by Kylie Brant
He was stunned at the warmth that stole into his chest at her words. She was right. He couldn’t lie to her. Especially when she was aiming those gray eyes in his direction. He didn’t want to bring her more pain, either, though. “Michele, wouldn’t it be easier to let it go for now?”
“Let what go?” She rose from the couch and came to stand next to him.
The steady look in her eyes made him mutter a curse and rake his hand through his hair. Oh, what the hell. What was he trying to prove, anyway? That he was some sort of Sir Galahad who could rescue her from harm? She was going to find out sooner or later anyway. But the truth was, he did want to protect her from any more pain. From what he’d read in her file, she’d had much more to bear in her life than she should have. Was it a crime not to want to add to it?
He shot a look at her, and she was still regarding him steadily. Apparently it was, in her book. “Whoever it was left another note for you.”
“I didn’t even notice. Did the officers find it?”
“Yeah. Same as last time. Letters cut out and glued to the paper.”
Michele swallowed hard but forced her voice to remain calm. “What did it say?”
He watched her closely, but she didn’t look like she was on the verge of breaking. The events of the night had shocked her, sickened her, but she was still standing. Michele Easton was right. She was a lot stronger than she looked. That didn’t make it any easier to tell her, though. “It just said one word. ‘Remember’. That’s all.”
“Well, he certainly enjoys being cryptic.” Michele tried to joke and failed miserably. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Connor shrugged. “Remember me? Remember September? Remember the Alamo? Who the hell knows?”
“Or remember the last message,” Michele said slowly. “Don’t talk to cops, didn’t it say? You don’t have any violent ex-girlfriends, do you?” she asked, only half-jokingly.
His response was wry. “My ex-girlfriends are usually bitter, but any violence they’d initiate would be aimed at me, not you, rest assured. Probably something that would impair my social life for the next few years.”
Michele’s eyebrows rose, but she couldn’t help the flash of jealousy his casual assertion caused. “Do you leave ’em crying, McLain, you big stud, you?” she inquired sweetly.
His brows lowered at her levity. “Not exactly. I just leave ’em.”
Humor fled. Because she had no doubt that his last statement was very true. Connor McLain loved them and then left them. No ties, no entanglements, no commitments. He had very little to give any woman, hadn’t he told her that? She had every reason to believe that he was a man who wouldn’t lack for female companionship. He was virile, compelling, dangerously attractive. Nothing seemed to attract women more than a man who couldn’t be pinned down, one who was obviously intent on remaining unsnared. Such a man was even more challenging when he was as up-front as Connor McLain, telling a woman exactly what his intentions were. But Michele was sure his honesty wasn’t appreciated when it came time for him to walk away.
“Look,” Connor said, his voice interrupting her reverie, “do you want to take a bath or something? It might relax you, and you probably want to go to bed.” His remark was robbed of any sexual connotation by the obvious concern in his voice.
She shook her head. “I just want—” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip. She just wanted this whole thing to be over. She wanted the children to be found. She wanted to stop being afraid in her own home. She wanted the torment of the dreams to cease, and most of all she wanted not to break down in front of this man.
Connor roughly enfolded her stiff body in his arms. He rocked her gently back and forth, then bent his head to whisper a kiss across her cheek. At the same moment Michele raised her face to his, and suddenly their lips were very close together. Her gaze flew to his questioningly, and what she read there made her swallow hard. His heavy-lidded gaze was focused on her parted lips, causing her to wet them nervously with the tip of her tongue. A muscle twitched in one hard cheek at her action. She wasn’t sure who moved first, or if it was a simultaneous decision. The next moment their mouths were touching lightly, barely meeting, as if each was afraid the other would call a halt.
Their mouths parted then, before moving back together for more of a taste, more pressure, a closer contact. Connor gathered her nearer as he rubbed his mouth across hers, reveling in the sweetness he found there. Michele caught his chiseled lower lip gently in her teeth and worried it with her tongue. By mutual decision they stopped their tentative play and kissed in earnest, lips opening, tongues meshing, bodies straining together.
