by Karen Rose
“Caroline?” the voice called. A girl’s voice. “Caroline, I need to talk to you.”
Winters silently swore. Visitors. Between this girl, the gimp, and the old man, Mary Grace’s apartment was like Grand Central Station.
“Caroline, please open up.” The girl’s voice was pleading. “I want to apologize.” She paused, then knocked again. “I’ll stay here until you open the door. I have Bubba here. He’s hungry, Caro.”
Winters rolled his eyes. Terrific. A nosy old man on the steps and a whining girl out in the hall. He checked the peephole. Better still. A whiny, skinny girl holding an ugly orange cat. He hated cats. He also couldn’t stay here all night. Mary Grace would eventually come home with the sugar daddy and Winters didn’t want to be in her apartment when she did. Nor did he want that old man knowing he’d been in the apartment for too long and becoming suspicious. The last thing Winters needed was a confrontation with the Chicago PD.
Dammit anyway. He jerked open the door, taking perverse pleasure in the way the girl shrieked at the sight of him. The big orange cat she’d been holding in her arms leaped to the ground and slunk past Winters’s legs into the apartment, disappearing behind the sofa.
“She’s not here right now.”
The girl shook her head, eyes wider than a deer caught in his headlights, one thin hand splayed against her heart. “Wh-who are you?” she gasped.
Winters put on his most charming smile. She actually wasn’t bad looking. Rangy. Coltish. “I work for the building. The tenant called about a leaky faucet, so I was just checking it out.”
Her breath sighed out in relief. “Oh. You scared me.” The girl peered inside. “You’re sure she’s not here?”
“Not unless she’s hiding under the sink,” Winters smiled. “Why do you want to see her?” Any friend of Mary Grace’s would have useful information. Like where the hell he might find his son.
The girl heaved a giant sigh. “Never mind. You wouldn’t be interested in my problems.”
Winters leaned against the doorjamb. “You’d be surprised what I’d be interested in,” he said, keeping his friendliest, most supportive smile firmly in place. “You look like you’ve had a hard day. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
The girl looked around, bit her lip, seemed to consider, then finally nodded. “I think that’s probably the best offer I’ve had today. My name’s Evie Wilson.” She stuck out her hand.
Winters shook it. “I’m Mike Flanders. It’s nice to meet you, Evie.”
Chapter Sixteen
Chicago
Friday, March 16
8:30 P.M.
“You never told me why you chose to go into law.”
Caroline looked up from her dinner, startled. Max’s question had come out of the blue after a distinct lull in their conversation, during which he’d stared at her as if trying to see straight through her skin. Or devour her for dessert. She wasn’t sure which notion she found more unsettling. Carefully she blotted her mouth with her napkin and shrugged. “You’ll think I’m hopelessly naïve.”
Max reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Then I’d be hopelessly cynical.”
She looked up at him, her smile wry. “You are.”
Max grinned. “But I never felt so gosh-darned happy about being cynical before.”
Caroline chuckled. “Dana always says I’m the Pollyanna type.”
Max’s fingers tightened around her hand. “I hope not,” he murmured.
She pressed the fingertips of her free hand to her cheek, feeling the rush of heat. Mercy. The man could melt her into a puddle of goo with just his voice. He raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed each one of her fingertips. It was barely a kiss. Yet so carnal it rocked her to her toes.
“Caroline?” There was rich laughter in his voice. “Are you going to tell me about law school?”
Caroline blinked and his face came back into focus. He was smiling the smile of a man who knew he’d achieved his goal. And somehow that turned her on even more.
“Law school,” she repeated, taking a rather large sip of wine. He’d picked it to go with the pasta she’d prepared, dismissing her embarrassment about not knowing which wine to choose to go with specific meals, and taking the opportunity to teach her. She frowned, just a little. Somehow the teaching had resulted in extensive sampling. She’d never had so much wine in her life.
