by Susan Stoker
She bent again.
Blood pooled in his groin. He nearly groaned because his jeans were already feeling pretty tight. Her ass was exquisite. Not a word he’d ever say aloud, but damn, prime real estate.
Never mind her legs were long and slender and as finely turned as any Chippendale table’s legs. He could see why a bastard like Guiducci would have trouble letting her go.
She withdrew the covered pot that held the chili he’d made the night before and set it on the counter. When she lifted the lid, she inhaled and her eyes closed.
A rumble he could hear from the doorway sounded. He supposed it was time to quit spying and help her out. After kicking at his boot to make noise, he stepped into the kitchen.
Her gaze widened then shot down her tee.
“You’re covered,” he said. “Glad you found something to sleep in.” Even more glad you didn’t try to wear my boxers. “Thought you were tired.”
“I am.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or at least I was, until I lay down. Then my stomach started rumbling.”
“Let me put that on the stove for you.”
She reached for a bowl in the cupboard. “I can just nuke it.”
He gave her a mock glare. “One doesn’t nuke Texas chili.”
“That another rule?”
“Yup. One my mother taught me.”
“She teach you how to cook, too?”
“She did. Said a man needed to know how to take care of himself. I even know how to wash my own clothes.”
She laughed, as he’d intended for her to do. He picked up the pot and set it on the iron grate atop the stove. “Stove’s tricky. Runs on natural gas. If ever it doesn’t come on right away, be sure to stand back before you try again.”
She tilted her head. “I’ve used a gas stove before. I do know how to cook.”
“You do?”
“Joey liked my cooking. But when we had people over, he always hired a caterer. Said he didn’t want me smelling like food around his friends.” She shook her head. “Sorry, last thing I should be doing is thinking about him.” She took a deep breath and gave him a smile. “I’ll set the—” she glanced around. “The counter, I guess.”
“Sorry, don’t have a table yet, but I do have some bar stools.” He headed back out to the garage to pull out the chairs, all the while keeping an ear to the doorway.
When he came back inside, she held a clean cloth and a bottle of Pledge. “I’ll give them a dust.”
He smiled and let her clean them while he stirred the chili. “Hope you can stand a little heat. I put peppers in my chili.”
“Is there any other way to make it?”
He grunted his approval then pulled down another bowl from the cupboard.
Carina didn’t think she’d ever tasted anything better. Not in all the fine restaurants Joey had taken her to. Even her mama’s chili couldn’t compare.
He refilled her glass of milk. “Swallow it down. Milk puts out the fire.”
She liked that he sensed her every little distress. She took a sip. “Thanks, that’s the best chili I’ve ever had.”
“I know.”
She laughed. “Guess I shouldn’t have moaned so much.”
“A man likes to know he’s pleased a woman.” Glancing sideways, he winced.
She laughed harder. “On that note, I should probably get back to bed.”
“Yeah.” He remained on his stool as she jumped down.
“I’ll take care of the dishes.”
“No, you won’t,” he said, his voice clipped again. He pointed toward the door. “Bed.”
Carina wasn’t blind to what was happening between them. The intimacy of being forced together like this was preying on them both. She was glad they’d been so relaxed during the meal, but she wasn’t unaware of his attraction. That he didn’t want to stand only highlighted the fact the man was aroused.
Could he tell she felt the same? She didn’t dare glance down the front of her borrowed tee, but she could feel the hardened tips rub against the thin fabric. Not that she cared all that much. It felt good, being attracted to someone like him. Reaffirming the possibility of making a better choice the next time. “Goodnight, Cain,” she said softly.
“Night, Carina,” he said, his voice sounding a little rusty.
As she climbed the steps, she didn’t bother holding down the hem of the tee. He’d already seen her ass when she’d bent for the pot of chili.
