But the longer he could hold out, the longer they could play, and he so enjoyed playing her. How could he not? He liked everything about her. Her feminine scent mixed with her citrus soap. The firm texture of her skin. The way, when he squeezed her bottom, the firm flesh plumped into his hand. But most of all her spirit complemented the fire in his.
She was three parts sugar, one part spice, and he never knew which part she would offer up. He only knew that he was fast becoming addicted.
Already she was learning what pleased him. A careful lover, she’d discovered where he was most sensitive and used the knowledge to advantage. And it wasn’t long before she had him gasping, sweating, holding back with every cell of his being. Because he would not give in to her caresses. This time he was determined they would climax together.
So he let her splay her hands over him, and when he could take not a second more, when he was about to erupt, when he was about to yank away, she sensed the moment. And she stopped, leaving him on the brink.
Chest heaving, groin burning for release, he had to clench the mattress to prevent himself from grabbing her, sinking his sex into her heat and taking her to where they both wanted to go. And when he finally regained a measure of calm, he found her watching him with a satisfied grin.
“You don’t look so in control right now,” she teased as she stood and began opening and closing drawers. “You did say you were going to help me search the room, didn’t you?”
The only thing he wanted to search right now was every inch of her body. And his physical reaction to her, his balls, tight and full, made standing painful. And while he’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted her at this moment, he wasn’t about to give in. So he took several deep breaths and checked out the room to distract himself from the amazing Amanda Lane.
The California King didn’t even take up one quarter of the large bedroom. From his position next to the bed, Bolt glimpsed a master bathroom to the right and a walk-in closet to the left. If he was going to hide a wall safe, he’d choose the closet. With a myriad of clothing, sporting equipment and shoes hanging from an assortment of fixtures, it would be relatively easy to conceal a safe.
Of course the perfume bottle might be right out in the open, but Bolt suspected Hathaway didn’t trust his staff enough to leave such a valuable item within easy-grabbing range. Heading for the closet, he didn’t miss Amanda’s appreciative glance at his nudity.
While she still wore her blouse and skirt, he was naked, if he didn’t count his socks. Shaking his head at how that had occurred, he grinned at his predicament, yet he didn’t approach her. He needed time to cool down.
And then she shrieked in triumph. “Look what I found.”
10
AMANDA HELD UP the shoe box she’d discovered in the top drawer of Hathaway’s bureau. She’d opened the lid to discover half a dozen letters. The handwriting on the stationery looked familiar and Amanda’s gaze dropped to the signature. “This one’s from my sister.”
“What’s it say?”
After sitting on the bed, she read quickly and summarized aloud. “She thanked Hathaway for all he’d done for her and told him that modeling was much more exciting than being a chemist. She suggested that he follow her advice and send the bottle to a colleague who was discreet and who could analyze it. She claimed that without laboratory equipment, she couldn’t do his project justice.”
“What else is in there?”
“I wonder why Hathaway saved this letter.” Amanda lifted the stationery and sniffed, hoping a scent that would hint of her sister might linger, but she sneezed.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks. The unsmeared dust on the outside of the box suggests Hathaway hasn’t opened it for a long time. But he saved Donna’s letter. Why?”
Bolt leaned over her shoulder. “Maybe he wanted to keep the chemist’s address.”
“You think he sent the bottle to Dr. Kevin Lee?” she read the scientist’s name and didn’t recognize it.
“We’ll check and find out. Was that the only letter from your sister?”
“Yes.” She flipped through them quickly and another caught her eye. “Oh, my. This one’s from Melanie and the other is from Frances—and both of them…are odd.”
While she spoke, Bolt was searching behind paintings and draperies, knocking on the woodwork walls for hidden panels and opening more drawers. Yet, she had the impression he was listening intently to her and she appreciated that he trusted her to read the letters for clues without immediately taking over and demanding to read every word.
She read quickly and condensed the main points. “Melanie wants money. Frances’s note is more threatening.”
Bolt looked her way. “What do you mean by threatening? Blackmail? Death threats?”
“I’m not sure.” She reread the pertinent parts out loud. “Melanie writes, ‘I’m in so much pain. You have no idea how I miss our good times together. While I know we can never recapture what we once had, I hold you responsible for the accident and what I’ve suffered since. The least you can do is give me the money you owe me.’”
“That could be blackmail. But it’s by no means enough to accuse her of anything. She didn’t threaten him.”
“But the note itself could imply a threat—we simply don’t have enough information.” She moved on to another letter. “Frances’s note is even more vague, but it’s in her usual arrogant tone. She says, ‘I know what you did. Stay out of my way, or else.’”
“Or else what?”
“She doesn’t say.” Frustrated, Amanda’s gaze sought out Bolt. He didn’t seem the least perturbed that their data was incomplete—or that she’d interrupted their lovemaking. And since he wore his skin as comfortably as he wore his clothes, she couldn’t help noting that while his mind might be on the mission, his interest in her hadn’t abated.
“We’ll have to find Melanie and speak to her as well as Frances and ask more questions.”
