by Jule McBride
Gently, he drew the delicate wedding dress over her head. Seeing her underwear—a fancy silk bra, bikini panties and garter belt—stripped away anything remaining of his common sense or professionalism. Shane’s heart thudded dully as he molded his hands over her thighs and calves, pulling the white stockings from her endless legs like veils.
“Here,” she murmured, sitting up and tremulously un-hooking the back of the bra for him. With a dry pant, he helped her edge the lace straps down the creamy lengths of her arms, until his eyes were on her full breasts—his warm gaze flitting over the milky mounds, the dark aroused distended tips.
He quickly filled his hands. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever known.” The words were matter-of-fact, but his voice came in a slow-rolling husky drawl as he molded his palms over the mounds, then slid the smooth backs of his hands under and around the curving slopes. He stopped, brushed his thumbs back and forth across the hard nipples, and then slowly, deliberately, leaned and curled his tongue, like a burning lick of fire, around each taut tip. Leaning back again, he kneaded her with his hands while he watched her face. Arousal made his voice low. “Look at me, Lillian. Into my eyes.”
She met his gaze. But when he saw her eyelids flutter anxiously, he felt a flash of temper, such as he’d never before felt in bed. It came on him fast and hot, like his physical craving for her. Suddenly, he was reminded, not so much of the lie she lived, but of the fact their marriage wasn’t real. Even now, he could hear how her voice shook when she said her vows today. As if it meant something. Don’t kid yourself, Shane.
She was fighting him with her will, afraid to lose herself, even though her hips had begun twisting, wrenching to seek a greater pleasure. He tried to tell himself he was too old for this—too old for games, too old for her, and too old to look for love in her eyes. But he still looked. And he wanted her to look back at him.
Her voice was hoarse. “I’m really sorry, Shane. But can we turn out the light?”
Hearing the sincerity in the simple request, he felt his anger vanish as abruptly as it had come. His eyes trailed over her a final time—over what the rose glow of the lamp did to her pale breasts and panties. His breath caught, and he fought the urge to ask her to take off the panties for him. He’d love to see her completely naked right now.
But he turned off the light.
And in the dark Shane’s dreams returned. She was the woman who’d haunted him since he’d first seen her on the porch of a bait shack years ago, long before she’d run to this city they both hated, where she had no roots, no home, no family. Her hair was wild now, not blond, but dark, the color of dark molasses in the Southern sunlight deep in the bayous.
When his lips settled over hers in a claiming kiss, he realized the dark allowed her to let go. Over and over, he kissed her, his mouth shameless. While he used his tongue to coax out the lost girl from Louisiana, his roaming hands drew out her sighs. Powerful, pungent scents started rising from her skin like hot steam, eliciting his most unbearable response, making his voice ragged.
“You’re so beautiful.” Somehow he said it again—as if he wasn’t speechless when his hand dipped inside silk, touching where she was as damp as the humid summer night, and as if he could actually see in the inkiness of the room. Imagining her not as blond where he stroked, but her natural color, sleek and dark, he groaned and then he stripped away the last veil of silk, dropping her panties to the floor. Raising her knees, he tongued her thighs, and bringing his palms under her smooth bottom, he urged her up to his mouth, opening her with a long slow stroke of his tongue.
“Shane!” She sobbed his name as he parted her again and again. “Oh, Shane!”
Share yourself with me now, Delilah.
And, oh, she did.
Lost completely, she arched with his suckling, crying out. His mind plummeted into the dark, pulled down by her scents—all fragrant oils and musk. Turning his long legs, he drew down his zipper, and she reached out immediately, her hands seeking where he most ached for her. Gripping the powerful evidence of his need, she strained wildly to his mouth, her thighs shuddering with climax.
“Shane!”
The reckless way she shouted his name made him feel that she, not he, had waited these seven years. He pulled her into his arms, and as she released a last whimper, he mindlessly stroked her face. Her hair was damp and wild and tangled now, and he senselessly kissed it, his heart pulling with intimacy.
