by Joanne Rock
So when Vaughn lowered a kiss to fasten around the other taut peak, the sensual swirl of his tongue threatened to make her fly right over the edge.
* * *
Need stormed over him.
Hot. Wild. Demanding.
Vaughn couldn’t get enough of Abigail. Not her sweet mouth that he could kiss for days, or her beautiful body that tempted him beyond reason. It didn’t matter what drove them together. Only this red-hot blaze of need that burned away everything else. All the reasons they shouldn’t be together. All the reasons he wouldn’t be right for her tomorrow.
Tonight, there was so much heat, so much hunger, that nothing mattered but the next exquisite touch. The next mind-blowing kiss.
And that she was his.
He wanted her skin against his, her breathy moans in his ear, her legs wrapped around his hips. With impatient hands, he hauled up her skirt, sliding her to the edge of the table so the cradle of thighs met the hard thrust of his need. She felt so good. So right. For a moment, he had to close his eyes against the rising tide of want, fighting for control.
Her breathing was ragged, her hands restless on his shoulders, her nails skimming lightly up his back. He lifted her up, carrying her to a couch in the living room, wanting to be careful with her.
Protective of her beautiful body, he laid her down on the sofa in the far corner.
“Please,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t stop.”
He met her gaze, bright with desire. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. Needed her beyond reason. He worked the buttons of his shirt with ruthless efficiency, shedding the button-down. His every thought of Abigail. Touching her. Tasting her. Filling her.
Making her his.
His belt was next, and his pants, though he had enough forethought to find the lone condom in his wallet. Set it aside.
All the while Abigail’s gaze tracked him, her luscious breasts spilling out of the lace cups that his kisses had displaced. When he was naked, he returned to her, flicking open the clasp that held the bra in place. Freeing her to his touch.
His kiss.
She combed her fingers through his hair, arching her back to give him more access. Her skin was impossibly soft everywhere he touched. He raked down the zipper on her skirt, tugging the cotton lower until only a thin scrap of lace kept him from where he most wanted to be.
Seated beside her on the sofa where she was sprawled, he touched the damp lace. Skimmed it aside. Watched her cheeks flush with color, her head thrown back. Her heat flooded through to his fingers until he couldn’t resist kissing her there. Licking her again and again until his name was a hoarse shout as she came for him.
Over and over.
Only then did he skim off the lace panties and settle between her legs. He rolled on the condom, his heart slamming inside his chest. By the time he slid inside her, inch by tantalizing inch, she wrapped her legs around him. Her arms. Kissed him with a passion he could taste.
The fire that raged inside him flared hotter. Searing over him. She met him, thrust for thrust, as lost in the moment as him. Each time her breath hitched, her lip caught between her teeth, it drove him higher. He wanted to feel her pleasure—that vibrant glow of her—all around him. It was the only thing that kept him in check when his body demanded release.
He rolled her on top of him, careful of the small curve of her belly. He let her set the pace at first, watching her face while her eyelids fluttered once. Twice.
Reaching between them, he stroked the tight bud of her sex.
Felt the answering shudder that went through her. He sat up just enough to palm one generous breast, guiding her to his mouth so he could kiss her there.
She cried out softly, her body sweetly responsive. He drove into her deeper. Harder. Her fingers fisted in his hair, her lips parted on a silent cry.
And then he felt her release shudder through her, raining sweetness all around him until his own restraint fell away. Pleasure overran him. Inundated him. He couldn’t do a damn thing but hold on to Abigail, steadying them both as sensation bombarded them. This time when she called out his name, he shouted hers in an echo of bliss. Total fulfillment.
A devastating oneness than robbed him of breath and left him panting for long moments afterward.
He’d never felt such utter contentment in the silence that followed. His breathing slowed as she fell on top of him, her beautiful body curling into his as naturally as if they’d slept together for a lifetime.
Tugging a lightweight blanket off the back of the sofa, he pulled it around her and kissed the top of her dark hair.
He caressed her shoulder through the veil of curls that fell around her. Breathed in the spicyandcitrus scent of her fragrance.
And wondered how he’d ever walk away.
Nine
Abigail wouldn’t allow herself to fall asleep.
Not when she knew how stressed Vaughn had been the last time they had shared a bed together, spending too long wondering if he would have nightmares and how to avoid waking her up. She regretted that he experienced that kind of anxiety, but she empathized even though she couldn’t possibly fully understand what he was going through. But she’d seen the agony in his eyes. She couldn’t bear for him to go through that again.
So after he’d stroked her hair and kissed her temple for a while, she sat up. Reaching for his shirt, she slid her arms into the fabric that held his scent.
“Aren’t you exhausted?” he asked, levering up on his elbow. “Was I keeping you awake?”
“I thought I’d make something to eat before you have to go home.” She said it matter-of-factly, like it was no problem that they couldn’t share a bed for sleeping. After her brief fling with a man who had deceived all of Royal, Abigail was willing to compromise to be with a man of Vaughn’s integrity. “Would you like some chicken? I made a big batch of it on the weekend so I’d have leftovers.”
