by Dee Holmes
“Oh, Molly.” He squeezed his eyes closed, but he wanted to look and to touch and to taste. Desire overcame him with a sharpness that was close to pain.
Her skin had a pink ivory richness that deepened into rose on her nipples. Her breasts were small and high, her tummy flat with a small beauty mark just above the downy amber triangle. He took in her long legs, and suddenly the need to have them around him pushed aside any resistance that lingered within him.
She kicked the towel away, took a step toward him and he could fight her no longer. Dragging her against him, he crushed his mouth down on hers. Their tongues danced and tangled with an intimacy born of desperation. His hands went to her bottom, and he lifted her against him. Molly wrapped her arms around his neck, and with the grace of a gazelle, she brought her legs up and locked them around his hips. She felt light and airy, and the heat of her burned through his clothes—clothes he wanted to be rid of.
Without letting her go, he moved into the bedroom, but when he tried to untangle her, she resisted. Her eyes were huge, her mouth wet and ripe from the long, deep kiss.
In a husky voice, she whispered, “You’re not going to run away, are you?”
“I can’t, babe…. I can’t….”
She smiled, a triumphant, seductive smile that seemed to say that she had fought the battle, and winning him was her reward. “I want to be with you…. I want to give you my heart and soul and…” Then, in a fierce voice that spilled from deep within her, she murmured, “I don’t ever want to be out of your arms again.”
“Oh, Molly, don’t. You’re offering too much. We’ll make love as many times as you want, but…” What he was saying amazed him. His heart, usually so hollow and bereft, now ached for far more than good sex.
“But I want to tell you how I feel.” Her eyes were honest and expectant, the vulnerability so clear, it was painful.
He kissed her then to prevent any more revelations and declarations. Finally laying her down on the bed, he bent low and whispered in her ear, “Shhh. Don’t lose your heart to me, sweetheart. You want me, and that’s good and healthy, and I’m honored. The heart stuff is for some young man who deserves all your sweetness and hopes for the future.”
She didn’t argue or attempt to persuade him otherwise, yet the look in her eyes gave him pause. Then he shook it off. Garden-variety desire, that was all. More intense, perhaps. A deeper passion, a confusion on her part because she viewed love in a tangle of idealistic fervor. The events of the past few days had simply brought all her emotions to the surface.
She stretched out, but not with a seductive sexuality. Hunt watched her as he disposed of his clothes and decided that Molly was incapable of guile; she had an honesty of passion that few men ever experienced in a lifetime of encounters. He was truly honored, and he wanted to give her what she expected and more.
Molly stared at him in awe. His body was muscled and lean, his chest hair a rich mat to explore. A concave stomach and tight hips. Molly’s eyes sought that part of him that proclaimed him a very aroused male. He was truly magnificent. She lifted her hand and brushed his thigh, then touched him, closing her fingers and then opening them. Her breath caught in wonder at the smooth texture of his sex.
The curiosity of her fingers made him feel like a randy kid. Easing her hand away, Hunt sat down with his hip brushing hers. Moving slowly, he drew his hands down her arms, placing them at her sides. He cupped her breasts, then bent to kiss each of the deep rose tips. She started to reach for him. Once again, he soothed her into stillness with his hands. Her skin was flushed with the beginnings of arousal, and his own body was aching with the primal need to mate.
He moved down the bed, braced his hands on either side of her and realized, in that instant, how much she meant to him. He wanted to please her, cherish her, give her pleasure.
She raised her head from the pillow. “Hunt?”
Pressing his hand to her tummy, he whispered, “I want to make love to you, Molly. Relax…”
Then, before she responded, he placed his hand on the amber curls and she lifted into him like a gift. He leaned down and kissed first one breast and then the other, his mouth lingering long enough at each nipple to taste and memorize the sweetness.
She tugged at him to get him to lie down beside her. “Oh, Hunt, please. You’re too far away.”
Instead, he kissed her tummy, the tiny beauty mark and finally the amber curls. He urged her legs farther apart and settled his mouth deeper.