Chapter Five
‡
By day four of their forced captivity, Cain was ready to chew on nails. He’d never been this hard or horny for such a long period of time. And no privacy existed inside the house for him to relieve himself of the problem. What he wouldn’t give for five minutes of alone time…
Not that Carina hadn’t been great. Their first morning together, she’d appeared in the garage, wearing another of his tees over her borrowed jeans and offering to lend him a hand. Not the phrase he’d needed to hear, because he’d immediately envisioned her giving him a hand job.
Though not experienced at any form of labor, she’d proved adept with a paintbrush. After taping off his office walls, he’d shown her how to use a brush and a roller then left to strip another section of crown molding. Anything not to watch how perfectly his shirt clung to the tight tips of her breasts.
So, why hadn’t he ever gotten around to shopping for new undergarments for her to wear? Cain couldn’t help the fact he was fascinated with her curves. In the evenings after a shower, she wasn’t the least bit shy about parading around in his shirt while they fixed their dinner. If the hem slipped upward, he didn’t look away. And by her pink cheeks, he knew she was giving him a little show. No accident there.
By now, he was sure her attraction was just as strong as his. And still, he hadn’t acted on it—too aware of his responsibility to keep her safe—even from himself. And he didn’t want to spoil things between them.
The truth was, he liked her. She was smart, and not the least bit lazy. A very quick learner and seemingly eager to be taught. And, of course, his mind dove into all the things he’d love to teach her—sexier pursuits. Fact was, he liked having her around. Liked her scent, her curves—damn, he liked everything about her. But women like Carina didn’t just appear in this little backwater town. She was meant for better things. Meant to have the best life offered. She should be spoiled, pampered. Loved…
Perhaps the thing that kept him from even approaching her was the idea of her freezing up and seeing him in the same light as her ex. And Cain couldn’t stand the thought of giving her even a moment’s fear.
He put down his scraper and laid aside the rag he’d been using to sweep away the bits of old paint he’d liberated. He sat on the steps leading into the kitchen. There’d been no sign of Joey Guiducci. The sheriff was of the opinion that he’d likely returned home, knowing she was being watched. What criminal in his right mind would continue to risk everything over a girlfriend, even if she had stolen his money?
Josh wanted to know how much longer he’d watch over her. Theirs wasn’t a large department. Cain was needed back at work.
The numbers on the money hadn’t stirred any interest from the Feds. He could return it to her, and she could be on her merry way. He should just tell her.
Cain walked through the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs. He could hear her humming down the hallway, not any country song—he might have recognized the tune. But he liked the rhythm and her off-key enthusiasm. When he stood in the doorway, he couldn’t keep his smile from widening.
She glanced sideways. “See? I didn’t get any on the floor.”
True, but she did have streaks and drops of paint all over her hair and shirt. His shirt.
She must have seen the direction of his glance, because she looked downward. “Dangit.”
“I never liked that shirt, anyway. Not much of a Cowboys fan.”
“Is such a sentiment even allowed in Texas?”
He leaned against the door frame, t
hinking about what he’d come to say. He felt his smile fade.
Hers faltered, as well. “Is anything wrong?”
He gave her a small smile, more of a twist of his lips. “We should talk.”
Her expression shuttered.
Something he hadn’t seen since that first night when he’d approached her at the fire. Dammit.
“Is it bad?” she asked, laying down her brush on the paint tray and reaching for the package of wet wipes he’d provided.
“No. Just come.” He held out his hand.
She didn’t hesitate.
Even though this was the first time they’d touched since he’d patted her down at the station. Once again, the heat of her skin caused his palm to tingle. He led her to the bedroom. The only room with a full contingent of furniture. He pulled her down on the loveseat beside him and kept her hand in his, because he didn’t want to let her go.
Her eyes were wide. Worry dug a wrinkle between her dark brows.
He reached up and rubbed it with his thumb. Then, realizing he was trying to rub away her worry, he dropped his hand. “There’s been no sign of your boyfriend. Not in days.”
She remained silent, but her face stiffened. “Are you saying I can go?”
