“I could be,” she replied huskily. “Naked, that is.” Her eyes had darkened with desire, and even in the dim light, he could see the hard points of her nipples through the thin, clinging fabric of her shirt. “I’m not hungry for food, Ciaran.”
His whole body caught fire. “What are you hungry for, mavourneen?”
She reached for him, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as she tugged him toward her. “Just you.”
He wanted to ask her if she was sure, he wanted to be the kind of man who’d consider the fact that she’d been through hell and might not be making good decisions. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be that man with her. With her, he was greedy. He wanted her, wanted what she offered, and he was just needy enough himself to ignore his conscience. The taste of her, the feel of her soft skin against his, of her soft curves beneath him, had haunted him for the last two months.
He kissed her, molding his lips to hers. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, then splayed over his back as she pulled him closer. As he nipped gently at her bottom lip, she gasped, and it was the only invitation he needed. Sweeping his tongue between her softly parted lips, each stroke was a slow, sensual dance, an imitation of the act to follow.
Ciaran pressed her back onto the bed and followed her down. They were still fully clothed, but their bodies touched from head to toe, pressed, held, strained against one another. It was, by equal turns, satisfying and frustrating. He wanted her naked against him, but he’d have to let go of her first in order to make that happen. As if she’d read his mind, her hands were at his shirt, tugging at it, bunching the fabric upward until her palms connected with skin. They skimmed over his sides, his back, her touch like a brand.
His own hands took a similar journey, delving beneath her clothes, skimming over the soft mound of her belly, his fingertips tracing the curve of her waist, moving upward until he encountered the lace of her bra. Cupping her breast, teasing the budded nipple through fabric, he pulled his lips from hers to kiss along her jawline, down her neck. When he reached the spot, the one just below her ear that always made her wild, he bit down, scraping his teeth over that sensitive skin as she gasped his name and arched beneath him.
“God, you make me crazy,” she uttered breathlessly.
“Too many clothes,” he murmured against her neck. “I need to feel your skin against mine.”
She pressed against him, pushing him back just enough that she could reach for the hem of her shirt. Rather than let her do it, he stilled her hands with his and then brushed them aside. He pushed the fabric upward, freeing one arm and the other before pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. His gaze was drawn immediately to the white bandage at her shoulder. There were bruises all over her body, small marks here and there that were a vivid reminder of what had almost happened…twice.
“I don’t want to think about that right now,” she said, once again plucking the thoughts right from his mind. “I don’t want to think at all.”
A slight smile curved his lips as he reached for the waistband of her leggings and began working them down, over her hips and her thighs. “Let me see if I can’t help you with that.”
“Just hurry for the love of God!”
He removed the rest of her clothes and her shoes, leaving her in only a pair of black lace panties and a matching bra. He stopped then, sitting back on his heels just to drink in the sight of her.
Bandages and bruises aside, which he couldn’t let himself think about without becoming furious, she was perfect. Loralei thought because she wasn’t thin, she couldn’t be sexy, but when he looked at her full breasts, the gentle curve of her waist, and the flare of her hips, he saw only perfection. He’d lost count of the number of times she’d complained about the size of her thighs or cellulite or stretch marks or any of the other things she perceived as flaws. Meanwhile, he could only think of how good it felt to have those lush thighs pressed against him, her long legs wrapped around him, to feel the softness of her flesh under his hands.
“Why would I hurry a moment I’d like to last forever?” he asked, one hand roaming over the curve of her hip, down her thigh to the back of her knee. She squirmed, just as he’d known she would.
Her hands did their own roaming at that point, raking along his sides until she could hook her fingers into his belt loops and tug him closer. As her fingers reached for his belt buckle, he knew then that he was lost. She’d have it and him her way, just as she always did, because he was helpless to resist her.
Brushing her hands away, he completed the task for her. With one tug, he sent his shirt flying across the room. He rose from the bed just long enough to remove his boots and shed his jeans, a task he completed in record time. Then he was on the bed with her again, skin to skin, their bodies touching with the promise of what was to come.
