Hold Me Close

by Rosalind James

  He had a hand on her now, tracing the edge of her thigh where lace met flesh, his fingers blazing a path, closer and closer.

  “Going to take them off,” he murmured. “Going to kiss you here. Going to love you so good.”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  He was sliding them down her legs, and then he had hold of her thighs again, and she was open to him.

  He took his time, and he knew exactly how to do it, and she was whimpering, moaning, would have been bucking under him if he’d allowed it, if he hadn’t held her so firmly. He drove her up skillfully, inch by careful inch, until her back was arching, her upper body rising from the bed, and her hands weren’t in his hair anymore, because her arms were flung wide, her hands reaching out in supplication. Until her cries were all she could hear, and his tongue and lips were all she could feel.

  When he slid a long finger inside her, she nearly screamed. The finger began to move, to thrust, and he sent another one to join it, touched the spot, and she threw her head back and wailed.

  And, just like that, she came undone. The racking spasms took her, again and again, higher and higher, nearly unbearable, for what felt like minutes, until she was lying limp, spent, and shuddering.

  He stayed right there with her through it all. When she was done, he lay still against her, gave her a final kiss, slid up her body, and took her mouth, and she tasted herself on him.

  “Tell me I get to come inside you,” he said on a long breath.

  She lifted a hand to his head and pulled his mouth down for another kiss. Because he was asking.

  “Yes,” she told him. “Yes. Please. Now.”

  He rolled, grabbed a condom from the drawer, and she took it from him. “Let me do it. Please.”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed, his dark body straining, and she ripped the packet open and unrolled the thing onto the hard length of him, then caressed him, and felt what it did to him.

  He was over her, taking her hands in his, slowly threading his fingers through hers, his forearms beside hers on the mattress, holding her so close. And then, finally, he was sliding into her, and she felt every hot, hard inch filling her so completely that her mouth had to open, too, and she was already panting.

  He didn’t rush, even though she could feel his urgency. Instead, he kept it smooth, a slow withdrawal, a harder thrust. Over and over, his breath harsh in her ears, his beautiful face strained, and she could feel him holding back. She could tell he was trying to make it last, trying not to overwhelm her, not to scare her. But she was so far past being scared now, and she needed more.

  “Stop,” she told him. He didn’t respond for a minute, because he was too far gone. “Luke,” she said again. “Please. Stop.”

  “Ah . . .” He opened his eyes and stared at her. And then he stopped, pulled all the way out of her with a groan, flung himself onto his back, and she knew. She knew that she could do this. That she could do anything with him.

  “Let me . . .” She swallowed. “Let me turn over,” she whispered. “I want to feel you doing it to me from behind.”

  Stopping had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. And then she said that. She rolled over, put her forearms down, clasped her hands under her forehead, pulled her knees up underneath her, and that was it. He was done going slowly, because the power he’d given her was rushing straight back into him.

  He was over her, one hand under her, pulling her hips up, not trying to ease his way this time, because she was so open, so hot and wet and ready for him. He shoved straight home, and she whimpered and backed into him, and that did it. It was hot and hard and fast, his hand under her, rubbing in time with his thrusts, because he needed to take her with him.

  She was panting, and then she was moaning, and, finally, she was crying out, wriggling and squirming and almost all the way there.

  “Oh, God, Kayla,” he groaned. “I love fucking you.”

  He only realized what he’d said afterwards. She stiffened for a moment, and then she was shuddering, crying out her release, her delicious walls contracting around him, pulling out the orgasm from somewhere deep inside his body. It was rushing upon him, powerful and irresistible as a locomotive, and he was shouting, all restraint gone, driving into her, and she was, incredibly, still coming, over and over. Coming for him, and with him, and all around him. Taking him along with her, all the way down.

  “Do you know something?” she asked dreamily when they were lying together, her head pillowed on his chest, her arm across his body, his hand stroking slowly down her back.