“No charges are pending against you. None against him, either, since we can’t tie him to the fire. Sheriff won’t even charge him with reckless endangerment for the car chase, because we don’t know for stone-cold certain the driver was him.”
“But, it was.”
“I know.”
“And he’s not ever giving up.”
He tightened his jaw at the fear in her voice. “I know.”
“Then what are you saying?” she asked, her voice rising. “That you have to go back to work, and I have to go on my way?”
Cain stifled an immediate rejection of the idea. He had no right to make her stay. “The money’s yours. You can afford a ticket anywhere. Far away from him.”
“You think that’s what I should do?” Her voice was small and uneven.
He knew, with a certainty he felt in his bones, that she waited for him to say something else. Something about them. But should he? Could he keep her safe here, indefinitely?
She tugged her hand away then straightened her shoulders. “I’ll go. I know it’s the smart thing to do, and you’ve already done so much. But, I have to know…”
Cain felt his belly tighten in rejection, because if she asked, he’d tell her. And God help them both.
Her gaze dropped to her hands, which were curved into fists on her thighs. “Do you… could you ever…see yourself with someone like me?”
“Dammit, Carina,” he said, his voice rasping. “You’re so damn young.”
Her chin shot up, and her eyes flashed. “Too young for you?”
“Fuck, you deserve better than me.” His jaw clenched.
“If you’re looking for excuses for me to go, that’s not the best one to use. I’ve had money. I wore clothes that I would bet cost more than you make in a month. But, I wasn’t happy. And I didn’t like me.” She dipped her chin. “I feel safe with you.”
“I can’t be your bodyguard. Not forever.”
“I’m not talking about that. I feel safe—I know you won’t hurt me. That you won’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.” She lifted her gaze, locking it with his. “I can’t imagine letting anyone else touch me.” She stopped short and turned away her head.
Cain sat beside her, not breathing. She’d imagined him touching her. She’d flirted. Outrageously, but he hadn’t taken her behavior seriously.
She’d imagined being with him.
Cain straightened. What he should do was tell her she’d find another man. Someone good. Someone who could give her things. But his nobility could only stretch so far. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it back again, so he gripped her by the waist and pulled her over his lap.
Her body shivered against him. Her palms pushed against his chest.
He kept his arms around her, loosely. She could escape if she wanted, but with every second that passed, he watched her grow calmer. Watched rose creep across her cheeks, her tight lips relax.
When she leaned toward him, letting her ripe nipples scrape across his chest, only then did he move. He laid his palm against her cheek and rubbed his thumb across her plump bottom lip. “Stay with me.”
Carina made a noise, something between a sob and laugh, and pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and pushing her breasts against him, because she needed to feel his hardness. She craved so much more. Had since she’d lain alone that first night with the sounds of him walking circles around the house, knowing he would keep her safe. Alone with the smell of his lovely, manly musk on the sheets. She’d let that feeling grow over the past days, wondering whether this was how being in love felt. His care for her was as close as she’d ever experienced to being cherished. But since he hadn’t acted on any of the many invitations she’d offered with her eyes and “accidental” peeks at her ass, she’d begun to wonder if he considered her damaged goods—because of whom she’d lived with and what he’d done.
But there wasn’t any mistaking the look he gave her now with those clear blue eyes. No misunderstanding his raw tone. Stay with me. Before she’d let him reconsider, she reached for the hem of the tee she’d ruined with paint and pulled it over her head.
His gaze fell to her full breasts. “Jesus.”
“They ache, Cain. I ache. For you.” She felt breathless. Her heart skittered wildly.
Slowly, he raised his hands to palm her flesh, and she closed her eyes, loving the heat, loving his gentle caresses.
He bent his head and trailed his mouth across her shoulder, then lower, pushing her back so he could kiss the tops of her breasts. The moment he latched onto a tingling nipple, she cried out, so joyous was the feeling flooding her body with warmth.
Suddenly, he drew back. His hands gripped her bottom, and he rose.
