Still the One Page 17

  When he’d burst in on her in the shower, she’d seen something more than concern in his face, something she couldn’t dismiss. Vulnerability and need, the same need that whispered through her. She couldn’t forget it. Certainly couldn’t sleep.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his go dark with relief upon seeing that she was all right, recalled how the hunger in the black depths had quickly cooled with caution.

  Rolling to her other side, she studied his shadowed silhouette. Small slivers of light peeked around the ends of the curtains. His dark head tipped back on the chair; his chest rose and fell steadily. He angled into the chair, which was almost too narrow for his broad shoulders.

  An invisible cord seemed to connect the pulse in her throat to the soft throb between her legs. Her skin tingled; a fine heat inched under her skin, urging, promising.

  She couldn’t forget that hunger in his eyes, couldn’t forget the way he’d simply held her as if he would never let her go.

  She pushed back the covers, slipped out of bed and walked to him, her toes bumping against his boots. One touch. That was all she wanted. He’d made it clear where they stood, where he wanted things to stop. She wanted to touch him while he slept, just once without seeing that wariness in his eyes, being reminded of the line he’d drawn between them at the creek.

  Hazy light filtered over him, defining a slash of brow, the carved cheekbones, the angled plane of his jaw. Lips that could be both generous and cruel.

  She’d walked away from him, broken his trust.

  She swallowed against the ache in her throat. Imagined having the freedom to touch him as she wanted, her hands curving over his shoulders, sliding across the buckled muscles of his abdomen, kissing him and having him kiss her back with no thought to the past or anything except the white fire that had always been between them.

  How she’d wanted to kiss him earlier when he’d taken her in his arms and simply held her. She’d come close to doing just that, nearly pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, but she hadn’t. Now she wished she had, wished she had risked him pushing her away again.

  They were here, they were together. In the silent darkness, Kit wanted to believe they could stay that way. She wanted him to believe it. To believe in her again. With a shaking hand, she reached out to stroke his thick, raven hair.

  She never saw him move. Strong fingers clamped around her wrist, tugged hard. She cried out and tumbled onto his lap, against his hard, deep chest. She stared into eyes black and sultry enough to tempt a man-hater. Kit didn’t stand a chance.

  “What are you doin’?”

  His breath washed against her lips. Her pulse skipped into a harsh staccato.

  Her legs dangled over the edge of the chair. Her hip was wedged into the V of his thighs. Licking suddenly dry lips, she stared into his eyes, mesmerized. “I was just…touching you.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s not a good idea to sneak up on me.”

  His heat surrounded her. Had her body ever tingled like this, from her scalp to her toes? “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was.” His gaze roamed over her face, paused on her lips.

  Her pulse throbbed hard, then skipped when she felt his palm slide across her rib cage. She held her breath and watched as his hand stopped achingly close to her breast. His fingers, dark and strong against the satin of her gown, burned through the thin fabric.

  She looked at him then and darn near stopped breathing. His eyes glowed with promise and a fierceness she’d never seen.

  His hand tightened on her ribs. “You should go back to bed,” he said in a rusty voice.

  Beneath her shoulder, his heartbeat was as erratic as hers. Short breaths feathered her lips. She read a flash of quicksilver heat in his eyes.

  “I don’t want to go back to bed,” she whispered. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she shifted so that her body curved into his. Breast to chest, shoulder to shoulder.

  He still held her wrist, and her movement brought his curled fist to rest against the curve of her other breast.

  The involuntary flex of his hand gave her the courage to go further, to say, “I don’t think you want me to.”

  His body tensed beneath hers. “We talked about this.”

  “We could talk about it again.”

  “Are you shaken up from what happened before? Alexander’s goon won’t come back.”

  “I know. I’m not shaken up.”

  He hooked one arm beneath her legs and got to his feet, asking gruffly, “What do you want, Kit? What are you—”

  “I want you to kiss me.”

