Not soon enough, though. God help him, not soon enough.
"You screamed."
"I didn't scream."
"I heard you call for me."
"Yes," she explained, sounding exasperated, "I called. That's not the same as screaming. I wanted to remind you to turn off the coffeepot."
Relief washed over him, but since his tension had already transitioned into discomfort at that glimpse of her stunning body, the slim waist, the curves of her full breasts, he didn't immediately laugh off the incident. Usually able to maintain his cool despite the circumstances, to his surprise, he let his frustration drive his reply. "Are you kidding? You yell my name at night, when we both know you're being stalked by a psychopath? What was I supposed to think?" he snapped. Immediately realizing he was reacting emotionally, rather than logically, he closed his eyes briefly, then turned to go. "I apologize."
"Don't even think about it."
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. "What?"
"I said don't even think you're going to turn into Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected and walk back out of here. Not after you burst in like that. Not after you finally lost a little of that famed self-control."
She sounded happy about that.
"I'm so glad I amuse you."
"You don't amuse me, Wyatt. You thrill me and excite me and you drive me a little crazy, especially when you say dumb things like I'm not allowed to call out your name."
"There's a right time and place and a wrong one."
"The wrong time and place, huh?" she asked, lifting a brow in utter challenge, not at all intimidated by his annoyance. Her lips were quivering, as if she was trying not to laugh; she couldn't have been more different from the timid girl he'd once known if she'd been physically replaced by a kick-ass stunt double.
One word crossed his mind as he stared at her. The same one that so often occurred to him when he beheld the amazing, strong woman she had become. Magnificent.
Something in his stare must have revealed his thoughts, the sudden jolt of hunger he always felt for her at his most unguarded moments. She almost sauntered as she came closer.
"Meaning there is a right time and place, correct?"
Each step she took sent the tension up a notch. Her sweet, feminine fragrance filled his head, he could hear the warm, even rasp of her breathing, and every inch of her looked like warm, sultry female, earthy and elemental. Someone who knew what she wanted and planned to take it.
"I suppose," he said, still not heading for the door. He should; God knew he should.
There were a million things he needed to tell her, to make her understand, yet he knew one thing: Right now, at this point in her life, Lily didn't want to know anything except what it was like to feel physical pleasure again. Seeing her like this, sexy and strong and playful, he realized she was ready for that pleasure, almost demanding it.
She lifted one slim yet somehow strong hand and placed it on his chest, near his heart. The tips of her soft fingers brushed the bare skin revealed by the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, the coolness of her skin somehow burning and sparking with every slow, delicate stroke. Still silent, she leaned even closer, her dark hair soft against his cheek, her body pliant and yielding, held not more than a half inch from his own. Then her lips brushed his throat, and her whisper stabbed through his last bit of self-control.
"The right time, the best time, for me to call out your name is going to be when you're inside me."
God help me.
They had been building toward this all evening, all day. All week, all month. Their being together had been inevitable since that night when their eyes had met in her darkened bedroom up at the beach house. Though part of him knew he should resist, should wait until all the darkness surrounding them was gone, washed away, and replaced only by light and the possibility of tomorrow, deep in his very soul, he knew he couldn't.
He'd been waiting too long, waiting for her, waiting for them. Not just since that July night, not just since the night he'd saved her. Not since she'd come to work with him. No, Wyatt had been waiting for Lily for his entire adult life.
He hadn't realized it, but he had always been waiting for a woman who made him feel like this. Hungry. Hopeful. Crazy and at peace, all at the same time. She had worked her way inside his heart, mind, and soul, making him believe, for the first time ever, in something other than logic, reason, self-control, and dispassion.
He'd never trusted himself with passion before. In fact, Wyatt had worked for decades to cut it from his life, from his personality. His previous sexual affairs had been physically satisfying, but, always, a part of him had remained detached. Removed from what he was doing.
With Lily, he not only wanted to be with her; he felt almost desperate to be, overwhelmed with the need to taste and touch and have and take.
There were a thousand good reasons for walking away. But he'd sooner cut off his own legs than do it.
"You're sure?" he asked, sliding his hands into her hair, fingering the short, silky strands.
"Never more sure," she admitted. She kissed his throat again, sliding her tongue delicately in the hollow, then kissing her way to the pulse point beneath his ear. "I want you, Wyatt. I want to touch you and be with you, want you to drive every thought out of my head except how good your hand feels on my hip and your mouth feels on my thigh." She pressed closer, the puckered tips of her breasts scraping against his chest, wanting him to know that her heavy, sexy whispers were affecting her as much as they were him. "I want you to bury me with sensuality, not with conversation. Fill my body, not my ears. Take me and give to me and satisfy me until I am so physically pleasured I can't even remember what pain feels like."
She meant it, each and every word. He knew it without doubt.
Her words and her nearness seduced. But the slight catch in her voice as she revealed the very deepest part of her need-the need for sexual connection to drive away the darkness-grabbed at his heart and twisted it hard.
