Chapter Eleven #2
Liam made a final circuit of the house before heading to bed around 1 A.M. Overall, the day had gone well …
at least as far as the job was concerned.
He was annoyed that he was three days behind, but pleased that Inez had taken over for him and done an excellent job at it.
It might be time soon to consider promoting her in the ranks, but it seemed a shame to extract her from her partnership with Kellen.
They worked really well together. He wondered which Inez would prefer, especially when Parker was taken into consideration.
When he reached the floor he shared with Devon, he noted quickly that her light was out already.
He’d already gained permission to make her bedroom part of his nightly rounds, since she’d admitted that locking doors and windows wasn’t one of the things on the top of her mind most nights.
He imagined tonight that would be especially true.
He turned his Maglite toward his body and gingerly turned the knob to her door.
She had to be exhausted, considering the time she’d spent caring for him and her emotional upheaval earlier, and he wasn’t about to wake her and disturb the first peaceful sleep she’d probably had in a while.
Focusing the light to a narrow beam and keeping it low, Liam made his rounds of her sitting room. He then slipped into her bedroom.
He already disliked the room. It had a high percentage of glass, which left her very exposed, to his way of thinking.
The decking wrapped around from western glass doors to northern ones, then on to include the bathroom as well.
Since the house was in the mountains, surrounded by nothing but trees and vast lawns, there was no need for curtains, blinds, or even tinting.
She was on the third floor and isolated in the mountains, so, under normal circumstances, why should she worry about exposure?
He checked the bath doors and windows, giving the deck a scan, then moved to do the same for the bedroom.
He could hear her breathing deeply and evenly, a heavy, restful sound shadowed by a purring feminine snore of sorts.
It made him smile, and like so many things about her, it titillated him sexually when least expected.
He absently checked the lock on the door as his gaze drifted over to the bed.
As his eyes adjusted fully to the darkness, he could see her sprawled face down among mounds of bedding and a half-dozen pillows.
He stepped closer and brought her into better focus.
The first thing he noticed was the spread of dark hair over the pillows and mattress.
He followed the bare expanse of a long, beautiful spine right up to the upswept curve of her bottom, where a sheet and comforter concealed the rest of her from sight.
Her hands were above her head and he could see the swelling of her breast squeezing out from between the weight of her body and the press of the mattress on the side nearest to him.
There was something submissive about the pose, the antithesis of her powerful personality and steady strength.
As erotic as he found her strength, this was equally stimulating, proving to him that she truly was sex incarnate. Even when she wasn’t conscious of it.
At least, she was to him.
Her skin glowed just about iridescent in the moonlight, even though it wasn’t very strong moonlight.
As he stared at her, all he could think was that she looked so warm.
So incredibly warm. All of that skin. Soft, warm, promising responsiveness that he already knew too well. And yet not well enough.
Liam crossed to the bed in two strides, gently standing his flashlight on the bedside table.
Liam Nash, this is known as a betrayal of trust.
That inner voice in his head was telling it like it was, no doubt about it. She trusted him to come into her room while she was vulnerable and asleep. What he was doing was no better than what that animal had intended to do before shooting up her hotel room like a carnival gallery.
No. It was even worse. Worse because she depended on him. He knew she depended on no one, yet had chosen to trust him to guard her back. Not to ogle it and think far too luridly vivid thoughts of sex and lust.
What in the world had gotten into him?
She had. She’d crawled under his skin and was putting down roots.
She wore insanely provocative dresses, spoke incredibly intelligent observations, and sat by his bed for seventy-two hours, spending most of that time soothing him.
She had survived the unthinkable fifty years ago.
She made him laugh, made him think, and invented weapons no other man, woman, or Morphate could or would.
Yeah. He was in big trouble all right.
The part that sucked was that a man like him thrived on trouble.
He could also thrive on satin smooth skin, given half a chance.
Liam kept his breathing soft and even as he leaned over and reached for the center of the bed, His fingertips touched her back and he swallowed down a groan of pleasure.