“I don’t want you to regret this later,” he murmured softly. “We’ve enough regrets between us already.”
“The only thing I regret is wasting time. I pouted and whined because you didn’t call me, but I didn’t make an effort to reach out to you either,” she confessed as her hands coasted along his back, her nails raking along his skin in a way that always drove him wild.
“I wanted to apologize. A hundred times I picked up my phone and then changed my mind. I wanted to tell you the truth then, about my father and everything else…but I never wanted to see that pitying look in your eye. But we’re here now.” He punctuated those statements with soft kisses along her collarbone, the tender skin of her neck, the curve of her shoulder which had always lured him.
“So now that you’ve got me naked, do you think you could do something besides talk my ear off?”
Her sharp words prompted a chuckle from him. As his breath fanned over her skin, she shivered beneath him. Her response effectively ended his amusement, the mood suddenly becoming far more serious.
“Tell me what you want, mavourneen, and I’ll be happy to give it you.”
Loralei felt the weight of his body on hers, the hot press of his skin, and the skilled touch of his hands as they roamed over her body. “I want you,” she answered simply.
He kissed her again, his lips moving over hers in a way that left her breathless and weak. All the while, his hands roamed her body, touching her everywhere, sometimes gently and sometimes bordering on rough, but always, it was just what she needed. Every touch was designed to inflame, to drug her senses and leave her wanting more.
As his lips left hers, burning a path along her jaw, over the tender skin of her throat, she gave a startled yelp when his teeth scraped there, just forcefully enough to sting. But the soothing sweep of his tongue over her flesh prompted a moan and then a sigh as she held him close, her fingers twined in his dark hair as if to hold him to her. It was an illusion. No one would hold Ciaran unless he wanted them to, but in that moment, anchoring him to her in such a way made her feel whole and alive like she hadn’t since he’d left.
Then his mouth was at her breasts, teasing and taunting her through the satin and lace of her bra. He played with the hardened peaks of her nipples. First one and then the other was treated to the warm pull of his lips and the soft rasp of his tongue. It was followed with the firm pressure of his fingers, taking her to that ephemeral place between pleasure and pain. It was all yearning and eagerness and consuming need.
“Ciaran, please!” she urged, as her hands left his hair to roam over his back. Her nails scored his skin and some part of her reveled in causing him that little bit of pain. “You’re killing me.”
He smiled, but there was a tension in his face, in the tight line of his jaw and the clenching of his muscles. It told the truth of just how much it cost him to let the fire build in a slow, controlled burn rather than an all-consuming inferno. Hoping to urge him along, she reached for the clasp of her bra but winced as the movement pulled at her stitches.
“Let me,” he said and stilled her hands. He sat up, lifted her against him, cradling her against his chest as he quickly disp
osed of the garment. Then he laid her back on the bed again. He remained sitting, his eyes raking over her body.
The weight of his stare was like a touch—hot, heavy and painfully arousing. Her nipples tightened further, furling into taut, aching buds that begged for his touch. A soft sigh escaped her as he dipped his head to take one in his mouth. Without the impeding fabric between them, the heat of his mouth was scorching. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but heightened as her nerves already were, it took only the slightest pressure to have her writhing against him. She wanted to feel him inside her, to have his hardness filling her up and easing the ache that had settled low in her belly.
Her hands roamed his back, his sides, tracing the ridged indentations at his abs, and then moved lower. When her fingers encountered the thick, hard ridge of his cock, she gripped him firmly with her fingers but traced slow, lazy circles with her thumb. “Don’t make me wait anymore, Ciaran.”
He didn’t make her ask twice. He moved away from her questing hands just long enough to shed his jeans and the dark boxers he wore. When he came back down onto the bed, he hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic band of her panties and worked them slowly over her hips, careful of her injuries. Once they were both completely naked, he urged her onto her side and moved behind her. She could feel the hard press of his erection against her bottom as he draped her thigh over his.
