by Lori Foster
"Oh, yeah." Bruce put the receiver back in the cradle. "I'll know about our flights in a few minutes. If the phone rings, I'll get it, okay?"
"Hey, I don't grab up other people's phones. No problem."
Bruce stared up at her. She was bare except for the large white T-shirt swallowing her slender body Her legs were as beautiful as the rest of her, shapely and slim and long for a woman so petite. And her breasts ... even in the dim light at the top of the stairs, he could see her dark nipples, now stiffened, pressing against the fabric.
God give him strength.
He started up the stairs to her, and she backed up. That stalled him for only a moment before he continued on up. He stepped past her. "I'll only be a moment." He closed the bathroom door behind him, then leaned on the door, giving himself a sec-ond to recover from the sight of her.
In record time, he had washed up and brushed his teeth. When he entered the bedroom, Cyn was again sitting on the bed. Her long hair hung down to her elbows. She had her knees pressed together, her small feet not quite touching the floor.
Young, Bruce reminded himself. Wounded and untrusting and in need of solace—solace that only he would give her. Now and forever.
"Get under the covers."
Without a word, she did as he ordered. Her movements were stiff, and she pulled the sheet up to her chin, realized what she did, and pushed it back to her waist Her pose became practiced, meant to deceive him about her uncertainty. But he knew her. Maybe better than she knew herself at this point.
Bruce stood there, just looking at her with her looking back, neither of them speaking, until the phone rang. He picked up the bedside receiver. "Bruce here."
"Plane takes off at eight, so you need to be at the airport at six. Sorry, it was the only direct flight I could get on such short notice. "Joe gave him the airline and flight number. "If you see me, though I doubt you will, ignore me."
Bruce had so many questions, but with Cyn watching him, he couldn't ask.
Joe must have realized that. "I'll be wearing a hat, glasses ... don't worry. I'm not exactly a master of disguise, but Cyn doesn't know me well enough to pick me out of a crowd. I already rented us both cars. Yours is an Escort, mine is a Durango. I'll be right behind you at all times."
"I appreciate it."
"Hey, I'll enjoy it." Then Bruce heard him say to Luna, "Yes, I'll miss you, honey. Don't doubt it."
Bruce grinned. "I owe you."
"Paybacks are hell, but I'll be kind. Get some sleep."
Without looking at Cyn, he hung up the phone and walked to his dresser. He kicked off his shoes, sat on the foot of the bed to remove his socks. He could actually feel Cyn's gaze on his back, burning with curiosity, anxiety, and expectation.
He stood, still with his back to her, and pulled off his shirt. Purposely taking his time, he folded the shirt and placed it atop the dresser.
Cyn caught her breath. The mattress squeaked.
More tense by die moment, Bruce unsnapped his jeans, dragged the zipper down over a rapidly engorging erection and pushed them down his hips.
Cyn's small, cool hands touched his heated back. "Bruce?"
It wasn't easy, but he stayed on course, folding the jeans, putting them atop the shirt. Finally, wearing only snug boxers that couldn't hide his interest, he turned to face her. "I need to set the alarm. We have to be at the airport at six. As it is, we won't get much sleep."
Her face was flushed, her heavy lashes at half-mast.
She didn't say a word, just turned on the bed to keep him in her sights as he walked to the night-stand and adjusted the alarm clock. His body throbbing, Bruce turned out the light and crawled beneath the covers.
Cyn still knelt in the middle of die bed.
"Come here, honey."
She hesitated.
"I want to hold you, remember?"
Seconds ticked by while the tension in the air thickened. "Oh Bruce, I don't think I can."
The trembling of her voice nearly did him in. He sat up, pulled her to him, and it was as close to heaven as he'd ever been.
Her mouth sought his, and Bruce didn't deny her. While kissing her, accepting her tongue and giving her his own, he lowered her to her back on the mattress, half covering her with his chest.
"I don't know what's happening," she admitted in a small, tight voice.
"You want me," Bruce told her, "and I'm glad."
She huffed in exasperation. "Duh. I know that. I meant with you."
