More than anything, Rusty didn’t want to take her like some rutting animal. He wanted this to be wonderful for her. For him. Yet it took every fiber of his being to prolong the process, especially when she seemed so very willing to bring him to a swift climax if only he would do the same for her.
Her hands tore at his clothes, pulling them urgently from his body as her body twisted and turned beneath his. A silent invitation was issued with each movement. Pure temptation. But there was nothing pure about the feelings he was having.
To prolong Dakota’s pleasure, he teased her out of her clothes, first her blouse, then her jeans, although he wasn’t sure just where he found the strength to hold back. When he pulled off her undergarments, his breathing quickened. Only his pulse outraced it.
Her unadorned body was just the way he’d envisioned it. Perfect. Skin like warm cream with just the vaguest touch of Kahlúa to it to give it vibrant color.
Unable to help himself, feeling as if he was in the presence of something truly wondrous, he feasted on Dakota’s skin. Rusty kissed every inch of her body and gloried in the way she moved and moaned beneath him.
His body pulsed, begging for the final moment.
But she had begged him to make her forget, and he was bound and determined to keep his silent promise to her, just as he was going to keep the one he had uttered.
He wanted, most of all, to minimize the regret he knew she would feel once the urgency, the need to not think, had left her. He wanted her pleasure to outweigh any feelings of remorse. Or at least to balance it out.
Dakota could feel his mouth questing over her body. And then she could hardly catch her breath as he suddenly swept her over the first huge crest. The explosion rocked her body so that she heard herself whimpering.
Before she could reach for him, to attempt to match him sensation for sensation, another climax, different from the first, took her. And then, a delicious eternity later, when it faded, leaving her exhausted, she fell back, too limp to move.
Or so she thought until he began weaving the frantic magic around her again.
Usually she was the one who conjured, who was versed in the ins and outs of creating the ultimate pleasure. The lovers she’d had had come to her with preconceived notions of what a woman like her could do, and all she needed was to put only a part of herself into the act and that was enough for them.
But this time she was not the active force, the dominant one. This gentle, caring man who was determined to vanquish her despair, was playing her body as if she were some instrument that he had been dedicated to studying.
As his lips trailed toward her belly, Dakota caught his face with both her hands and dragged Rusty’s mouth back up to hers.
“Now,” she implored, or maybe only thought that she did. Maybe the word had only echoed in her head.
She felt Rusty’s smile as it moved along his lips, felt it infiltrate her body as he brought his mouth to hers. Her body moved urgently beneath his, sealing both their fates.
“You are beautiful,” he groaned.
“Talk is cheap,” she rasped against his mouth. “I’m from Missouri. Show me.”
She raised her hips to his in silent invitation. He gathered her against him as he slid into her. Linking them together for all time.
He began to move.
Dakota sank her nails into his back as the movements increased in tempo. He moved faster and faster, his eyes on hers, bringing them both to where they needed and wanted to be.
The rush began to take hold of her. Dakota wrapped her legs around his, pulling him further into her, never wanting the moment to end.
The moment came and Dakota held her breath as she absorbed it. The surge made her cry out his name against his mouth.
Rusty felt the euphoria grab hold of him and tighten its fingers around him, just as Dakota tightened her legs around his.
He wanted to freeze time and hold this moment in the palm of his hand forever. Or at least to brand it upon his brain. He knew he wouldn’t forget it for a long, long time.
Gently rolling off her, he gathered Dakota to him and held her as closely, as tightly, as he dared. She curled against him like a child seeking shelter from a storm. He felt something stir within him again, but this time he knew it wasn’t just desire.
Rusty kissed the top of her head, a feeling of intimacy filling every small space within him. He knew he had no right to it, to this feeling. That what had happened here was just an isolated episode between two people who needed each other. But for the moment, he allowed himself to enjoy it while it lasted.
He loved the smell of her hair, he realized, the light scent of floral shampoo teasing his senses. Damn, but he could so easily grow accustomed to this feeling.
“Are you all right?” he murmured against her hair.
There was a haze clouding her brain, and a small blanket of contentment she was trying valiantly to hold to her. Contentment of the sort that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
She turned her face toward his, certain she hadn’t heard correctly.
“What?”
“Are you all right?” he repeated. He looked down at her face, resisting the desire to kiss her again. He didn’t want her to think that this was only about sex, even though the urgency was beginning to rise within him again. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Hurt me?” Was he actually worried about how she felt? That he’d been too rough with her at the end? The idea stunned her. She’d never had a man concerned about hurting her before. Or even worried about her feelings. Even Vincent had been a lot more interested in reaching his own climax than in her mutual enjoyment, much less worried that she’d somehow suffered because of it. “How?”
Though he was gregarious, Rusty knew he didn’t have a knack for wording things well when he most wanted to. When his heart was involved.
He tried again, lightly toying with the wisps of stray hair at her temple. “I mean, I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
Was he serious? He’d been so gentle, she’d wanted to scream, “Faster.” Dakota had trouble suppressing a laugh. “No, you weren’t too rough.”