Right now, he would do anything for her, to her, or with her. Whatever she wanted, whatever she would offer, he would give it and take it and gladly. Then he'd do it again, and again, for as long as he had strength in his body. He opened his mouth to tell her so, to give up all resistance and admit she had cut the very foundation out from under him, not with her demands, but with her raw, honest want.
But showing her was so much easier.
Staring up at him, Lily knew the moment Wyatt gave up all objection and acknowledged what she had known for so long. That they were meant to be together. Lovers. Whether they would be long-term ones or would have only this night, she couldn't say. Because of that, she intended to make this night as unforgettable as she could.
He wrapped one strong arm around her shoulders, another around her waist. Pulling her closer, Wyatt hauled her up a little so all her curves melted against the angles of his body, breast to hard chest, thigh to thigh. The feel of his rigid erection against the vulnerable hollow below her belly button sucked at her strength and she sagged harder against him.
"I've had so many nightmares," she admitted in a whisper, "but there have been some good dreams as well, and every one of them was about this."
He lowered his mouth to hers, their lips parting instantly, tongues sliding together in deep, hungry tastes. The ravenous kiss continuing, she sighed in pleasure when he bent to pick her up, cradling her in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck, knowing that tonight he carried her not with tender, protective care but with driving need.
Instead of carrying her to the guest room bed, he turned and walked out the door, heading down the short hallway to his room. He didn't let the kiss end when they reached the bed. He placed her there, and followed her down onto it. No longer holding her, he was free to run his hands over her cheeks, her neck. He filled one palm with the curve of her shoulder, then traced his fingertips over her collarbone until she drew back from his kiss just so she could beg him for more. "Don't go slow," she ordered. "Don't make m
e wait anymore."
She reached for the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping them free as fast as she could, finally yanking at them when they resisted. He let her push it off him, and tossed it out of the way, each movement emphasizing the thickness of his arms and the breadth of his shoulders. He was incredibly solid, toned, and perfectly defined with rippling muscle.
She wriggled beneath him. "Take the rest off."
Though she had been talking about his clothes, he reached for her shirt. That'd do.
As he tugged the T-shirt up and off, those strong hands worked magic on her body. Every touch aroused all her senses. Each tender caress made the skin just beyond his fingertips throb in anticipation of being the next place he visited. Her limbs shook, her breasts grew taut and heavy, her nipples tight. She arched toward his hands, not wanting soft and tender, needing it a little fast, and a whole lot wild.
He knew. With a groan, he moved his mouth to her throat and his hand to her breast, cupping its weight, sliding his fingertips across her nipple.
"Yes," she hissed, writhing beneath him. When he replaced his hand with his mouth and sucked her nipple, hard, she rose off the bed with a groan. "God, yes."
Even as he kept sucking her to new heights of pleasure, he managed to unfasten his pants and shove them out of the way. Lily wriggled beneath him. Now only her skimpy underwear separated their naked bodies, but he didn't immediately tear them oft She taunted them both, heightening the tension by rubbing against his massive erection, gaining immense pleasure from the press of his thick heat against her sensitized clit.
"It's been so long," she groaned. She didn't just mean sex. It had seemed like a lifetime since she'd felt the intense spiral of pleasure, building, taking her higher toward the orgasm she desperately needed. She rocked against him, greedily taking more of those thrilling sensations, using him, though she knew he didn't mind. Judging by the way he watched her with dark, hungry eyes, she knew he didn't mind one damn bit.
"Wyatt," she cried, feeling the climax rise higher. He returned to her breast, sucking deep even as he ground against her, giving her the pressure where she most needed it. And the waves of pleasure lifted her that last little bit, making her quake. She gave herself over to it, barely even able to remember to breathe as she was racked by deep waves of delight.
As if seeing her reach that point had robbed him of his very last remnants of control, Wyatt reached for her underwear and tore them off her. But before he moved between her thighs, he reached into a bedside-table drawer and grabbed a condom. Watching him put it on, Lily arched up for him, wanting him inside her even before the last throbbing sensation ended. "Now, Wyatt, please."
"Yes, now," he murmured, then drove hard, plunging to the hilt, stretching and filling her completely. Shockingly, another orgasm rocked her instantly, and this time, she didn't just cry out-she gave a little scream.
"Good Lord, Lily," he whispered. He threw his head back, his face set in lines of intense concentration, as if the rhythmic spasms of her body were almost enough to pull him into an explosion of his own. But he seemed to gain control by pressing his mouth against her hair, the top of her damaged ear, then the side of her neck. He kissed her over and over, remaining deep inside her, filling her completely. But it seemed like forever before he trusted himself to move.
Then, finally, he brought his lips to hers and kissed her again. Their tongues mated, their breaths joined, and he began to stroke her, sliding out, easing back in, in a careful, easy rhythm. It had been so long since she'd been with anyone, and she'd certainly never been with him, yet she found herself immediately matching his every move. She took when he thrust; she released when he pulled away. Slow at first, then faster, deeper, wilder.
