Danger and Desire: Ten Full-Length Steamy Romantic Suspense Novels

by Pamela Clare

  “You okay?”

  She lifted her lids. Her eyes looked a little dazed. Dazed was good, he decided.

  “Suzannah? Did I hurt you? You’re so tight…”

  “Oh, no,” she breathed. “It’s actually … very nice.”

  Very nice? No woman had ever characterized his lovemaking with such faint praise before. His ego would have been dented but for the knowledge that very nice was probably the high water mark for her. Time to raise the bar.

  “I’m going to move now. If anything gets outside your comfort zone, tell me and I’ll stop.”

  Her reply was to rock her pelvis against him. Good answer.

  Watching her face, he withdrew almost completely, repeating the full penetration. This time, she arched up to meet him.

  “Good?”

  “Yes!”

  He stroked her like that for a while, long and slow and deep, until she communicated her need for more with the thrusting of her hips. Picking up the tempo, he rocked into her. He felt her shift her position slightly to maximize the friction against the center of her pleasure.

  He reached between them to open her folds still further. “That’s right, baby. Rock it, now. Rock against me.”

  She did, and he felt her building excitement in her every breath, in her tightening muscles. Oh, soon. Please make it soon. “Lock your legs around me now,” he urged. She complied, gasping her pleasure. With each thrust, he felt her tension coiling tighter, higher, and she was making noises now. Small, quiet, polite noises. It was so Suzannah. And sexier than anything he’d ever heard before.

  Suddenly, his control was gone. He let go of all thought of technique and just pounded himself into her, rocking the bed until the headboard started banging the wall.

  Fortunately, it seemed to be what she needed. He felt her orgasm coming at last, her internal muscles gripped him with astonishing power. Then it hit her. He thrust deep and stilled, pinning her to the mattress as she rode it out. In the silence of the bedroom, her quiet sobs made him want to weep. When her contractions had quieted to mere tremors, he resumed moving. A few more thrusts into her pulsating, impossible tightness and his own climax slammed into him.

  He lay there in the sweet cradle of her thighs, his heart echoing the thundering of hers, thinking, Man, you are in so much trouble. Fortunately, he felt way too good to worry about it.

  Chapter Nine

  I get it. I finally get it.

  Suzannah lay there, cradling 185 pounds of trembling man in her arms and finally understood. This was what all the fuss was about. This was what drove people to the extremes she witnessed time and again, in courtroom after courtroom.

  Oh, she’d known on an intellectual plane. But that kind of knowledge was not the same as this bone-deep knowing.

  He stirred and she released the handful of hair she’d been clutching so he could lift his head. He gazed down at her, his hair sexily tousled, face flushed. Even now, his brown eyes scorched her.

  “You okay?”

  She smiled at his husky question. “You could say that.”

  He rolled away and off the bed. She let him go reluctantly, missing his warmth and weight more than was reasonable or prudent, and he disappeared immediately into the bathroom.

  Suddenly she was assailed by the demons of doubt. Just because it had been great for her didn’t necessarily mean it had been great for him. Did it?

  Oh, God, what if it had been awful for him? Was he going to step into the shower, wash every last trace of her from his skin?

  Before her insecurities could balloon any further, he was back. Wordlessly, he scooped her up, flicked the covers back and placed her on the cool sheets. Seconds later, he crawled right in beside her, gathering her close.

  The condom, she realized. He’d gone to dispose of it. Relief made her giddy.

  “I thought you were going to turn out to be one of those fastidious types. You know, jump into a scalding shower and scrub off the top layer of your epidermis.”

  As soon as the words were out, she could have bitten her tongue off. They too accurately captured her own reaction to her last ill-judged foray into the bedroom.

  “Hardly. In fact, I may never wash my right hand again.”

  “John!”

  More laughter. More silly talk, which led to silly kisses, which led to serious kisses. Long, languorous, sweet kisses. This time, there was ample opportunity for exploration, and Suzannah took full advantage of it. Using her hands and lips, she explored his face, his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and in a feat of great daring, she laid hands on his prodigious arousal. She would have liked to taste him, too—thrilling tongues of fire licking through her veins at the mere thought—but she lacked the courage.