“Why are you frowning?” he asked, tracing the seam of her downturned lips with one finger.
Caroline looked up, accusation her mission. “You’ve gotten me tipsy.”
Max threw back his head and laughed, reminding her of the way her son had looked doing the same thing earlier in the day. How much of the warmth that filled her was from the wine and how much was from knowing she pleased the two most important males in her life she had no idea.
Nor did she care. Playfully she swatted him with her napkin and rose to put her dishes in the sink. From behind her she heard his chair scrape the floor. One thump of his cane and his arms were around her waist, pulling her close against him.
“I’m sorry, Caroline.” Max kissed the top of her head. “You just look so adorable when you’re outraged. So tell me about law school,” he repeated.
She relaxed back into him, loving the feel of his solid strength. She needed to tell him the truth. She’d chosen law school to aid abused women. Because she herself had been one of those women. It was a perfect segue. One she’d use later, she thought, loathe to spoil their playful mood. Later. “Well, it’s the three-year period when one studies the theory of law and the statutes and—”
Max groaned. “So don’t tell me. See if I care.” He still held her, rocking them ever so slightly. He dipped his head, kissed her ear. “But I do, you know,” he murmured into her ear.
A shudder racked her body, from the outside in. She turned her face just enough to feel his lips graze her cheek. “Do what?” she whispered, her voice gone hoarse.
“Care about you.” He feathered kisses along the line of her jaw. Her limbs grew heavy and she sagged against him. His arms tightened instantly to support her weight, then one hand glided up her body to gently cup her breast. Her reflexive intake of vital air only served to press her flesh more firmly into his palm. His reflexive response was to bring the other hand up to cover her other breast. He simply held her, allowing her to become accustomed to his possession of her body.
For that’s what it was. He possessed her heart and now he was claiming her body. And she couldn’t think of a single reason why it wasn’t the right thing to do.
Then his thumbs brushed against her nipples and she couldn’t think at all. Her pulse pounded like a thousand drums, all sensation centering where he touched her. And where he didn’t. She felt the liquid tug of desire woman low and pressed back against him, seeking relief.
He groaned in her ear, deep, wrenching and absolutely wonderful. Her hands slid up her own body until they covered his, pressing his hands harder against her breasts, learning it didn’t come close to relieving the pressure that had become an ache. Blindly she turned her head, seeking his warm mouth. Finding it.
He devoured her with whole open-mouthed kisses that left her shaken and wanting. One of his hands left her breast to wind through her hair, tugging her mouth closer still. His tongue sought access and to deny him such elemental contact was never even a consideration. She did her share, stroking, exploring the warm, wet interior of his mouth that tasted like the wine they’d shared. Sweet and potent.
She reached backwards, her hands clasping the back of his neck. She pulled herself higher against him, vaguely aware the whimpers of frustration were being torn from her own throat.
He lifted his head and her heart stopped. His eyes were dark with unhidden want, his mouth wet from hers. She could hear the beat of his heart in the stillness of the kitchen. Slowly he turned her in his arms so that she was facing him. Fully facing him and everything this moment represented.
“Caroline, do
you believe I love you?” he whispered, his voice raspy and unfamiliar.
She looked in her heart and found no doubts lurking. “Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
She looked in her heart once more. And again found no doubts lurking. “Yes.” She didn’t hear the word come from her throat but he was evidently quite satisfied with her answer.
“Come with me then.” He framed her face with both hands, lightly caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. He kissed her, slow and sweet. Eyelids. Cheekbones. Corners of her eyes. Everywhere but her lips, yet when he lifted his head she was trembling. “I want to take you places.”
He danced her around and backed her towards the arch-way separating his kitchen from his living room.
Caroline swallowed, a sliver of fear insinuating itself in her mind. “Places?”
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently forcing her to meet his eyes. His other hand firmly gripped his cane and step by step they were swaying towards the darkened living room. “Wonderful places. You choose.”
“M-me?”
