Chapter Seventeen
She wasn’t nervous, but needy. Needy to be held, to be touched, to give part of herself, if only for a night, to someone she wanted. Someone she trusted.
As they started up the stairs, she understood the giving meant more to her than to him. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, how this basic human need conflicted with her ugly memories and her fears.
It wasn’t nerves that had her pausing, turning to him, as they neared the top of the steps, but the need to push the fears away.
“Sorry, could we just…” She locked herself around him, poured those needs into the kiss.
She threw him off. He’d expected she’d want slow and easy, and he’d intended to take his time, to give her time. He’d follow her lead.
Instead, she started a blaze when he’d prepared to strike a single match and let it all kindle.
So following her lead, he let instinct take over. He had her pressed against the wall, his hands rushing over her, the long torso, the narrow hips, the small, firm breasts. Though she trembled, she tugged at his shirt, released some buttons, popped off another before she dragged it away.
Then her hands ran over him, fingers digging in as they circled and stumbled toward her bedroom.
In the light of one lamp, with the rain pounding, he backed her against the door, managed to work off his shoes while her moans and gasps were muffled against his mouth.
Then he hiked her up, off her feet, so he could feast on those breasts, on the skin that smelled of secrets and seductions.
Inch by inch he lowered her until their mouths met again. Holding her suspended, he circled to the bed with her arms and those long legs chained around him, and her heart hammering against his.
And her mouth met his again and again like a woman starving.
He fell onto the bed with her, rolled once, twice.
Their eyes met, and in hers he saw all those secrets, all those needs before she dragged his mouth back to hers.
Oh, to feel like this. Just to feel and feel. Those big, strong hands on her body, the ripple of muscle as he moved over her. Hard-palmed hands, taut muscle.
With that strength, with that muscle, she knew he could take what he wanted. But how could he take more than she gave when she was willing to give all in this moment?
Everything in her ached and trembled, but not from fear. From the thrill. And the blissful shock of freedom.
She could take, be taken, and feel nothing but a wild, whippy pleasure.
Her heart pounded like the rain; her breath caught and released on sighs and gasps that spoke of the deep, dark joy of simple lust.
His body, a wonder to her, hard, hot, and, at the moment, hers. As she explored those angles, those planes and ridges, she let herself bask in that wonder.
She had someone who wanted her enough, needed her enough to give himself.
When he worked his way down her body, hands, lips, tongue, something in her coiled like a spring. Layer after layer of sensation floated down until the weight seemed too much, the pressure too strong, the heat too intense.
She started to push away, to tell him to stop. Stop. Wait.
Then it burst free, and as she gripped the iron bars of the bed, she cried out not in protest but in stunning, breath-stealing release.
She shuddered under him even as she went soft as melted wax. The combination had the fire she’d lit threatening to consume him.
When he brought his mouth back to hers, the sound of helpless pleasure she made frayed the last thread keeping him tethered.
“Arden. Look at me.”
She opened those fascinating eyes, heavy now, dazed now. Her hair, gold fire, glowed in the lamplight.
To torment them both, he slid into her, slowly, then deep, he held. As the ache in him became a throb, and the throb edged toward pain, he waited.
Those gold flecks against the blue glimmered as she rose to him.
Now a blur of passions unleased, quickened breath and urgent speed as they both took all. The sound of rain vanished; the world beyond them simply went away.
She saw him, saw him as she rushed to the edge. Then let go.
She lay naked, but didn’t feel exposed. She felt weak and wrecked, and wonderful.
When her mind began to come out of the fog, she had to remind herself this once, just this once, might be enough for him.
She’d accept that, and, in fact, be grateful because he’d helped her open a door she hadn’t let herself walk through in far too long.
“Pretty damn clever of you, Legs.”
“Huh?”
He still lay over her, so his lips moved against her throat.
“Telling me you weren’t good at sex and I should lower my expectations so you could blow right through them.”
“I…” Ridiculous to feel flattered, she thought, but she did anyway. “It’s probably pent-up energy, since it’s been a while.”
He lifted his head, looked down at her. “See, now I’m compelled to test that theory.”
Rolling, he reversed their positions.
“You know your dog kept an eye on things, or me.”
She shifted enough to look around. Zorro curled on his bed, but he didn’t sleep.
“Bedtime,” she said. The dog rose, circled three times, then settled down with his stuffed llama.
“He’s not used to this kind of activity.”
“How long have you had him?”
“About two years now.”
