by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
It seemed an age before Roger’s gaze cut to her. He gave her what might have once passed for a smile if not for the misery in it, and then he and his little entourage moved on.
‘You do think it was Roger who took those sapphires, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Tristan.
‘What would the police do if they caught him?’
‘Arrest him. Send him to court.’
‘What would the court do?’
‘Send him to prison.’
‘What would you do?’
‘I just did it.’
‘Leaned on him? Is that what that look between you was about?’
‘No,’ he said, his lips tilting ever so slightly. ‘You’d know it if I decided to lean on someone.’
‘Well, what was it about?’
‘Recognition. It was about knowing what he was. Maybe even knowing why he was doing it. And letting it go. Mrs Wal herself doesn’t want to follow through on this one, Erin. And neither do I.’
She stared at him solemnly. Saw the strength there and the compassion. And without any thought for an audience of strangers she put her hand to his cheek and kissed him softly on the lips. Not passion, not this time. This was something else.
‘What was that for?’ His sudden stillness was disconcerting; those glorious amber eyes of his were intent.
‘For doing what you do,’ she said. ‘For being the man you are.’ And because she was in love with him.
Erin paid for their meal. Paid for their drinks and Tristan let her. It was written in the stars, she’d told him loftily. Besides, she’d said next, it was either that or a tiger-eye signet ring.
She twisted him with words, spun him into knots. And with laughter on her lips and wisdom in her eyes, spun him round again.
Work talk, when he never talked about his work with anyone.
Encouraging him to buy another old car wreck. What the hell was he going to do with two of them? He didn’t even know what he was going to do with one.
Rock climbing! Enough said.
‘What time do you want to get up in the morning?’ she asked him as they headed for the car.
‘No more sapphires?’ he asked gruffly. She’d kissed him gently in the pub and stopped his heart.
‘No,’ she said solemnly. ‘I have everything I need now as far as making jewellery is concerned. We can go home. We could have an early night, get up in the morning, and drive back to Sydney.’
She’d looked at him with pride and something else and he’d damn near wept.
He made it to the car, to the door of his motel room before he stopped her. He thought it showed a remarkable degree of restraint. ‘I have nothing to give you,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not what you want.’ And still he reached for her.
‘I know,’ she said. And still she came.
Tender, he could be that, at least for a little while as he pressed his lips to hers. Slow and easy as he gave her every chance to pull back while she still could. While he could still let her. ‘I don’t know where I’ll be in a month’s time or what I’ll be doing. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She punctuated her words with a nip to his bottom lip and desire ripped through him, fierce and needy. He wanted to be in control. Needed to think that he could be. His words were meant to keep her at bay. To keep them both safe, and she was playing the game, heaven help him she was. He found the frantic pulse at the base of her neck with his lips and nipped with his teeth, darkly pleased when she gasped and arched into him. Maybe he did want to hurt her, just a little bit. Maybe he wanted her burning up for him the way he burned for her. Filling him, dammit, with everything that she was.
Her eyes were dark and fey as she pulled his head back to stare up at him. ‘I won’t ask you for tomorrow, Tristan. Nothing you don’t want. But I will ask something of you tonight.’
‘What is it?’
‘When we’re making love…When I’m wrapped around you and I can’t feel anything but you inside of me, can’t see anyone but you above me…don’t you dare try to control it. Don’t you dare hold back.’
‘God!’ he muttered.
He managed to get the door open, managed to get her inside before he pushed her back against the wall and savaged her mouth. He was undone, he couldn’t think. There was nothing but Erin and his need to have her and it was overwhelming. The room was in darkness once he’d slammed the door shut but he didn’t reach for the light switch. He wanted it dark as he hiked up her dress with greedy hands and ripped the thin, lacy barrier of her panties aside. Her hands were at his T-shirt, pushing it up his chest, and then it was off, and her lips were at the base of his neck and moving lower. He freed himself, lifted her against the wall and her legs came around him and he cursed her, cursed himself, and then the gods for good measure as he slammed into her where they stood.