They were in the living room now, a few feet from the extra long sofa that consumed the better part of the longest wall in the room. He smiled and brushed his lips against hers. “Yes, y-you.”
They came to a stop when the backs of her legs came up against the sofa and he sobered. “I promise we won’t do anything you don’t want to do. I promise I’ll stop when you say. Somebody hurt you, Caroline. I can see it in your eyes every time I tell you I love you or tell you you’re beautiful. I promise you you’ll someday believe me, because I’d never lie to you. I just need one promise from you.”
Eyes wide, tongue inoperable, Caroline could only nod.
“I want you to promise to remember who I am. Can you promise me that, Caroline?”
Her eyes filled with sharp tears and she blinked them away. “Max.”
“Promise me?” he persisted, brushing the tears from her cheeks.
“I promise,” she whispered.
“I wanted to light a fire, have music, make it perfect for you,” he murmured, stroking her face.
Touched to the bottom of her soul, Caroline lifted her hands to his face. He turned to press his lips against one palm, then the other. She trailed her fingertips down the strong column of his neck and felt the thrill of pride when he shuddered. She had the power to make this powerful man shudder. It was … discovery.
She ran her fingers up into the crisp, short hair at his nape and pulled his head down, kissing him with all the newfound confidence she possessed. Her reward was another one of his deep, guttural groans that made her insides melt like butter on a hot day. He took control of the kiss, covering her mouth with his lips and her breast with his hand. Her eyelids slid shut and her knees gave way as he guided her down to the softness of the sofa.
She heard his cane fall to the carpet. Her last coherent thought was that Max’s sofa was larger than her bed. Then he was joining her, settling his body between her legs, sliding his hands beneath her head to cradle her face.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
With difficulty she forced her eyes to open. He was close, so close she could see each individual lash that framed his eyes. Eyes that stared at her with an intensity that made her heart start pounding all over again. “Tell me you love me, Caroline.”
She lifted her hand to his jaw, felt it clench beneath her fingertips. “I love you, Max.”
Another hard shudder racked his body and he gritted his teeth, thrusting his pelvis against hers. The hard ridge of his erection nudged at the very place that yearned for him. She felt her hips surge to meet his halfway, of their own accord.
“Oh, God,” he whispered hoarsely.
“What?” Caroline kissed his chin, his lower lip, his jaw, his neck. Anything she could reach with his weight pressing her down.
He shuddered again. “I feel like I could come just by you lifting your hips.”
The shiver that raced down her spine to her core had her reflexively lifting to him once more.
“Stop.” It was a hissed warning. “I want to show you so many things, Caroline. I want to make you feel so incredible. Don’t make me come too soon.”
His words were achieving more than his kisses. She had to get closer. She spread her legs wider, lifting her knees to bracket his hips. It was better; he was closer, but still not close enough. Layers of clothing still separated her from the hard part of him that made her body weep. She wriggled experimentally, and gasped at the resulting pleasure.
“Dammit, Caroline.” Max pressed her into the sofa harder, immobilizing her seeking hips. “I—” He never finished the thought, his hands skimming under her sweater, finding the softness of her breasts. She arched her back, desperate for more, crying out when he gave it to her, pushing her sweater up, her bra down and lowering his mouth to her nipple in a single heated movement. She cried out again, begging him with her body to take more of her into his mouth. He did, lashing her now-sensitive nipple with his tongue. Her breasts had never, never been a source of pleasure and now the pleasure was so intense she thought she might just die from it. Impatient, she grasped his jaws and pulled until he switched to the other breast, humming his approval. He lifted his head and stared at his handiwork, her nipples now erect and straining. And wet.
He lifted his eyes to hers. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re also wearing too damn many clothes.” He took her sweater by the hem and in a single movement pulled it over her head, flinging it … somewhere else.