“Those stitches,” he said, his fingers tracing the edge of the bandage, “Have taken enough of a beating tonight.”
“I just want to feel you inside me…I don’t give a damn how you make it happen,” she said, arching against him.
His head dropped, and he brushed a gentle kiss to her shoulder as he shifted slightly. The head of his cock nudged at the slick seam of her sex. He moved against her, teasing her, sliding over her damp flesh, but never seeking entrance. A shattered moan escaped her, and it was all the encouragement he needed. He pressed more fully, parting her flesh, sinking into her in one long, slow push.
Loralei uttered his name on a gasp and pressed back against him, taking him deeper. With Ciaran, it had always been wild, unfettered, bordering on a violent free-for-all as they wrestled all over the bed and tried to best one another. But this was different. Hindered by her injuries, careful not to cause further harm, they came together slowly, their bodies rocking gently against one another. His hands moved over her breasts, her hips, in soft, gentle strokes.
Loralei pressed against him, savoring the heat and the sweat that slicked their skin. His mouth moved to her neck, his lips and teeth teasing her flesh as he surged into her again and again.
Their breathing became labored, their movements more fierce, but the deep connection she felt to him, cradled against him as he carried them both to the edge, was unlike anything she’d ever felt. Her thighs trembled and her belly quivered as the pleasure built. She cried out as she peaked, her muscles clenching rhythmically as he pressed deeper into her. His body tensed against her, a shudder wracked him, and then he followed her over that knife’s edge of pleasure.
In the aftermath, neither of them spoke. For the moment, they were cocooned in their own little world, in the pleasure that had been given and taken in one another. His arms closed around her, holding her to him, and she snuggled against the hard wall of his chest, content for the moment to simply savor the closeness and let their convoluted history simmer in the background. She’d take what she could, and when he walked away from her again, as she was certain he would, she’d be strong enough to watch him do it with her head held high. At the very least, she’d be strong enough to fake it.
6
Matt stared at the screen of his laptop with bleary eyes. He’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours, and at least twenty of those hours had been pure hell.
“Burning the midnight oil, Crawford?”
Matt looked up to see Jenkins walking toward his desk. He was relatively new to the force, transferred in from Western Kentucky. He was also one of the prime suspects in leaking the information about Loralei’s whereabouts. “This mess with my sister is making me crazy…If I don’t get it figured out soon, I’m gonna lose it.”
Jenkins nodded as he refilled his coffee cup. “Heard about the boyfriend’s place getting shot up. That’s a real clusterfuck. Any leads?”
“Our drug dealer in custody has suddenly decided that there really is honor among thieves…he’s clammed up as tight as Fort Knox. I have a string of Russian first names and a couple of bars where they might be holed up, but no luck pinning them down anywhere, so far.”
Jenkins nodded again. “Too bad you can’t just beat it out of him.”
Matt chuckled in response. “Yeah. It’s not the Wild West anymore.”
“Your sister safe for now?” Jenkins asked.
The opportunity had literally fallen into his lap, which made Matt even more suspicious. “Yeah. She and Ciaran are laying low at my apartment for now…but that’s just between us.”
“Not a problem, man. I’ll keep it quiet. I’m heading out to get some sleep. You should too. You look like hell.”
“As soon as these reports are done…Hell, I might crash here. Better than being a third wheel in my own damn house,” Matt joked.
Jenkins chuckled. “I hear that,” he agreed as he walked away.
When the man was out of sight, Matt closed his computer and grabbed his keys and jacket. Heading out the back door, he climbed behind the wheel of Kaitlyn’s little sports car. She was a pain in the ass, but she had amazing taste in automobiles. It was the flashiest undercover vehicle he’d ever been in, that was for damn sure.