She cried out when he entered her, not in shock but in sheer outrageous pleasure. She was ready for him, had always been ready for him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as sensation piled in on her and she surrendered to wherever he wanted to take her. Wherever he wanted to go.
Harder, he drove her there and she met him thrust for vicious thrust. Deeper, she took him there, darkly delighted when he cursed again, even as his hands curved around her thighs and he positioned her for still more. He was greedy and desperate and he was all that mattered. All she’d ever wanted.
She thrust her hands in his hair, she wanted to see his face, and caught her breath when she did because he wasn’t in control. She was his and he was lost. Mindlessly, magnificently lost. And then his mouth was on hers again, hot and wild as he took her higher and higher still, took her to the very edge of pleasure. And tipped her over.
She was like quicksilver. Gloriously, unashamedly wanton as she came apart in his arms and there was nothing for it but to follow her. Nothing he could do but pour himself into her, over and over, as he found his own pulsing release. He felt her go limp in his arms. Felt himself tremble as he slapped his hand against the wall for balance. She was breathing hard and shuddering in the aftermath. So was he. ‘God, I hope that was what you had in mind,’ he muttered.
Her smile was shaky, but it was there. ‘It was perfect.’
‘Good.’ Because he wanted more.
Chapter Eight
THEY made it to the bed this time and Tristan was careful with Erin as he tugged the cover aside and lowered her onto the sheets. ‘I don’t know whether to get you out of that dress or not.’ He came down on the bed beside her, leaning on one elbow to look at her. ‘You look so incredibly wanton in it.’ It would have to come off, of course, but for now…for now he thought he might be able to move a little slower if she left it on.
He needed to touch her this time and to linger. He needed to show her that he could be careful with a woman. That he knew tenderness as well as insatiable need. He wanted light this time too, and the dim glow of the bedside lamp was just enough. He needed to see her eyes.
‘I could keep it on a while longer, I guess.’ Her eyes were dark and full of lazy satisfaction. ‘But sooner or later it’s going to come off. You know that, don’t you?’
He knew.
‘I want your skin against mine. All of it.’
‘You’ll have it,’ he muttered, for he could deny her nothing. ‘Later.’ He slid his hand beneath her dress and trailed it up her body, and everywhere he touched he drew a response. A gasp, a shudder, a plea. And then he slowly brought his hand down to where she was hot and wet and open for him.
He knew how to pleasure a woman, thought Erin hazily as he found her with his fingers. Knew exactly how to please her as his lips found the curve of her jaw and his fingers worked their magic. Too much, too soon, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was his. Utterly and irrevocably his, to do with what he wished, and if that meant he wanted her to come for him again with nothing but the stroke of his fingers and a layer of clothing between them then she would. Again and again and again.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t try and change his focus somewhat.
She put her hand over his and arched into both, and then she was trailing her fingers up his arm, revelling in the contrast of silky skin over hard, hard muscle. His was a warrior’s body, tough and lean, and she couldn’t get enough of it. Couldn’t resist tracing the sculpted contours of his chest, and all the time he was playing her with his hands. Playing her to perfection.
She felt the heat rising through her, felt her breath quicken, and resisted. Not yet, not like this. She wanted…more. She slid her hand to his shoulders, to the nape of his neck, and then she was drawing him towards her. She wanted his lips on hers, and then they were and it was so much more than she’d ever dreamed of. He was all darkness and heat and his mouth took her so deep, so fast, that she came apart in his arms for the second time that night. And cursed him in the aftermath.
‘What was that for?’ He was half indignant and wholly amused. ‘Shouldn’t you be thanking me?’
‘Thank you,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Now can I take my dress off?’
‘No. I’m trying to show you a little consideration here. Slow things down. You’re not co-operating.’
She started to laugh. ‘Kiss me less. Touch me less. That might help.’
‘Not sure that’s possible. I’m thinking of kissing you more. Stand up.’
