Just Beyond Reach

by Candace Irvin

Though he never realized this would be the result.

  By the time they had returned to the base of the wall that first night, he had known his heart was lost forever. Of course, he had attempted to fight this. Several months after they met, he had visited a local club with two male fellow agents. Hoping it would help to free the hold Teresa had unknowingly placed upon him, he had accepted the invitation of a young woman he had met that night. A woman who somewhat resembled the one he had come to care so deeply for. In retrospect, the resemblance had been far too close, for it had caused him to cry out a name as he had attained his pleasure. The wrong name.

  At least according to the woman in whose bed he had been.

  His regret had been exceeded only by his humiliation.

  Since then, he had taken care to seek out those women whose hair did not possess the dark, subtle fire, nor the thick, flowing texture of Teresa's. Women whose eyes did not possess a certain softness, nor that enchanting, yet soothing shade of moss. Women who also tended to not concern themselves with the morrow—and whether or not he would be coming back when it arrived. And, most especially, he had always been careful to seek out women who did not possess those lush, mesmerizing curves.

  Teresa was right.

  It was fear that had held him from her these six years past.

  A selfish fear. This, he now knew as well.

  Jesucristo, how had he permitted himself to spend twenty years to the day allowing this fear to rule his heart and his life?

  Was he to willingly submit to yet another twenty?

  His father would not want this, nor his mother.

  And today, he had discovered that he did not wish it either.

  For Miguel was right about something else. He owed it to himself and to Teresa to do what he had never had the courage to do in all these six years past.

  He must at least try.

  But first, he must see his duty to his parents through. He must finish his vigil. Teresa would understand. She was waiting for him.

  And when he watched those flames at the Virgin Mother's feet flicker weakly yet again and finally slip beneath the pool of wax almost as one, he felt his parents' approval for the lady who held his heart.

  His thighs and his calves protested considerably as he finally rose from his knees, but he ignored them. Indeed, the hunger that thundered swiftly in surpassed even the cramping, searing it from his mind and from his body.

  He stopped at the end of the pew to bow and cross himself one last time before turning down the center aisle, knowing full well that this hunger that fired his blood and strengthened his stride was not the result of a day spent in fasting, but a craving of another sort entirely. It was the familiar craving of his heart and of his flesh, unfulfilled these six years past, now magnified a thousand-fold by anticipation and hope.

  Teresa.

  11

  Mocha and musk.

  She was dreaming. She had to be.

  Tess could feel the feather pillow and sheets beneath her head and back, the fog of exhaustion that had been dogging her all day blanketing her entire body. Despite her best efforts, she'd succumbed to sleep. It wasn't enough that Joe had invaded her heart, her mind and her worry all day, he'd had to go and invade her dreams as well.

  Damn it, he was not here.

  So why could she smell him?

  Because she wanted to, that's why. It didn't take a student of Freud to figure that out. When her dream-lover refused to show himself inside her thoughts along with his teasing scent, let alone crawl into bed with her, she pried her eyes open and used her elbows to push up from the mattress—to make sure he was a figment of her imagination.

  He wasn't. Joe really was here.

  He was standing at the foot of the bed, the glow of light spilling in from the living room highlighting the planes of his face. He was wearing the faded jeans he'd worn to the church that morning, but his ever-shrinking T-shirt had finally shrunk right off him, leaving the smooth, tantalizing muscles of his chest behind. Joe was still unshaven too, though now devastatingly so. And he was watching her. Almost memorizing her.

  Every single inch.

  She was suddenly, acutely aware of the jeans she'd slipped off before lying down, leaving her legs exposed. Worse, her cotton tee was hiked well above her panties.

  She flushed.

  He smiled.

  Not the half-hearted lift she'd been getting all week—hell, for the last month—but that infamous, full-blown breath-robbing Cortez grin. The one that came straight from his heart. It nearly knocked her off her elbows. Because this smile also came with a smoldering invitation. The emerald earring she'd given him all those years ago winked at her as Joe folded his arms across that mouthwatering chest.

