“Oh, Sam, that’s … ah-h-h,” she breathed out in a ragged gasp.
He unzipped and eased her pants over her hips until they pooled on the floor then he lifted her out of them, picked her up and sat on the bed with her on his lap.
“Now you,” he said and put her hands on the first button of his shirt. When she had finished, he gently put her on the bed, stood up, pulled his shirt out of his jeans, unbuttoned the cuffs and stripped it off, his eyes holding hers the whole time. His boots and socks went next. He pulled a condom out of his wallet, put it on the bedside table and shed his jeans and boxer briefs.
He joined her in bed but when he began to slip off the scrap of lace she wore as panties, she stopped him.
“Do you always carry a condom in your wallet?”
He smiled and brushed a curl back from her cheek. “Not since I was a teenager.”
“So has that been there for twenty years or did you bring it from Portland today?”
“Neither.” The smile moved up to grin.
“Neither? Then, what? Come on, Sam. You’re busted now. Give it up.”
“The expression on your face today, in the gallery, when you first saw me. It was how I’ve always wanted you to look when you saw me. When you hugged me and looked up for me to kiss you, I thought, I wanted to think … anyway, when I walked past a drugstore on the way back to my hotel … ”
“You figured you should be prepared in case you got lucky tonight.”
He looked more serious now as he gently kissed her. “No, not like that. Not with you. I wanted to think that maybe you were telling me that the night in Portland was the beginning, not the end.”
“Oh, God, I hope so,” she said as she pulled him to her for a kiss that was neither gentle nor soft. As the kiss deepened, his hands began to wander to breast, to waist, to hips and thighs. Then his mouth found her breast, his tongue circled her nipples, first one, then the other. His hands brought her skin alive, brought fire and light to every cell in her body.
Separating her legs with his, he moved his hand to her sex. As his fingers slid into her on a flood of arousal, he circled her clitoris with his thumb. Gasping out his name, rocking against his hand, she rode to the edge of climax then over.
She closed her eyes, coming down from the incredible high he’d given her. But he was not finished. He came back to her mouth and their lips touched, their tongues explored and danced. Somehow, sometime, she wasn’t sure when or how, he’d sheathed himself and now was slowly entering her, easing his way into her core. But she didn’t want slow and easy. She wanted all of him. Now.
She wrapped her legs around him and thrust her hips at him, calling out his name, rocking hard against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, bringing them both to orgasm.
Afterward, she clung to him, her head in his shoulder. When she finally looked up at him, he said, “You asked if I missed you. I can’t remember a longer four months. And do I care if you come back to Portland? Only about as much as I care that I wake up in the morning. That answer your questions?”
Chapter Three
The following month
The first time Sam had seen Amanda’s studio, he’d gone there on police business, to talk to her about Tom Webster’s possible illegal activities. Nothing about the day had been what he expected.