  A stillness settled over his face, and he slowly set her on her feet.

  She felt every hard inch of him slide against her. Denim against bare legs and satin. The hard ridge of his erection against her belly. She curled her hands over granite-hard biceps.

  Her voice shook from the stark excitement racing through her veins. “Right now, I just want you to kiss me.”

  “Is that all you want? And you better be damn sure when you answer.” He wrapped a hand around her nape, pulled her to him so that their lips nearly touched.

  Between thick, sooty lashes, his eyes glittered at her, feral and male and heart-stopping. “As I’m sure you can tell, I’m hard enough to drill rock right now, Kit. I’m not man enough to say no this time. If you’re not sure, go back to bed.”

  She’d never seen that savage, sensual gleam in his eyes. It made her swallow hard.

  The only thing she was sure of was that she wanted this. This moment, this night. She knew she could commit to that.

  Chapter 11

  She looked straight into his eyes, her pulse beating in her throat. “Kiss me—”

  His mouth covered hers.

  She lifted trembling hands to his face and surrendered. One strong arm hooked around her waist, anchored her to him. His tongue skimmed her teeth, delved deep into her mouth, demanding, taking.

  Knees wobbly, she looped her arms around his neck, went on tiptoe so that there was no space between them. His hard chest pressed to her breasts. His belly nudged hers. One lean thigh insinuated itself between her legs, pressed hard against her center; she went hot and wet. His jeans were rough against the satin curling around her thighs. Sensation poured through her like liquid fire.

  His tongue stroked hers, making her weak, torching the flame low in her belly. She clutched at his shirt, managed to release the buttons and spread it open. Her hands curved over his smooth, muscled chest, measured the width of his shoulders. She’d missed him. No one had ever filled her up the way Rafe did.

  He shrugged off his shirt, his mouth busy at her neck. His hands curved over her bottom, pressed her tighter into him.

  He kissed his way up her neck, across her jaw. She turned her head and slanted her lips across his, drawing his tongue in with hers. He tasted faintly of toothpaste and sin.

  Her heart soared. This was what she had wanted, another chance with him. She’d thought it would never happen.

  He gathered her gown in his hands, palmed off her panties, pushed them to the floor. The satin of her gown drifted against her bottom, heightening the feel of his slightly rough palms.

  She made a greedy sound in the back of her throat, holding his face between her hands, kissing him hard and deep. Her hands smoothed over those magnificent shoulders, down brick-hard arms that banded her like steel, relearning the feel of muscles that were bigger and harder than before.

  His hands were everywhere, his kisses consuming and urgent.

  Pulling his mouth from hers, he nipped his way down the side of her neck, nibbled at her collarbone before nudging aside one skinny strap of her gown. The bodice sagged low on the swell of her breasts, and his teeth followed, then his tongue.

  Her nipples hardened. With one hand, he slid off the other strap, pushed the satin down her body until it bunched at her feet in a crimson pool.

  She stood naked before him, trembling with anticipation and the little dou
bt that suddenly sprang up. What if he rejected her again?

  He lifted his head, his gaze intense, penetrating. “You’re incredible. Even more than I remember.”

  When his gaze riveted on her breasts, she felt that old shyness creep through her but forced her arms to remain at her sides.

  With a look of near reverence, he reached out, gently cupped her breasts in hands that were bronze against the magnolia paleness of her skin.

  He skimmed a thumb over her nipples, then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to one breast.

  She nearly melted at his feet, saved herself by hooking one finger into the waistband of his jeans. Taut muscles spasmed across his belly at her touch. Against her stomach, she felt his erection throb. As he drew one nipple into his mouth, pulling tight an invisible cord of tension at her center, she flicked open the button of his jeans. Her thoughts scattered, but her hand kept moving, cupped him through his jeans. She felt him hard and insistent in her palm.

  He nipped at her breast in response, and a breath shuddered out of her. Hands trembling, quick and clumsy, she slid open his zipper, worked down his jeans and briefs.