‘I know that’s not possible.’ But she did it anyway and stood there before him in a crumpled blue dress with an ache for this deep, brooding man that she knew now would never fade. He came to her then, circled her like a hawk, with an eye to weakness, but the only weakness was her heart and that was in strong hands already. His hands. She lifted her chin high as he looked his fill and then he was behind her, his fingers barely brushing her skin as he found the zipper of her dress and slowly drew it down. He smoothed the straps from her shoulders next and then the dress was gone, pooled in a puddle at her feet and she was naked. ‘Finally.’
‘You know, maybe you shouldn’t talk at all,’ he said. ‘Comments like that could make a man want to rush things.’ He punctuated his words with a feather-light kiss to the sensitive curve of her neck. Maybe he had a point. He could be gentle when he wanted to be, she thought, and trembled when he ran his fingertips slowly down her spine and over her behind. And then he was in front of her, shucking off his trousers and then they were both naked and he was drawing her closer, skin on skin, and his mouth came down on hers, dreamy and magical as he took the time to savour her.
She gave too much, he thought, when he thought at all. So warm, so smooth in his arms as he took the time, this time, to learn what she liked. His lips at her collar-bone made her tremble. Trailing a finger across her breast and over her tight little nipple made her gasp. She copied his movements exactly, tracing her fingers over his nipple and letting them linger and he gasped. And then, with a wicked little smile, she took his nipple in her mouth and he almost lost his mind. Again.
So generous, too generous, and her laughter was dark and damning as he tumbled her onto the bed, coming down over her, all thought of tenderness forgotten as passion roared through him. He couldn’t get enough of her, the taste of her skin, the scent of her, her slightness and her strength. She was fearless, and fascinating, and, heaven help them both, she held nothing back, offering him whatever he wanted, and he wanted it all.
He took her breast with his mouth and she screamed her approval. Set his lips to her waist and she jackknifed in his arms as if she’d been shot.
‘Hurry,’ she said, but he was already there, pinning her to the bed and dragging her hands above her head even as her legs came around him and he buried himself inside her. ‘Tristan, please…’ Her eyes were wild with need, her body taut with it. ‘I can’t wait—’
‘Yes, you can,’ he commanded. ‘Look at me.’ He brushed her lips with his. ‘Feel me.’ He kissed her again and felt his control slip away. ‘Come with me,’ he whispered, and, locking eyes with her, he began to move.
Tristan dreamt of the dockyards of Prague and a night that was rife with despair. A thick mist eddied around his feet and the air was sharp with salt and the unmistakable scent of death. Anguish rolled over him like a wave, spinning him round, working him over, and he turned away abruptly. He’d waited too long.
‘No.’ Shudders racked his body, even as he clenched his fists and willed himself to stop. To make his face impassive as he watched the team from the coroner’s office bag the last of the bodies. He was a cop. He knew the depths humanity could sink to. But he’d never seen the likes of this.
The drone of a ship horn melded with another sound, an inarticulate cry of anger and grief. The sound was close; it might have come from him; he didn’t know.
‘Shh.’ There was another voice in this nightmare, a different voice, and it was Erin, smoothing his hair from his face with gentle fingers as she leaned over him. ‘It’s all right. It’s just a dream.’
‘No.’ He was still caught in sleep but it wasn’t a dream. That much he did know.
‘It’s all right,’ she murmured, and put her palm to his heart as if to stem the frantic beating of it.
He reached for her, gathered her close and drew a deep and ragged breath, breathing her in, the warm, feminine scent of her that chased away the memory of a raw and fetid stench. ‘Erin, they’re dead,’ he said hoarsely. ‘They’re all dead. I was too late.’
‘Shh.’ Her arms came around him tightly, protectively. ‘It’s all right now. It’s over.’ He felt her lips in his hair as she cradled him into her body and it was shelter from the darkness and the home he’d never found. ‘I’ve got you,’ she whispered.
