She pulled her pajama top up over her head and groaned. Things were completely out of control, and she wasn’t sure if she had any hope of getting them back on track.
When her cell phone rang shrilly, she jumped two feet in the air. She snatched it up and stared at the caller ID. Oh, glory, it was Ethan. And even the man’s ring tone sounded irritated. She flipped open the phone with shaky hands and pressed a button.
Ethan’s voice was definitely on the frustrated side. “I’ve called you a dozen times. What’s with the silent treatment?”
Trust Ethan to put her on the defensive. “I’ve been really busy.”
He made a rude noise. “Come down and open the front door.” And then he hung up on her.
Her heart started racing. She jumped to her feet, tucked the valentine out of sight, and looked for her robe. Then she remembered. She’d had to throw her old one away. And she hadn’t had time to shop for a new one yet. Blast.
As she hurried down the stairs and crossed the shop floor, she gave herself a pep talk. She wouldn’t have sex with Ethan. She wouldn’t have sex with Ethan. She was a woman with self-control and strong moral fiber and a keen sense of danger.
Through the opaque glass of the entrance, she could see his large silhouette. Even his outline looked cranky. She unlocked the large wooden door with the ornate pane and pulled it back.
Immediately, bitterly cold air and a flurry of snowflakes swirled into the shop, propelled, it seemed, by the big, menacing figure of the man she loved. Ethan entered like the abominable snowman, his uncovered head and shoulders already dusted with white. He didn’t look like a happy camper, his scowl dark, his expression implacable.
She stepped back, shivering violently.
Ethan shut the door without her assistance. The muted thunk of the dead bolt chased a chill down her spine. And when he turned to face her, every bit of snow in the room melted in simultaneous wisps of steam.
If she’d been a Victorian maiden, she might have swooned. Ethan radiated heat, determination, and aggressive sexual hunger that even a blind nun couldn’t miss.
She licked her dry lips. “Why are you here?” The question was brave, even if her voice did crack a bit on the last word.
He stripped off his heavy coat and tossed it on the floor. Then he folded his arms across his broad chest and let his gaze make a lazy journey from her flushed cheeks, to her whimsical pjs, to her sock-clad feet. She was dressed for a quiet evening at home . . . alone. Nothing about her attire suggested sex.
But apparently Ethan was not put off by the fact that she was wearing fuzzy cotton instead of smooth silk. He lifted one eyebrow. “You’ve been avoiding my phone calls.” His jaw was granite hard, and she was pretty sure he was spoiling for a fight.
Seeing the normally placid Ethan so riled made her want to laugh, but the nervous sexual tension in her stomach overrode any humor in the situation. She straightened her spine and wiped damp palms on her hips. “I am a business woman with many demands on my time.”
He took two steps closer. “Bullshit.”
Her eyes flared wide in shock and then narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Two more steps.
She held her ground. She was pretty sure she saw his lips twitch.
He reached out and fingered the lapel of her pajama top. “I think you’re scared of what happened between us. You don’t know where it fits in your tidy little life, so you’re pushing me away.”
The “tidy little life” comment stung. Her arms were by her sides, and she resisted the impulse to wrap them around her waist. Calling on all her latent acting ability, she shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He traced the V where the bare skin of her throat met the neckline of her top. Despite the fact that he had just come in from the cold, his hand was warm. Holy Hannah, the man was only using one damn fingertip, and already Jane was close to stripping off her skimpy layer of armor and saying, Take me, you fool.
His breath was warm on her cheek, their faces almost touching. He unbuttoned one of her buttons . . . just one. “I felt used,” he deadpanned. “Surely you want me for more than sex . . . right?”
She cocked her head. “Well, there is the matter of my unresolved break-ins. I could definitely use some assistance there.”
He licked the shell of her ear. “And if I promise you an arrest by the end of the week?”
She shuddered, her knees threatening to buckle. He was barely touching her. But her breath was coming in short jerky pants, and she was trembling like a maple leaf in autumn. “Then I would be suitably grateful,” she whispered, the prim words a croak.