  “Hm?”

  “Those were the first orgasms I’ve had in almost a year.”

  His hand stilled. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I never did, because at first, Alan didn’t care enough, and after that . . . I usually didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry I said, um, that word. It just slipped out. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, that I was, um . . .”

  She smiled against all that hard warmth. “You can say the word. I liked you saying the word. I liked you doing the word.” She wriggled a little against him, the heat, the thrum starting right up again. “I loved knowing that you wanted me that much.”

  His hand was stroking again, her body was lighting up again, and she had a feeling she was going to be getting another taste of him before the night was over, and that he’d be taking another good long taste of her. And she was just fine with that.

  “You’re a different man,” she told him, “and this is a different me, although it’s taken a while to get here.”

  “Yeah. I’m guessing.”

  “Mm. I’ve been sharing a one-bedroom apartment with my nine-year-old, for one thing. And for a long time, I was pretty much dead that way anyway. I was so afraid for so long, and when you have to survive, everything else shuts down. Like somebody who’s freezing, you know? All their body warmth goes to their organs to keep them alive. Nothing left for their fingers and toes. That’s what I was. Surviving. And after a while, it’s sort of use it or lose it. You forget you even cared about it, that you ever had those feelings at all. But since I met you, started spending time with you—” She laughed, the happiness bubbling up inside, such a new feeling, and such a precious one. “They’ve been coming back. And now, I’d say they’ve arrived.”

  “That’s good.” She could hear the deep satisfaction in his voice. “Let’s just keep ’em coming. That’d be my idea.”

  “I can live with that. And in case you were worried—” She turned her head and gave him a gentle kiss on the chest, smoothed a hand over his skin. “I don’t think I’m going to need to tie you up anymore.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. “Now, isn’t that good news? I like to think I’m a modern guy, and that I’m flexible, too, but I can’t deny it. If I’ve got the choice?” His hand stroked over her bottom, drifted down to the sensitive top of her thighs, then closed over one cheek and squeezed a little.

  She couldn’t help it. She squirmed.

  “Oh, yeah.” He sighed. “If it’s up to me, when it comes to this? You can bet I’d rather be in the driver’s seat.”

  BRICK WALL

  Alan pulled the rental car to a stop in the dusty driveway set among the pines and looked around. A low wooden house that was about ten years past needing a new paint job, a couple of rickety sheds, and an old blue pickup. Four or five chickens pecking around in the dirt and an ugly brown mutt standing just below the porch, barking like a backwoods sentry.

  It was even worse than he’d expected. But then, look at where Kayla had been before he’d picked her up and taken her out of it. She had a real taste for lowlife, apparently.

  He grabbed his briefcase, got out of the car, and picked his way up toward the porch. The dog was barring the way, though, still barking, and he had no choice but to stop at t
he bottom of the stairs.

  A door opened with a squeak, and a tall, rangy, gray figure stepped onto the wooden porch, walking with a limp. “Zipper,” he told the dog. “Shut up.” The dog stopped barking and sat down, and the old man looked Alan over. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

  Alan had worn a suit for this one. The more official, the better, he’d thought. Maybe that had been a mistake. He hadn’t actually been expecting the Beverly Hillbillies, though.

  “I’m not selling anything,” he said. He pulled out his license and flashed it fast. “Ada County Prosecutor’s Office. You Don Chambers?”

  “I might be, and I might not. Ada County’s a long way away.”

  “But it’s where your son was living before his death.”

  The man stiffened. “No. It wasn’t. Who the hell are you, and what do you want?”

  Why hadn’t Kervic done a little more background? He’d been a lousy excuse for a cop. Alan took all the flak for the conviction rate, but how could he be expected to do any better with half-assed detective work like this? “Excuse me,” he said. “I meant to say your grandson, of course. Eli Chambers.”

  “What about Eli?” The man’s face was lined, but his eyes were sharp. He was probably sixty, although he looked ten years older. “He’s a nine-year-old child. What could a prosecutor want with him?”