When she was ready, she simply lay back, opening her arms to accept him. He quickly stripped off his slacks and came to her, bracing against her heat. His full weight was behind the first unbroken thrust that brought him to her womb. He went taut, absorbing the power of it, and he gave her time to feel what he’d dreamed of for so long.
And then he withdrew and thrust hard into her—wrenching gasps from her, filling her, shooting hot rippling pleasure through her until she twisted her head away, sucked greedily for air and rode him while he feasted on the neck she offered. His need for release was fierce. Holding it back, Shane had room for no thought. But when she shattered, his mouth caught her final cry. And as he spilled into her, he realized this act made their marriage real.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHANE UTTERED A SOFT curse as he paced up and down the hallway, stark naked and feeling cornered, with Lone Star on his heels. Ethel Crumble was due any second. When Shane awakened, he’d slid naked from bed, coming straight out here, hoping for a quick flash of brilliance. Or the return of the logic he’d lost seven years ago, the day he’d first seen Delilah.
“Lillian,” he murmured in correction.
Lillian, who’d studied the facts of his life, coaxing out feelings Shane never guessed he had. Last night’s intimacy had shaken loose the last of his remaining locked-up places. He’d hidden none of his tenderness and he hadn’t bothered to shield her from the intense physical hunger she aroused in him.
Turning, he headed toward the living room again, his eyes darting around as if the walls held answers about what he should do now. Once last night, in a broken voice, she’d said, “Nothing like this has ever—ever—happened to me, Shane,” and he knew she’d been thinking of Sam Ramsey, whom they’d never even talked about. Not that Shane was proud of his need to erase the traces of her husband. Her previous husband. But he was glad she thought he was a better lover.
Reaching the living room, he turned, heading back in the direction of the front door and the grandfather clock, glancing toward the bedroom door. The image of Lillian, still in bed sleeping, made his heart squeeze so tight that he lifted a hand and kneaded the spot. He wanted to make her breakfast, then get back in bed with her.
But he had to think. He had to find out what she’d done with the Mob’s money. Soon, Fin was going to give up on finding it, and bring her in for questioning. At that time, she’d be officially booked for fraud charges relating to the false identity she’d assumed. Unfortunately, Shane’s repeated searches of her apartment and office were turning up nothing. And yesterday, he’d phoned Uncle Silas’s partner, Trusty Joe, who was retired now. Trusty Joe said the money was definitely in the car she was driving that night. So, where was the evidence of what she’d done with it? And why had she run?
She had to have good reasons. Shane loved her so much he couldn’t believe otherwise. He knew that now. Which meant he couldn’t tell her why he’d really moved in with her. Feeling betrayed, she might throw him out, rejecting his help when she needed him most. It was a risk he wasn’t about to take.
“What a mess,” he muttered. He just wished he knew what to do about Brandon. Shane’s heart seemed to stretch inside his chest. Not that he really wanted a baby, of course. But he did want to make Lillian happy…
She’s my wife.
Shane stopped in midstride, absorbing that, then he resumed pacing. Yeah, this morning, he was about as married as any man could be. How had he so seriously miscalculated the depth of his own passion? Been so blind to his own motivations? How long had he been den
ying his fantasies about adopting Brandon? Or his jealousy of Sam Ramsey?
For years, Shane knew he felt…something.
But until last night, he’d never called it love.
He’d really thought his obsession with Lillian stemmed from the case. He’d said, “Sure, she’s beautiful.” It was a simple fact. Any red-blooded man who had her under surveillance would have had fantasies. But all along, he’d thought his sole motive was to eventually punish whoever pulled the trigger of the gun that killed his uncle. Lillian was the key to that mystery.
It was a mystery Shane still intended to solve, but that hardly explained why he’d been living and breathing nothing but Lillian for seven years. Fact was, he’d solved a number of crimes without getting married. Or becoming a father. “You’re not a father,” Shane whispered.
