C.J. drew another deep breath, realizing that there was no air in her lungs. “I’d…I’d better call my mother.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “She’ll be worried. And I need to check on the baby.” Her throat had never felt this dry.
All the moisture seemed to have gone to other parts of her body.
Warrick stepped aside. After retrieving the towel, he handed it to her. Rather than wrap her hair again, she just toweled it dry as she walked into the other room on wobbly legs.
The room felt terribly cramped suddenly. It was dominated by the bed, and the scarlet walls began to close in on her.
She wished it wasn’t raining so she could go out for a walk. But if it hadn’t been raining, she wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t be here.
Her head hurt.
Her body ached.
Taking out her cell phone, C.J. found the ever-annoying message written across her screen. The phone couldn’t find a network. It wasn’t receiving a signal. She looked around for Warrick. He was still standing in the bathroom doorway. Watching her.
She tossed her cell phone on the bed. “Give me your cell phone.”
Crossing to her as he took the small silver phone out of his back pocket, he held it out to her. “Why don’t you just use the motel phone?”
She took the phone from his hand. “It’s probably just programmed for phone sex.”
C.J. glanced down at the cell phone’s LCD screen. Warrick had a different service provider, but the message was the same. The storm was playing havoc with all manner of signals.
Hers included.
With a sigh C.J. handed him back his cell. “You’re not receiving signals, either.”
“Oh,” he tossed the phone on the nightstand, a smile slipping across his lips, “I wouldn’t exactly say that.” And he had absolutely no idea what to make of them, or where to go from here.
Ignoring his comment, C.J. sat on the edge of the bed facing the regular phone. Gingerly she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. The motel phone still had a rotary dial. Maybe whoever ran this place thought it was sexier. Or nostalgic. Or maybe they’d just been too cheap to replace the phones. Whatever the reason, it was inconvenient to use.
Deliberately blocking out Warrick, she dialed her mother’s number.
The phone was picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?”
She was right. Her mother was worried. “That’s not how you answer the phone, Mom,” she chided, struggling to keep her voice level, grateful that she had this minor distraction to cling to. “What if this was an obscene phone call?”
“I’d hand it to your father,” Diane said matter-of-factly. “And don’t talk to me about phone etiquette. You should have been home by now, or called earlier. Where are you?”
C.J. ran her hands along her forehead where the ache was forming. In Limbo, Mom. Halfway between heaven and hell. “We’re still in the Santa Barbara area. The storm’s really bad up here.”
As if to punctuate her statement, the wind picked up and rattled the windows and the door. It felt as if the breeze went right through the room. Mercifully, the rain didn’t.
“It’s no picnic here, either,” her mother told her. “It’s been coming down all afternoon and evening. So are you at a hotel?”
“Motel,” C.J. corrected.
“Not a sleazy one I hope.” C.J. looked around at the scarlet furnishings. “No, not sleazy.” This place was way beyond sleazy. On a scale of one to ten, it had fallen off the charts.
She heard her mother sigh with relief. “Good, I won’t have to worry about you driving back in this. Wait until the rain lets up,” Diane advised. “And don’t worry about the baby. She’s being a little fussy, but your father’s having a ball with her. He thinks Joy’s middle name should be Cynthia. What do you think?”
The only Cynthia she knew had stolen her boyfriend in college. The name did not hold pleasant memories. “We’ll pick names when I get back, Mom.”
Her mother sighed again, this time like a long-suffering saint. “Like I believe that. All right, she’s your daughter. Tell Byron I said hello.”
C.J. ran her tongue along her lips. It didn’t help. They were as dry as dust. “If I see him,” she murmured. “’Night mother. Kiss the baby for me.”
“Already have. Bye.”
She held the receiver a moment more, even though her mother was no longer on the other end.
When she finally hung up, Warrick was standing in front of her.
Tiny nerve endings all along her body came to life. Every single one of them was desperately telegraphing “Mayday” to her.
“Everything all right?” he asked. She had a strange look on her face. Maybe there was something wrong with the baby.
Nodding in slow motion, C.J. rose to her feet. She pushed the telephone back on the nightstand. She couldn’t think, couldn’t piece two thoughts together. She’d had one of the sharpest minds in her class at the Academy, and it was now the consistency of warm mutton.
“My mother says to say hi.” She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he answered softly.
Warrick slipped his hands around her waist.
She cleared her throat nervously. “I don’t suppose there’s anything on TV.” C.J. glanced over at the ancient console against the wall.
“Cable’s out,” he told her. “I checked.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t draw her eyes away from his face, from his mouth. “So now what do we do?” Each word found its way out slowly.
Her hair was curling around her head. He kind of liked that. “I thought maybe we could explore that kiss again.”
He hadn’t moved. How was it that he was closer to her than he’d been just a heartbeat ago? Or was she the one who was moving? “Do you think that’s wise?”