The drive to his apartment didn’t take long. While Lexington traffic was a beast in the daytime, at night the city went dead quiet. Rather than let himself in, he settled down to watch and wait. Grant, on a recon basis only, was watching Loralei’s house, staked out in his mother’s Volvo. Alvarez, the other cop who had yet to be vetted, had been told that Loralei and Ciaran had returned to her house not long before his conversation with Jenkins.
Taking his cell from his pocket, Matt tapped the speed dial number for Grant. “Anything?” he asked immediately.
“A skunk,” Grant replied. “Two possums. A couple of drunken frat boys and a homeless guy who pissed on someone’s shiny new Beemer.”
Matt grinned. “Please tell me it was the door handle. That shit makes my day.”
“It was,” Grant said, and there was a note of glee in his voice. “Call me crazy. I haven’t seen fuck-all here, Matt. Are you sure Alvarez is dirty?”
“No. But I’m not certain he isn’t, and I can’t take any chances with Loralei…she’s all I’ve got. Well, except for you and your wife, who I think might actually have warmed up to me.”
Grant chuckled. “Kaitlyn doesn’t do warm, Matt. Hate to break it to you. She tolerates you, but that’s pretty much her stance on all humans over the age of fifteen. But she hasn’t chewed your ass yet, so you might be on her good side. If she has one.”
Matt shook his head. Kaitlyn DuChamps-Ashworth was like a badger trapped in a supermodel’s body. Vicious and beautiful all at the same time, but she’d move heaven and earth for Loralei, so she was okay in his book.
“Fuck,” Grant said softly. “A car just pulled up in front of Loralei’s house. Dark tinted windows, late model Escalade, two guys getting out while the third keeps the engine running.”
“Stay down, don’t let them see you,” Matt said and started the car.
Grant sighed. “I think it’s too late for that. One of the guys just pointed this way and shouted something in Russian.”
“Get out. Put that fucking mom-mobile in gear and get the fuck out.”
Matt could hear the revving of the engine and the squealing of tires.
“They’re right on me, Matt,” Grant said. “I’m heading towards campus; I can lose them down some of those side streets maybe.”
Matt gripped the wheel tighter as he sped off toward Loralei’s house. “Find a fucking cop…even a
damn campus rent-a-cop!”
He heard the sound of breaking glass, and then nothing. The call had been disconnected. Speed dialing dispatch, he identified himself and began barking commands.
In the upstairs bedroom of Loralei’s house, Dimitri closed the laptop. The idiot woman needed better security and stronger passwords. The framed photo of her ugly dog bearing his name had been a dead giveaway to the password of her computer. Now, he’d managed to track the location of her phone by reporting it “lost,” which had the added benefit of turning it off entirely. If she attempted to use it, it would simply give her an out of service message.
Ivanko had taken care of the cop’s friend, albeit temporarily. Still, it would give the cop something else to worry about while they tracked down his little sister. There was a slim chance the cop might figure out why they had taken the other man’s phone and warn the Irishman, but it was a risk they had to take.
“Let’s move,” Dimitri said, rising quickly to his feet. “We don’t have much time.”
“We could let it go,” Ivanko said. “This girl is bad news for us. Every time we get close to her it goes to shit. Just ask Sergei.”
“I’ve no time to talk to a fucking corpse. She can identify Sergei, even if he is dead, and in turn, he will be linked to us. She must be eliminated. When the cop is on bereavement leave, the case will be transferred to Jenkins, and we will all be safe,” Dimitri reminded him. “Or do you wish to question my leadership further?”
Ivanko backed down, thoroughly chastened. “No. I will follow whatever you command me to do.”
Dimitri nodded. “Find the bitch and kill her. Leave the Irishman to me.”
By the time Matt reached the scene, first responders were already there. Margaret’s Volvo was wrapped around a streetlight, and Grant was sitting on the sidewalk while EMTs taped a cut above his eye. In all, it could have been, and he’d honestly expected it to be, much worse.
Ciaran (Bourbon & Blood) Page 6