Instantly she moaned, then stilled and tried to pull him away. He held her hands, feeling her begin to relax. He kissed her inner thighs, one side and then the other, then again returned to the heart of her.
This time she arched up, with a breathless panting and a swaying of her body that sent rockets off in Hunt’s head.
He kissed her deeper and deeper, feeling the rising passion, her body striving toward fulfillment.
“Hunt…no, please….”
He heard a tinge of fear of the unknown. “Trust me. I’ll make this good for you.”
Molly was lost. She couldn’t have pulled back if she’d wanted to. The pleasure enveloped her entirely; the sensation pushed her higher as she opened the most sensitive part of her to his mouth, which promised a release she couldn’t escape.
Her climax came in a rush that made her disoriented and dizzy. She clawed at Hunt and then collapsed in a satiated heap, wrung out and exhausted. When she opened her eyes, Hunt was beside her, pulling her into his arms.
She buried her face against him, and murmured something he couldn’t understand. Hunt held her, his own body still fiercely aroused, yet he was strangely satisfied at the pleasure and fulfillment he’d felt at her release.
They lay in silence a few moments. Molly against him, one leg flung across his, her fingers wandering across his chest, coasting lower and lower and then stopping. Hunt didn’t move. He wanted to give her free rein to explore.
She tipped her head back and then kissed him. “You taste like me,” she whispered, kissing him again. “Mmm. I liked what you did.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I know.”
Then she asked, “Are you going to let me do that to you?” Her fingers folded around him, squeezing lightly.
Arrows of heat hurled deep into his groin. Shifting their bodies, he rolled on top of her, tucking one leg between her thighs and pressing against her. Their mouths came together, their kisses deep and wet. She urged him on, pulling him into her. He nudged himself inside, slowly and with painful control. He was on the verge of exploding and all he wanted was to feel her close around him. Slowly he pressed, hunger for her consuming him.
“Molly, Molly, you’re so tight…. You feel so good….”
Her tiny yelp of pain shot through him like a blast of cold air. He halted, his body heaving, his breathing ragged. A second passed, then another and another and another.
He lifted his head, but hers was turned to the side.
“Look at me.”
But she wouldn’t Even when he drew her face around, she kept her eyes cast down.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” When she didn’t answer, Hunt cursed. He should have guessed. Her innocence had been all too obvious from the first.
He rolled away from her and sat up, his feet on the floor, his back to her. He shoved both hands through his hair. Self-disgust swamped him. He never should have let any of this happen. He started to get up.
“No!” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re not going to leave me.”
He didn’t want to. God help him, he didn’t. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you wouldn’t want me.”
“Damn right,” he said bluntly. “None of this should have happened, as I’ve been saying from the very beginning. But that’s not the point now. I could have hurt you. It’s bad enough that I was going to do this without a condom, but a virgin! Hell!”
“I’m sorry.”
Hunt sighed. What
in the world was he doing? Making her feel awful because she hadn’t slept around? Good move, Gresham. He turned around, and in one smooth motion, drew her down on the bed beside him.
In a fierce voice, he said, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re a gift, Molly. You’re giving me a gift, and I wouldn’t want to treat it as ordinary.”
Her eyes glistened with tears. “I know you didn’t want to get involved with me. I was afraid if you knew I’d never been with a man it would give you an even bigger reason to stay away from me.”
“And I would have.” At her obvious disappointment, he said, “But I want you, Molly. I know I should get up and walk out of here, but I don’t think I can.”
Her face lit up as if someone had turned on the lights. “Oh, Hunt,” she exclaimed, hugging him fiercely.
“We’re going to take this slow.”
“Yes.”
“And you tell me when it hurts.”
“Yes.”
He scowled. “And stop looking like you got what you wanted.”
She grinned. “But I did. I got you, and that’s always been what I’ve wanted.”
“I am not what you want,” he said emphatically. “You don’t need to mistake good sex for love.” He kissed her and ended the conversation.