Wild, yes, but still so infinitely tender and loving, she found tears welling up in her eyes. Feeling so good had never felt so lovely as well.
"I've wanted this for a long time, Wyatt," she whispered.
"So have I."
It wasn't an admission of love, but as he slid home again, touching her somewhere deep inside, she felt pretty sure that was more than desire gleaming in his eyes.
Lily wrapped her legs around his lean hips, wanting to hold him closer, to imagine she could keep him right there, joined with her, forever. Their movements grew more frenzied, and before long, he took her to the very highest height for a third time. And this time when the physical bliss bubbled up and burst inside her, Wyatt let himself go, too.
Lily fell asleep almost immediately. It had been a long day, of course, but he had the feeling she'd just been wrung out by the responses of her own body.
Judging by how lethargic and sated he was himself, he completely understood.
He made no move to disentangle their bodies, liking that she slept while he was still inside her. He did, however, roll a little to the side, tugging her with him so he bore her weight instead of the other way around. Studying her beautiful face in the moonlight spilling in from the front window, he found himself wondering why this time, with this woman, seemed so different from any other time he'd had sex before.
Was it the emotional connection he felt to her? Was it true, what the poets said, that adding that single ingredient had taken an act he had always enjoyed but never lost his mind over, and made it the earthshaking interlude they'd just shared? Is it because you 're in love with her?
Maybe, because he undoubtedly was. Wyatt hadn't planned to be-he didn't particularly want to be-but it had happened.
"I know what you're thinking," she whispered, though he had thought she was still asleep.
"You do?"
"You're thinking you're hungry."
He laughed softly. "No, I suspect that's what you're thinking."
"Oh, yeah, right. That’s me." She yawned, her eyes still closed, and nuzzled closer to him, her head tucked into the curve of his neck. "So what is on your mind?"
"Just wondering what I'm going to do with you now that I've got you."
Her rumble of laughter said she didn't take his slightly bewildered comment the wrong way. She knew him too well; Lily had to realize this wasn't what he'd planned for, what he'd wanted. "That's easy. You have to keep me."
Keep her? Be with her? Have a normal life with her?
Wyatt's amusement faded a little. Because those things implied a future, commitment, all the things he knew he wasn't cut out to have.
She seemed to sense him pulling back. Lily kissed his shoulder and added, "I'm joking, Wyatt. You know I have no expectations."
"You should," he told her, meaning it entirely. "You should expect more. You deserve the whole works, someone younger and more open. Someone who wants the same thing you do."
"What might that be?"
"A nice, steady, normal life. One that's peaceful and includes a house with a white picket fence."
"I prefer a security gate and motion detectors," she said, pulling back to emphasize that with a stare. "And frankly, I consider a nice, normal life to be sitting with you outside in the middle of the night, wishing I wasn't craving a cigarette while you tell me about the psycho killer you're going after next."
He barked a helpless laugh. 'That's pretty demented."
"Maybe. It's also as honest as I can be. If you think I'm holding out for a marriage proposal, babies, and a house in the suburbs, you can think again. I'm not sure I'll ever want any of those things."
"Which is a good thing, since I already know I don't."
She stared, and he almost regretted laying that out so baldly. But the last thing he would do was lead her on.
"Why not?" she asked, no longer half teasing. On the surface, her question might seem a simple one, but with those two words, she was asking so much more.
He understood. She wanted to know the truth, not about his future and how it might include her. No, Lily was asking about his past, what had shaped him, made him who he was, and led him to make those kinds of decisions about what the rest of his life would be. She'd respected his privacy, kept out of it,
not intruding on what was none of her business. But now he was her lover, she'd moved into his innermost circle, and she deserved to know.
Wyatt never spoke about it. Not ever. Nor did he plan to now. At the very least, though, Lily was entitled to a brief explanation, if only in gratitude for the way she hadn't researched him or pushed for answers before now.
The subject wasn't one for warm, cozy, after-sex talk. He slid out from under her, sitting up on the bed. Lily reached for him, sliding her hand down his back, caressing his bare hip. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he said, "I'll discuss this only once."
She nodded. "Understood."
"And this conversation will not evolve into a discussion about feelings or emotions or psychobabble about poor-little-me. I don't need sympathy over how screwed up my childhood must have been or speculation that it drove me to become the man I am today. I know all that already. Do you understand?"
"Of course I do," she said simply. "I've always known that, even without knowing what exactly happened."
He didn't hedge, didn't soften it. Instead, he simply explained as briefly and succinctly as possible, as if describing a case, something that had occurred to another family, another son.
"You know they call it the murder house."
Her hand stilled on his hip. "Yes."
"My father died in that house," he admitted. "He was killed there, shot down right on the back patio."
Lily closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm so-"
He cut her off. "My mother was the one who killed him."
This time, she made no soft gestures of comfort, offered him no look of pity. Pure, unadulterated shock twisted her features as she slowly sat up. In the long, silent moment that followed, Lily moved to the edge of the bed to sit beside him, staring at the floor, absorbing it, inexorably changed by the knowledge.
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