Though he was still kissing her as lightly as the brush of a feather, his eyes were closed. Risa wasn’t sure if she felt or heard the words, but somehow he said them.
“I can’t sleep on the couch.”
“I wasn’t going to make you.” Her mouth pulled into a smile, and his tongue darted out to trace the lower edge.
“You can’t sleep on the couch, either,” he protested, making her heart race.
“Then what should we do?” She was teasing him now, her mind made up. For a second, she worried. What if he just wanted to kiss her? What if he left her hanging, standing in her own living room, wanting him badly enough that she ached?
What if he decided he wanted her, but it was just a bad idea?
Could she convince him that didn’t matter? Because right now, it didn’t. Not at all.
His hands left her hips and she stiffened, afraid. But his fingertips traced the edges of her waist, up along her ribs. She felt the touch through the cotton of her blouse, and, as his fingers passed against the sides of her ribs, she wished he would take it off. She was about to reach for the buttons herself when his hands landed in her hair, squishing the springy curls she’d let loose tonight. He held her in place while his mouth plundered hers once. Twice. While she pushed against him, hoping he would understand that she wanted to do more than just want him.
He pulled back with a deep inhale as though he needed the oxygen. This time, he opened his eyes.
“Risa.” The gravel of his voice was deeper than usual as he waded through the tones. “I promise if I go home, I’ll be safe. But if you want me to stay, then know that I want to stay. But if I stay, I’m naked. You’re naked. And we’re doing this.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Risa reached out to him; it wasn’t a decision she made. Her body made it for her. The way this man made her feel with just a kiss? She wanted more. Much more.
Her mouth pulled up at one side as she realized he was waiting on her.
Though Ethan still held her head as though he might dive back at her at any moment, he was waiting. He held a small distance between them, as if that might give her enough space to make a sane decision.
She almost laughed. Sanity and rational thought were not part of this equation. She spent her days making sharp, reasoned decisions to save lives, property, pets, homes. But now? She couldn’t function for the haze of want and need around her. Decision made. Rational? Probably not.
So she didn’t think about the fact that he was a Special Agent with the FBI. She didn’t think about what had happened on her run last week. She didn’t think about all the reasons he was still in her sphere, in her home late at night with a few beers in him, and in the circle of her arms telling her that if he stayed they would both be naked.
“Then let’s get you out of these clothes,” Risa whispered into the space between them, as if she couldn’t say it directly to him.
The buttons on his shirt slipped between her fingers. Though she’d felt him touching her, she’d been concentrating on getting him naked without simply tearing the stitching on what was clearly a work shirt. But as she looked down, she saw that her own shirt hung open down the front, too.
Hers, however, revealed a lace bra in a shade the magazine had referred to as “cocoa.” Ethan’s open shirt revealed a plain white tank, and her face scrunched up at the unfairness of it. She’d been anticipating a fine set of abs. Undershirts were not okay.
“Please tell me there’s matching underwear,” he whispered against her skin.
A grin spread slowly across her face, and she pushed his dress shirt off his shoulders, watching it fall to the floor. Then she tapped the shoulder of his tank with one finger. “I’m not telling you anything until you get rid of this.”
He stepped back faster than she’d ever seen him move, reached over his head and pulled the shirt up and off. Her mouth watered as the white cotton slipped up his abs and revealed his chest, then finally his expression. There was no doubt this man wanted her as much as she wanted him.
The shirt remained clutched in his hand for a moment before he finally let it fall to the floor. His always well-pressed and cared-for clothing was in discarded heaps.
Risa smiled until he dove for her again. He devoured her, and she happily let him. Her shirt joined his, and she leaned into his touch. The lace of her bra was even sexier in his hands, the feel of it adding to the sensations as he traced her curves. There was nothing to be shy about, no chance to think she was anything less than perfect given the way he touched her.
He used his fingers and his mouth, tugged at the lace of her bra, and moaned that she was killing him.
It was mutual, she thought, as her own fingers traced along the muscles of his arms as she bit and sucked at his skin, which was pale against her own. She liked the contrasts of them. Him in office wear, and her usually in turnout gear. His red hair, soft under her fingers and rough along his jaw. Her tight curls that he liked sinking those long artist’s fingers into as he held her close so he could devour her. She could get used to this.
But that was a thought for another time. She felt his fingers slip under the waistband of her jeans and pop the snap. The zipper slid down with a hiss that mimicked the one that rose from her core to escape her mouth.
“Tell me these match that bra,” he demanded in words that were formed against her lips, as though he couldn’t even stop kissing her to check. His fingers reached down in and felt for the lace at her hips, then slid along the waistband of the—yes—matching underwear until he hit the back and realized it was a thong.
Not her most comfortable—or typical—underwear choice. Why had she worn a matching lace set today? She’d told herself lies—that it was because she wasn’t hauling gear and wiping soot off her face. That she wanted to feel feminine. Now she could admit it to herself. None of those things were wrong, but the real reason had been hope. She’d wanted to feel feminine when he saw them. She wanted him to feel her.