  In any event, her hands seemed to be quite sufficient for the job. He endured her ministrations with obvious pleasure, but eventually he turned the tables on her. With tremendous skill and infinite patience, he subjected her to a similar erotic torture. Finally, when neither could stand another second of foreplay, he sheathed himself again and brought them both to a quick, shattering climax.

  Afterward, they lay spooned together beneath the covers.

  “Damn. I gotta get up.”

  She felt his sigh stir the hairs on the nape of her neck. “So soon?”

  “Can’t you hear that?”

  She tensed and lifted her head, listening intently. “I don’t hear a thing.”

  “Exactly.” He rolled out of bed, fished a pair of jeans out of the drawer and hauled them on. “Bandy’s either asleep or up to no good. I’m betting it’s option B, especially since I didn’t stop to feed him.”

  “Whoops. Better rectify that.” She sat up, sheets clutched to her breasts, and watched him dress.

  “I will. Right after I walk him.” He dug a clean t-shirt out and hauled it over his head. “I’ll arm the alarm on the way out and let myself back in with my key.”

  The alarm. Locked doors. Stepped-up police patrols. Back to reality. A reality that included a faceless stalker. But for a while, in this virtual fortress they’d created, she’d felt safe enough to momentarily forget the lunatic who stalked her.

  Or maybe it was John’s arms that made her feel so safe.

  Veering away from that thought, she watched him poke his feet into battered runners and lace them up.

  She should get up too, but this was his room. She’d have to go down the hall for a change of clothes. Despite the fact he’d already explored her body intimately, she felt oddly shy about walking around naked in front of him. Of course, she could always drag the sheet off the bed and warp it around her, but that would only underscore her ridiculous modesty. Which meant she was stuck here until he left. God, she was such a prude.

  A strand of hair fell forward, and she pushed it back behind her ear. “Spaghetti okay for dinner? I want to make it something quick so I can tackle the work Vince gave me.”

  He straightened, nabbed his keys from the top of the dresser and stuck them in the pockets of his jeans. “Spaghetti sounds great, but why don’t I make it? That way, you can get straight to work and just take a break when it’s ready.”

  She grinned. “You’re going to cook for me?”

  “As often as you like. As long as the menu is spaghetti. Or a nice rib eye on the grill. I can do that, too.” He crossed to the bed, grasped her face and kissed her, a quick, hard kiss. “Back soon.”

  She heard him cross the landing and jog lightly down the steps, heard him talking to Bandy, heard the dog’s nails clicking excitedly on the hardwood floor. She smiled, picturing perfectly the way the stout dog would be wriggling as John tried to clip the lead to his collar. She could get used to this.

  Except she’d better not.

  Her smile faded.

  The threat to her safety was the sole force bringing them together. Well, that and a strong physical attraction. The former would be removed when her stalker slipped up, which he was bound to do soon. The latter, the chemistry between them, would run its
course quickly, too. After all, they were such an unlikely couple.

  She chewed her lip. Their relationship had to be costing him with the other guys. It was one thing for him to let them think he “doing” the She-Rex. Quite another for them to know he’d moved in with her and was making her safety a priority.

  Of course, no one from her social circle was taking a terribly positive view of the relationship, either. She’d actually overheard two male friends speculate that she was “slumming” with the rough-edged detective and would soon weary of it. Her girlfriends, on the other hand, did not speculate behind her back. They were completely upfront about her delicious choice for a walk on the wild side. Her own mother believed much the same, for goodness sake. Only Vince was genuinely glad of the relationship, and that was because he figured John would keep her safe. Beyond that, her partner probably shared the consensus opinion that this was a case of opposites temporarily attracting.

  Annoyed with herself, Suzannah threw the covers off and leapt out of bed. It didn’t matter what anyone thought. Picking up her skirt, she shook it vigorously.