A second button popped open, aided and abetted by her big, handsome policeman boyfriend. Could she call him that? Even if they had never actually been on a date?
He put one hand on her shoulder, one on her hip, and pushed her neck to the side with his mouth so he could bite her neck. He mumbled something against her throat. His hair smelled of winter and wood smoke.
It was hell not to touch him. Now she did tighten her arms around her waist, holding on to her sense of preservation. “What did you say?”
He lifted his head for a split second, his eyes hot and glazed. “In about five seconds I’m going to fuck you up against a wall. So you’d better stop me now if you have any objections.”
Her knees gave out, and as her limbs melted, he scooped her into his embrace. His mouth came down hard on hers, moving over and between her lips with determination. His tongue stroked her teeth, even as a growl of masculine satisfaction rumbled through his chest.
It was everything she had wanted and everything she was afraid of. Nothing was resolved. The notes. His secrecy. Her confession.
But when his thumb brushed over her nipple with reverence, and his lips stroked hers with cajoling passion, she was lost. Her whispered affirmative was almost swallowed up in his groan of relief.
Had he really thought she would refuse?
He walked her backward, true to his promise, toward the nearest wall. And all the while, he kissed her, fondled her breasts, nudged her hips with his powerful thighs.
Somehow, her arms finally let go of their death grip on her waist and linked around his neck. The remaining buttons on her top magically fled their constrictive holes, and now the pajama shirt fluttered open, leaving her aching breasts free.
In Ethan, she sensed something snap. It was the unmistakable shattering of his control, the helpless surrender to a hunger that gave no quarter. Jane knew, because she felt it as well.
He unfastened his belt and pants with one hand. “Help me,” he muttered, his plea hoarse and urgent.
She wrestled with his zipper and freed his cock. It was thick and hot and pulsing with eagerness.
His hands pushed at the sides of her pajama bottoms, shoving them to her knees and off her feet. He lifted her with muscles straining in his arms. And then he joined their bodies with a mighty thrust.
Jane cried out, feeling stretched beyond belief from this angle. She sobbed and buried her hot face in his neck. “Ethan.”
He went dead still. “Did I hurt you?”
The shocked anguish in his voice combined with dazed remorse for her pain.
She rested her cheek against his, feeling his life force deep within her, relishing the amazing sensation of being joined with him. “Don’t stop. I’m fine. I’m better than fine.”
He whooshed out a breath, chuckling hoarsely. “Thank God.”
And then he moved again.
Jane locked her ankles behind his back and held on. He took her slow. He took her fast. He took her with shallow, teasing probes and firm, steady thrusts. And the wilder he got, the more she liked it.
The wall bruised her shoulder blades. She never noticed. How could she, when it took all her concentration just to breathe?
He changed his rhythm suddenly, his entire body rigid with the effort it took to maintain the new, lazy, almost tender moves. He rested his forehead against her
s. “Have I told you you’re amazing?” The words came out in quick, short pants.
She played with the soft hair at his nape. It was silky and smooth beneath her fingers. “No,” she said softly. “Nice, yes . . . amazing, no.”
He found her mouth and kissed her roughly. “Not nice,” he muttered. “Spectacular. Sexy. Hot as hell.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. That sounded more promising than “good old buddy Jane.” She squeezed her inner muscles and grinned when he shuddered and cursed. Then she nipped his ear with her teeth. “I believe you’ve already breached the castle, so I’m pretty sure flattery is superfluous at the moment.” She was barely able to string words together. The feel of him inside her was a huge distraction. Really huge.
He moaned and moved in and out slowly, making them both crazy. “Sweet Jane.” He murmured the words so softly she was barely able to hear.
Maybe later she would analyze the word “sweet” . . . might wonder why a man in the midst of a really powerful fuck wanted to describe his lover by such a syrupy endearment. But for now, all she really, really wanted was an orgasm.