She was so supple it was like running his fingers through piles of silky, yielding talc that clung to you no matter which way you turned your fingers.
He followed the curve of her spine, feeling the light chill of her skin because the room air was so cool.
Devon made a low sound reminiscent of a purr and he felt her move as if to follow his touch, seeking more. She sighed when her shift brought his entire palm onto her skin. Her movements were like those of a woman being made love to, slow and sensuous, receptive to the roaming touch of her lover.
God, how Liam wanted to be that lover. There was no use in denying that any longer. His body was singing with readiness in answer to her influence, blatantly hard as if to pronounce boldly what was expected of him. All it had taken was a touch, a sound, and the smallest movement.
Devon suddenly rolled over, her breast sliding fully into his hovering hand as she settled.
Liam found himself with a dark, tempting nipple between two fingers, the tip already pointed toward the ceiling.
Any sane man would have drawn the line right there, pulling back and thanking the powers that be that he hadn’t gotten caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
Why, oh why, he wondered, couldn’t he be that man?
He’d never before let his cock do the thinking for him. What was so damned different this time?
“Liam …”
The low murmur of his name was spoken in the dead of sleep, he was convinced of it.
He squeezed his eyes shut as his entire body thrummed hotly in response to it.
Did this mean she dreamed of him? Did she fantasize about his touch on her body, just like this?
Liam gently squeezed his two fingers together, pinching that pert nipple ever so slightly, and thrilling in her instant moaning reaction, the arcing of her back, the raising of her knees in restless invitation.
Liam abruptly jerked himself away from her, twisting into an about-face and sliding down to the floor with his back pressed to the mattresses.
He groaned with frustration and disgust, covering his face with his hands.
What in hell was he doing? This was a violation!
Pure and simple. There was no room for interpretation.
He shoved himself to his feet and grabbed for the flashlight.
To his surprise, his hand hit air. It wasn’t on the table where he was positive he’d left it.
Thinking he had knocked it over, he bent to check the floor.
Suddenly, a straight beam of light blinded him in his unprotected eyes.
While he shouted at the unexpected pain, he felt strong hands grabbing him by his shirt and throwing him over and down onto the bed.
He was about to retaliate when he felt long legs swinging over him and framing his hips, and familiar feminine weight resting on his belly.
Her hair brushed his face, filling him with that scent that was so sweet and so Devon.
“Devon! What the hell?”
“I might ask you the same thing,” she pointed out huskily, her torso lowering across his until he felt her breath rushing over his lips. “What are you doing, Liam?”
“Checking the locks,” he said hoarsely as he realized he could feel the heat and weight of her bare breasts through his thin T-shirt.
“Are there locks on the floor beside my bed?” she queried, whispering the rushed words over his lips, every syllable a teasingly light kiss.
“Devon, please,” he groaned as her hands roamed over his hair, neck, and chest. It was too much stimulation all at once.
Her swaying bottom was rocking against his fly, taunting him with the knowledge that she was completely nude and rubbing herself against him.
He grew so hard he could have pounded nails.
It was gorgeously painful, agonizingly wonderful.
“You know what I think?” she asked, her body lifting so her hands could slide down his chest and marble-hard abdomen, following each defined muscle with smooth surety.
He felt her smile lightly against his mouth when his belly flinched beneath her fingers.
“I think you were sitting there watching me. Wondering,” she breathed, her tongue dipping to lick between his lips.
Liam groaned as his head spun with pleasure.
Her aggression was maddening. Hot. “Wondering what I feel like here,” she swayed her breasts across his hidden nipples.
“Wondering what I taste like there.” Devon shifted her hips over him, riding him in a silky sway that nearly unmanned him.
When his vision finally cleared of star-bursts enough to see her riding astride him, head back in bliss, breasts thrust out for his pleasure, he grabbed her arms and sat up with her, forcing her weight down on his overtaxed body as he held her off balance.