by Nora Roberts
So why was she suddenly so lonely?
His fault, she decided, sipping her wine, for making her restless with her life. For making her question her priorities at a time when she needed all her concentration and effort focused.
Physical attraction, even with this kind of intensity, wasn’t enough, shouldn’t be enough, to distract her from her goals. She’d been attracted before, and certainly knew how to play the game safely. After all, she was thirty-two, hardly a novice in the relationship arena. Skilled and cautious, she’d always come through unscathed. No man had ever involved her heart quite enough to cause scarring.
Why did that suddenly seem so sad?
Annoyed with the thought, she shook it off.
She was wasting her time brooding about Ryan Piasecki. God knew, he wasn’t even her type. He was rough and rude and undeniably abrasive. She preferred a smoother sort. A safer sort.
Why did that suddenly seem so shallow?
She set her half-full glass aside and shook back her hair. What she needed was sleep, not self-analysis. The phone rang just as she reached out to switch off the lights.
“Oh, I hate you,” she muttered, and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Ms. Fletcher, this is Mark, at the desk downstairs?”
“Yes, Mark, what is it?”
“There’s an Inspector Piasecki here to see you.”
“Oh, really?” She checked her watch, toying with the idea of sending him away. “Mark, would you ask him if it’s official business?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is this official business, Inspector?”
She heard Ry’s voice clearly through the earpiece, asking Mark whether he would like him to get a team down there in the next twenty minutes to look for code violations.
When Mark sputtered, Natalie took pity on him. “Just send him up, Mark.”
“Yes, Ms. Fletcher. Thank you.”
She disconnected, then paced to the door and back. She certainly wasn’t going to check her appearance in the mirror.
Of course, she did.
By the time Ry pounded on her door, she’d managed to dash into the bedroom, brush her hair and dab on some perfume.
“Don’t you think it’s unfair to threaten people in order to get your way?” she demanded when she yanked open the door.
“Not when it works.” He took his time looking at her. The floor-length robe was unadorned, the color of heavy cream. The silk crossed over her breasts, nipped in at the belted waist, then fell, thin and close, down her hips.
“Don’t you think it’s a waste to wear something like that when you’re alone?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Are we going to talk in the hall?”
“I suppose not.” She closed the door behind him. “I won’t bother to point out that it’s late.”
He said nothing, only wandered around the living area of the apartment. Soft colors, offset by those vibrant abstract paintings she apparently liked. Lots of trinkets, he noted, but tidy. There were fresh flowers, a fireplace piped for gas and a wide window through which the lights of the city gleamed.
“Nice place.”
“I like it.”
“You like heights.” He moved to the window and looked down. She was a good twenty floors above any possible ladder rescue. “Maybe I will have this place checked to see if it’s up to code.” He glanced back at her. “Got a beer?”
“No.” Then she sighed. Manners would always rise above annoyance. “I was having a glass of wine. Would you like one?”
He shrugged. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker, but his system couldn’t handle any more coffee.
Taking that as an indication of assent, Natalie went into the kitchen to pour another glass.
“Got anything to go with it?” he asked from the doorway. “Like food?”
She started to snap at him about mistaking her apartment for an all-night diner, but then she got a good look at his face in the strong kitchen light. If she’d ever seen exhaustion, she was seeing it now.
“I don’t do a lot of cooking, but I have some Brie, crackers, some fruit.”
Nearly amused, he rubbed his hands over his face. “Brie.” He gave a short laugh as he dropped his hands. “Great. Fine.”
“Go sit down.” She handed him the wine. “I’ll bring it out.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes later, she found him on her sofa, his legs stretched out, his eyes half-closed. “Why aren’t you home in bed?”
“I had some stuff to do.” With one hand, he reached for the tray she’d set on the table. With the other, he reached for her. Content with her beside him, he piled soft cheese on a cracker. “It’s not half-bad,” he said with his mouth full. “I missed dinner.”
“I suppose I could send out for something.”
“This is fine. I figured you’d want an update.”