Ten minutes later, they juggled plates of cold fried chicken, raw veggies and hummus and made themselves comfortable on her love seat. Hardly an exotic feast, but it all tasted good after the hospital cafeteria food she’d eaten on the run today while working. Or at least, she thought it tasted good. Perhaps he was used to richer fare.
“This is the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten.” Vaughn dug into a second piece. He’d dressed again, minus his shirt, since she was wearing it.
It was a good trade in her eyes, since now she had the added benefit of sitting across from a shirtless, sexy doc.
He seemed more relaxed now. His emotions more under control. For that, she was grateful. She hoped it meant he would be able to sleep soundly tonight.
“Thank you. I avoid fried foods for the most part.” She swirled a carrot through hummus. “But I draw the line at chicken. This is my grandmother’s recipe and my ultimate comfort food.”
“This is open-a-restaurant good.” He set down a bone and wiped his fingers on the napkins she’d brought out.
His obvious enjoyment pleased her, making her think of happier times with her family. “My grandmother was born and bred in southern Louisiana, but she moved to Texas when my granddaddy swept her off her feet. She taught Alannah and me all her Cajun recipes. But the chicken was always my favorite.”
“Cajun?” He sipped the sweet tea she’d poured for them.
“I dial back the pepper in my version,” she admitted. “But my grandmother’s original recipe was definitely more Cajun than Southern.”
“So with all those culinary skills at your fingertips, what made you decide to be an artist?”
“It wasn’t a decision, per se.” She’d always found it difficult to explain her path in a way that made sense to people. “I feel like I was born an artist. Making things has always been natural to me. When I would go out into the world—on a hike with my sister and to the grocery store with my mother—I
would draw a picture of it when I got home.”
Vaughn grinned as he reached for another serving. “I guess I did that, too, when I was a kid.”
“The difference is, I never stopped. I never got tired of sharing what I saw and how I felt about it.” Standing, she picked up one of her sketchbooks from the closest table in her studio and brought it back to the coffee table in front of the love seat. “Even now, if you look through my drawings, they’re mostly everyday things. I express myself through my pictures. They’re like a journal of what I experience.”
Flipping through the pages, she saw the past months flash before her. Images of Royal. Of nature out her window. Of the tiny human being growing inside her.
“Wow.” Vaughn set aside his plate and wiped his fingers on a napkin to study the images with her. He pointed to the ultrasound picture, a rough interpretation of her last time there. “That’s amazing.”
The awe in his voice reminded her how monumentally her life was about to change.
“Isn’t it? I’m going back next week for another ultrasound since the baby didn’t cooperate for a gender reveal at the twenty-week appointment.” She couldn’t wait.
But at the same time, it was one of those big moments in the pregnancy that she wished she could have shared with a supportive, excited partner.
Instead, she would be there alone.
“When did you realize you could take the art you make every day and turn it into a career?” He set aside her sketches to finish his meal.
“In college. I pursued art because that’s what made me happy. My teachers were supportive and helped me to find outlets at local galleries. I was selling small works even then.”
“Because you’re incredibly talented,” he said without hesitation.
She knew the value of her work, yet still, his compliment made her cheeks heat. “I’m not sure if it’s talent so much as my perspective.” She’d thought long and hard about that. “I think people like seeing the world through my eyes.”
She’d wondered if she would lose that connection when her sister died. If her perspective would become too dark. Too depressing. But she didn’t worry about that now. Her art was a reflection of her, no matter what she experienced. She couldn’t change that or she would risk alienating her muse.
Vaughn studied her thoughtfully.
“What made you move from drawing to sculpture?”
“A visit to Galveston with my sister. We went exploring on the beach and found some driftwood.” That vacation had been so happy. Alannah had been seventeen and Abigail had just turned twenty-two. She’d felt so grown-up taking her sister on a weekend trip to the beach. “I wanted to make something with it when I got home. I discovered I loved working with wood.”
She set aside her plate, trying not to get lost in the past as the happy part of the memory faded, bringing with it the darker side. Clearing her throat of the swell of sudden emotions, she continued.
“We used to say that trip was a turning point for both of us. I found the joy of sculpture and she realized a new passion for kayaking.” The words hurt her throat as the memory weighted down her heart. “We went together, that first time. She thought it was the best thing, being out on the water with no motor. Just the quiet splash of water off the paddle.”
Vaughn set aside his dishes to move closer. Sliding an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her near.
“I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of her head. Squeezed her upper arm lightly. “It wasn’t fair to lose her so young.”
“She was training to work as a firefighter.” Her sister had been fearless. “I was so worried about her being the one to run into burning buildings, never thinking she might get hurt doing something recreational. Something that should have been safe.”
Tears leaked from her eyes, making her realize how deeply she’d wandered into the past when she hadn’t intended to. Vaughn stroked her hair like he could have comforted her all night, but that wasn’t fair to him.