  He tipped his head to the glow of light beyond. "The door, it was open."

  Her silent nod answered both his questions. Yes, he was welcome inside this room and, yes, she wanted him in this bed—with her.

  His dimples deepened within the shadowy scruff on his cheeks, forcing her to anchor her fingers to the comforter beneath.

  It didn't help. She was still lightheaded and dizzy.

  The smoke returned to his gaze, fogging her brain and edging out every thought save one. Joe wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

  He extended his right hand.

  She knew why. Tonight would change their friendship forever. He needed to be sure she was ready. And so, he waited. She swung her feet off the bed and dug her toes into the soft carpet, praying her legs would support her as she stood. Even before she took her first step, there was no going back. She loved him and he loved her.

  What else was there?

  Marriage?

  Maybe. Maybe not. She didn't care how the future unfolded, so long as they faced it together. She padded across the carpet, her every step warmed by his gaze. His stare never wavered, never strayed. It was strong and steady, and it supported her.

  Just like Joe.

  His hand closed around hers as she reached him, warm and callused. Firm. His left hand came up, humbling her as his fingers whispered through the tangle of curls that spilled over her shoulders—because they trembled.

  He trembled.

  She started to move into his arms, but his eyes stopped her. The dark brown turned black as the heat radiating from within slipped over her cheeks and down her lips, warming the length of her neck, then igniting the air in her lungs as it settled on her breasts. There, his intense focus paused, causing her nipples to tighten beneath her tee before he resumed his leisurely journey down her belly.

  Regret filtered into her as his smoky gaze paused again, this time lingering at her hips. What she would have given for six more inches of height and a body as slender as those elegant reeds she'd watched this man carefully select and bring home through the years. Yes, he loved her. But that made it worse. She'd never been more painfully aware of her seriously healthy ass than she was now. Sure, it matched her breasts. But those weren't his thing either. And she so desperately wanted to please him.

  "Tessa."

  She felt his hand on her chin as she found the courage to meet his gaze. "Yes?" His warm, callused thumb stole across her lips.

  "You are beautiful to me."

  She tried to smile, but couldn't quite get there. "It's okay. I'll get over it."

  He shook his head. "There is nothing for you to get over. You are beautiful. Incredibly so. Every inch, every dip, every lush, enchanting curve. Woman, you stole the very air from my lungs the moment I saw you struggling to climb that wall, and you have not given it back since. Nor do I want it. What I want is you."

  Her breath caught as he slid his hands to her waist and peeled the T-shirt up, her hair spilling down her back as he drew the tee from her arms.

  And then, she heard his breath catch.

  Relief seared in as his eyes devoured her naked breasts.

  She had something he liked after all.

  She shivered as he lifted his fingers to smooth them over the birthmark o
n her left breast, as if in awe. His head lowered, and his mouth followed. He bathed the strawberry mark with his hot, hungry tongue, then moved on to worship her entire breast. Her knees went weak as the stubble on his jaw scraped against her skin as he shifted his attention to her other breast. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, desperately trying to keep her balance, only to lose it again as he gently bit her nipple.

  She gasped—and he chuckled.

  Two could play that game. She slipped her palms to his chest, savoring the growl that rumbled beneath as she grazed her fingernails over his nipples. His growl turned ravenous, feeding the liquid heat swirling inside her as she raked her fingers down his abdomen before tucking them inside the front of his jeans to work the brass stud.

  She lost her concentration as her fingers slipped and bumped into the blunt tip of his arousal. Hot. Swollen. Damp.

  He was more than ready for her.

  Thank heavens, because so was she.

  Dizzy with want, her fingers fumbled in their haste to set him free. He nudged them out of the way and she settled for caressing him through his jeans as he worked the stud and the zip. She sighed as it rasped free, only to inhale sharply as he hooked his hands into his waistband, pushing his jeans and underwear down in one swift motion—because now she was cradling him in her palm.