“I do, but I thought I’d hear from you several hours ago.” He mumbled something over a new cracker. “What?”
“Court,” he said, and swallowed. “I had to be in court most of the afternoon.”
“I see.”
“Got your messages, though.” The refueling helped, and he grinned. “Did you miss me?”
“The update,” she said dryly. “It’s the least you can do while you’re cleaning out my pantry.”
He helped himself to a handful of glossy green grapes. “I’ve ordered surveillance for your plant on Winesap.”
Her fingers tightened on the stem of her glass. “Do you think it’s a target?”
“Fits the pattern. Have you noticed a man around any of your properties? White guy, about five-four, a hundred and thirty. Thinning sandy hair. Fifty-something, but with this round, moony face that makes him look like a kid.” He broke off to wash crackers down with wine. “Pale, mousy-looking eyes, lots of teeth.”
“No, I can’t think of anyone like that. Why?”
“He’s a torch. Nasty little guy, about half-crazy.” The wine wasn’t half-bad, either, Ry was discovering, and sipped again. “All-the-way crazy would be easier. He likes to make things burn, and he doesn’t mind getting paid for it.”
“You think he’s the one,” Natalie said quietly. “And you know him, personally, don’t you?”
“We’ve met, Clarence and me. Last time I saw him was, oh, about ten years ago. He’d hung around too long on one of his jobs. He was on fire when I got to him. We were both smoking by the time I got him out.”
Natalie struggled for calm. “Why do you think it’s him?”
Briefly Ry gave her a rundown on his work that evening. “So, it’s his kind of job,” he added. “Plus, the phone call. He likes the phone, too. And the voice you described—that’s pure Clarence.”
“You could have told me that this morning.”
“Could’ve.” He shrugged. “Didn’t see the point.”
“The point,” she said between her teeth, “is that we’re talking about my building, my property.”
He studied her a moment. It wasn’t such a bad idea, he supposed, to use anger to cover fear. He couldn’t blame her for it. “Tell me, Ms. Fletcher, in your position as CEO, or whatever it is you are, do you make reports before, during or after you’ve checked your data?”
It irritated, as he’d meant it to. And it deflated. As he’d meant it to. “All right.” She expelled a rush of air. “Tell me the rest.”
Ry set his glass aside. “He moves around, city to city. I’m betting he’s back in Urbana. And I’ll find him. Is there an ashtray around here?”
In silence, Natalie rose and took a small mosaic dish from another table. She was being unfair, she realized, and it wasn’t like her. Obviously he was dead tired because he’d put in dozens of extra hours—for her.
“You’ve been working on this all night.”
He struck a match. “That’s the job.”
“Is it?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah.” His eyes met hers. “And it’s you.”
Her pulse be
gan to drum. She couldn’t stop it. “You’re making it very hard for me, Ry.”
“That’s the idea.” Lazily he skimmed a finger along the lapel of her robe, barely brushing the skin. Her scent rose up from it, subtly, tantalizingly. “You want me to ask you how your day went?”
“No.” With a tired laugh, she shook her head. “No.”
“I guess you don’t want to talk about the weather, politics, sports?”
Natalie paused before she spoke again. She didn’t want her voice to sound breathy. “Not particularly.”
He grunted, leaned over to crush out his cigarette. “I should go, let you get some sleep.”
Her emotions tangled, she rose as he did. “That’s probably best. Sensible.” It wasn’t what she wanted, just what was best. And it wasn’t, she’d begun to realize, what she needed. Just what was sensible.
“But I’m not going to.” His eyes locked on hers. “Unless you tell me.”
Her heartbeat thickened. She could feel the shudder start all the way down in the soles of her feet and work its way up. “Tell you what?”
He smiled, moved closer, stopping just before their bodies brushed. The first answer, whether she wanted him to go or stay, was already easily read in her eyes.
“Where’s the bedroom, Natalie?”
A little dazed, she looked over his shoulder, gesturing vaguely. “There. Back there.”
With that quick, surprising grace of his, he scooped her up. “I think I can make it that far.”