  “I’m not here about the child. Well, actually, yes, I am, partly.” He schooled his face into the concerned expression he’d practiced in the mirror this morning in the Spokane Airport. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Can we go inside?”

  “No. If this was something about my grandson, the cops would be here. Say what you’ve got to say.”

  Alan sighed. “This isn’t the way I’d like to tell you. But you leave me no choice. I’m afraid there’s a warrant out for your daughter-in-law’s arrest.”

  “On what charges?” The face was immobile, the thin mouth barely moving.

  “Child neglect. Bad enough, I’m afraid, that they’re considering felony abuse charges.”

  “You telling me Kayla’s neglected that child? That she’s abused him?”

  “That’s the charge, I’m afraid.”

  “And how do you come into it?”

  Alan smiled and changed his story on the fly. That was what he was good at, after all. Telling a good story. “You’re right. You’ve got me. I’m not here officially. I’m here as a friend of the family. The two of them were in some real trouble after, I take it, your son died.”

  “Yeah.” Again, virtually no reaction.

  “Please accept my condolences on your loss.”

  No answer to that, just the same unwavering gaze, and Alan sighed again. He’d envisioned sitting in the living room consoling a worried couple, not standing in a dirt yard speckled with chicken shit, being stared at blankly by a backwoods hick whose dad had probably married his sister. “Whether Kayla tried her best or not,” he went on, “is immaterial in the eyes of the law, unfortunately. The fact is, your grandson was in bad enough shape when they dropped out of sight that the authorities are afraid for his safety. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I do urgently need to see Kayla and let her know the seriousness of this charge. If she’s dug her way out of that hole since then, well, that’s wonderful. She can appear before the court, explain how she’s gotten her life back together, and I’m sure they’ll take a much different view, especially if I vouch for her. I’d be happy to take the two of them to Boise with me right now, in fact, so she can do it. I’ll be doing my best to get her back on track, I promise you. But if she doesn’t turn herself in . . .” He shook his head sadly. “It could get rough for her.”

  “If I see her,” Chambers said, “I’ll let her know.”

  “Please believe me, sir,” Alan said with his most sincere expression, “I’m here out of a genuine concern for her welfare. Hers and your grandson’s.”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t believe I caught your name. Better give me that, if you want me to pass your message along.”

  “Scott Jacobsen.” Alan gave the name of a colleague, one with a wife and three kids. Not ideal, but if Kayla were here, the mention of his name would make her run again. Any confusion he could throw in the way of that was a good thing. It had never occurred to him that her in-laws wouldn’t believe him. What kind of suspicious rednecks were they?

  “Here.” He pulled out a notebook and pen and wrote Scott’s name down, together with his own phone number. “Lost my business cards on the flight somehow,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “Or forgot them. Who knows? Absentminded. That’s just how worried she’s had me.” He folded the paper and handed it up the stairs, and the old man hesitated a moment, then took it from him. “You don’t seem as concerned as I’d expected, if you don’t mind me saying. If that means you’ve seen Kayla and Eli, and that they’re doing all right, well—boy.” He smiled and patted his chest with his free hand. “Whew. That’d be a real relief, I don’t mind telling you. I’ve hardly been able to sleep at night, ever since they left Boise.”

  “Guess you weren’t such a good friend after all,” Chambers said, “if she couldn’t come to you with her troubles.”

  Alan shook his head again. “I would’ve thought she could have. But she’d become more and more . . . imaginative. I’d like to call it that, but I’m afraid a mental health professional would call it ‘paranoid.’ Thinking she has enemies, that people are out to get her, trying to hurt her. That’s why I’m so concerned for Eli. So if you find that you . . . well, if you do come up with some information after all about their whereabouts, I sure hope you’ll give me a call.”