Michele could feel the effect of the kiss clear to bottom of her polished toenails. Heat spread in direct correlation to each plunge of his tongue. Her mouth twisted against his, giving back as much pleasure as she could. He appeared to relish her response, the pressure of his kiss deepening, their mouths communicating in a way they couldn’t with words.
They broke apart then, his ragged breathing countering the short bursts of breath coming from her. Eyes fluttering open, Michele recovered first, embarrassment filling her. He had brought her here to help, that was all, to give comfort. And she was throwing herself at him like one of his bimbos. She could barely look him in the eye, so ashamed was she of her unfamiliar actions. Until today she would have sturdily avowed that one had to like a man, had to respect him, to be able to feel such desire in his arms. She didn’t recognize herself like this, and she was in a panic, hoping he wouldn’t see how clearly out of her element she was.
“I believe I will take that shower now.” She was unable to meet his eyes, but she was proud of the even tone she managed.
Connor’s gaze narrowed. It was amazing how she could switch from a warm giving woman to ice princess in such a short space of time. But if that was the way she wanted to play it, that was fine with him. “Sure,” he fairly snapped. “The bathroom’s through there.” He indicated with one hand. “I’ll shower downstairs.” A cold shower, he promised himself grimly as he strode away. One as icy as Michele Easton became each time he thought he had reached her on some level.
* * *
Michele entered the kitchen a half hour later to find Connor pensively staring into space. She stopped, heart in her mouth at the picture he made.
That he had showered was evident. His hair was still slightly damp, left to dry in ignored waves. He wore only jeans and a white ribbed undershirt, and her mouth went dry. Both hands were braced overhead as he leaned against the bottom of the cupboards. Michele noted with fascination the way his chest curls whimsically peeked out around the edges of the shirt. It clung to him like a glove, and she was able to discern the muscles of his chest through it. Then he turned his head to look at her, though she had made no sound. His look speared through her, seared her with his heated silent regard, and still he said nothing.
She became belatedly aware of the picture she made. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “You didn’t pack anything for me to wear to bed. I called out, but you must not have heard. I hope it’s okay,” she continued more slowly in the face of his still silent scrutiny. “I raided your closet.” She was fast becoming even more uncomfortable. Maybe this was his favorite shirt, she thought uneasily, or worse yet, maybe his ex-wife had bought it for him. She probably should have looked for a T-shirt instead, but something inside her had shied away from going through his dresser drawers. She had hoped that the tails of a dress shirt would cover more than a softer, more clinging cotton shirt. She just wished he would say something.
Connor was stunned at the fist of desire that slammed into his gut at the sight of her. She shouldn’t have been sexy, standing there barefoot wearing only his ruffled tux shirt. But she had to make the most sensually provocative picture he’d ever imagined. Though she was fairly tall, she was small boned and slender. The shirttails trailed over her to cover her to smooth midthigh. The gaps on the side were as provocative as slits in a skirt, and her long, slim, pre
tty legs looked as elegant as if she had been wearing a cocktail dress. The shirt hung down off the shoulders, and she had rolled up the sleeves to reach just below her elbows.
His gaze wandered higher and fixed on the undone top two buttons, which only barely hinted at cleavage. He swallowed thickly. It shouldn’t have been seductive, but it was. His shirt draped her enticing shape, making him even more aware of the curves it was hiding.
Michele almost turned and ran at the searing look Connor shot her. His blistering regard was frightening; she was certain she’d made a grievous error. But something inside her wouldn’t let her turn away; something womanly forced her to return his heated gaze. Michele found a strange part of herself exhilarated at the look on his face.
Because he wasn’t angry; he wasn’t framing a heated setdown at her audacity. He was a man trying to come to grips with his own passion. She wasn’t so inexperienced that she was unable to read the signs in his taut skin and flared nostrils. She could also read the fact that he was not going to do anything about it.