He smoothed back her hair, kissed her cheek, her throat, her ear. God, he'd forgotten how sweet and small a woman's ears were, how exciting it was to hear a shuddered breath, feel the bite of nails on his shoulders.
He loved her. He knew that now, and no way could he expect her to sleep when her whole body was trembling and warmed with desire.
"Tell me you trust me, honey."
Her head was arched back, her mouth open. "Yeah, sure. Bruce? Don't stop, please."
"No, I won't." At least, he wouldn't stop until she was satisfied. His own satisfaction would wait for the right moment, when she wasn't fraught with emotional conflict.
When he knew she accepted him completely, for all the right reasons.
He kissed the very top of her breast and they both groaned. She was so incredibly soft.
Cyn reached for him, but he caught her hands. "No. Listen to me, Cyn."
Instead of replying, she tried to get her hands free, her hips lifting into his, her breath accelerated.
Bruce stretched her arms up over her head. She tried to pull free. "Cyn, answer rne."
She moaned. "I never suspected you were a sadist, Bruce Kelly. Shut up and let me—"
"No." He held her gendy, but firmly. "You don't need to do anything for me."
Her eyes snapped open, peering at him in amazement. "I want—"
"No." He wouldn't be able to stand it if she touched him, and beyond that, he didn't want her to think she had to use what she knew to bring him pleasure.
Right before his eyes, she seemed to shrink with shame. "I'm clean, if that's what you're worried about. I've always been careful and I had regular checkups at the clinic—"
"Shhh. It's not that at all." Cyn was too smart to have ever done differendy. With complete honesty, he said, "Touching you, tasting you, is all I need."
Embarrassment fled. "Oh, for the love of—"
"I mean it, Cyn. Promise me." Too many times in her young life she'd been forced by circum-stances to only consider a man's physical response.
Tonight, it was her response he wanted.
To encourage the right answer, he locked her wrists together in one of his hands, and cupped her breast. Her nipple pressed into his palm and he rubbed over it with his thumb, circling, flicking.
Her breath hitched, her back arched. "All right."
Bruce smiled at her quick compliance. "Relax. Let me enjoy you."
A broken groan, then: "You're the boss."
He knew better than that, but for right now, he'd take her at her word. "Let's get rid of this shirt, okay?" He didn't wait, but caught the hem and pulled it upward and over her head. It tangled around her arms, and Bruce decided he liked that. It'd help discourage her from getting too grabby, and possibly save his rapidly dwindling control.
"Don't move."
"I won't, if you do."
Time and again, she delighted him. "How's this?" He bent and drew her left nipple into the heat of his mouth. His tongue curled around her, he tugged, suckled.
"Great. Fabulous. Araa—ah."
Heat pounded beneath his skin, leaving him feverish with need. He gorged himself on the taste and texture of her body. While sucking at her nipple, he touched her everywhere. Her breasts were full and soft, a handful and then some. Her nipples were very sensitive and he took turns until they were both wet and stiff and the lightest touch wrought a moan from deep inside her.
"I'm dying," she whispered.
He was, too. He couldn't wait to feel the heat of her,
and moved his hand—slowly, in case she wanted to object, down her belly, lower, lower. She grew tense with anticipation, her breath held, until his fingers slipped beneath her panties, pressed through her crisp curls and he found her wet, slick.
"Beautiful."
She gave a soft sob, writhing against his hand, lifting to increase the pressure. In a raw whisper; she pleaded, "Fuck me, Bruce."
His whole body shuddered and he had to grit his teeth. Her language was coarse, but that only told him that she was too far gone to measure her words or consider his vocation. And he was so damn glad. He'd gotten her there, and that had been his intent.
He wanted her to be totally natural. He wanted her to think of him only as a man, because at the moment, that was all he could be.
A man—who claimed this one special woman.
He circled her soft, slippery opening, pushed one finger deep, carefully inside. More wetness bathed his hand and it excited him unbearably. He opened his mouth on her throat, sucking her skin in against his teeth, knowing he marked her as his own and not caring. She was his.