She rubbed her breasts against his chest, feeling the light tickle of his chest hair. “Ethan?”
“Hmmm?” His hands beneath her ass tightened.
“Don’t make me wait. . . .”
He straightened suddenly, startling her into an undignified squeak. “Change of venue,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
He strode toward the back of the shop, closed the distance to the staircase in record time, and sat down on the third step with her astride his lap. When he dragged her hard against his chest, the base of his cock ground against her clit. That was all it took. She trembled and cried out as fire shot through her body, stole her breath, and left her limp and gasping in his embrace.
His smile was feral. “Hang on, baby. There’s more where that came from.”
Thirteen
Aeons later, or maybe just an hour, Ethan tugged Jane against his chest and spooned her with a sigh of contentment. He had no desire to dress and go back out into the frigid night, so he was banking on Jane’s willingness to let him spend the night.
But she hadn’t offered that as an option . . . yet. They had just completed a second round of rock-his-world-to-hell-and-back sex, and he was trying to regain his equilibrium before he broached the subject of sleeping over.
He liked it here. Jane’s place was homey and warm. On the table beside her bed lay the mystery she was reading. A single stuffed animal sat in an old-fashioned rocking chair. Her closet door was ajar, and the top of her dresser was covered with a variety of female stuff.
Jane wasn’t a neat freak. But she wasn’t a slob. She was just . . . Jane.
He played lazily with her breasts, stroking the incredibly soft skin and teasing the nipples in turn. Jane stirred restlessly, her long legs tangling with his. Their bodies fit together perfectly. He couldn’t imagine a woman more physically suited to be his lover. Even though they were unaccustomed to physical intimacy, there had been virtually no awkwardness in their coming together, perhaps because they knew each other very well.
The sex was explosive, but at the same time perfectly comfortable, powerfully satisfying.
He liked this newly resurrected relationship, this fresh incarnation of what they once enjoyed. But he was baffled by Jane’s behavior.
Every day since last weekend, and even now, he’d expected her to demand some sort of explanation . . . to talk about the future. But she had been almost cavalier about the whole thing. And though he refused to admit that it piqued his pride, on some level, her refusal to do so was insulting and disturbing.
Was Jane merely indulging in fun and games? Did she see him as temporary entertainment? His stomach churned with acid, and he stirred restlessly.
Before he could stop her, she slid out of bed and went to the bathroom. He heard water running, listened for the soft pad of footsteps, and finally noticed her return. But she was dressed in her pajamas, and he sensed that her emotional armor was firmly back in place. She paused in the doorway, her slender figure a shadow against the harsh light from the hallway.
She hovered there. “Would you like something to eat? I have part of Mr. Benson’s cake left over from Saturday.” Her voice was tentative, and the hint of vulnerability he heard made his heart turn over in his chest.
“Come here,” he said gruffly. Maybe she wasn’t as nonchalant as she seemed. Maybe she was protecting herself from him. It was a sobering thought.
She climbed into bed, and he cursed with a laugh when her icy feet touched his legs. “Damn, woman, where are those cute fluffy socks?”
She burrowed against him with a flurry of feminine wiggles, making his dick snap to attention. Her words were muffled. “Socks aren’t sexy.”
He kissed the top of her head, carefully keeping his hands in noninflammatory positions. For now. “Trust me, Jane, if you’re wearing them, they’re sexy.”
For several long minutes, they snuggled in silence, a warm, cozy, new-but-not-weird tangle of limbs and breath. He felt his chest tighten with all sorts of impulsive, heartfelt words. But he choked them back. It was no time to be rash. He couldn’t risk doing or saying something stupid. Not when he was finally back in her life, close to her in every way that counted.
So he did what any smart man would do. He played to his strengths.
She had to have noticed his boner. It throbbed between them like an overeager adolescent. But he ignored it. He stroked her back, tracing her spine. “We think your intruder may try something again this Friday or Saturday.”
She stiffened in his arms. “Why?”