  He moved his mouth to her neck, to her ear. “Get closer, Kit. Closer.”

  She wanted to. Running her palms down his bare, hard flanks, she marveled at the fluid flex of muscle beneath her hands.

  She dragged her hands around, skimmed the front of his legs and found him, huge and hot and straining at the V of her thighs. Her hand curled around him, and he stilled, his breath harsh against her neck.

  He pulled back to look at her, eyes glinting with dangerous intent, peeling away her breath, her reason. “Don’t take me all the way. Not yet.”

  Her breath mingling with his, she nodded, watching his face as she stroked him. He stared at her through slitted eyes, pleasure sharpening his noble features as she dragged her hand the length of him.

  She measured him again, and a breath shuddered out of him. He moved a hand between her legs, lean fingers sliding into her sleek wetness. His arms shook. His breath was just as ragged and labored as hers, yet she felt restraint in his touch, in the lashed tautness of his shoulders.

  How could he be so in control? She felt as if she were about to splinter, operating solely on sensation and instinct. She wanted him to lose control, too.

  His fingers stroked her, deep and hard; she sagged against him, feeling the tide swell inside her.

  “Not close enough,” he growled, anchoring his arms beneath her bottom and lifting her.

  She hooked her legs around his hips, bringing his erection against her and triggering a wildness inside her. She moved against him. “Rafe,” she moaned.

  He turned, set her on a desk that held a phone and a lamp.

  She arched against him, kissing him, her head bumping the mirror behind her. She kept her legs locked tight around him. She didn’t want to lose one moment, one second of feeling him like this, had thought he would never let her in again.

  He moved his hand and with two wicked strokes, he stripped the last of her control. The climax ripped through her, quicksilver and searing, consuming the way only Rafe had ever been able to give her. She moaned his name, wanting more of him, needing him.

  He held himself stiff-armed over her, head bowed, breathing hard, his copper skin flushed.

  “Rafe?” she panted. She needed to feel him deep inside her body, her heart.

  She could tell he was searching for control; she didn’t want control. Reaching down, she took him in her hand, and his muscles lashed tight.

  “Kit,” he rasped.

  She couldn’t tell if it was a plea or a command. “I want you. I need you. Rafe, please.” The words were thick in her throat; a greedy flame ate at her from the inside.

  He paused, his gaze searing, peeling away every defense.

  “I’m safe,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  “Now, Rafe.” She tightened her legs around his lean waist, urging him closer.

  He slid inside, deep and full, his eyes black and steady on her. Her body fitted to him perfectly, as she’d known it would. She clutched his shoulders, lifting her hips. He thrust deep inside her. Sensation drove her, a hot, whipping wind that reached for her.

  Her hips rose, lifted, met each of his measured thrusts. He bowed his head, tendons cording in his neck and arms as his body stroked hers.

  His hands curled into her hips, flexed with each long slide of his body. She reached up, framed his face in her hands, moving with him. She pulled him to her, covered his lips with hers.

  He kissed her back, keeping rhythm with his movements inside her, driving her steadily higher and out of her mind.

  Finally, he began to move faster, and she kept pace, her heart overflowing. She’d nearly given up on this, hadn’t even dared hope.

  And yet, she reached for something…elusive, something she recognized, but couldn’t define.

  The tension coiled, then snapped inside her. She gasped into his mouth. The first climax hit her, then another, strong, hard, fast.

  He threw his head back, thrust harder, faster and finally stilled, bowing his head against hers. For long moments, they stayed like that as their breathing slowed. His flesh was damp beneath her palms, and she felt complete in a way she hadn’t since leaving him.

  Slowly, she became aware of the corner of the mirror digging into her hip, and she shifted.

  He raised his head. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” She gave a weak smile. “The mirror’s getting a little friendly.”