“Risa,” her name came out with a sigh and a hiss, as though he struggled for words at all. “You have to get out of these.”
Ethan began pushing her jeans down, his fingers clenching against her in his haste to get her naked. She was reaching for the button on his dress pants when it happened.
Her jeans hung up on the damned boot. She should have thought ahead. Risa sighed—not a good, needy sigh, but one of exasperation. “You get out of those pants, and I’ll take care of this.”
She saw him move his hands to finish the job she’d started, but he didn’t stop watching her. Ugh. Ripping open Velcro and revealing the sock she’d worn under the stupid boot was not sexy.
Ethan stepped out of his shoes as she bent over and tugged the first strap open. The sound cut through the heat, and she was afraid she would be left here, half-naked, needy, and alone. She watched as his pants hit the floor before she even managed to grasp the second strap, and she rotated away so he couldn’t see the stupid black sock or watch her pull and tug at the boot.
When she got it done, she felt it. The mood had cooled. Fuck! She’d wanted to…well, fuck. She’d peeled the sock and revealed a foot that looked like it had been in a boot for four days. Nothing she could do about it now. Turning back, she looked up at him and saw that the heat had not left his eyes, and she felt her own flare again.
“Did you purposefully stand there with your ass toward me? With that thong peeking out? Because that was very effective…”
She almost told him no, she hadn’t. But rather than ruin whatever credit he was giving her, she just smiled and shimmied out of the jeans. Now she was standing before him in her underwear, too. For the second time that night, she found herself reaching for his hand and tugging him along.
“Nope! No walking on that ankle!” he declared.
“I’ll be fi—” She was scooped up before she could even finish the sentence, her breath hitching as he held her, not in any fireman’s carry, but cradled against him. He was taking her down the hall
and toward her own bedroom, her skin pressed to his, her heart racing as he maneuvered through the doorway carefully enough to not bump her.
He didn’t even let her bounce on the bed, just gently set her down, letting her know how strong he was. Then he was over her, laying her out across the top of her comforter, their bodies pressed together. Their mouths fused as words fled the scene. His hands traced every part of her, making her gasp and sigh and communicate in a language they both understood.
She touched him, too—found out his chest was sensitive, and that his mouth would open and he couldn’t breathe when she wrapped her hand around his length. She stroked him until he managed the only word between them.
“Condom?”
She could only point to the drawer. Without taking his eyes off her or letting her out of the protective cocoon he made around her, he pulled the drawer open and fished through her graduation card from her parents, the check she’d never cashed from her grandmother who couldn’t afford the lavish birthday money she sent, a scrap of lace from her oldest brother’s wedding…and found the condoms she was praying didn’t expire in their first year.
Then he was naked, and though she reached for the clasp on her bra, he pushed her hands away. Though she was needy and wanted to rush him, he took his time removing the final bits of clothing she wore. He worshiped her, and she let him.
When at last she was fully naked, she was writhing under his touch, wet and ready, begging him to make love to her. He whispered to her to wait. To have patience.
She didn’t.
She begged.
He whispered to her, “Now?”
“Now, Ethan. Now!” she demanded and felt him push inside her.
That was when his words—his sweet demands that she wait for him, that he wanted to touch her—turned dirty. He whispered in her ear how she felt around him. Between groans, both his and hers, he told her to move her leg, to arch her back, to let him lick and suck at her, to push against him, to move them deeper.
She wasn’t sure if it was the sweetly dirty words that drove her to the edge or the feeling of him driving into her, but either way, she was screaming his name as she tumbled over.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Risa awoke the next morning to an empty bed. As she looked up at the ceiling, suddenly awake, a chill settled around her heart. She sat up stiffly, hoping against hope to see Ethan next to her, though she already knew he wasn’t there. She saw only her dark skin, fingers splayed against sheets where Ethan had slept the night before. The sunny yellow color looked a little less bright this morning.
Her thinking was still scrambled. There’d been moments when she thought her brains were going to come out her ears. There were other moments when she was certain they had disturbed her neighbors. And there had been more moments than she wished to admit when she’d felt her heart tumbling, changing whatever this was from a crush and a need into something more, something deeper.
Clearly, the same things had not happened for Ethan.
Maybe this whole thing was a misunderstanding. She’d suggested he stay over, and he’d thought she meant in her bed. Of course, that was eventually where he’d stayed. He’d asked later if she wanted to do this again. Risa had thought he meant go out. Like on a date. He’d meant sex, right then. And of course, she’d ended up doing exactly that.
They’d both been exhausted afterwards, and Ethan had fallen asleep just before she did. So, unless he managed to completely fake it and sneak out immediately, he’d slept here. But she’d been tired enough that she’d slept like the dead beside him. Somewhere in her own bliss she’d managed to miss that the man beside her had gotten up and left.
The fear settled in. Great, she thought. That was the last thing I needed, falling hard for a guy just as he realized she wasn’t what he wanted after all.
Never mind that he’d been the one to make the first move. The man had a few beers at dinner, and though he wasn’t drunk, it was more than she was willing to put behind the wheel of a car. However, she hadn’t intended to fuck him to make him stay.