The realization brought a knot of pain. He didn’t make a move toward her, although his eyes were devouring her hungrily. It wasn’t the first time she had surprised that look on his face, and he was making no attempt to hide it. But she knew he wasn’t going to act on his feelings. Whatever else he thought of her, Connor was too honorable in his own way to take advantage of what he saw as her vulnerability tonight. And she wasn’t sure she knew how to change his mind.
Michele chewed her bottom lip as she considered the problem. And it was a problem, she acknowledged, because suddenly she realized that, more than anything else in the world, what she wanted from this man right now wasn’t safety, wasn’t comfort.
It was this realization that made Michele close the distance between the two of them. He shifted to face her as she drew closer to him, and she saw that he was gripping the countertop in back of him so tightly that his knuckles were white. Still he made no move toward her. Michele came closer still until she was almost touching him. “Connor,” she whispered, and stood on tiptoe to brush her mouth over his.
Keeping his hands from reaching out and touching her, from bringing her as close as he could get her, was like trying to lasso a runaway locomotive. Still, he tried. He wasn’t big on chivalrous instincts, but this lady brought out the few he did have. “Michele . . .” His voice was raw. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Her lips had drifted away from his and meandered up his freshly shaven jawline. “Seducing you,” she answered before catching his earlobe in her teeth and giving it a nip, causing him to jump and then shudder. His head twisted sharply at her words, his mouth grazing her own as she spoke. ‘But I don’t have a lot of experience at this,” she whispered against his lips. “I’m not quite sure if I’m doing it right.” Each word was spoken against his mouth like butterfly wings caressing it.
“Oh, yeah.” Connor’s voice was rife with the desire he was trying, and failing, to keep in check. “I’d say you’re doing it exactly right.” His arms came around her with lightning speed and pulled her closer to him even as his mouth crushed hers. Michele felt dizzy at the speed with which he moved, or maybe it was her natural feeling when his mouth was covering hers like this. She let her eyelids drift shut and gave herself up to the magic of his kiss.
He had no intention of taking what she was offering tonight. He wasn’t that big a bastard. She was hurt and scared and feeling alone, and he wasn’t going to mistake those feelings for any tender ones toward him. But he had overestimated his control, or underestimated her allure.
Just one kiss, he thought dizzily. And then he would let her go. Just one long, deep, hard, wet kiss and he would call a rational end to this. Just one. Or maybe two. Thought faded away as a more powerful feeling took over. He pressed kiss after intoxicating kiss against her soft mouth and exulted in her response.
Michele was glad to lean into his powerful body, because she was suddenly unsure whether her legs were capable of holding her. It was sheer intoxication to give in to the attraction that had been simmering between them. She allowed herself to be pulled down a sensual vortex, reveled in it as reason faded away. He thrust his tongue surely into her mouth, and she welcomed it gladly. Their tongues glided like velvet against velvet, dueling and playing before he abandoned such play for a more carnal caress. His intent was clear as his tongue speared her mouth over and over again, and she kissed him back with equal fervor.
One of Connor’s hands dropped to her hips, and he pulled her even closer to him, rubbing her against his arousal. She gasped from excitement as much as surprise. She fit exactly, he thought fuzzily, perfection personified. His hand moved lower and swept her silky thigh. Up and down it slid, before it moved boldly under the shirttails. He didn’t know whether to curse or give thanks when his hand encountered the barrier of her panties. Still his hand slid upward and cupped her silk-encased bottom, squeezing gently, lifting her into the cradle of his hips.
Michele jerked at the feel of him, hard and ready, so close to where she was damp and aching. She jerked again as his mouth lowered and found her breast through the shirt. One hand moved up to lift her flesh to his mouth, and he homed in unerringly on her nipple. She whimpered at the sensation of his warmth on her skin, separated only by cloth. The shirt grew damp as he coaxed the bud to tauten until it was a hard tip pressing against the shirt, begging for more of his attention.
Connor pulled himself away to regard his handiwork and lost his last thread of reason. He impatiently undid the buttons of the shirt and allowed it to drape around her partially nude form.