  He gathered her to him and staggered to the bed. Boneless, she slid down beside him, trying to catch her breath. She turned her head to look at him. His chest rose and fell; a fine sweat slicked his body as it did hers.

  His arm still held her loosely to him.

  She curled her hand around his and rolled into him. “Very nice, Blackstock. You certainly have not lost your touch.”

  “Neither have you,” he said in a rusty voice.

  His hand curved over her hip, pressing her into him. She nestled her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  Sunlight brought her slowly awake. She blinked at the ceiling, then squinted at the strip of light streaming through the center part of the draperies. The small ache between her legs brought the memory of last night flooding back.

  She smiled and slid a hand across the sheet, reaching for Rafe. When she encountered only cool sheets, she rose up on one elbow, pushing her hair back.

  He sat in the oversize chair, pulling on his boots. His hair was neatly brushed, his face freshly scrubbed.

  “Morning,” she said, rolling to her stomach to watch him.

  “Morning.” He stomped his foot into his boot, stood.

  How long had he been up? When had he left her? She glanced at the clock, saw it was after seven. “You should’ve woken me.”

  “Looked like you could use the sleep.”

  The words were soft, polite. Stilted.

  “Is something wrong? Has something happened?” A chill skittered across her shoulders. She sat up, pulling the sheet around her.

  “No word from Liz so I’m assuming she’s fine.” He didn’t meet her eyes, didn’t look at her at all. Instead he checked the ammunition in his clip, then slid it into the gun’s chamber. “I’ve already used the shower, so it’s all yours.”

  Despite the ache in her body proving how close they’d been last night, Kit felt a chasm growing between them. Making love with Rafe hadn’t felt wrong, but something did.

  He regretted making love with her.

  Her head came up as the realization slammed into her.

  He turned, glanced at her, and she knew she was right. His eyes were flat, remote. That, combined with the rigid set of his body, drove a painful wedge beneath her ribs. Her mind could barely compute what it meant.

  He’d made love to her with all the finesse and hunger that she remembered. At the end, he’d finally surrendered to the same reckless pulse thundering through her. Almo
st, she realized, as if he’d surrendered against his will.

  She’d thought making love had symbolized a new start. She’d felt him in her soul, surrendered completely to him for the first time in her life. Just as he’d always done. But not this time. Not with her.

  The hope she’d held close to her heart crumbled. Tears tightened her throat. She stood up, sweeping the sheet around her and starting for the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute,” she managed to say.

  “Kit?”

  Hands knotting the sheet, she paused. Waited for him to apologize or explain. The seconds ticked by, scraping against nerves already raw from the extreme plunge in her emotions. He said nothing. She wasn’t sure she could bear it if he did.

  She walked into the bathroom and shut the door, her body trembling.

  He hadn’t once called her darlin’.

  Hadn’t lost all sense of time and place as she had.

  Making love had been a purely physical act for him without investing one bit of his heart. And she knew exactly why.

  Her heart clenched; she bit her lip to keep from crying. Would he ever trust her again?

  Riding a razor edge of anger and guilt, Rafe watched Kit disappear into the bathroom. Last night, she had made herself completely vulnerable to him for the first time in their lives, but he hadn’t been able to do the same. The last time he had opened up, she’d walked away. His world had shattered. He couldn’t let that happen again.

  When she’d told him she wanted him, she’d seemed so certain. When they’d made love, she had committed totally to him. Hell, she’d about committed him right off his feet. He had thought he was ready, but he wasn’t.

  Being buried tight inside her had only sharpened his awareness of her and his sense of loss. He hadn’t been able to tell her how much he’d missed her, missed the way she said his name just before she came apart in his arms, missed the way she held his face when they were both going over the edge. Blocked by the memory of how she’d hurt him before, the words had stayed locked in his throat.

  “What do we do about Liz?” Kit’s voice was cool and steady as she walked out of the bathroom. She stuffed her toothbrush into her makeup case, then zipped her travel bag. “About that guy who was here last night?”