Maybe he didn’t regret last night so much as he’d simply decided the sex part was done, so they were, too. Risa sighed and flopped back on the bed. This part sucked.
Slowly, she talked herself down. She was being unreasonable. Maybe he was in the bathroom or the kitchen. Risa told herself it was a real possibility that he was still here, even though the apartment had that feeling it had when she was the only one in it. Standing up, she pulled on socks, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and began checking around.
In the living room, it became clear she was alone. She’d limped past the bathroom—empty. And the kitchen—empty. Since it was basically the same room as the living room, she was done. Ethan was gone.
His clothing was missing from the floor, though hers was still in crumples in random spots. It looked like she’d just decided to peel her clothing—and her boot—and leave them where they fell, even though the rest of the apartment reflected a relatively neat demeanor. If she was being honest, the mess looked like exactly what it was: two people had gotten their groove on, and one of them had cleared out before the other knew about it.
She limped over and pulled the boot over the socks she’d put on. She was uneven, the boot making her left leg longer than her right. But she didn’t go back into her room for a shoe. The strange gait fit her mood.
Risa told herself another lie: that he’d likely left a note. He seemed like the kind of guy who would have at least left a note. She hobbled around and checked beside the bed, then in the bathroom, and at last, around the kitchen and on the coffee table. She quickly ran out of options. There was nothing. The man hadn’t even helped himself to a cup of coffee before he’d left.
In fact, as she looked around, there wasn’t much sign that Ethan Eames had been here at all. He’d managed to do up all the locks that he could pull shut behind him, but the bolts weren’t turned. Ethan had been here, and he’d locked himself out, letting her know he didn’t intend to come back.
He left one of her kitchen chairs positioned ever-so-slightly in front of the door. If anyone came in that way, they would run into the chair. It wouldn’t be enough to stop someone from breaking in, but it would at least make enough noise to wake her up.
She wondered if it was thoughtful or simply something he did automatically. She frowned. The chair was quite close to the door. He had to have dragged it along, shimmied out the door, and then locked it behind him, knowing the chair would stay there. She wondered if they taught that at the FBI, and she wondered what Ethan might be thinking this morning.
Shit, her phone! Surely, he’d texted her. Why would he leave a note when he could leave a message and she could return it? Risa fetched it from her purse, an almost-smile on her face. But the smile faded as she saw that there was, again, nothing waiting. Not from Ethan.
Leah, on the other hand, had texted to see if she wanted to go to lunch. Risa instantly decided she needed to get her mind off the horrible mistake she’d made last night and promptly accepted. Maybe seeing Leah would shift her thoughts to something more pleasant.
Maybe she could erase whatever it was in the way he’d looked at her, or the way he’d touched her, or the words he’d said, that made her fall harder. Because right now, she was just angry. But as she reached up to turn the bolt, she saw that the piece had come loose, and she frowned at it as her heart kicked.
It looked like someone had tried to get in.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ethan sat at his desk, his fourth cup of coffee beside him, only this one somehow remained untouched. He’d downed the other three fast enough to burn his throat, but he was only nursing this last one.
He stared at the new paperwork on his desk, and it stared back at him. Another body had been found, written up, and the report placed on his desk. It called him incompetent and reminded him this was why the FBI had stuck him in Dark Falls in the first place. Sure, he should be the lone agent inserted into the police
department to see if maybe they needed a branch office, he thought sarcastically. Had he not been here when these things came up, the FBI would’ve sent an agent or a pair of agents in to investigate the case. Denver was close enough, he thought. Did he need to be here? Jesus. He did not.
Forcing himself to drink the coffee, he swallowed some just for something normal to do. Only this time it didn’t burn his throat; it had already gone lukewarm while he’d been staring at the paperwork.
He’d thought he would never live down Florida, and now he realized he was never going to live down Dark Falls, either. The report on his desk contained photographs of the skeleton of a young girl. The body had become partially exposed through the rains from the other week. He suspected the body belonged to Missy Harrison, who’d gone missing twenty years ago. He wouldn’t know for sure until further testing came through because it was impossible to determine gender with skeletal remains of children without DNA testing. But one of the local police had suggested the name—an older officer who’d worked the original case when Missy and her friend went missing.
Ethan wasn’t sure if the recommendation was off evidence or hope. They all had an old case they’d like to close before they retired. Either way, Ethan had managed to wake up his friendly local forensic scientist, Grace Lee. At least she understood waking up to ID a body, and she’d helped get Kaylee Schulte safely examined. So, she was familiar with this case, as it were.
Grace had immediately pulled some of Missy Harrison’s dental records and was currently in the morgue with the remains, taking X-rays to see if she could match them. The strong feeling in Ethan’s gut said she would.
The problem was: were the two cases related? This body clearly belonged to a child, clearly a child who’d gone missing and whose body had somehow wound up in the woods.
Dark Echoes: (Dark Falls, CO Romantic Thriller Book 7) Page 10