“This is a mistake.” She was already raining kisses over his face, his throat. “I know it’s a mistake.”
“Everybody makes one now and again.”
“I’m smart.” While her breath hitched, her fingers hurried to unbutton his shirt. “And I’m levelheaded. I have to be, because …” She let out a groan as her fingers found flesh. “God, I love your body.”
“Yeah?” He nearly staggered as she tugged his shirt out of his jeans. “Consider it all yours. I should have known.”
“Mmm …” She was busy biting at his shoulder. “What?”
“That you’d have a first-class bed.” He tumbled with her onto the satin covers.
Already half-mad for him, she dragged at his shirt. “Hurry,” she demanded. “I’ve wanted you to hurry since the first time you touched me.”
“Let me catch up.” Equally frantic, he crushed his mouth to hers, sinking in.
Breathless, she yanked at the snap of his jeans. “This is insane.” She struggled to find him, drinking hungrily from his mouth as they rolled across the bed.
He couldn’t catch his breath, or even a slippery hold on control. “It’s about to be,” he muttered. Tugging her robe open, he found the thin swatch of matching silk beneath. A moan ripped through him as he closed his mouth over her cream-covered breast.
Silk and heat and fragrant flesh. Everything she was filled him, taunted him, tormented him. Woman, all woman. Beauty and grace and passion. Temptation and torment and triumph. All of it, all of her, obsessed him.
They thrashed over the slick satin spread, groping for more.
Here was fire, the bright, dangerous flash of it. It seared through him, burned, scarred, while her hands and mouth raced over him, igniting hundreds of new flames. He didn’t fight it back. For once he wanted to be consumed. With an oath, he tore at the silk and dined greedily on her flesh.
His hands were rough and hard. And wonderful. She’d never felt more alive, or more desperate. She craved him, knew that she had, on some deep level, right from the beginning.
But now she had him, could feel the press of that hard, muscled body against her, could taste the violent urgency of his need whenever their mouths met, could hear his response to her touch, to her taste, in every hurried breath.
If it was elemental, so be it. She felt lusty and wanton and absolutely free. Her teeth dug into his shoulder as he whipped her ruthlessly over the first crest. She cried out his name, all but screamed it, arching upward, taut as a bow.
He arrowed into her, hard, deep.
She was blind and deaf from the pleasure of it, oblivious of her own sobbing breaths as they mated in a frenzied rhythm. Her body plunged against his, tireless, driven by a need that seemed insatiable.
Then body and need erupted.
* * *
The light was on. Funny he hadn’t even noticed that, when normally he was accustomed to picking up every small detail. The lamp’s glow was soft, picking up the cool sherbet tones of her bedroom.
Ryan lay still, his head on her breast, and waited for his system to level. Beneath his ear, her heart continued to thunder. Her flesh was damp, her body limp. Every few moments a tremor shook her.
He didn’t smile in triumph, as he might have done, but simply stared in wonder.
He’d wanted to conquer her. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—deny it. He’d craved the sensation of having her body buck and shudder under his from the first moment he saw her.
But he hadn’t expected the tornado of need that had swept through them both, that had them clawing at each other like animals.
He knew he’d been rough. He wasn’t a particularly gentle man, so that didn’t bother him. But he’d never lost control so completely with any woman. Nor had he ever wanted one so intensely only moments after he’d had her.
“That should have done it,” he muttered.
“Hmmm?” She felt weak as water. Achy and sweet.
“It should have gotten it out of my system. Gotten you out. At least started getting you out.”
“Oh.” She found the energy to open her eyes. The light, dim as it was, had her wincing. Slowly, her mind began to clear; quickly, her skin began to heat. She remembered the way she’d torn at his clothes, wrestled him into bed without a single coherent thought except having him.
She let out a breath, drew another in.
“You’re right,” she decided. “It should have. What’s wrong with us?”
With a laugh, he lifted his head, looking at her flushed face, her tousled hair. “Damned if I know. Are you okay?”
Now she smiled. The hell with logic. “Damned if I know. What just happened here’s a bit out of the usual realm for me.”