He just wished he could call his little brother for advice. Doc had more experience than Shane with long-term relationships. But Shane had been lying to Doc for weeks, by omission. Every day at Big Apple Babies, he and Doc lunched together, but Shane hadn’t even mentioned Lillian. Now Shane thought of Doc’s baby girl, Astrid. With her spray of black hair, she really could be Brandon’s cousin.
Of course, Shane wasn’t adopting Brandon.
But he’d fallen in love with Lillian. And she wanted a baby. He’d nearly reached the living room when a sound intruded on his thoughts. Someone was knocking, probably Ethel. Only when the door started swinging inward, did Shane realize it hadn’t shut securely last night. He was getting as bad as Lillian about relying on the building’s internal security. And Shane knew better than to ignore standard safety procedures.
“Wait!” Maybe it wasn’t Ethel. He bolted down the hallway, determined to catch the door. He almost made it. His fingers swiped the air, brushing wood just as it opened.
“Shane!” Ethel gaped—her jaw slack, the rest of her frozen. Only her round owlish blue eyes moved, dropping to…
He was naked. He’d reflexively sprinted for the door, forgetting. Holding his hands in front of him, Shane edged a pace backward, thinking, Poor Ethel. Despite her old-fashioned name, the virginal caseworker was only in her twenties, and her face was as now as dark red as the blunt-cut bob that swung around her shoulders.
“Shane, so good to see you!” she suddenly tittered, her eyes sparkling in a way that said she meant to thoroughly enjoy his discomfort.
Shane’s jaw set. Suddenly, he felt ridiculous, standing there like Adam. Adam—he wished! About now, he’d kill for a fig leaf. Not that her embarrassed girlish giggles bothered him. Hell, he was an ex-detective. A security guard. He owned a gun. “Good to see you, Ethel,” he managed dryly, edging back another step, his eyes searching the hallway for something he could wrap around himself.
“Is this symbolic?” She sagged against the door, still laughing with embarrassment. “Like, you’re in your birthday suit because you want a newborn? Get it?”
He got it all right. But why wasn’t she turning around? “Look, could you just excuse me while I get some pants?” He guessed he could turn and simply walk back to the bedroom. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. So what if she saw his butt? Right?
She was still grinning at him, her face bright red.
His eyes landed on the marble-topped table and his Stetson. Of course, to get it, he’d have to unclasp his hands… He reached quickly. The hat wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Grabbing the brim, he turned the interior so it cupped his unmentionables.
“Gee, that really helps!” Ethel chuckled. “My hat’s off to you!” she added shrilly.
Shane glanced over his shoulder. The bedroom looked miles away. “You know, Ethel,” he said levelly. “You could turn around now.”
Her laughter had tempered to a wicked grin. “Not on your life, Shane.”
“Shane?” Lillian’s gasp came from the bedroom doorway where she stood, clutching a sheet to her chest. Obviously, she wasn’t wearing a stitch more than Shane.
“Naked,” Ethel announced. “Save for matching mortified expressions.”
“Before today, Ethel,” Shane said levelly, “I thought you were a nice woman.”
“Oh, Ethel, I’m so sorry—” Lillian’s flustered, upset voice called from the other end of the hallway. “Please, seat yourself in the living room! We’ll be right in!”
Maybe. Shane was still staring at the far-off bedroom doorway. Well, it was now or never. Pressing the Stetson firmly to his groin, he started walking backward again. “Do go away, Ethel,” he managed.
“Go away? And miss this fashion show?” Ethel loosed a gasping laugh. “No way. Believe me, this is better than anything this side of Madison Avenue.”
LILLIAN WANTED TO CRY. Not that she would. But the power of Shane’s lovemaking had left her completely shaken. And now, before she could even process it, Ethel had arrived. Lillian stormily swept past Shane in an uncharacteristic emotional display, pulling on her robe and grabbing underwear from the drawer. “How could you do this to me!” she burst out.
Shane glanced up, his eyes widening in slight surprise as he stepped into jeans and buckled his belt. He studied her a long moment, then he simply reached out and grasped her elbow. “Whoa. Hold on, Lillian.”
His voice was so soothing she wanted to scream. How could he be calm at a time like this? Ethel was here! And wasn’t he even affected by what happened last night? She jerked back. “We don’t have time to talk right now!”
