Take It Down

by Kira Sinclair

  With quick precise motions, Zane shed his clothes, draping them over the arm of a chair instead of throwing them to the floor as she had. She probably should be grateful he hadn’t stopped to fold them. At least, it gave her a moment to stare.

  His erection jutted proudly from his body. A single bead of moisture glistened at the tip. Her tongue darted out to lick across her lips and his cock jerked in response. A fun little trick she’d have to remember for later.

  With a surge of muscles and strength, Zane reached across the bed and pulled her back down beneath him. His hold on her was anything but soft. The intensity in his gaze sent a burst of uneasiness through her that was immediately replaced with a moan of desire when he clamped his mouth to hers again, his tongue plundering her in a way that only made her hungrier for the feel of him deep inside.

  His arm hooked beneath her knee and pulled her thigh up into the air. Her body was open and exposed to him, hot, wet, ready.

  The head of his penis scraped against the opening of her body. Her muscles quaked against the strain of holding back. She wanted him. She wanted it all. But he wouldn’t give it to her.

  Elle fumbled blindly in the nightstand beside the bed. She’d quietly asked the concierge for condoms this afternoon, feeling more like a naughty teenager now than she had even when she was a naughty teenager. She grabbed a handful, letting the others rain back down until she held a single one between her fingers.

  With her teeth, she tore savagely into it, letting the broken foil flutter to the floor. Her other hand found his hot flesh wedged between them. He was so close to her sex that the back of her hand brushed against her own wet heat drawing a hiss of pleasure from between her lips.

  Her fingers stroked up and down his length. She spread the moisture she found there over the head of him, enjoying the way his body jerked as she played across the sensitive tip.

  “I told you I’d find the right spot,” she whispered, her voice husky with satisfaction.

  “This isn’t a game,” he growled. His eyes, suddenly smoky and dark, held her captive. For a moment, she worried he could see straight to her soul, straight to the vulnerable place he was building inside her. She needed this to be a game.

  But she knew that it wasn’t and, no matter how hard she tried to make it that, it never would be.

  Elle tore her eyes from him, concentrating on the condom she rolled slowly over his cock. He was hard and hot and her body throbbed with the need to have him fill her. But she still found herself whispering the question she never should have let out into the universe. “Then what is it?”

  Because she was so afraid of his answer.

  He plunged deep inside, invading her body and forcing a cry of pleasure from her that she’d had no intention of giving up. With smooth, long strokes, he claimed her, and she couldn’t find the strength to care about the answer. She wanted him to take her. She wanted to be his.

  He tortured them both. Pulling out slowly before sliding back in. Over and over again, Zane brought her to the brink of ecstasy, only to steal it away before she could grasp it with both hands.

  Her body writhed beneath him, matching him stroke for stroke and silently begging him to put them both out of their misery. And still, he pushed her on for more. Her hands grappled against his sweat-slicked skin, trying to find a purchase that would force him closer and hold him to her forever.

  Her muscles quivered with strain and anticipation.

  Pleasure flooded her system, her mind spinning out into empty space, unable to grasp anything but the relentless need he was building inside. A final claiming stroke vaulted her into the strongest orgasm of her life. She’d heard women talk about seeing stars. She’d thought they’d lied. She’d been wrong.

  Light burst behind her eyelids. Her fingernails dug into his flesh and raked shakily down his back, trying to find something to hold on to in the middle of the storm.

  With the half a brain cell that still functioned, Elle registered Zane’s own grunt of release, the way his body shuddered above her as he finally let go. The friction was sensational against her contracting muscles, pulling that last fraction of pleasure out of the moment.

  Damn, he was good. But then she’d known he would be. Zane Edwards was the type of man who wouldn’t settle for mediocre. He excelled at everything he did—including sex.

  He collapsed beside her, careful not to crush her beneath the weight of his body. She wouldn’t have cared if he had. Breathing was overrated anyway.

  She sank down into the comfort and calm after the storm. She listened as his labored breaths slowed to something resembling normal. Satisfaction and bone-clenching fear rolled around inside her, confusing her brain and her body. How could she feel so content and so scared all at the same time?

  Elle tried to banish the thoughts, not wanting to ruin whatever time she had with Zane on regrets and worry over something she couldn’t change. She had plenty of time to analyze and pick apart her decisions tomorrow. Tonight, she wanted to sink into his body and enjoy the warmth of the moment between them.

  Zane was so still, the even expansion and contraction of his body lulling her into thinking that he’d fallen asleep. Until his quiet voice whispered against her ear. “I don’t know what this is. All I know is that I wanted to be there tonight, which is why I stayed away.”

  His words both scared her further and sent a warm fuzzy feeling coursing through her veins. Or maybe that was just post-sex satisfaction.

  The problem was, if he didn’t know what this was, how was she supposed to know? Oh, she had no doubt this was trouble, the schoolgirl flutter of her heart was enough to tell her that.

  But she was so afraid that it was more. No one—no man—had ever made her feel this way. This vulnerable and excited and horny and scared. An addictive mixture that had apparently gone straight to her head.

  The real question was, what would she do when it and he were gone?