“Their letters probably have nothing to do with Donna.”
“But if they’ll talk to us, we’ll almost certainly learn more about how Hathaway operates. In addition, I’ll check with your sister’s expert to see if he ever examined the bottle. In the meantime, I suggest we keep searching. And…”
“And?” She carefully refolded the letters and replaced them in the shoe box before putting them back in the bureau where she’d found them.
“There’s more to be done here than figuring out puzzles.” The sparkle in his tone warned her to glance up, just as Bolt scooped her around the waist and tugged her back against his front, positioning her before Hathaway’s full-length mirror. “It’s time to remove another article of your clothing.”
She laughed. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me.”
He nudged her from behind. “Do I feel like I’ve forgotten anything?”
As he bent his head to nibble on a sensitive spot in the curve of her neck, he reached around to unbutton her blouse. Although their foreplay had stopped and started several times, her body had no difficulty picking up where they had left off. The delays had only served to combine anticipation, temptation and excitement until she was certain that if he added anything else to the mix she’d boil over.
“Watch.” Tone curt and demanding, she tilted her chin, directing her gaze to the mirror.
First she took in the sight of him. One rakish lock of dark hair fell across his broad forehead, shadows accentuating the chiseled planes of his cheekbones that gave him a dangerous air.
Then the movement of his hands drew her attention. With her blouse unfastened, he parted the material enough to see the curves of her breasts. His tan hand splayed across her white midriff and the contrast reminded her of caramel and cream, sweet, luscious and distinctive. Although she knew the perfume bottle was influencing her, she liked the sight of him touching her. The way his powerful shoulders and chest dwarfed her made her feel cherished, alluring and wanted. And when his eyes gleamed with misch
ief, she suspected she was in for a playful and enticing evening.
In the mirror, her own reflection appeared wanton. Her short skirt, the open blouse, her lack of lingerie was as sexy as if she’d been bare. Maybe sexier. And when she attempted to shrug the blouse from her shoulders and free her breasts to his hands, he nipped her shoulder.
“Hold still for me as I did for you.” His words were half request, half demanding and shot a thrill through her. She liked Bolt, enjoyed playing his games, which always ended in so much pleasure. And she enjoyed how he could switch roles with ease, a sign he was a man confident with his sexuality.
Still, she hesitated and checked the time on the alarm clock.
“Relax. Hathaway won’t return for hours.”
Amanda already knew enough about Hathaway to know that the man followed his schedule as if he were in the military. No way would he miss an opportunity to make a keynote speech. So she leaned her head back against Bolt’s chest and watched him part her blouse inch by inch to finally reveal her breasts. Tiny goose bumps rose on her areolae, clamoring for attention, but Bolt ignored the pointy, aching nubs at their center. Instead he caressed her breasts, the outer and inner curves, underneath and above. He traced sensuous, circular paths over and around her sensitive flesh until she thought she’d go mad from his teasing.
And her face reflected her needs. Her heavy-lidded eyes, her pouty mouth, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, all revealed how much she was enjoying what he was doing to her. She caught the frenzied look in her eyes, the wild need to seek release.
Watching herself seemed to increase the sensation, made their act seem more erotic, more over the top. She observed his lips tease her ear, the sensation doubly delicious as his breath fanned her earlobes and nape before his lips and tongue followed suit with long shivery caresses. Although she watched, his little nips still surprised her, teased her. And just when he had her focusing on her neck, he pinched her nipples, causing a hitch of electricity that zinged straight to her core.
She lowered her hands to her skirt to remove it, but he took her wrists and placed her hands over her head, behind his neck. The position arched her spine, raised her breasts and he cupped them, then used the pads of his fingertips to strum and pluck and pinch until she pumped her hips against him, determined that he place his sex inside her.
Gently he urged her to take a step forward, then another until her nipples touched the cool mirror and her breath fogged her reflection. Finally he unwound her hands from behind his neck and placed each palm on the mirror.
The combination of the cold glass against her front, mixed with the heat of him along her back, electrified her skin. Then he stepped away, but she didn’t miss his heat. She was on fire, burning for him. She missed his touch, though. Needed it like a parched desert thirsted for a hard rain. Savoring the moment when fantasy and reality collided, the pleasure kept escalating along with her anticipation. She was about to demand that he return, but then heard foil ripping and realized what he was doing.
And then her capacity for realization vanished as he gently pulled back her hips and spread her legs as wide as the skirt allowed. Her forearms and palms rested on the mirror, which meant her breasts no longer touched the glass. However, with her spine arched and her bottom tilted upward due to the heels she still wore, he had easy access to all of her. But the skirt was making her insane. Because somehow she knew he wasn’t going to take her fully until he removed it.
And he didn’t seem inclined to do so.
He was too busy dipping his fingers between her thighs, his touch so light that she pumped her hips for more. However, he refused to take her hint, leaving behind and neglecting the damp moisture between her legs in favor of stroking her inner thighs and her bottom.