Soon she'd know it, and not long after that, he'd tell the rest of the world.
Her hips moved in time to the rhythm he set with his thrusting finger, but it wasn't enough. Her breaths became choppy with growing, frustrated need. She whispered, "Oh, please, please ..." in a litany that fired his blood.
He added a second finger, working her while testing himself. Her nipples drew him again and he wallowed in the pleasure of having her in his mouth, exploring her with his tongue. She felt like a small, female furnace. Little tremors coursed through her hot body. Building sensations sent small jerks and shivers through her, making her groan, her movements rougher.
"Shhh," Bruce said, barely able to draw a breath himself. "I'll help you." Knowing what she needed, he kissed his way down her body, over her lush, swollen breasts, to her taut belly, her hipbones.
He eased her panties down to her knees.
She froze on him. "Oh no, Bruce, no." She forgot his instructions and caught her fingers in his hair, trying to pull him back up.
"Let me, "he ordered. More than his next breath, he needed to taste her, all of her.
"But..." With tears in her voice, she fought with herself, then admitted in a breathless rush, "No one has ever... ever done that"
Oh God. He was glad, so glad. Bruce stared down at her body in the darkness, unable to see her clearly, but inhaling the spicy scent of her need. He nuzzled his nose against her pubic curls, filled his lungs with the delicious smell of woman, an aroma guaranteed to make a man wild.
Cyn waited in an agony of frozen suspense— and Bruce licked her, darting his tongue around his buried fingers, prodding, then up and over her engorged clitoris.
She cried out, wilting back on the bed, her hands still tight in his hair.
Gently, determined to have her climax, he teased her most sensitive flesh, drew her into his mouth, sucked softly, insistently, rubbing with the roughness of his tongue, rolling, nipping—and minutes later, a tearing moan escaped her as an orgasm raged through her body.
Bruce pressed himself hard against the mattress and fought his own release, but it was useless. He'd been celibate too long, wanted Cyn too much.
With a muffled groan, he gave up.
As the tension drained from his body, he held Cyn still with the weight of his shoulders, staying with her, pushing her, making her pleasure go on and on until she subsided in near soundless whimpers, her body limp, damp with sweat.
Bruce rested his cheek on her slender thigh, his fingers still pressed deep inside her, absorbing the little aftershocks and tremors. He didn't want to leave her yet Truthfully, he didn't want to leave her ever.
She gulped air. Litde by litde, her fingers loosened in his hair, began caressing, smoothing. Finally, after several minutes had passed, she whispered, "Holy cow, Bruce."
With a contented smile, he said, 'You're wonderful."
He didn't want to move, but he had to clean up and they really did need to get some sleep. With a tender kiss to the inside of her knee, he pushed up to his elbows. "I'll be right back."
Idly, she flapped a limp hand at him. She sighed, sighed again, longer and deeper, and finally said, "Yeah. Whatever. I'm not going anywhere."
Bruce made fast work of it, took the time to don fresh boxers, and crawled back into bed beside her. Without making him ask, she curled into his side and put her arms around him. He knew she wanted to say something, and he just waited.
"What you did..."
He hugged her. "Gave me more pleasure than I've had in years."
She shook her head. "But you didn't..."
"Yeah. I did. I didn't mean to, but you're very special to me and I lost control."
He could actually feel her confusion before she laughed. "I will never understand you."
"Yes, you will. I'll see that you do." He settled into the mattress. "Now sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."
That reminder made her shudder in regret. Bruce hugged her closer; he wanted her to remember that she was no longer alone. She'd never be alone again.
Seconds later, her breathing deepened and Bruce knew she was asleep.
Chapter Nine
Cyn fell silent as Bruce pulled the compact rental car to the curb in front of her mother's home. It was a blustery, overcast day and Cyn pulled her sweater closer around her.
After a brief meeting at the airport, Detective Darby Orsen requested they join her at the house to talk-Bruce had wanted Cyn to eat first, but her stomach was too jumpy for that. He'd wanted her to nap too, as if she hadn't slept through the entire flight. She couldn't remember ever being so exhausted—or so uneasy.