  10

  AFTER ANOTHER AMAZING round, Zane had fallen asleep. Elle was exhausted, but she couldn’t seem to settle.

  No, it was more than that. Her guilty conscience wouldn’t let her relax. Her imagination seemed to take the plain white key card still in the pocket of her crumpled capris and make it flashing neon. She’d been too scared to leave the thing in her room—even buried in a drawer—worried he’d come in and find it.

  Why hadn’t he mentioned it by now?

  This was the perfect opportunity, in the middle of the quiet night, to rid herself of the risk and the guilt. Picking up his arm, she unwrapped it from around her waist and placed it gently onto the bed. He made a deep sound in the back of his throat but didn’t wake.

  Elle waited for several seconds, her nerves jangling the entire time, until he resettled. Then she quietly rose from the bed and, with stealthy fingers, reached into the pocket of her capris. The creak of floorboards beneath her feet as she crouched made her grimace, but she quickly found Zane’s jeans and slipped the card into his back pocket.

  There, it was done. Standing up, she stared across at the man lying in her bed, the guilt not quite gone. Relief now mixed with it, though, so she’d take what she could get. The familiar jitter of spent adrenaline pumped through her body, making sleep impossible. Her fingers itched to hold a charcoal or brush so that her mind could zone out.

  Instead of turning on a light, Elle opened the curtains that Zane had closed when he’d snuck into her room.

  She realized that she should probably be upset with him for that bold move, but considering aftershocks of pleasure kept randomly shooting through her body, she really wasn’t angry he’d been waiting for her.

  Elle grabbed her sketch pad and her box of charcoals before settling into the chair closest to the window. Moonlight poured into the room, washing across his body and gilding him with silvery shadows.

  He was peaceful. The most peaceful she’d ever seen him. The harsh lines that dug into the middle of his forehead and bracketed his mouth had almost disappeared. Those
lines weren’t from age—they were all stress. Stress and the burden of seeing too much, more than any one person should ever have to deal with. Her brothers, probably only a few years younger than Zane, carried the same badges of their job.

  Again, she wondered what he was doing here, buried in the middle of nowhere. What was his story? What had happened? Because she’d been around the law-enforcement life long enough to realize that something had. Inexplicably, she wanted him to share that with her, whatever had put those lines on his face. She wanted to be his sounding board, to understand and share the burden.

  Something she’d sworn she’d never do in a million years.

  Her life had been the opposite of what it was supposed to be. Most cop families lived in fear that they’d get that call one day that their loved one had been killed in the line of duty. She hadn’t gotten that call. Instead, at five, she’d learned her mother was dying a slow and painful death. She’d watched her struggle with the ravages of cancer on her body.

  She’d lost one parent and still had to live with the daily fear that she’d lose the other one.

  She’d attended funerals for her father’s comrades, seen the tears and grief. And she’d promised herself she wouldn’t live each day in fear for another man in her life. After her father and brothers, she didn’t have any room on the list for someone else.

  She wanted a man who wasn’t a hero. Who wouldn’t put the safety of others above the safety of himself.

  And that was all a lie. Of course she wanted a hero. A man with the same honor and integrity her father had. A man who lived up to the lofty example her father had set for her.

  A man like Zane.

  Her father would definitely approve of Zane. He wouldn’t approve of what she’d done over the past few days. Breaking and entering, pickpocketing…

  Closing her eyes tight for several seconds, Elle tried to will away the ache that had started somewhere close to her heart.

  There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea. But the fact that he was asleep in her bed meant that those reasons didn’t carry much weight. At least, not with her heart.

  She sighed. Damn it. How could she have fallen for him so quickly?

  Her eyes opened again. They traveled across his body, viewing him not just as an artist but as someone who cared.

  She supposed the real question was, what woman wouldn’t fall for Zane? He was selfless, determined, beautiful.

  His body was almost diagonal across the bed, his torso encroaching on the spot she’d vacated. The white hotel sheet was draped low across his hips, and one of his feet was sticking out the other side. She wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or if the position he was in made the cotton sheet too short to cover his body.

  Her fingers moved languidly across the page, soft gray lines and sharp shadowed angles appearing beneath her sure strokes. Her fingers brushed across his back, smudging the reproduction of the scars she could see there. Puckered flesh long healed, still held memories of experiences he hadn’t shared with her.

  When she was finished, she stared down at the contrast of him. Soft, dreamy moonlight, relaxed muscles, peaceful sleep and those ripping scars across his flesh.

  A lump in her throat, Elle stood up from the chair and placed the pad in the seat. Exhaustion and the overwhelming urge to be next to him, skin to skin, stole over her. Her arms felt so heavy and her eyes were suddenly gritty and bone-dry.

  With a sigh, Elle climbed into bed, gently picked Zane’s arm up and snugged it back around her. He made another sound, pulling her closer against his body.

  Without really awakening, he mumbled, “Everything okay?” his words slurring with sleep.

  “Fine,” she said, her own speech heavy and tired.

  Three seconds later, she was out.