She levered herself to sit upright. “I’m sorry. I meant to feed you and let you get back home before it got any later.”
“I’m glad to learn more about you.” His green eyes followed her as she started scooping up the dishes. “Let me get those.”
He plucked them out of her hands.
“I’ll go change so you can have your shirt back.” She was scavenging for excuses to leave the room, needing to rein in her runaway emotions.
The last time she’d shared her grief with a man, it had all but overwhelmed her. And while she trusted Vaughn not to take advantage of her feelings, she didn’t trust herself to maintain control of her boundaries.
Those boundaries were the only way her heart was going to survive this relationship with a man who became more important to her every day.
* * *
The hospital summer gala was more than a reception to unveil Abigail’s statue, although for Vaughn, that was the most exciting part.
Vaughn had a role to play glad-handing donors to the hospital’s trauma center, as well as those who supported the new art installation in the children’s ward. He’d visited the barber earlier in the day for a trim, letting the guy shave off his beard while he was at it.
He looked like an entirely different man. More like the military officer he’d been throughout his deployment. He’d been keeping that side of himself at bay, trying to bury his memories, but that hadn’t worked.
As he dressed in the requisite monkey suit for the event, he adjusted the bow tie he couldn’t get quite right and wondered what Abigail would see when she looked at him tonight. The same world-weary man she’d started sketching that first day they’d met? Or was there more life in his eyes these days, now that she had come into his world with her vibrant outlook?
Vaughn didn’t know. He couldn’t tell what he saw when he looked in the mirror anyhow. From behind him on the bed, Ruby lifted her head to study him. Apparently she didn’t see anything too far off base since she settled her head back on her paws and let her eyes drift closed again.
He was pretty sure the dog missed Abigail.
After that night Abby had spent at his house, Ruby went into the spare room where she’d slept a few times. She’d circled the bed. Nosed the drawer where she’d helped unpack Abigail’s few things. Then she’d padded back out into the hall to lie by the door.
Not often. But she’d never done that before Abigail’s appearance in their lives.
“Maybe we’ll see her again tonight if I’m lucky,” he told Ruby, scratching behind her ears.
Since the night when he’d let his guard down at her place, confiding his loss of the patient, he’d been at work two of the three days. He’d finished off those two shifts by visiting her at the children’s ward, both times finding Brandon working beside her. Lifting tree limbs into place at her direction, and fastening them onto joints he’d made himself.
Vaughn planned to make a sizable donation to the guy’s business start-up fund, although both times he’d mentioned it, Brandon had waved off the suggestion with an assurance that he was learning a lot. That made Vaughn happy even as he wondered what Abigail would have done on her own. Would she have lifted those limbs over her head to extend the size of that tree?
He scowled just thinking about it, but he hadn’t wanted to ask her when she was hard at work. She’d texted him last night—on his off day—to show him a photo of her smiling in front of the completed tree. Vaughn had been touched that she’d thought of him, but worried what it meant for them that her primary project at the hospital was finished.
Would he see her after tonight? Sure, her work would continue at the children’s ward, but not at this pace. And much of it would be accomplished in her studio and brought to the hospital at a later date. So the days of seeing her regularly were over. The realization nagged at him, pushing him to think of other ways to keep her in his life.
<
br /> Which made no sense because he’d known from the start that the relationship couldn’t really go anywhere. He didn’t want a family and she needed to think about her future with her child.
His cell phone chimed before he could leave for the gala, alerting him to a call from a private number. He debated not answering but he was ahead of schedule.
“Chambers,” he answered, peering out the back window onto the lawn overlooking the woods where he’d walked with Abigail that day.
“Vaughn, it’s Will Sanders.”
Just hearing the name sent a weird reaction tumbling through his gut. Abigail had been with a man she believed to be Will the night her child had been conceived. She still thought of that man as “Will.” So the surge of jealousy Vaughn experienced at hearing the name was obviously misplaced.
And, considering the hell this guy had been through, would be a slap in the face if he knew.
“It’s good to hear from you, Will.” Vaughn pulled the blinds on the view and double-checked the lock on the sliding glass doors. Ruby appeared in the room behind him, no doubt remembering it was suppertime.
“I wanted to let you know that I’m putting my personal resources into the investigation of the imposter situation.”
“Can’t blame you there. Any man would want justice.” Vaughn filled Ruby’s water and food dishes.
Micah would take the dog out for a walk soon.
“I’ve hired a detective, Cole Sullivan, from a local private security firm to find Jason Phillips.”
“He’s with the Walsh Group.” Vaughn knew the firm and the man since Cole was a member of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. “My father considered hiring him when the oil company executives received some death threats last year.”
Cole was a former Texas Ranger and as sharp as they came. But then Vaughn’s father had decided to increase his home security system and hand over the threats to the police instead.
“If anyone can get to the bottom of this, I trust Cole to be the man.” Will sounded grim. Resolute. “But the first person he wants to talk to is Abigail Stewart, since she may be the last person to have seen him alive besides Rich.”