Was her voice quavering? Was she trying to hold back a sob?
“Look, I know you’re going to regret this.” He searched for the right words. In lieu of them, he told her what was in his heart. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never done this before.”
Dakota couldn’t resist going for the obvious interpretation and teasing him. This felt so different from all the other times she’d made love. She felt almost instantly comfortable.
There was a danger in that, in allowing herself to relax, and she knew it, but she’d explore it all later, when the contentment faded.
For now she just wanted to be able to enjoy it. It was little enough to ask.
“You’ve never slept with a woman?” Her fingers swept over his chest, lightly outlining the hard pectoral muscles. She felt them tighten beneath her touch. “For a first-timer, you were very, very good.”
“No. I mean, I don’t sleep with clients.” Rusty knew she knew he hadn’t meant that he’d never slept with a woman before and that she was just enjoying herself. Still, he couldn’t help voicing the question that rose to his lips. “How was I as someone who wasn’t a first-timer?”
She smiled, her eyes crinkling, her body feeling incredibly mellow. There was no need to stretch the truth here. “Very, very good.”
Her low, husky voice tantalized him. Aroused him. He traced her smile with his fingertips, wanting her so badly he felt his breath being stolen away. “That looks nice on you.”
“What does?” she breathed, lightly kissing each of his fingers as they passed her lips. She saw desire flare in his eyes and felt a measure of triumph. And more than a little stirred.
“A smile. Makes you look softer, less ready for a fight.”
She liked his honesty. Found it sexy. Found him even more so. She ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. Tasting him. Wanting him.
&nbs
p; “I don’t feel much like fighting right now.”
He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down into her face. “What do you feel like doing?”
She moved closer to him, turning her body so that it tantalized his again. “Guess.”
He tasted the smile he’d touted only moments ago as he kissed her again with all the passion he felt.
Chapter 13
The place beside him on the bed was empty. The sensation of warm emptiness registered quickly, banishing the formless haze that sleep had brought with it. Instantly alert because of the change, Rusty opened his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbow.
He saw her standing by the bureau, slipping into her shoes. He took a second to admire the graceful curve of her legs, the same legs that had been wrapped around him hours earlier.
The ray of euphoria created by the memory made him smile. “Good morning.”
The sound of his voice surprised her. She’d thought he was asleep, which was why she’d hurried into her clothes rather than linger the way she wanted to. If she’d lingered beside him, temptation might have gotten the better of her. And that would be a bad thing.
The light of day shone on her mistake. Last night shouldn’t have happened. But it had and she had to make the best of it.
Dakota didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Straightening her blouse, she glanced at his reflection in the mirror rather than turn around and face him. “We have to get moving.”
He took his cue from her voice and from her rigid body language. Somehow, they had returned to the first square they had ever occupied. Scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to engage his brain, he looked out the window. Daylight had made its appearance.
“What time is it?”
“Almost seven.” Still using the mirror as a buffer, she felt her heart quicken at the sight of his body as he got out of bed.
Stop it, damn it. What the hell’s wrong with you? He’s just a man.
The silent, stern upbraiding echoed in her brain. The latter, however, wasn’t quite the master of her body just yet. But she’d work on it. She knew better than to let herself be sidetracked this way.
Dakota stared at a cracked corner of the mirror, deliberately averting her eyes from the heart-stopping specimen of unselfconscious, naked manliness reflected in front of her and existing behind her. She pressed her fingers into the bureau surface until she could feel the imprint of the years of accumulated scars beneath them.
Move.
She grabbed the brush she’d hastily thrown into her purse and began to pull it through her hair with more feeling than skill. She heard the rustling of sheets, like someone looking for his clothes. Her cheeks felt warmer, threatening to turn a deep shade of pink.
She had to set things straight.
“Look, I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about last night.” Her tone was detached. “I mean, it was nice, but it didn’t mean anything.”
Her words were like tiny razors, slashing away at him, trying to score a flesh wound. “You can only speak for yourself.”
Checking in the mirror to assure herself that he at least had his jeans on, she swung around to face the man who had all but stopped the world for her last night. But things happened in the night, she told herself, that couldn’t stand up to the light of day.
“Right, and from experience.”
He said nothing for a long moment as he studied her face, her eyes. And then Rusty smiled ever so slightly. “I don’t think you’ve run up against anyone like me before.”
Her chin shot up and she gave him the best haughty look she had in her arsenal. “That’s rather vain, don’t you think?”
“No, just truthful.” Finding his shirt, the one with the cable company’s logo stitched over the pocket, he shrugged into it. “And observant.”
They looked like mismatched characters out of some bizarre play, she thought. His outfit mirrored hers. Part of the charade they were trying to perpetuate. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He looked at her significantly, wishing that he could read her thoughts and in the process erase all the bad things that had scarred her. “If you’d run into men who treated you like you were something other than an incredibly beautiful woman, you wouldn’t react this way now.”
Exasperation flared. How dare he stand there, analyzing her? He was just handing her a line, anyway. All men did.