“Good.” He lowered his head, skimmed his tongue lightly over her breast. “I want you again, Natalie.”
She quivered once. “Good.”
* * *
When the alarm went off, Natalie groaned, rolled over to shut it off, and bumped solidly into Ry. He grunted, slapped at the buzzer with one hand and brought her to rest on top of him with the other.
“What’s the noise for?” he asked, and ran an interested hand down her spine to the hip.
“To wake me up.”
He opened one eye. Yeah, he thought, he should have known it. She looked just as good in the morning as she did every other time of the day. “Why?”
“It goes like this.” Still groggy, she pushed her hair out of her face. “The alarm goes off, I get up, shower, dress, drink copious cups of coffee and go to work.”
“I’ve had some experience with the process. Anybody tell you today’s Saturday?”
“I know what day it is,” she said. At least she did now. “I have work.”
“No, you don’t, you just think you do.” He cradled her head against his shoulder, casting one bleary eye at the clock. It was 7:00 a.m. He calculated they’d had three hours’ sleep, at the outside. “Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
He let out a long-suffering sigh. “All right, all right. But you should have warned me you were insatiable.” More than willing to oblige, he rolled her over again and began to nibble on her shoulder.
“I didn’t mean that.” She laughed, trying to wiggle free. “I have paperwork, calls to make.” His hand was sneaking up to stroke her breast. Fire kindled instantly in the pit of her stomach. “Cut it out.”
“Uh-uh. You woke me up, now you pay.”
She couldn’t help it, simply couldn’t, and she began
to stretch under his hands. “We’re lucky we didn’t kill each other last night. Are you sure you want to take another chance?”
“Men like me face danger every day.” He covered her grinning mouth with his.
* * *
She was more than three hours behind schedule when she stepped out of the shower. So, she’d work late, Natalie decided, and after wrapping a towel around her hair she began to cream her legs. A good executive understood the merits of flextime.
Yawning, she wiped steam from the bathroom mirror and took a good look at her face. She should be exhausted, she realized. She certainly should look exhausted after the wild night she and Ry had shared.
But she wasn’t. And she didn’t. She looked … soft, she thought. Satisfied.
And why not? she thought, dragging the towel from her hair. When a woman took thirty-two years to experience just what a bout of hot, sweaty sex could do for the mind and body, she ought to look satisfied.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, she’d ever experienced, came close to what she’d felt, what she’d done, what she’d discovered, during the night with Ry.
So if she smiled like a fool while she combed out her wet hair, why not? If she felt like singing as she wrapped her tingling body in her robe, it was understandable.
And if she had to rearrange her schedule for the day because she’d spent most of the night and all of the morning wrestling in bed with a man who made her blood bubble, more power to her.
She stepped back into the bedroom and grinned at the tangled sheets. Lips pursed, she picked up the remains of her chemise. The strap was torn, and a froth of lace hung limp. Apparently, she decided, her merchandise didn’t quite live up to Ry Piasecki’s idea of wear and tear.
And wasn’t it fabulous?
Laughing out loud, she tossed the chemise aside and followed her nose into the kitchen.
“I smell coffee,” she began, then paused in the doorway.
He was breaking eggs into a bowl with those big, hard hands of his. His hair was damp, as hers was, because he’d beaten her to the shower. He was barefoot, jeans snug at his hips, flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows.
Incredibly, she wanted him all over again.
“You have next to nothing in this place to eat.”
“I eat out a lot.” With an order to control herself, she moved to the coffeepot. “What are you making?”
“Omelets. You had four eggs, some cheddar and some very limp broccoli.”
“I was going to steam it.” She cocked her head as she sampled the coffee. “So you cook.”
“Every self-respecting firefighter cooks. You take shifts at the station.” He located a whisk, then turned to her. Wet hair, glowing face, sleepy eyes. “Hello, Legs. You look good.”
“Thanks.” She smiled over the rim of her cup. If he continued to look at her in just that way, she realized, she would drag him right down onto the floor. It