  “Uh-huh.” Chambers nodded at him. “You take care driving back to the highway. Those logging trucks can work up a real head of steam down the hill, take you right out. Oh, and you might want to get in your car pretty quick there after I go inside. Ol’ Zipper gets kinda testy about strangers in the yard.”

  He turned around, the screen door banged behind him, and the dog was on his feet again, growling. Alan turned and walked back to the car, his shoulders tensing at the sound of the dog’s paws hitting the rough wooden steps of the porch. He got the door open, threw his briefcase in, and dove in after it as the dog made a rush for the car, barking like a hellhound.

  He backed up fast, spun the wheel, and took off, sending chickens squawking. Was Kayla here, or wasn’t she? It could be either. Now he was going to have to change his ticket and waste an afternoon lining up a private detective in Spokane to check it out.

  But Bonners Ferry was a very, very small town. If she were here, he’d find her. And if she weren’t? He’d find her anyway. It just might take a little longer.

  ROPED AND TIED

  Kayla wasn’t thinking about sex today, no matter how much pleasure Saturday night had held. No matter how good it had felt to sleep in for once on Sunday morning, to stir at last in a bed that was much too big and comfortable to be hers, to open her eyes to a panorama of rolling hills and blue sky instead of a blank, scuffed white wall. No matter how much she’d enjoyed eating eggs and bacon cooked by somebody else—cooked by Luke, because he hadn’t expected anything else, and he’d seemed like he wanted to do it. To sit at the kitchen table, dressed only in her underwear and one of his soft flannel shirts, one bare leg curled up under her. To meet his eyes and have him ask, “What time do we pick up Eli again?” And, at her breathless answer, to see that look on his face, to hear him say, “Then how about coming over here and climbing into my lap? Because, sweetheart, you’re just way too sexy all rumpled and half naked like that. And besides—” A slow, wicked smile then. “—I’m going to need something sweet for dessert, and you’re just about the sweetest thing going.”

  She hadn’t done it on a table in a long, long time, and she’d never done it like that. Never with an unbuttoned flannel shirt stretched out around her and a man on his knees in front of h
er, intent on finding out how loud he could get her, how long he could draw it out. Teasing and playing, stopping and starting until she’d been wriggling desperately, grabbing at his hair, and begging him to finish it.

  Never with her legs wrapped around Luke’s back, her hands grabbing for the edge of the table, just because she had to hold on to something, until nothing in the world had been possible except letting go. Never so hard and fast and strong that, when she’d slid down at last with the help of his hand, her legs had been so shaky that she’d had to spend another few minutes curled in his lap just to recover, while he’d kissed her and petted her and told her how beautiful she was. How much she turned him on. How much he’d loved it, and how hard it was going to be to wait until they could do it again.

  But they did have to wait. That had been Sunday, and this was still only Wednesday, and they didn’t have another date until Saturday, because they both had jobs and responsibilities and lives. And because of Eli. Which was just as well, or she might have been in trouble.

  It had been an extra-busy lunch rush, and she was looking forward to finishing her shift. She was working until four today, and Eli had gone to the library after school. Luke had promised to run over and check that he’d made it, and she’d known he’d do it, too. She hadn’t even worried.

  She grabbed a coffeepot in one hand, a pitcher of ice water in the other, and headed for her tables, then stood aside to let Michelle, their new college-student part-timer, pass through with an armful of dirty dishes.

  “Whoa,” Michelle muttered as she passed. “Major hottie coming through.”

  Kayla hit up the group at Table Seventeen before she checked it out. Michelle’s idea of a hottie could be iffy, to say the least. Probably some nineteen-year-old emo boy with skinny jeans and shaggy hair.

  Except that it wasn’t. Michelle had been right for once, because it was Luke. Luke, sliding into a booth at the front and giving Michelle, who had hustled right over there with a menu and a water pitcher, a grin that would be doing the job for sure. Michelle’s hand had gone straight to her hair, and if she wasn’t flirting, Kayla had never seen it.