She wasn’t about to waste any more time discussing this. Not now while her baby needed her. Not ever, she amended. She tossed the brush onto the bureau. “Let’s go. We can get something to eat on the way.”
Rusty tucked in his shirt. Maybe it was best if things just simmered awhile. Last night had been too hot for things not to cool down a bit, at least marginally. No woman had ever made him feel like a volcano before, about to erupt over and over again. He needed to put a few things into perspective himself.
Opening the door, he gestured her out. “After you.”
Dakota said nothing as she passed him.
They drove the cable truck to a place not too far from where they had previously parked it. Rusty felt that the slight switch was just enough to not arouse suspicion. Repairs on cable lines were known to go on for a matter of days, if necessary, to eradicate any problems in a system. The lines in this area, Rusty had been briefed, were old and all needed replacing. The cable company’s budget didn’t allow for wholesale renovation, so repairs were made as the need arose.
At most he figured that gave them another two days to find a clue as to Vinny’s actual whereabouts. He needn’t have bothered with his calculations.
Holding up the two bags of fast-food breakfast they’d picked up on the way, he gave Dakota her choice. “You want your indigestion fast, or slow?”
“Fast. I like to get things over with.”
He smiled, handing her the left bag. “That wasn’t the impression I got last night, at least, not the second time around.”
Her eyes darkened. “I told you—”
Suddenly the truck’s rear doors were yanked open, revealing blinding sunlight. And a handgun.
“Andreini,” Dakota shouted as light bounced off the silver muzzle of the weapon held by a man who all but filled the entire space. Because the sun was directly behind him, it was almost impossible to see anything else.
She didn’t have to see. She knew.
Dakota dove for the front of the vehicle and the door on the driver’s side, knowing only that she had to escape. She was vaguely aware that Rusty had swung around and thrown his body between her and the gunman, pushing her forward.
She scrambled over the seat and swung open the driver’s door. The next second she was plowing into another dark-suited gunman, his bulk terminating any hope of flight. She winced and stifled a yelp as he grabbed her wrist, swallowing it up in his beefy hand.
Twisting it, the gunman shoved her back inside. Dakota rammed her knee on the seat as she stumbled down beside Rusty. He caught her to keep her from falling.
“Hey, look, buddy, I don’t know who you are, but we’re supposed to be here.” Rusty began to reach for the clipboard on the floor with its doctored work orders that Megan had e-mailed him. He pulled his hand back just in time. The giant in the black suit at the rear door shot a hole through the board, and most likely, through the floor of the vehicle, as well.
“You reach for one more thing, punk, and it’s the last thing you’ll ever reach for.” The gunman waved the recently fired gun at them. “Now get out of the damn truck.”
Dakota was too frustrated and too angry to be afraid. There was fury in her eyes as she pulled back from the beefy hand that was about to drag her out of the vehicle.
“I can walk on my own,” she spat.
The man laughed. The sound was far from friendly. It sent shivers down her spine. “You must have been one handful for Vincent Junior.”
She resented the familiarity in the man’s voice, resented his saying anything about the man who had touched her life. “You’re not f
it to say his name.”
“Dakota, keep your mouth shut if you want to keep on breathing long enough to see your son,” Rusty told her sharply.
She looked at Rusty in surprise.
“I’d listen to the man if I were you. He’s making sense,” the man who’d fired at the clipboard said, stepping back to allow them both to leave the truck.
Her immediate reaction was to shout at Rusty that he should keep his own mouth shut, but she knew he was right. He was just trying to keep the situation as defused as possible. Going off like a Roman candle wasn’t going to help anyone, least of all Vinny.
It took all of her willpower, but she pressed her lips together and raised her arms the way the other gunman ordered. She got out of the truck, followed closely by Rusty. The second henchman brought up the rear.
“This way,” the first man said. “But then, you already know that, don’t you, hot stuff?”
Too bad looks couldn’t kill, Dakota thought. The one Andreini gave the man would have more than done the trick.
Guns at their backs, Dakota and Rusty were herded down the hill like wayward cattle.
“Not exactly the way I pictured this,” she hissed to Rusty.
“Give it time,” he responded under his breath, “it’s early.”
“Hey, you two,” the first gunman warned, “shut up.”
“We’re shutting,” Rusty assured him amiably.
Dakota sneered. “My hero.”
“Eventually,” was all Rusty said in reply.
She should live so long, Dakota thought angrily.
A tall, thin man was waiting inside the mansion to open the door and let them in. It was obvious to Rusty that the henchman with the happy trigger finger had called ahead. Rusty recognized the thin man from the day before, when he’d brought in the groceries.
“I see they promoted you to the front,” Rusty commented mildly as he passed him. “You were guarding the rear door yesterday, weren’t you?”
The man scowled, his dark, bushy eyebrows forming a single, hairy line over his intense blue eyes.
“Knew you were a phony. No more deliveries to make?” the man jeered as he stuck his face into Rusty’s. Closing the door, he gave Rusty a shove that propelled him into the foyer. “Get moving.”
Heart of a Hero Page 15