He was amazed to find her arousal almost immediate. Nevertheless, he took his time, making her relax, to soften any tension or tightness. Easing himself inside her took a control Hunt hadn’t realized he possessed.
She tightened; he felt the resistance and he stopped, then, when she relaxed, he eased a little more fully into her. He felt the thin hymen wall and probed gently but steadily.
“Oh!” Molly stiffened again, and then tried to relax.
“Just a little more, sweetheart.” He gritted his teeth and knew that a quick, sure plunge was the least painful. Gripping her hips, he held her against him, and with a thrust, he broke the wall. Her nails dug into his back, and her body closed around him like a long-lost glove.
He tried to keep the rhythm slow, but she clung to him, her mouth fierce under his. Now that he was inside her, his control exploded. He pushed deep, and she welcomed each thrust To his astonishment, she wrapped her legs around his hips, and in that instant Hunt’s control vanished.
His climax roared through him, saturating every pore, pulsing deep into every nerve ending. His mind could focus on nothing but the rush of satisfaction that made the sex act with Molly brand-new and profound and utterly soul stirring.
He lay across her, satiated, numb and astonished by his own feelings. Molly, too, had relaxed, her fingers playing in his hair, her breathing just a little uneven.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Then she added,
“I’m glad you were the first. I wanted my first time
to be because I loved my partner, not because I wanted to have sex.”
“You were incredible.”
“It was good for you?”
“The very best.” He kissed her lightly and then settled her against him. He felt the relaxing of her body, and he, too, drifted into peaceful contentment. He pulled the covers up over them, and from her breathing, he knew she was nearly asleep.
Hunt closed his eyes, thinking that if hope and happiness—two emotions he considered beyond his reach—were renamed Molly McCulloch, he could be induced to take a chance.
Just the afterglow of good sex, he quickly reminded himself. But a new worry floated into his mind just as the first wave of sleep gripped him.
He remembered he hadn’t pulled out before he climaxed.
HER BROTHER’S FUNERAL was the following day, and while Hunt wasn’t expecting Pascale to show his face, he did expect a few of his pals. But he saw no one who looked suspicious. Molly had told him Pascale had been looking for a notebook, but since he hadn’t given Molly any more information, it was just another unsolved piece of the puzzle of Vernon Wallace’s life.
Hunt made a quick stop for coffee at a convenience store. Molly went inside with him, saying she needed to get a few items.
“I’ll meet you out at the car. I’m going to call Sean.”
“Take your time,” she said.
Once he reached his old partner, he heard there had still been no progress on the meaning of the note. Hunt explained the events of the day before.
“Pascale snatched her? Thinking she knew something about a notebook? Now that is interesting. For the old man to take that kind of risk, this notebook must be a real problem for him. Our search warrant turned up nothing, but if there is such a notebook, it adds an interesting twist.”
“Wallace had incriminating stuff on Pascale.”
“Sounds that way. A little blackmail. That notebook probably kept Wallace from getting murdered by Pascale. With Wallace dead, Pascale doesn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands—namely ours.”
“Why would he think Molly had it?”
“Why not? Pascale is thorough. She was Wallace’s sister, and she was the last one to see him before he died. The old guy might think Wallace did a deathbed confess-all.”
“This was supposed to get simpler, and it’s getting more complicated,” Hunt said, unsure if he was talking about the case or his involvement with Molly.
Sean asked, “So how did you rescue her?”
“She got away on her own,” Hunt replied.
“From Pascale? Did he have Jock and Brewer with him?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Guess she didn’t need you, after all.”
Hunt had hung up feeling a burst of pride that Molly had been so savvy. He was glad she could handle herself in a tough situation, glad she had a cool head. What disturbed him was the contrast to the woman he’d made love to. That woman had needed him, wanted him with a desperation that made her very different from the woman who had outfoxed Pascale.
No wonder he found her so fascinating.