“No.” The admission was honest, skimming along her skin like a seduction. He brushed a wet curl aside, his lips lingering a moment on the curve of her neck. Sending shivers down her spine. “I’m not feeling very wise tonight.”
“Me, neither,” she murmured as she encircled her arms around his neck.
His lips found hers.
It was like an explosion. The instant his mouth made contact with hers, she felt as if all the stops had suddenly been pulled out. As if her entire body had launched into fourth gear without ever bothering to go through the other three.
As the storm continued to release its fury outside, another raged within the small room. Within her. All the safeguards, all the warnings she had so strictly issued to herself had been completely incinerated.
None of it mattered.
His mouth made all her thoughts, all her former protests null and void. Vaporizing them as if they’d never existed. The way he kissed her, tenderly, possessively, made her want to give herself to him without qualms, without reservations.
She just wanted him to make love with her.
To her.
They tumbled backward onto the bed, their lips still sealed to each other’s. The urgency inside of her scrambled wildly in her chest, not for higher ground but for fulfillment.
Warrick could feel his heart slamming against his ribs like a jackhammer gone out of control. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, of fragments, very few of which made any sense at all.
Thoughts gave way to a higher order. Sensations were traveling through him, memories of sweet things, erotic things, all brought on by the taste of her lips, the promise of her body.
He ran his hands over her, striving not to be rough, succeeding only marginally.
As he pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat and heard her breath quicken, he worked away at the buttons on her blouse. Reining himself in to keep from ripping them off.
Undone, the material parted. Very lightly he ran his fingers along her skin. It quivered beneath his touch. Something quickened in his belly, the sensation echoing in his loins.
Over and over again he caressed the soft contours of her body, f
inding, exploring. Claiming. Feasting. He couldn’t get enough. More just bred a desire for more. There was no end.
Warrick freed her from her blouse, tossing it aside. He pushed her back down against the lurid scarlet comforter, his mouth exploring the contours of her face, his fingers tugging away the straps of her bra.
One movement of his fingers and the barrier was gone. He covered her breasts with his hand, first one, then the other. The hairs along his arm gliding along her skin, making her twist and strain against him.
Her breasts were soft, tempting. Desire surged through him, hardening him further.
His hand was replaced by his mouth. It encircled each peak, his tongue lightly flicked against the small, hardening flesh.
C.J. moaned, arching, wanting. Her breath grew shorter. She undid his belt buckle, then the zipper on his pants, tugging the immediate material aside. She cupped him. He kissed her harder, making the flame grow.
She wiggled into him, pressing her body against his as he tugged away her skirt, leaving her in her underwear. Her heart was beating so hard she was having trouble breathing.
His hands were everywhere, caressing her, taking her. Heating her. Making her damp.
She tugged urgently on his pants, wanting to tear away the final barrier. “Damn it, get rid of them,” she cried in frustration when they wouldn’t go down any farther.
Rolling away from her, Warrick laughed softly, teasingly, his eyes devouring her body. She was nude except for the lacy next-to-nothing she still had on.
She was magnificent, he thought. Somehow, he’d always known she would be.
He kicked off his pants. “Your wish is my command.”
“Not hardly,” she countered as his mouth came down again on hers.
She tangled her fingers in the underwear he’d left on. It was small, covering just enough. Conservatively black. Somehow she’d known he wouldn’t wear boxers. It excited her.
Everything about him excited her.
She kicked the last of her own underwear away after he’d teased them slowly down her legs.
With a cry that was half victory, half surrender, she turned into him.
He kissed her lips, her chin, her throat, his hands massaging her body as he slowly worked his way downward, covering her belly, her navel, until he found the very core of her.
Her eyes flew open as the first shock wave hit, undulating all through her with a force that sucked away her ability to breathe.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders, trying to anchor herself to something before she was swept away. This was something new, something she’d never experienced before.
Her body continued to hum as he drew himself up along her, his skin rubbing over hers.
When he rolled his body onto hers, she summoned every last stitch of strength she had and moved quickly. Catching him off guard, she reversed their positions. He was looking up at her. There was surprise in his eyes. Good. She grinned at him.
“My turn,” she announced and proceeded to emulate the path he had taken on her body.
She succeeded royally in heightening both his arousal as well as her own. With each pass of her lips, each nip of her teeth, each teasing flick of her tongue, she could feel her excitement rising up to a fever pitch. Could feel him wanting her.
She felt triumphant.
She felt eager.
And then his hands were on her shoulders. Gently he dragged her up along his body until his eyes were level with hers.
“No more turns,” he told her, his voice low, deep. The promise in it penetrated her very being.
With a movement that was every bit as swift as her own had been, Warrick was suddenly over her, his body less than a breath away from hers. Tantalizing them both.
He laced his fingers with hers and entered.
Warrick felt her tightening around him instantly. He drove himself further into her. Her sharp intake of breath echoed in his mouth as he kissed her hard and with all the passion that had flowered within him.
The dance began, going ever faster with each second that passed. They were both master and prisoner of the other, all at the same time.