She wound her legs around his waist as he walked to the bed. “I’ll get paint on your sheets,” she whispered.
“We’ll both get dirty, sweetheart. I’m not worried.” He set her down beside the bed then knelt to open her jeans and slide them down her legs.
Nude, she held her breath as he glanced at her sex.
His gaze dropped to her feet, and he held down her pant legs as she stepped out, leaning on his shoulders for balance. Then he stood, and she went to work on the chambray shirt he wore, unsnapping the buttons down the front, and then parting the sides to get her first look at his broad chest. He had far less hair than Joey, and it was brown and silky. She raked her fingertips through it, plucking. When he gave a little groan, her mouth curved. So, she nuzzled his nipple, loving the way he gently cupped the back of her head and rubbed her scalp. Lord have mercy, she loved the taste of his skin, the soft texture of his flat brown nipple. With her teeth, she teased it into a point then fluttered her tongue against the tiny bead.
“Witch,” he muttered.
She glanced upward, her gaze snagging on his hooded eyes. “I want you, Cain. All of you.” She backed away, sitting on the edge of the bed before lying full-length and stretching, her gaze going to his still-clothed body.
He didn’t need another hint. His clothing flew off. And then he was climbing over her, his large, long body inches from her skin, but still warming her, breast to toes.
He held still, braced on his arms as she raked his body with her searching gaze. Everywhere her gaze touched was tanned and hard. His stomach was firm, muscled, his arms and thighs bulged. Sweet heaven, his cock was lovely—reddened and engorged, straight with a plump, round head.
Her pussy clenched. Fluid rushed to wet her channel. She squeezed together her legs to hold it inside.
“I don’t want to scare you, baby.”
“I’m not a baby, Cain. And Joey humiliated me, but he didn’t leave me damaged. I swear, I want this. I want you.” Slowly, caught in his intense gaze, she inched apart her le
gs and raised her knees. Then she reached downward and wrapped her fingers around his cock. “Come inside me, Cain Whitfield,” she whispered. “Fill me.”
Cain’s entire body was hard, muscles tensed, his cock so swollen he was afraid he’d come just from the gentle tug of her hand. Everywhere his gaze landed, he found something else to love—her pretty, cherry-tipped breasts, her bare mound and pretty pink folds. And her eyes. Sweet Jesus, she looked at him with such trust shimmering in her doe-eyes. If he could hold himself forever like this, he’d never want anything more.
But her grip firmed, and so did her chin.
He hid a smile at her determination to have him. Who was he to deny a woman intent on finding pleasure? “Show me the way, baby.” With a gentle flex, he entered her, pausing to ensure she was okay.
Her eyes widened just a bit, her chest rose around a deep inhalation, and then she drew away her hands, placing them on each side of his hips as he pushed deeper again.
She was slick and hot. He wanted to shout as she gloved him, because he felt everything, every tremor of her interior walls, the clasp of her greedy labial mouth, the pinch of her fingers as she dug them into his skin. “Jesus, fuck.” He shook his head and remembered to breathe. “I can’t promise I’ll last long.”
“We can try again if you don’t do it right.”
Her whisper was sultry and funny, and his smile stretched, mirroring her grin as she wriggled beneath him, helping him ease deeper, until at last he was seated, their groins flush. His cock pulsed with his heartbeat, her walls convulsed gently, giving him a rolling tug that he fought to resist. But she quivered all over now—her belly, her breasts, her breaths. He pulled away, then glided back inside, and had to shut his eyes because her eyelids were slitted, her mouth opening around a tiny moan that crushed his ability to think. He had to hear that sound again.
She lifted her legs to hug his hips, and he was surrounded by her strong limbs. She rubbed her cheek against his then caught his earlobe to give it a bite. This time he shivered and plunged harder, faster, trying to keep his strokes even and measured, but her nails bit, urging him on. His back and thighs burned with the effort he wasted on holding back.