  He groaned as she slid her hand down his shaft to cup him low and squeeze gently before she slid her hand back up.

  She smiled. "You like that?"

  "Sí, querida—very much." His voice was raw and grating. "But, Tessa, it has been too long. You must be careful not to—" He groaned again as she disobeyed him.

  This time, she laughed outright—and promptly paid for it.

  He grabbed her wrist and tugged it behind her back to join it with her other. He locked both her hands with his left as he slid the fingers of his right up her spine to bury them into the tangles at her nape. A gentle tug and her neck arched into him as he rained kiss after scorching kiss along the exposed flesh.

  He captured her moan with his lips, chuckling as he razed his mouth to her ear to fill it with fiery Spanish—and explicit promise. Six years he had waited for her. Six years. The things he wanted to do to her. With her.

  She shuddered her agreement—and he finally kissed her mouth. It was nothing like the one he'd given her in the elevator. This was not the soft, gentle kiss of a man assuring her that he loved her, that he would always love her. This was the fierce, fiery kiss of a man who intended to show her exactly how much he needed her and right now. Before she realized what was happening, he'd slid an arm behind her neck, then his body, so that he was gently but firmly propelling her closer to the bedroom closet.

  The mirrored closet.

  She slammed her eyes shut. True, she'd never been terribly shy during sex. But that molten desire she'd just seen in his eyes, those promises he'd made?

  Uh-uh, she wasn't that bold. Not enough to watch.

  "Tessa, open your eyes."

  She shook her head.

  "Teresa."

  It wasn't the command that had her obeying, it was the husky passion in his voice. Her trepidation evaporated as she met his stare in the mirror. It was on fire. He was on fire as he looked at her.

  His erection pushed into the small of her back, thickening even more as he took in the tangles spilling over her shoulders. His hungry gaze traced the heated blush spreading across her cheeks, over her jaw, down her neck and into the deep valley between her breasts. He released her wrists and swept her hair from her shoulders, smoothing it down her back as he bent to nuzzle the curve of her neck—and then his hands slipped about her waist and up to cup her breasts, kneading them slowly, lightly, reverently. If she was lucky, she could keep his attention focused on them for the next twenty years and not let that dark, greedy gaze slide any lower.

  But of course, it did.

  And his hands weren't far behind.

  His fingertips gently squeezed her nipples before trailing down her stomach to swirl into the navel crowning the top of her underwear. The sight of his fingers sliding beneath the elastic band was too much. She closed her eyes.

  His lips returned to her ear. "Querida, look."

  She held firm. It was too embarrassing.

  He used his mouth to push the curls from her ear, caressing the inner curve with his lips as his husky voice filled her with pleading. "Tessa. ¿Para mí, por favor?"

  For him.

  This was Joe. The man she'd loved for six years, but had been too stubborn and too blind to see it. She gathered her nerve and opened her eyes.

  Joe's sultry murmur warmed her ear as he cupped the overflowing curves of her breasts. "See how generous and soft they are. How warm and heavy. You fill my hands with such beauty, mí amor. When I see you and I touch you, I am driven to taste…"

  Oh, Lord. She was on fire now, too. The flames licked through her veins, igniting her core as he slipped his fingers beneath her panties once again. This time, he hooked the edge firmly and peeled them down her hips, then her thighs as he lowered his body along with them.

  She cheated and closed her eyes as her panties reached her knees. He'd never know. He was kneeling at her side now, sliding the panties down her calves.

  And then she gasped.

  Joe chuckled softly as Teresa's lashes flew wide.

  She thought to trick him, to shut out the sight of the two of them.

  A smile played at the corners of his lips as he ran his palms up the insides of her bewitching thighs and nudged them apart. The sight before him—la madre dulce en el Cielo. She was more exquisite than he had ever imagined. He slid a finger along her seam, parting her nether lips further and exposing her glistening nub.

