When All The Girls Have Gone(33)

"Positive."

He leaned in close, pinning her slowly, relentlessly against the kitchen counter with the weight of his body. The kiss started out as a slow burn. His mouth moved deliberately on hers, as though he was issuing an invitation. Or making an exploratory foray. Or trying to seduce her.

But she didn't need to be seduced. She was shivering with anticipation, intoxicated by an incendiary brew composed of equal parts reckless abandon and absolute certainty. She acknowledged the risks and simultaneously concluded that she could handle them. Hell, someone had tried to murder her. She could have died trapped in a car that had plunged into the cold waters of a raging river. She could have perished of hypothermia on a merciless mountain. On top of all that, she was helping a professional PI-a former profiler, no less-look for her missing stepsister.

Compared to all that, the potential drawbacks of having sex with the man who was sharing the danger with her just didn't seem very worrisome. Tonight she was going to do what she wanted to do and let tomorrow take care of itself.

The decision set her free-gloriously free-in ways she could not possibly have imagined. For once she was not trying to think through to the logical conclusion; not trying to play it safe. For once she simply did not give a damn about the risks involved.

She reached up to grasp Max's shoulders. Everything about him was hard, honed and heated. She knew then that in setting herself free, she had freed him, as well.

Lightning struck. The slow-burn kiss flashed into a firestorm. Max gripped her around the waist and lifted her up onto the counter. Her robe fell away. He pushed her knees apart. She wrapped her legs around his waist and wound her arms around his neck.

He groaned, swept her off the counter and started toward the bedroom. She clung to him, her thighs snugged tight as though he were a wild stallion she could ride.   





 

There was something very focused about the way he carried her down the hall. She had the sense that he would have walked through hell to get to his destination. She liked knowing that, she discovered. She liked it a lot.

He fell with her onto the tumbled bed. She came down on top of him. He got the robe off her shoulders, yanked the sleeves down her arms and tossed the garment aside. A moment later he hauled her nightgown up over her head and flung it out of the way.

His hands closed gently over her breasts.

"Charlotte," he said.

Her name was a hoarse whisper in the shadows.

She fought to get rid of his T-shirt and then she started to work on the zipper of his trousers. He was fully aroused, his erection thrust firmly against the fabric of the pants.

The zipper resisted. She took a firmer grip on it and prepared to yank hard.

Max sucked in his breath and stopped her with his hand.

"I'll take care of it," he said.

She rolled onto her side so that he could deal with his trousers. He got up, stripped off the pants and then stepped out of his briefs. He lowered himself alongside her and gathered her to him. One of his hands moved on her, gliding over her thigh. When she touched him, she discovered that his back was damp with sweat.

He found her hot, wet core with his fingers, and she gave herself up to the wild, elemental thrill of pure sensation. A fierce urgency tightened her lower body. She was stunned to realize that she was on the brink of a climax. She hadn't even plugged in the vibrator.

"Now," she said. She clenched her fingers in his hair. "Do it now."

He moved between her legs. She raised her knees, welcoming him. He entered her slowly, pushing deep. She had never felt so tight, so stretched. He forged into her again and again.

Her release crashed through her in waves. She wanted to scream with the sheer pleasure of it all, but she could not catch her breath. Instead she dug her nails into Max's shoulders and held on for dear life.

The raw energy of her climax pulled him into the vortex. The muscles of his back and shoulders were as taut as steel bands. His skin was slick with perspiration.

The storm broke.

When it was over, he collapsed slowly along the length of her, crushing her into the bedding. She held him close and listened as his breathing returned to normal.

After a while he untangled himself and stretched out beside her.

"Charlotte," he said again.

"Shush." She levered herself up on her elbow and put her fingers over his lips. "Don't say anything that will ruin the moment."

"I don't think the announcement of the end of the world could ruin it for me." He watched her through half-closed eyes. "Can I ask if it was good for you, too?"