With a shuddering sigh, Tristan slept.
Chapter Nine
TRISTAN woke with the dawn the following morning, took one look at the sleeping woman curled into his side with her head on his shoulder and a hand on his heart, and felt a fear so big and overwhelming that he simply had to escape. He dressed fast and silently and hightailed it out of that room as if a horde of demons were after him. She gave too much. And he who’d spent a lifetime never taking too much had taken it all.
He’d dreamed last night; at least he thought he had. The same nightmare, only this time he hadn’t woken in a sweat. He’d slipped out of it somehow and that was Erin’s doing; he knew it instinctively, even if he couldn’t remember how it had happened.
Not love. He repeated it to himself fiercely as he took to the sidewalk and headed towards the town centre. Never that. As he replayed last night’s events over and over in his mind.
And knew himself for a liar.
When Erin woke the following morning she was in Tristan’s motel room in Tristan’s bed. Alone. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the dreary grey ceiling, not sure if she was grateful for the solitude or hurt by it. Making love with Tristan had been more than she’d ever dreamed of. Wilder, faster, more intense than anything she’d ever known. More…everything. She stretched experimentally and felt her body protest. Her body ached because of him, and damned if it didn’t still ache for him, even after last night.
Especially after last night.
Clothes. She found her dress by the bed, her shoes and panties over by the door. Right where she’d left them. There was no sign of Tristan’s clothes, although his carryall was still there. No sign of Tristan either. She needed a shower. Didn’t know whether to take one in his room or head next door to hers. A door between them would have been useful. An adjoining door.
Her room would be better. Fresh clothes were there. Her toiletries. And when Tristan returned to his room she would not be there; she thought that bit was important. She was standing in the middle of the room, naked, just about to get dressed when she heard the sound of a key in the door. Moments later she was face to face with Tristan and feeling incredibly self-conscious, which was ridiculous given the liberties he’d taken with her body last night.
‘You’re back,’ she said awkwardly.
‘I, er…yes.’
He came in, shut the door carefully behind him and set the bakery bag on the table.
‘I was just—’
‘I just went out for—’
They spoke in unison. Stopped in unison.
He tried again. ‘I didn’t mean to…’ he gestured towards her nakedness, trying hard to stay unaffected ‘…ah, interrupt whatever…’
‘The shower,’ she said hurriedly.
‘In there.’ He was pretty sure that was where it was.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, it is. I’ll, er, go, then.’ And with a glance that was half mortified and half amused, she fled into the bathroom.
The minute she shut the door Tristan cursed and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t a boy. He was thirty years old. He was no stranger to waking up with a woman in his bed. Nothing permanent, but he was civilised enough to offer them the use of his shower and have coffee made by the time they reappeared. Backing off easy, keeping it casual.
Jake had once asked him how the hell he got away with it and his reply had been simple. You laid down the ground rules beforehand. Jake had snorted and shook his head. And asked him how he ever got a woman to agree to them.
He had laid down the ground rules last night, hadn’t he? He was pretty sure he had. Right there, just outside the door. Just before he’d gone insane. So now all he had to do was re-establish them and figure out a strategy for keeping his distance for the rest of the day.
Concentration was important. He planned to drive a lot. Keep his mind on the road and off the woman who sat beside him. She was good at sneaking past his defences. She was the daughter of a military man. She knew the value of strategy and the element of surprise. Of laughter and misdirection. She was smart.
Sneaky.
She was ten minutes in the shower.
Ten very long minutes during which time he tried very hard to forget what they’d shared during the night. He made the bed. That helped. Packed his duffel and sat it by the door. Also a good move. Coffee came next and he set about boiling the jug, ripping coffee and sugar sachets open and dumping them into mugs. He’d almost managed to get his thoughts back in order when she emerged from the shower and scattered them again as he tried to remember what it was he was supposed to be doing. Keeping his distance. Well, he was, wasn’t he? He hadn’t reached for her at all yet. He was doing just fine. As well as could be expected.