Her mind immediately raced to the scars on her neck, grateful for the darkness. She prayed they wouldn’t show in the darkness. Then she forgot about her scars when his hands fumbled with the front clasp of her bra, his knuckles brushing her aching nipples until she whimpered.
He lowered his head to nuzzle the underside of one breast, dragging a sigh from deep inside her. He lavished, kissing one breast than the other, teasing, lightly biting. Never hurting. Always pleasuring. He suckled, driving her higher and higher until she was arching into his open mouth once again. Her hips writhed, surging up to close the distance between their bodies. She cried out, calling his name, begging him for more.
Max lifted his head and moved his weight to his side. “Caroline, look at me.”
Eyes glazed, she looked into his beautiful face. And felt every muscle convulse when his hand cupped the juncture between her legs, his fingers restlessly moving against the fabric of her old blue jeans in a rhythm she instinctively understood.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice so rough it was almost unrecognizable. She nodded, catching her lip between her teeth. He dropped his lips to hers, kissing her hard. “Don’t try to hide all those little cries from me, Caroline. They’re mine.” He kissed her again, clamping his fingers against her possessively. “I’ve laid in my bed dreaming of this. Dreaming of you. Dreaming of the sounds you’ll make when I make love to you. Of all the things you’ll beg me for. Please, Caroline. I want to hear you ask me for all the things that make you scream.”
“Max.” She lifted her hips, chasing the feel of his hands on her most private, protected parts. He kissed her mouth, her breasts, working her hard until every thrust of his hand brought her hips off the sofa. She wanted him. Wanted him inside her. It was wondrous. A miracle. She’d almost touched heaven itself—
And then he stopped. Once again she dragged her eyes open. He was staring down at her, his jaw clenched. “I’m going to ask you this only once. I promised we’d stop whenever you said.”
Caroline reached for him, her hand molding against his erection through his slacks. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He hissed an oath and rose to his knees, tugging his shirt free. She watched, awestruck as the most beautiful chest she’d ever seen emerged from beneath that plain white shirt. Broad, thick corded muscle, covered with dense, thick, curly dark hair. He struggled with the button at his cuff then yanked until the button flew off. His shir
t landed on the floor next to the sofa. Caroline sat up and ran her hands up and across the breadth of his chest, through the crisp hair and his hands paused at the button of his slacks. His head dropped forward and his face tightened as he absorbed the feel of her hands on his body. He’d obviously been waiting for her to do just this very thing. It was new, incredible. That she could bring such pleasure to his face. She trailed her fingertips downward through the hair on his chest until it narrowed at his waist.
She pushed his hands away and looked up to find his eyes open and staring at her with an intensity that shook her soul. Keeping her eyes on his face, she slid free the button at his waist and slowly slid the zipper down. His chest expanded with the deep breath he drew and he waited.
Caroline reached inside the elastic waistband of his boxer shorts and closed her hand around hot, throbbing flesh. The breath he’d been holding escaped in a rush. “Please don’t ask me to stop now,” he gritted as she lightly ran her fingers up and down his swollen length. “Please.”
In answer she tugged at his slacks.
“God.” He pushed himself to his feet and dropped the slacks and boxers to the floor in a jingle of keys and change. He dropped to one knee and found the condom he’d slipped into his pocket. “Hold this,” he muttered, thrusting the packet into her hand.
Reality intruded.
She stared at the packet, trying to control her panic. He expected her to put this on him. In all her life she’d never used one. Then her concerns were doubled as he dragged her jeans and panties down her legs. The cool air against her hot body was a jolt. She was exposed. More exposed than she’d ever believed she’d be again.
It was time. Through his painstaking preparation, she hadn’t once remembered the pain of sex. Now she did.
Now she did.
“Caroline.” She looked away, not able to meet his eyes now that the moment was so close. “Look at me.” She did, then looked away again. He took the packet from her hand and she heard the foil rip, felt the sofa give as he settled himself back between her thighs. “Please look at me.” She tried to meet his eyes. She couldn’t.