It wasn't just the imminent stroll down memory lane, either. It was Bruce.
What did last night mean to him? She had no idea, and it was driving her nuts. What he'd done ... tending to her needs while ignoring his own, left her floundering in uncertainty. She knew of no man who gave so unselfishly. Especially where sex was concerned.
In general, men were pigs in bed. She saw it in the movies, heard it on the streets. As a hooker, she'd expected no less. With Bruce ... she hadn't known what to expect. Certainly, she hadn't expected what he'd done.
"Ready?"
Damn. She realized she'd just been sitting there, staring at the yellow tape around the ramshackle house. Weeds were high in the yard, filling up cracks in the concrete walk. Beer cans, cigarette packs, and various other debris were scattered everywhere.
Cyn nodded—but it was a lie. She was far from ready.
The detective had parked behind them and now she opened Cyn's door. She was a woman in her early fifties, tall and stout, a woman who looked very capable.
"I'm sorry," she said to Cyn. "I know this must be difficult for you."
"No, it's all right." Cyn took two steps toward the house, and then Bruce's hand slipped into hers. Strangely enough, that simple touch gave her the added strength she needed to get through the ordeal of visiting her own personal hell.
The detective wore plain clothes: gray slacks, a black cotton shirt. Her short brown hair was cut in a mannish style, but didn't detract from the understanding in her faded green eyes. She lifted the police tape and both Cyn and Bruce stepped under it.
"We've had it closed off, but I doubt it's kept everyone out. This neighborhood is rife with looters and every crime scene has to deal with the curious. Not that we expect to find much more here, but I wanted to give you the chance to take a look, to tell us if anything seemed different."
The detective opened the front door and stood back to let them enter.
The house was trashed, but Cyn had expected no less. Even if her personal situation hadn't been too ugly to involve friends, she'd always been too ashamed of how they lived to invite anyone over. Cigarette smoke and the sweet, sickening smell of old alcohol permeated the air.
"Where was she killed?"
At her dispassionate question, Orsen looked at her curi
ously. The kitchen."
In silence, Cyn headed that way, aware of Bruce at her side, tall and unwavering in his support. Incredible, caring Bruce.
Stopping in the kitchen doorway, she watched as roaches scurried from the sink to disappear into the walls. Drawers had been emptied, leaving the floor filled with odds and ends. A chair was toppled, a cabinet door open.
The detective said, "The forged note from you was on the table."
"Wasn't that a dumb move?" Bruce wanted to know. "Any handwriting expert would be able to tell the writing apart."
Orsen shrugged. "The school still had records on Cyn, and her last papers before she went missing. We used those to compare the handwriting and yeah, it was clear right off that it was different. But I don't think it mattered in the scheme of things."
Cyn didn't care what it meant, but Bruce did. "What are you saying?"
"Someone wanted us to talk to her. That was the objective. And so we are, and Cynthia, we're hopeful you can tell us something."
Cyn shook her head. She felt as if a great void had opened up inside her, expanding, leaving her cold and empty.
The detective considered Cyn. "According to her neighbors, Arlene had no less than six boyfriends in the last year. But for a few months now, she was living alone."
"She must have hated that," Cyn said with a harsh laugh.
"We're checking into the men, but so far they all have alibis."
So, Palmer wasn't still in her life. Cyn wasn't surprised to hear that he'd moved on. Even as a kid, she'd known that he'd lost interest in Arlene, and with Cyn gone, he had no reason to stay. Odds were, he'd been so pissed after his recovery, he'd probably wanted nothing to do with either of them.
Bruce asked, "Are you all right?"
Shrugging, Cyn said, "Except for the drawers being dumped, it looks about the same as it always did. We lived like swine and the house always stank." She turned to Detective Orsen. "What'd you expect me to say?"
Orsen leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know, Cynthia. I was hoping you'd see something different."
Cyn shook her head. "Nope. All I see is that nothing changed after I left."