  It didn’t matter, either, that it wasn’t a forever thing. She snatched up her blouse and located her underwear under John’s shirt. She was quite capable of enjoying it while it lasted, after which she’d file it away with other pleasant memories, like the three weeks she’d spent in the Dutch Antilles last year.

  Marching to her own bedroom, she tossed her clothes on the bed, strode to the bathroom and turned on the taps. Adjusting the water temperature, she flicked on the shower, stepped under the spray and let it soak her hair.

  She wasn’t Sleeping Beauty looking for a handsome prince to come along and cart her off to some happily ever after. She was a modern woman. A sophisticated woman.

  Squeezing shampoo into her hands, she worked it briskly through her hair, then leaned back into the spray to rinse the rich lather away.

  She certainly wasn’t one of those girls who imagined themselves in love just because some guy came along and gave her an orgasm. Not even for a mind-blinding, soul-shaking orgasm.

  No, this girl was going to grab as many of those orgasms, enjoy as many laughs, as she could. But she’d keep her head and heart a proper distance from danger.

  Satisfied, she stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel.

  *

  Seven hours later, Suzannah woke to the certain knowledge that she was alone in her bed.

  She certainly hadn’t been alone three hours earlier. She smiled at the memory.

  John had fed her as promised, then left her in peace to work on the DeBoeuf files while he watched the Yankees and the Rays. As she worked, she caught the occasional muttering from the TV room, often about the dubious collective IQ of the umpiring crew. She’d worked until the idea of peeling his clothes off and making love to him on the couch in the flickering light cast by the television totally destroyed her concentration. It had taken another few minutes to work up her courage to actually do it.

  When she entered the room, something exciting was obviously happening on screen, because he barely looked up. She rounded up Bandy and secured him in the kitchen, giving him a new rawhide strip to keep him preoccupied. Heart pounding at her own audacity, she’d run upstairs to fetch a condom from his supply in the spare bedroom. Then she went back to the living room. He did tear his eyes from the action this time, specifically when she knelt in front of him, slid her hands under his t-shirt and instructed him to lift his arms so she could haul it off.

  He complied enthusiastically, then tried to reciprocate by removing her silk knit tank top, but she forestalled him, making it clear that it was her turn this time. He’d leaned back into the cushions readily enough, smiling in a wicked, sexy way that threatened to steal what remained of her breath.

  In the flickering bluish light, she knelt between his knees and explored his chest, his arms, his shoulders, the vee of fine hair arrowing down his abdomen to the waistband of his jeans. He protested not at all when she undid his belt and slowly, carefully, drew down his zipper. And when it came to getting the worn Levis off, he was downright helpful. When she ran her nails up and down his hair-roughened thighs, she had the satisfaction of seeing his erection leap. And when at last she laid hands on that supremely male part of his anatomy, he almost came out of his skin. But that reaction was nothing compared to the sounds he made when she replaced the caress of her hands with her mouth.

  Incredible. Never had she felt such feminine power, or such a deep arousal. Gasps of pleasure, broken words of praise, hoarse entreaties. When he warned he could stand no more, she handed him the condom. As he sheathed himself, she shed her own clothing and climbed onto his lap. He tried to stall her, insisting she needed attention to make her as ready as he was, but she wouldn’t be slowed. Gripping him between her thighs, she sank down on his thrusting hardness, impaling herself, dragging a sigh of delight from both of them. Pushing him back into the cushions, she rode him, lifting, sinking, gyrating, as he filled his hands with her breasts. Within minutes, she felt his climax coming in the harshness of his breathing and the tremor of tension rippling through him. Incredibly, it was enough to trigger her own orgasm. As her flesh contracted around his, he gripped her hips and surged into her to find his own release.

  Afterward, when their heartbeats had returned to normal, he’d killed the TV with the remote. He scooped her up, carried her to the kitchen long enough to liberate Bandy, then on up to her bedroom. With infinite gentleness, he laid her on the cool sheets and climbed into bed beside her. Blissfully exhausted, she’d fallen asleep cradled against his solid heat.