“I had a couple of men swing by on patrol this past weekend when the cleaners were at your place. It’s possible your fire bug showed up again, because Sunday morning one of the officers found a cigarette butt beneath that same alley window.”
She moved restlessly. “You think he was planning to break in a third time?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. If we’re right and the perp is a teenager, it would make sense that he has more freedom on the weekends. He would have assumed the downstairs was empty as usual at night. Then he shows up and realizes the shop is crawling with people. He got spooked and took off.”
She rolled to her back and ran a hand through her hair. “I just don’t get it. What could he possibly want?” It tickled Ethan that she sounded pissed, not scared. Jane was no pushover.
He rolled up on an elbow and toyed with her buttons, wishing she hadn’t been so quick to cover up all that luscious, warm flesh. “I don’t give a damn what he wants. All I care about is busting his criminal ass so I know you’re safe again.”
She lifted a hand to his cheek. “My hero.”
He chose to ignore the saccharine sarcasm. “I don’t think you’re taking this threat seriously.”
When she linked her hands above her head, he caught a glimpse of pale skin at her waist. Even in the dim light, he could tell she was rolling her eyes. “Be honest, Ethan. He broke a window and set off a few smoke bombs. I don’t think this is going to turn into the script for a Hollywood slasher movie.”
His temper flared. The fact that Jane was the one person who could provoke him so easily was not something he wished to dwell on at the moment. He wanted to shake her. “Bad things happen to nice people, Jane.” He saw it all the time. The innocent caught in unspeakable situations because they didn’t take precautions or because they had no one to stand up for them, to protect them. He wouldn’t allow it to happen to Jane.
His fingers clenched in a fist on her belly. “I’m staying here this weekend.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Have I invited you?”
He heard the irritation and the female pique, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass. Jane’s safety was his responsibility, both professionally and personally. And if that offended her, tough shit.
He battened down the urge to play bad cop. Sometimes coaxing was better than coercion. Deliberately, he relaxed
his fingers and splayed his hand on her abdomen. He could feel her quick intake of breath and the faint shiver that rippled from her breasts to her thighs.
His head bent. His lips nuzzled that tiny strip of naked skin above the elastic waist of her pants. “I don’t snore. You should know that by now.” Alluding to their first night together, at his house, was a calculated risk. He wanted her to remember the heat, the raw passion, the aching hunger. But he risked scaring her away, because since that night she had definitely kept her distance.
Slowly, he lowered her pants an inch and probed his tongue in her navel.
Her narrow hips came off the bed. “Ohmigod, Ethan.” Both of her hands clenched in his hair, threatening to yank him bald.
He slid his hands under the elastic and pushed at the fabric until it crumpled at her knees. Her pale, lush thighs nearly derailed his plan. He wanted to shove between them and take her again.
Patience, man, patience. He licked a lazy line from her navel to the top of her mound. It tickled him that Jane shaved there. It seemed a very un-Jane thing to do. All that was left for him to tease with his tongue was a tiny, almost heart-shaped puff of pale gold hair.
He shifted positions and moved on top, his hips resting on hers, pinning her to the bed. Because he hadn’t completely removed her pajama pants, she couldn’t spread her legs. She was his prisoner. Deliberately, he rubbed his erection over that silly heart. On the down stroke he brushed her clitoris with his shaft.
Jane mumbled something under her breath and closed her eyes. Her hands gripped the bedsheet, threatening to rip the soft, brushed flannel.
He smiled—even though she couldn’t see him—and shoved her shirt to her armpits, not bothering with the buttons this time. When his mouth closed over her breast, she pulled his head closer, whimpering his name. As he tugged at her nipple with his teeth and tongue, Jane went wild.
She bucked and twisted, threatening imminent harm to his boys.
He choked back a laugh that was three parts frustrated lust and yanked the two sides of her top apart, flinging buttons across the room.
When Jane’s eyes flew open in shock, he grinned through clenched teeth. “Always wanted to do that,” he panted.
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