She smiled slowly. "It was good. Very, very good. The first time I've ever been able to finish without a small household appliance."

"Huh. You usually use a vibrator?"

"I keep it in the drawer beside my bed. Why?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just curious."

She wondered if she should inform him that he did not do innocent well.

"Why are you interested in my vibrator, Max Cutler?"

"You know how it is with us guys. We like to fool around with gadgets."

She stroked a finger slowly down his chest and smiled again. "You don't need to use a gadget."

"Doesn't mean I couldn't come up with something interesting to do with one," he said.

"I'll think about it," she said.





CHAPTER 38




He awoke to dark skies, the gentle sound of rain on the window and the tantalizing fragrance of freshly brewed coffee. He tried to remember the last time he had felt this good. He wasn't sure how to describe his mood. Refreshed, maybe. Relaxed. Invigorated. Good. That was it. He felt good. He could get used to this feeling. He could get used to it in a hurry.

Memories of the night tumbled through his head. He thought about the vibrator and smiled to himself. Unfortunately, he was alone in the bed. On the plus side, Charlotte and coffee were not far away.

He shoved the covers aside, sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for his trousers. He and Charlotte had made a lot of progress with their relationship the previous night, but he was pretty sure it was too soon for him to wander naked into the kitchen.

He stood and closed the zipper with some care. He was half-aroused.

Satisfied that he had met the minimal sartorial requirements for morning-after attire, he shoved his fingers through his hair and headed down the hall.

Charlotte was in the kitchen. She looked fresh from a shower. Her hair was caught back in a careless twist. Dressed in a pair of black jeans and a blue T-shirt, she somehow hit the sweet spot between sexy and innocent.   





 

It wasn't an act, he thought. It was the natural Charlotte. There was an innate wholesomeness about her that could easily be mistaken for naïveté or vulnerability.

No wonder her stepsister had felt compelled to protect her. Maybe Jocelyn Pruett hadn't understood that it took a certain strength of character to hold fast to qualities like optimism and kindness and, yes, wholesomeness, in the face of all the hard evidence of evil in the world.

Charlotte smiled at him. "You're awake. Want to shower before breakfast?"

He rubbed his face and winced at the rough stubble of his morning beard. "Probably a good idea." He watched her open the refrigerator door. "I take it you're an early riser."

"I'm definitely a morning person." She took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. "You?"

"I think so."

"You think so? You don't know for sure?"

He lounged in the doorway, enjoying the sight of her bustling around the kitchen. "Mostly I'm whatever I need to be on a particular job. Sometimes that means getting up early. Sometimes it means staying up late or all night."

She nodded. "Your profession demands flexibility."

He smiled.

She shot him a suspicious look. "What did I say?"

"I don't think of my work as a profession. It's just what I do."

"What you need to do."

He thought about it. "Okay, what I need to do."

"That makes it a profession." She paused. "No, I take that back. That makes it a calling."

He chuckled. "First time I've ever heard anyone label my line of work a calling."

She shrugged. "It is what it is. Go take your shower."

"Right."

He went into the living room, collected his duffel and started back down the hall toward her bathroom.

Charlotte spoke again as he went past the kitchen door.

"Any more thoughts on how we move forward with the search for Jocelyn?" she asked.

"By the time I get out of the shower, I'll have a plan."

"Ah, you're one of those people who think more clearly in the shower."

"Wrong. Turns out I'm one of those people who think more clearly after great sex."

She gave him a ferocious scowl and cracked an egg against the side of a bowl with considerable force.

He went on down the hall, smiling to himself. He had been teasing her, but only a little. The truth was, he was discovering that it was easy to think clearly when he was with her; when he could talk to her.

A short time later he sat down at the dining bar. Charlotte placed a plate of creamy scrambled eggs, sausage patties and buttered toast in front of him. He took a closer look at the sausage.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Tempeh sausages," she said. "I make them myself."

"From tempeh."

"Exactly."

"Tempeh, I take it, is not meat."