  He had not exaggerated. To see her, to touch her—he was driven to taste.

  And so he did. Just once. Enough to tide him over for later.

  Then he replaced his lips and his tongue with his fingers, savoring her flavor and her moans as he moved back to lavish kisses upon the curves just beneath her waist.

  So magnificently lush.

  He knew she still did not quite believe that it was the whole of her that pleased him and not merely certain parts. But as he continued to nuzzle and caress those shapely hips and nip that enchanting dip at her waist, he knew she had come to accept the truth, for she no longer shied from his questing hands. With one last nip at her navel, he kissed his way back to those captivating breasts and came to his feet.

  Her gaze met his openly now, boldly.

  This was the woman he loved. This woman who possessed more self-assurance than most men he knew. Though there were times when he bemoaned the trait, now was not one. For she was cupping him again, her slender fingers stroking his shaft with confidence as she leaned into him to trail her mouth across, then down his chest, her warm, seeking lips following the very path upon his flesh that his had taken with hers.

  His breath abandoned his lungs as she took him into the heat of her mouth. He groaned his pleasure deeply even as caution flagged within his ever-fogging brain. Soon, he was forced to plead. He had grown too thick and heavy as he had savored her curves. He was too ready. But she ignored him, pressing the length of his body back into the cold, slick surface of the mirror as she continued to ply him with the most intimate and loving of kisses. He was as a man drowning on dry land, but for the blissful reality that his world was not dry. It was so very wet.

  And soon, he was completely without air.

  He gasped for it regardless, finding none as his siren lured him deeper into the vortex. For the first time in his life, love and desire thundered through him in equal measure, overwhelming him with the piercing sweetness of it. He could not have said whether the roaring in his ears was of passion or blood. He only knew that if he did not free himself from the storm this instant, he would not be able to.

  He reached out blindly, lashing his hands to the one anchor that had been seated firmly within his life from the moment they had met.

  Teresa.
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  He buried his fingers into the silken waves of her hair, coiling the thick strands about his hands as he tugged her gently but firmly to her feet. His breath now coming harsh and so very painful, he lowered his forehead to hers, staring deep into that luminous gaze as he attempted to surface from the raging wonder this woman had created within his body, his mind and his heart.

  "Querida, I beg you—I can last no longer."

  "You don't have to."

  It was all he needed. She was all he had ever wanted.

  He swept her into his arms and crossed the room. He tried to slow down, tried to draw the moment out as he laid her upon the bed. But ever his match, Teresa pulled him atop her, her beautiful legs welcoming him, drawing him in so fiercely he was now fully impaled within her sheath. She was so tight, so very wet. So very right.

  He groaned his bliss as he closed his eyes tightly, fervently appealing to the heavens for restraint. His arms shook from the force of remaining still within her. He dare not move. Not yet. Just as he dare not look.

  Even when she clasped her hands to the sides of his face and bid him to open his eyes, he did not. For if he did—if he stared into that swirling sea of green—surely he would not last long enough to please her.

  But she allowed him his respite no more than he had allowed her hers.

  "Joe, look at me."

  He did. And he was lost.

  He shuddered as he bent low to cover her sweet mouth with his, delving deeply into the heady nectar as his body drove into her sheath with a fierceness that should have terrified him. But it did not. Nor did it frighten her. She simply locked her arms more firmly about him as she pulled her lips from his to urge him on all the more. Her husky demands filled his ears as he filled her willing body over and over.

  Again, the passion grew, until it thundered within. Raged.

  Lashed.

  He caught the brunt of it, gripping tautly to the shredded vestiges of his control—until he felt that very same, blessed passion grip her as she cried out his name. As her sheath clamped tightly about him, he looked into those beautiful eyes he loved and drove in one last time—shouting his own release, so very grateful that after all these years, it was the right name. The right woman in his arms. His love.