Michele felt her body heat under his smoldering regard, but she made no move to cover herself. He raked her with his gaze, noting the high round breasts, perfect for his hands, the narrow waist, curvy hips and the long sleek perfection of her thighs. He was barely conscious of his hands reaching into the open shirt, settling on her waist.
She gasped with surprise as he lifted her, her arms going automatically to his shoulders. He set her down on the edge of the counter and moved purposefully between her legs. Both hands slid up to the undersides of her breasts and plumped them, readying them for his lips. Her hands slid to his hair and held his mouth tightly against her as he suckled strongly from her. Jet streams of desire smoked through her, arrowing a straight pathway from her nipples to her womb. He suckled fervently, savoring one ivory breast before turning to feast on its twin. Michele pressed his head to her breasts mindlessly, forcing a deeper caress. “Connor,” she whimpered. “Please.”
He batted her nipples with his tongue, dueling with the tip of his tongue. He made wondrous swirls around her delicate areolae, always coming back to where she most wanted to feel his mouth. He moved slightly away to yank his own shirt over his head before grasping Michele’s hips and pulling her toward him, lifting her off the counter and allowing her body to make a slow sensual descent along his own. He rubbed his chest against her throbbing breasts, and Michele gasped, reaching for his big shoulders, wanting more, needing a firmer contact. Connor stood firm, teasing her by lightly abrading her tender nipples with his rougher, scratchy chest hair. Soon the teasing was too much even for him, and he pulled her closer, as close as he had dreamed of having her for too long, but not close enough.
Enough reason was present in his desire-hazed mind to whisper to him to move, not to consummate their desire in his kitchen. And so he reached behind her and lifted her in his arms, sealing her mouth with his own as he made his way into his bedroom. He laid her down upon rumpled navy silk sheets and allowed himself one brief exultant look as he took in her partially nude figure on his bed. Then he followed her down on the mattress.
Michele heard one faint warning voice dimly in the back of her mind when her eyes fluttered open to see him gazing down at her, hard masculine intent stamped on his features. But before she could interpret the voice, he was on the bed with her, kissing her again, and the fire they had started became a conflagration. He rolled them both so t
hey were on their sides facing each other, and somehow the shirt was lost. She delighted in the expanse of bare skin he was allowed access to.
Her hands were on an adventure of exploration as they roamed previously uncharted territory. Her long nails tangled teasingly in his chest hair, marveling at how much darker it was than that on his head. She touched his nipples and was pleased to find him as sensitive there as she was. She wiggled lower and put her lips to one, tugging gently, and was gratified to hear his breath hiss out between clenched lips. But when her fingers wandered lower, barely brushing the hard ridge behind his jeans, Connor once again took control of their play. Her wrists were grasped, and he shifted away from her, raising her body again so he could crush her to him.
Connor could feel his control rapidly spinning away and left his jeans on for just that reason. He swept her panties off with one hand, flinging them out of the way. He swallowed her moan as his hand settled on her mound, pressing gently. His mouth moved down the white column of her throat even as his exploring fingers found her slick dewy folds. His teeth lightly tasted her nipple at the same time that he entered her tight recesses with one long finger. She cried out at the dual assault, but Connor showed her no mercy. Again and again his finger thrust into her, his thumb pressing against the jewel of her desire. His mouth opened wider, swallowing more of her breast, and Michele felt the edges of reason cloud away.
Connor knew he wasn’t going to be able to stand it much longer. He wanted it to go on forever, but blackness was swimming before his eyes, and heat was pooling in his groin. He forced himself to pull away from her, panting, as he dropped kisses in a random order across her delicate cheekbones. “Michele, Michele . . .” His voice was thick. “Are you protected, Princess?”
Michele’s body stretched languorously under his, and she wondered how he could make the same nickname she so detested sound like a heated caress. “I . . . no . . .” she heard herself say as if from a distance and came fully conscious as she felt his weight leave the bed. “I’ll take care of it,” he murmured.