She thought she knew how he kissed, but she'd only had a sample, an appetizer. This was the main course-possession. Beneath a surface taste of toothpaste was heat and desire and need, flavors so rare and coveted that she felt privileged just to be offered a morsel. He didn't scrimp on the quantities, either, but offered heaping servings of everything, letting her know how hungry he was for her, too. She savored every glide of his tongue, every nibble of his teeth, every brush of his lips. His hands dived into her hair, his large palms and long fingers cupping her head, making her feel safe and protected and … wanted. Were those sounds coming from her? She didn't care. She just wanted to feel … him, every part of him.
He moved off the bed and stripped off his jeans, and there he was, in all his beautiful glory. For me, she thought. All for me. She couldn't wait to get her hands on him. She reached for him.
His expression fierce, he hooked a hand in her towel and tugged. The cloth fell to the bed. He balled it up and heaved it aside. She felt twenty again, and virginal, except this time she knew what the possibilities could be.
"I need to touch you," she said.
"I need you to touch me."
She grabbed his hands and guided him to lie down. She felt his eyes roving over her, and she was aware of how hard her nipples were, how her breasts moved as she did, how wet she was. But, oh, she didn't want to rush. He would be a lifetime memory, she knew that with all her heart, which was beating harder every minute and feeling more vulnerable by the second. She didn't need the complication of falling in love, but it seemed to be happening, beyond her control.
Stopping the internal debate, she placed her hands on his head, combed his hair with her fingers, enjoying the soft fullness. She dragged her hands down his face, stroking his forehead, brushing her fingertips over his eyebrows then his eyelids, then his cheeks, his nose, his lips, his chin. He'd shaved. His cheeks and jaw felt smooth. She bent to run her tongue along his jaw, lightly over his lips, then down his neck. She let a hand drift down him, then sat up again so she could watch, aware of his eyes, open and watching her in return.
She found a distinct scar on his left shoulder, slid her fingertips over it. "Is this where you were shot?"
"Yeah."
"Did it hurt?"
"Like hell."
She traced another scar on the other side, and one lower, closer to his stomach. "What about these?"
"Knives."
She cringed. "Maybe you should find a different occupation?"
"I did. And I'm not planning to get any more scars."
"Are there more than these?"
"A couple. Big one on my back from a piece of metal when I was shoved once. One on the front … lower."
She let herself look all down him and saw a jagged scar.
"I was lucky," he said. "An inch to the right … "
She kissed the spot, followed the uneven line with her tongue as he sucked in a breath and arched off the bed. His hand came down hard on her wrist, and he pulled her up and away, bringing her down beside him, her face close to his.
"You don't know what you're doing to me," he rasped.
Flattered and thrilled she smiled leisurely. "I'm not done."
"Yeah, you are. For now, you are."
"I don't think so." She reached down to wrap him in her hand, felt his body go rigid with resistance, fighting off what her efforts were doing to him. Curious, she stroked him, swirled a fingertip over the very top of him, catching a drop of fluid, and spreading it-
He sat up, flattened her on her back and tortured her, getting even in the best possible way. She gave up control and let herself just feel. Sensation bombarded her, building and ebbing, building again, higher. His hands were everywhere, then his mouth followed. She shook, then at some point she begged.
He moved over her, nudging her legs open, finding his place. Home. "Open your eyes," he said, an order, but a quiet one.
She saw the need in his eyes, too, that he'd reached the point of no return along with her. She raised her knees. He laid his fingers where everything throbbed, stroked her, separated her, then he angled his body so that he could slip inside her, going slowly, letting her feel herself open up to him. She couldn't stop the orgasm that slammed into her before he was embedded, nor the next one that happened the moment he was all the way inside, nor the third one that came fast on the heels of the others when he moved rhythmically inside her. He didn't hold back, either, and his pleasure seemed to last a long time before he finally draped himself over her, both of them dragging in air. She was a little in shock at the intensity of what had happened. In shock, in awe, in utter glory and gratitude.
After a minute, he rolled to his side, taking her with him, wrapping her close and tight.
"Damn," he said.
"My thought exactly." She smiled against his chest.
"I need to get up for a second."
She pulled back to let him out. He'd put on protection before the critical moment, and she was grateful. She hadn't even thought about it, hadn't ever had to worry about birth control. Wouldn't that have been a mess if she'd gotten pregnant?
He slipped back into bed and she went right back into his arms. It felt so good to be held, to feel his body next to hers, to smell him and touch him and-
"A twenty-percent tip for your thoughts, Mysterious."
"I'm just happy." She snuggled a little closer. "I feel like I've been given the best present ever."
"Me, too."
She wasn't sure how true that could be. He must have had more than his share of relationships through the years. How could this one be any better than any other? But she wasn't about to question him, not while they were naked and warm and satisfied.
The fire burned, the music played, but time didn't stop. It was after 2:00 a.m. Morning would be here soon enough. Kevin would be back. Lyndsey and Nate. How was she going to get through the day without touching James? Without smiling at him? Without being reminded every second that they'd made love. What kind of acting skill was that going to take?
"You're worried about tomorrow," he said.
She tipped her back to look at him. "How'd you know that?"
"You stiffened up. Don't worry about it, okay? Unless Kevin is specifically looking for something between us, he won't notice. He won't know that Nate and Lyndsey didn't spend the night. They'll be here before him."
"Are you sure?"
"He's a teenager. He'll sleep in, then he'll want breakfast. I don't expect him before ten at the earliest. The thing is, we can't go out of our way to avoid each other, either. That's when he would catch on."
"I suppose you're right." She settled against him again.
"Want some good news? The police got a print on Baldy. He's a known low-level crook. Never carries a gun. He's in jail."
Whatever little amount of steam she'd had left in her, dissipated. "We're safe?"
"From him, certainly. But the fact he wasn't carrying also tells us something. He was probably not here to do anything other than watch and report."
He stroked her hair. She closed her eyes, enjoying being pampered and cherished.
"Sleep," he said, softly, tenderly.
She had expected it would be strange to sleep with him, with a man she'd known less than two weeks. But she relaxed against him, felt him kiss her forehead and let herself drift off, leaving every worry, every fear behind.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Fifteen
"I would say that these-" the man held up a handful of IOUs, signed by Paul and countersigned by someone named Johnson "-are signed by Paul Brenley. The rest are forged."
James's mantel clock had just struck noon. Everyone stood huddled around the handwriting expert that Sam Remington, one of the ARC owners, had called in on Lyndsey's advice and his own speculation. The man set all the papers on the coffee table and sat back. James looked at Caryn first, then Kevin. Their expressions were bleak.
Sam, Nate and Lyndsey said nothing.
"How much was the actual amount he owed?" Caryn asked.
"Three hundred and fifty thousand-or so," Lyndsey said.
"So they bilked me out of four hundred and fifty-or so." She transformed, fury mixed with embarrassment replaced shock and despair. "I want my money back."
The investigators exchanged glances. Nate said, "Your chances-"
"I want my money back."
"Jamey," Nate said. "Lyndsey and I are going back to Sam and Dana's. Give us a call when you decide what you want to do."