“That would be a while. Something wrong with the men in Columbus?”
“I’ve been busy.” She tossed her hair back.
And made his mouth water.
“The slower pace here in the valley should free up some of your time.”
“It could.”
She lowered her head to his shoulder, closed her eyes when he stroked a hand down her hair.
“You seem to keep pretty busy yourself.”
“I manage to make time for what matters.”
“Could you tell me one thing?”
“Maybe.”
Her lips curved. She liked that about him, liked he didn’t give the unqualified yes to something he might want to back out of.
“If we both make time for this, is it just this or something else? No wrong answer.”
“I don’t know the answer yet, but I plan to find out.”
“Okay.” She let out a sigh because while there wasn’t a wrong answer, he’d hit the right one. “Why?”
“That’s two things.”
“It was a two-part thing.”
“You’re an interesting woman. And no, you don’t get to ask how, or why I think so. It just is. Plus, I like your taste in books and doorknobs. Unless you’ve got a problem with it, I’m going to stay tonight. I’ve got a theory to test.”
Her lips curved again as she lifted her head. “I don’t have a problem with it.”
In the morning, she wouldn’t have called it a problem, but it was strange to find herself sharing a bed. She lay a moment, feeling the warmth and shape of him, and took stock.
Yes, it pleased her to have spent the night with a man she liked and enjoyed. It certainly pleased her to have slept deep and dreamless after having sex with him, twice in the bed, once in the shower.
The thought of spending more time with him added more pleasure.
When she heard Zorro start to stir, she slipped out of bed. She put on her flannel pants and sweatshirt. She’d gathered them up the night before, and to Gideon’s obvious amusement, had laid them—along with his clothes—neatly on the bedroom chair.
She couldn’t help herself.
She took the dog down, let him out before making her morning coffee. And as usual, outlined her day in her head.
Feed the dog, have breakfast, get in a workout, check emails, texts, glance at headlines. She’d planned to give the book another day to sit, but she really wanted to get back to it.
As the rain continued, Zorro made quick work of his duties. She’d already resigned herself to adding the chore of wiping off wet or muddy paws a few times a day.
While her now-dry dog enjoyed his breakfast, she stepped back into the kitchen to make hers.
She jumped nearly six inches when she saw Gideon.
“Jumpy in the morning?”
She held out both hands as she caught her breath. “Did you used to be a cop or a cat burglar?”
“I was a cop who caught cat burglars. So you’re an early riser.”
“Yes. Sorry. I can offer you a breakfast smoothie, which I’m about to make, toast—whole wheat or rye—an English muffin, oatmeal—instant—or cold cereal.”
“Coffee. I’ll figure the rest out from there.”
She made his coffee, then began to get her ingredients for the smoothie. “I’ve got plenty for two of these.”
“No. That’s a frozen banana.”
“Better for texture.”
He watched her work for a moment. “You’re putting seeds in there.”
“Chia seeds, and yes, I am.” To the rest, she added her protein powder. “It’s still raining. A lot.”
“Shocker. It’s purple,” he said after she sent her machine whirling.
“Blueberries will do that.”
When she finished, she smiled, sipped. “Yum.”
“You can’t possibly mean that.”
“But I do. Want a sip?”
“Oh, hell, no. I’ll get something at home, where we eat normal things like eggs and drink actual coffee. Just what started you down this path of chia seeds and frozen bananas?”
“Going through middle school being known as Toothpick, Spaghetti Legs, and/or No-Ass Bowie.”
“Kids are mean bastards.”
“They sure can be. So, calories, protein, resistance training. I need them all, as I have the metabolism of a hummingbird.”
“You look pretty good.”
He said it so casually, she laughed. “Well, thanks.”
“I’m heading out to get my calories with something that didn’t go through a blender.” He set his empty cup beside the sink. “I’ve got a thing with Pop tonight, but the day after, I could spare you making a sandwich or blending up a potential Chia Pet and bring takeout.”
She sipped her smoothie and smiled. “That would be fine.”
“Any preference?”
“Not really.”
“How do you feel about pizza?”
“I feel very fondly about pizza as long as there aren’t mushrooms or anchovies anywhere on its surface.”
“I can work with that.”
He took her smoothie, set it on the counter, then hooked an arm around her waist. When he kissed her, it didn’t land anywhere close to casual.
“Thanks for setting out a spare toothbrush. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When he left, Zorro followed him to the door, earned a goodbye rub. When the dog came back, Arden sipped her breakfast.