  When she woke, she was alone. Not surprising, considering the clock on her bedside table said it was well past ten. She hadn’t slept that late in a very long time. She might be an artist at the whim of her creative impulses, but after years with her father living on a strict schedule…old habits died hard. She supposed that vacation was as good a time as any to sleep in. Especially given how late into the morning she’d been up.

  She lay in bed for a little while, wondering what Zane was doing and whether or not she’d see him today. Once again, he’d left without giving her anything. She tried to reason with herself. This wasn’t back home. This wasn’t the start of a relationship. He didn’t owe her anything—least of all, the reassurance that they’d share a repeat performance of the previous evening.

  Her eyes darted around the room anyway, looking for a note he might have left her. There wasn’t one. Elle tried not to let the disappointment ruin the residual glow from last night.

  She wondered briefly what she should do today. There were ballroom lessons; she’d always wanted to learn the tango. But, really, the thought of some other man having his arms wrapped around her made her cringe. Now, if she could convince Zane to go with her… She could just imagine his stiff body going languid with the sexual thrill of the dance. Desire began to simmer. Instead of letting it take hold, she pushed it away. Another thought for another time.

  She could always paint, but today the thought of lugging everything out to the beach simply had no appeal.

  She finally settled on eating a late breakfast, changing into her swimsuit, grabbing the floppy-brimmed hat she’d packed at the last minute and spending the day lying in the sand. It had been a very long time since she’d read a book.

  As she was digging into her suitcase, the sound of crumpling paper stopped her cold. Flipping a few things out of her way, Elle uncovered the picture that had started her headlong flight to Escape.

  Nana’s picture stared back at her accusingly. Deep despair, the same emotion she’d felt on the day she’d lost the painting, welled up inside. Her grandmother seemed to look out of the portrait and straight into her soul.

  Elle realized she was the one adding accusation to the mischievous eyes, but that didn’t stop the feeling from cutting deep. She had failed, but she had no idea how to correct that problem.

  Her conscience wouldn’t let her do anything illegal, at least not again. In fact, she could hear Nana’s voice in the back of her head now… “Two wrongs do not make a right, young lady.”

  Perhaps she should just talk to Marcy. Tell her the truth of why she’d come to the island. Before, Elle had been reluctant to pay to retrieve the painting. It was hers by rights. She shouldn’t have to pay for the return of something that was already hers.

  But she had the money. When she got to the island, the painting had been the most important thing. Now, her integrity and Zane’s opinion of her were equally so.

  She’d also assumed that her unanswered emails and letters had been because the owner had full knowledge of the fact that it was stolen art. However, now that she was here, she didn’t think that was true.

  If nothing else, Simon struck her as an intelligent man who wouldn’t flaunt his stolen property in the pages of a travel magazine with worldwide distribution. And if he wasn’t smart enough to realize the danger in that, Marcy was.

  Elle needed to think about it, though. Starting today, she was going to turn over a new leaf. Think about things before she rushed into them.

  Better late than never.

  IT HAD BEEN ONE HELL OF A day. The alarm on Zane’s phone had woken him at 6:00 a.m. Bleary-eyed, he’d stumbled from Elle’s room back to his own place so he could change clothes and relieve Tom. He’d wanted nothing more than to stay right where he was, his body wrapped around the warmth of her, but he couldn’t.

  Wouldn’t let himself give in to the weakness of needing to stay.

  He’d started the day grouchy and it had gone downhill from there. A guest had claimed that a piece of jewelry had gone missing from her room. It was the first time they’d ever had a report of theft on the property since he’d been there, and if Elle hadn’t been wrapped in his arms all night, he might have been tempted to a
ccuse her of the crime. The situation had certainly fit her M.O. He knew she was innocent, and had promised as much to Marcy when she’d asked if Elle could be involved. He’d ignored the tiny spurt of relief when he’d reviewed the tapes and discovered no one but the guest herself had exited or entered her room.

  After several of the staff searched the room, one of the maids found the diamond bracelet wedged between the dresser and the wall.

  Crisis averted—after about five hours of drama and one hell of a headache. He’d been so preoccupied that he didn’t even have a clue where Elle was or how she’d spent her day.

  He practically stumbled back to his bungalow, cringing at the sight of his clothes from last night strewn across the bed, where he’d left them this morning.

  Picking them up, he’d intended to throw them in the hamper where they belonged, but stopped short when something hard stabbed into his hand. A frown marring his face, he dug into the back pocket and pulled out his missing key card. It had definitely not been there last night. His mind raced as he tried to determine when she might have slipped it back into his pocket, but he realized with disgust that she could have done it whenever she wanted. He’d been so preoccupied with getting his hands on her again, a bomb could have exploded in the next room and he would have ignored it.

  Yanking his cell from his belt, he hit the button to call the Crow’s Nest.

  He didn’t even wait for Tom to acknowledge him, instead rumbling, “Where is she?”

  “Uh…who?” the other man stuttered over the crackling connection.

  “Ms. Monroe. Where is she? And what has she been doing today?”

  “How should I—”

  “Find out.”

  The other man sputtered, “But I wasn’t on—”

  “Use the face-recognition software to find out where she is right now and then track her movements for today and get back to me.”