  Now, with her digital clock reading almost 1:00 a.m., his side of the bed had grown cold. Had he gone back to his room? Lots of people—including herself, normally—couldn’t stand to share a bed for actual sleeping. Curiosity getting the best of her, she threw the covers off and pulled on a silk wrap. Beside the bed Bandy raised his head briefly, sighed loudly, then went back to sleep. Suzannah stole down the hall to the spare bedroom. In the moonlight, she saw that his bed was empty, though he’d obviously remade it at some point. Unease prickled along her nape.

  Moving into the room, she checked the bathroom, which was also unoccupied. Had he gone downstairs in search of food? Probably. They’d eaten fairly lightly, especially considering their exertions.

  She made her way downstairs. At the first landing, she could see a faint glow of light, but it came from the direction of her study, not the kitchen. Frowning, she descended the rest of the steps and glided to the open doorway of her study. There he was, reclined in her chair, bare feet on her desk, reading.

  “Hey,” she called, her voice husky from sleep. “What are you doing up?”

  He started. “Whoa!” He swung his feet and stood. “Didn’t see you there.”

  “I missed you.” She moved into the room. “What are you doing?”

  “Reading. Police stuff.” He dropped the material on the desk, almost furtively it seemed, then skirting the furniture to intercept her. “Best cure in the world for insomnia.”

  “Couldn’t sleep?” He’d come so close she had to tip her head back to look at him. Even in the dim light cast by the banker’s lamp, she saw his eyes darken.

  “I won’t sleep easy until this bastard’s in a cage.”

  Her heart twisted in her chest. She’d been sleeping like a baby and he’d been down here worrying. About her. And once again, she’d slept like a baby because he was here, worrying about her.

  “He’ll screw up soon.” She slid her arms around him. “I can feel it.”

  He closed his arms around her, tucked her head under his chin. “You’re right. And the boys will be right there to pop him when he does.”

  She pulled back a few inches. “Think you can sleep now?”

  “Yeah.” He sounded surprised. “Yeah, I think I could.”

  *

  “So, does she know?”

  Quigg glanced up from the coroner’s report he’d been reading. Ray s
tood there, coffee in hand, looking like a GQ model. Only the subtle bulge under his arm marred the lines of his suit. “Dammit, Razor, could you give the rest of us a break?”

  Ray grinned, loosening his tasteful, impeccable, unwrinkled, unstained tie. “Hey, blame it on Grace.”

  Quigg snorted. “I’d like to, but you always looked like that, even when you were dressing yourself.”

  “So, does she know?”

  Back to that. Quigg played dumb. “Does who know what?”

  “Does Suzannah know you hired a private dick to sit on her?”

  “No, and there’s no reason why she should.”

  Ray parked his butt on the side of Quigg’s desk. “Must be costing a pretty penny.”

  Quigg shrugged. “Hank owed me one. And you know she wouldn’t stand for the cops sitting on her, even if the brass would approve that kind of deployment.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now, what can you tell me about Suzannah’s case? Learn anything at the fast food joint?”

  “Nothing very helpful. The drinks there are self serve, from a fountain. Someone must have doctored a drink, then swapped it for Suzannah’s. Be easy enough to do. Suzannah says she got a call on her cell phone. The switch probably took place when she turned away to dig her cellular unit out.”

  “The call?”

  “We confirmed it came from the pay phone in the vestibule of the restaurant. Receiver was wiped clean.”

  “Security cameras?”

  “Pointed at the cashiers and the lineup. Nothing trained on the area where Suzannah was sitting. We’ll have to get her to view the tapes and ID everyone she recognizes. ’Course, our guy is no dimwit. He might never have entered the camera’s range. He probably nabbed an empty beverage container from one of the tables—lots of people don’t bother to dump their own garbage when they’re finished—and refilled it at the fountain with whatever she was drinking.”

  Quigg’s gut tightened at the mental picture of Suzannah’s stalker following her through the self-service soda fountain, maybe just feet away… “He might not be dumb, but he’s getting impatient, taking chances. He’ll screw up.”