From the car, Molly had been watching Hunt at the pay phone. She guessed he was passing on the events of the previous day. Molly wasn’t at all confused by who she was with Pascale and who she was with Hunt. She knew she was falling in love with Hunt—their lovemaking simply confirmed that. Her dilemma now was to keep the feelings she’d so willingly expressed last night subdued in the light of day.
When this was over, Hunt would go back to being her neighbor and a college lecturer, she’d be lucky to see him a couple of times a week. Vern had been correct in saying she could trust Hunt. Trust him to be truthful, yes, but that meant hearing that he didn’t want to be involved with her.
She needed to prepare for that; she needed to be cool and distant and show him she could make love and forget it just like he could. Besides, she was here for her brother and for his legacy. Compared to dealing with feelings for Hunt, ensuring that someone else didn’t get killed seemed rather straightforward.
Hunt returned to the car, and they drove to the cemetery for Vern’s funeral. Molly looked around for Francine and her nephew, Brandon, hoping they’d be there. Since she didn’t have their phone number or address, she had no way of contacting them, but the death had been announced in both the local and Boston newspapers, and Molly was hoping Francine would have seen the notice.
After the final prayers were said at the graveside, the other mourners offered last words of sympathy to Molly before slowly moving away. Hunt and Molly stayed until everyone was gone. The casket was poised to be lowered into the ground, and Hunt took her arm as she walked forward. She laid a single red rose on the coffin and then tucked a four-leaf clover under the flower. She lowered her head in silence, kissed her fingers and pressed the kiss against the wood, then nodded to Hunt that she was ready to leave.
Moments later, they stopped at the edge of the cemetery and Molly glanced back at the site.
Hunt put his arm around her. For the most part he’d followed her lead since they’d awakened this morning. Hunt sensed a shyness in her and took that as a cue; he didn’t want to discuss their lovemaking, either. Shyness, how
ever, wasn’t his excuse. The entire episode both infuriated him and amazed him. Reckless and dumb were the least of the adjectives to describe his actions. If he’d kept to the selfimposed discipline he thought he’d perfected since Kristin’s death, he would have firmly sent Molly to bed and found his own surcease on the goddamn couch.
But it was too late now for second-guessing. Maybe, just maybe, he’d get lucky, she wouldn’t be pregnant and they could get on with their separate lives.
“Ready to go?” he asked Molly.
“I guess.” She pressed a tissue to her nose and blew lightly. “I’m just sad and I feel a little lost. I’d hoped Francine would be here.”
“Yeah, I was hoping, too.”
She turned to the parking area, watching as the last of the cars pulled away. “Pascale and his friends didn’t come.”
“After yesterday, I’m not surprised.”
“Do you think Vern’s wife knows he’s dead?”
“Maybe she’s afraid to come. Maybe she’s afraid someone will think she has the notebook.”
Suddenly relieved that Francine’s absence was so easily explained, Molly said, “You’re right. She wouldn’t risk herself or Brandon, would she?”
“No, she wouldn’t.” Hunt, however, had seen a woman with a child in the distance during the service. She’d been too far away for him to do anything but watch her. It was obvious she didn’t want to identify herself, and since Hunt couldn’t be sure if she was Vern’s ex-wife, he’d said nothing.
Molly glanced back to where the workers were lowering the casket into the ground. Quickly, she turned away. “Please, let’s go.”
At his car, Hunt opened the door for her and then got behind the wheel. “Want to get something to eat?”
She shook her head. She sat straight in the seat, belt buckled, hands clasped lightly around a small purse. She looked straight ahead, her voice emphatic, “I want to go to Vern’s apartment.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, now. The sooner the better.”
Hunt scowled. Since she’d walked out of the bedroom a few hours ago, dressed in black, he’d noted a determination in her manner. He’d been fearful her resolve might be about him and her and their lovemaking, which Hunt didn’t want to discuss. Not yet. He still hadn’t figured out his own feelings, and he didn’t want to get into a conversation filled with Molly’s honesty and declarations of love. So he’d deliberately asked no questions about her silence.