The dance brought them to a plane that was miles above anything either of them had ever imagined. Ever experienced.
With a cry C.J. arched against him, silently imploring him to bring the final climax before she died from wanting.
They moved faster and faster, each following the other, each inspiring the other.
The last crescendo came, sweeping them up and over the plateau they had discovered together. He thought she cried out his name; he wasn’t sure.
And when it was over, when the afterglow descended, embracing them with misty arms that held fast, he rolled off C.J. and then gathered her to him with his last ounce of energy.
He’d never felt so drained and so good before in his life.
Warrick had no idea what that meant, or what to make of it. Maybe he was feeling this way because it had been a while since he’d been with a woman.
He didn’t know.
All he knew was that he liked being here with this one. For now.
His arm tightened around her as he waited for the world to stop spinning around.
Chapter 10
He was watching her.
She looked so pretty, the way her long, blond hair swayed along her back when she walked. He’d heard someone call her Jackie, but they were wrong.
She was Claire. Claire had come back to him.
She had the same hair, the same eyes. The same smile. She was Claire no matter what they called her.
His Claire.
And he had to make her his again. Just like the last time. His so that that she couldn’t tell him to leave her alone, couldn’t call him a frog.
No, not a frog, a toad. That was it, a toad. She’d called him a toad, but he knew she didn’t mean it.
She was too pretty to be mean.
And she would smile at him when he gave her her present, he knew she would. A secret smile only he could see.
He put his hand into his pocket. The little pearls felt smooth and shiny beneath his fingers. He couldn’t wait to give it to her.
And when she wore it, she’d be his again.
Forever.
Just like the last time.
C.J. stirred. There was something heavy on her chest, something keeping her from drawing in a deep breath. Eyes still closed, she tried to push it away and realized that it was an arm. A man’s arm.
She pried her eyes open. Warrick.
C.J. sat bolt upright. “Oh, God.”
Warrick’s eyes flew open, instantly alert, scanning the immediate vicinity to see what had caused the exclamation that was echoing even now in his head.
And then he saw C.J. sitting up next to him, completely devoid of makeup, her hair rumpled. C.J. looking like the best thing he’d ever seen. The sheet she held against her exposed more than it hid.
The fight-or-flight tension left his body. Another tension, far more pleasant, entered, taking its place. He felt something stirring within him. Hunger for food took a back seat to a different, even more basic kind of hunger.
Last night returned to him in vivid shades that made the room’s decor pale in comparison.
“’Morning.” Propping himself up on his elbows, he lightly swept his fingers along her cheek, brushing back the hair that had fallen into her eyes.
Her heart again on double time, C.J. jerked her head away. Every single disastrous story about doomed relationships in the workplace filed by her in a snaking conga line that jolted her system. At the end of the line was her own dismal experience with Tom Thorndyke.
He’d been an FBI special agent, too.
What the hell had she been thinking last night?
That was just it, she hadn’t been thinking. Not for one second. What she’d been doing was feeling, always a bad move on her part.
“Yes,” she acknowledge testily, “it is.”
His rock-hard chest seemed to
be mocking her. In an effort to save herself, she glanced toward the window. The sun was pushing its way through the clouds like a merchant, late opening up his store, pushing his way through the gathered throng.
“The rain stopped,” she announced needlessly. “We can get going now.”
Warrick glanced at the wristwatch he never removed. It was almost seven. Seven on a Sunday morning. Even God rested on Sunday. He was in no mood to hit the road just yet. Far more enjoyable scenarios presented themselves to him than a three-hour road trip.
Maybe it was because he felt that once they left this room, this site of their unexpected aberration, they would go back to being partners. Partners and nothing more.
He wanted more.
Just within the confines of this gaudy room, he wanted more. He wanted to hold on to last night for just a little longer.
Was that too much to ask?
He slid light exploring fingers along C.J.’s bare back and saw her shiver in response. Saw her eyes flutter closed before springing open again.
“What’s your hurry?” His question sounded incredibly seductive.
Even as she stiffened, tiny sensations had begun marching through her body, picketing for a return to last night. There was no denying that it had been leagues beyond wonderful. But that was last night. In the light of day, things had to be different. Were different.
“Stop touching me,” she told him.
Slowly, seductively he withdrew his fingers. “Why?” He watched her face. “Because you don’t like it?”
She wanted to lie. It was easier that way. Easier for her, maybe even for him. But she couldn’t. Not even to save herself. Not to Warrick.
“Because I do like it.”
The smile that curved his lips was nothing short of sensual and worked its way instantly beneath her skin, heating it.
“I’m beginning to understand why your parents called you Christmas.” Warrick sat up, then pressed a single, soft kiss to her shoulder. Sending skyrockets launching through her. “Open the package and there’s something entirely different under the wrappings.” Lifting the hair away from her neck, he pressed another kiss there. C.J. felt herself losing ground. Rapidly. “You were quite a revelation last night.”
The Baby Mission Page 11