Her legs trembled, her breasts quivered. She needed him inside her so badly that she was shaking with the need. But he totally ignored her willingness to have him right now. And she now cursed herself for asking him to take his time. She hadn’t expected him to delay this long. She hadn’t known that extending the pleasure would be such torture.
And yet, she was determined to remain as still as he had for her. Because every stroke fed her fever to have more. She grated her bottom against his pelvis, vexed by the skirt that kept his flesh from entering her.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “In case you…hadn’t noticed—”
“I’m noticing everything.”
“—I’m ready for…you…ah…now.”
“I’m noticing how your sweet moisture is coating my fingers. I’m noticing how plump and sensitive you are. How you respond so sweetly to every caress. How much you like when I do this.” He flicked her clit lightly and she groaned. “And how much you like when I fondle the insides of your thighs. But this gun is in the way.”
His voice was low and throaty and eager as he unfastened the holster’s strap and placed the gun aside. Yet he still held back. She ground her teeth in frustration. He was so good at revving her up, then keeping her right on the brink of orgasm. She hadn’t known she could take so much pleasure without bursting. But he noticed ever little quiver, read her as easily as if she’d handed him a damn manual. And his expertise had her close to begging.
She was about to turn around and grab him, when his fingers found her sweet spot. Sheesh. The man knew how to keep her going. Her entire world focused on his fingers, sliding, stroking.
Never ceasing his coaxing, he finally removed her skirt. And all she could think was for him to hurry, hurry, hurry. She arched her spine, raising her bottom, offering herself and finally she felt him insert the tip of his sex into her. And she slammed backward, ramming him home. She exploded and like a volcano bursting lava, she flowed red-hot with pleasure that went on and on and on.
Sometime during his frenzied loveplay, she understood that he wasn’t done. His fingers beat a rhythm on her clit and she kept exploding like fireworks, one blast feeding the next. Incredible multiorgasms shocked her with their intensity. Her body becoming so sensitive that each caress shot another jolt through her, until she couldn’t breathe. Or stand. Or think.
She had no idea when he found his own release. Because he never stopped moving or teasing her, not even after she screamed.
And every cell in her short-circuited from the torturous pleasure.
* * *
BOLT CAUGHT HER in his arms before she collapsed on the floor. Damn, she was lovely, beautiful in how she could give herself up to pleasure. He eased into a chair, settled her across his lap and waited in anticipation for her eyelids to open.
Even in a daze, with her skin flushed, a slight smile and her hair cascading over his arm, she gave him enjoyment. He liked bringing her to heights she’d never experienced before.
In his experience women liked to talk about their relationships, analyze the details, figure out where it was going. But Amanda was mysterious and remarkably self-contained. However, she made up for repressing her emotions by expressing herself through uninhibited sex.
As he watched her eyes flutter, then open to stare at him, he figured now might be as good a time as any to find out what was going on in that head of hers, especially before he got in any deeper. “Welcome back.”
Wonder rounded her lovely eyes. “I didn’t know I could have so many orgasms that each one sparked the next. It was an incredible experience. Thank you.”
He cuddled her closer to his chest and stroked her hair. “You sound as if you’re thanking me for dinner.”
She laughed in obvious delight. “Oh, sex with you is much better than dinner.”
That wasn’t the response he was looking for. She’d said sex, not lovemaking. But he couldn’t judge her feelings on the significance of one or two words.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
She sighed and snuggled against him. “I most certainly did.”
“And?”
“And what?” Her tone was lazy and totally relaxed.
He swallowed his hesit
ation. “What happens to us when the mission is over?”
“Us?”
“Us. You and me.”
When she blinked at him and bit her bottom lip, he pressed her.
“Are we going to be together?” he asked.
“Do you want us to be?” Her eyes darkened into twin pools of murky sea-green, deep and swirling and impossible to navigate without capsizing.
The woman was unbelievable at turning his words back on him. And yet, he supposed she had as much right to ask him about his feelings as he did about hers. Still, extracting each word from her was as difficult as opening an oyster in search of pearls.
“I want to see more of you.”
She laughed. “You’ve already seen all of me.”
“I want us to spend time together.”
“I’d like that.”
She’d agreed so easily, barely considering his comment. But he had no idea if that meant her feelings ran so deep that she didn’t have to stop and examine them, or that she simply wanted to keep doing what they were already doing.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“You asked me if I wanted to spend time together after the mission. I answered in the affirmative. What more is there to say?”
He shook his head at her. Was she deliberately yanking his chain? Still fuzzy from the lovemaking? Or evading his questions and/or her own feelings? “I want to know if you want more from me than sex.”
“I’d like to know the answer to that question myself.”
“Huh?” Her reply wasn’t the one he wanted to hear.
She flung an arm around his neck and sighed, again. “How do I know how I feel about anything, including you, with that madman showering me with lust? I don’t trust my feelings right now. No sane person would. I need some distance from Hathaway in order to figure out where I stand.” When he frowned, she reached up and traced her finger over his mouth. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered if this incredible sex and chemistry between us is normal or due to outside influence.”
“Of course I’ve thought about it. But I’m also certain that I like being with you—even when we aren’t making love.”
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