“Ethel’s waiting another minute won’t hurt.”
“She saw you naked!”
“And going off like a rocket won’t help.”
Feeling totally unbalanced, she strode to a mirror. Pursing her lips, she tried to roll a French twist, but her fingers were shaking so much she made a mess of it. Escaped strands of hair fell against her neck. “I’ll never get Brandon now.” She was so sure it wasn’t going to happen that her heart was breaking.
Even worse, she could feel Shane staring at her back with that calm self-restraint that, on any other morning, might have been reassuring. He said, “Is this really all you have to say to me this morning, Lillian?”
She caught the last escaped tendril of her hair, tucked it into the twist and secured it with a pin. Squaring her shoulders, she regally swung around to face him—bracing herself against the irrational anger rushing through her. And against what this man had done to her last night. In a few hours, his dark kisses had swept her away like a rushing current, and she’d been flooded with a storm of emotions she hadn’t felt for years—or ever before.
How could she have let it happen? She’d sworn she’d never let herself be vulnerable again. She couldn’t afford to be open, trusting and reliant—like the foolish, blushing, gushing bride who’d once believed in the husband who said he loved her. After all, that’s how she’d been on her first wedding night—right up until Sam Ramsey destroyed her. Just how long would it take for Shane to do the same thing?
Right now, she felt as furious with Shane as with herself. In fact, everything about him was making her angry, including his feigned mild manner and the ease with which he sometimes teased and joked with her. Not even his icy reserve had expressed his true self. No, last night, Lillian had finally met the real Shane Holiday. And the introduction was something she’d definitely never forget. Wrapped in his naked arms and the sheets, she’d become highly acquainted with why fiery explosions periodically punctured his reserve: because the molten core of him was all hot passion and raw tenderness. All love. And she was scared to death of it.
“Well?” he finally said.
It took everything she had, but she kept her voice from trembling, and gave a quick toss of her head. “Just what did you expect me to say to you this morning, Shane?”
His lips compressed and those all-seeing eyes searched hers. “Please, Lillian,” he said levelly, even though dealing with emotions wasn’t exactly his strong suit. “Just share with me whatever you’re feeling.”
Her heart tugged with the need to love him, even as
fear, masked as anger, continued pouring through her. “I don’t think what I feel right now matters,” she was powerless but to snap. “Everything’s ruined. Ethel knows we’re not a punctual couple and that you go around naked with the door open.”
The set of his jaw said he was above gracing that with a response, and that he knew she was unreasonably taking out her nervousness on him, but trying to soothe her, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you are.” She strode for her jewelry box. He was sorry. Great. She wished he’d scream and yell. Or give her that cold reserve that could freeze the room. Or melt it, she thought, a lump lodging in her throat, as she stirred her earrings with a finger, blindly looking for a match. She forced herself to go on, “Not that you care about anything.” About the baby. Isn’t that what you really want to say, Lillian? Aren’t you trying to goad him into saying he wants to have a baby with you?
Shane’s voice came up behind her, as did his body. The voice was gruff with temper he was tamping down. The body generated heat, reminding her of the fevered dampness of his skin last night and how much his mouth had made her burn. “What don’t I care about, Lillian?”
She whirled around again, now rapidly blinking back tears. Didn’t he know she didn’t want to get involved? That she didn’t want to fall in love? Hadn’t she told him that, the day they met? The day he’d completely lied to her, assuring her he was an untouchable lone wolf. She could still hear him saying, I’m not the marrying kind.
Well, guess what, she thought. We’re married now, Shane. In every sense of the word.
“The baby,” she found herself saying aloud. “I’m the one who wants a baby, not you! You don’t care what happens today!”
His tone was even. “I care.”
About what, Shane? Me? The baby? About what happened last night? She tried to tell herself she didn’t really want any answers, that she didn’t need them, because she had absolutely no intention of falling in love with him. And yet she knew she’d already fallen. Hard. “If you care, then why did you answer the door naked?”