light kiss along her lips. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”
And she was—the one he’d always wanted, the one he would want forever. All that mattered now was that she was in his arms, and he didn’t intend to ever let her go.
Slowly, his hand settled over her breast. The round fullness weighed gentle against his palm, and he felt her whole body react to his touch.
Marissa’s lids shuttered closed, his touch causing a surge of longing in her that was almost more than she could bear. Her blood had turned to a molten substance, flowing hot and unchecked through her veins. Needs were catapulted to a critical degree, and desires were sent raging out of control.
She felt the nightshirt fall as he lifted it away, felt the rush of cool air against her body, against her skin. She stood naked before him, but there was no time for modesty or shame, no time to think about misgivings and uncertainties. He was kissing her, and his hands were on her againmoving and stroking, making the need in her so great it bordered on agony. She’d star
ted out the aggressor, but it was she who was submitting now—submitting to a fate she’d waited her whole life to encounter, and a passion that threatened all else.
She pulled at his shirt, pushing the fabric aside and letting her hands move over his chest. He felt hard, and strong. There were no soft edges to his body, nothing delicate or frail. He was all man—his lean, hard frame issuing strength and determination, and a vulnerability that came from wanting a woman.
Dylan’s hands moved over her body, caressing and massaging. Desire pounded at him, and his ability to hold it at bay diminished with every stroke of his hand. She was beautiful beyond belief, her tall, slender body forming soft, womanly curves. His hands settled on her breasts, brushing over the sensitive centers, making them hard and taut.
With a groan, he tore his mouth from her lips, his body shuddering in its struggle for control. He couldn’t seem to get enough—couldn’t touch enough, taste enough, feel enough. She filled his senses, took up the middle and both ends of his consciousness. He could think of nothing but touching her, pleasing her, loving her.
His lips made a wet trail down her jaw, kissing and tasting the supple skin first at her neck, then at her shoulder, and then gloriously at the gentle swell of her breasts. He pulled a delicate nipple into his mouth, paying homage to it with his lips and tongue, then searched for the other, paying tribute to it in the same, sensuous manner.
Father Figure Page 15
