Don’t complicate things, he told himself. She doesn’t want more than this. He wasn’t sure he did, either. But the edge remained.
She curled against him, her head in the crook of his neck, her arms linked loosely around him, their legs tangling as they drifted into deeper water.
“Nice,” she said, turning her face into his throat. “Never would’ve guessed you were rusty.”
That elicited a surprised snort out of him. And it gave him an opening to take what he wanted in a way she could understand.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Those are fighting words.” In a rush, he shifted her, got her over his shoulder and charged out of the hot tub, headed for the bedroom.
She squeaked and squirmed wetly. “What are you doing?”
“Getting us someplace drier where I can do this my way.”
“You’re complaining?”
“Hell, no. But you got to go first. Now it’s my turn.” And this time he would take more. He wanted her to be right there with him in the crazy, illogical space they made together, the sizzle and spark that had forced him out of his comfortable routine and opened old wounds. After tonight, he didn’t want to look back and know they had taken it only partway.
Tonight he wanted all of her. No regrets.
Chapter Twelve
Somewhere in the back of Gigi’s mind a warning pinged, saying that this was a bad idea, that they should keep it in the hot tub, on the couch, the bolsters, hell, up against the wall. Those were places where sex stayed fun, where they were just two people burning off steam and enjoying each other. Bedrooms were more serious places.
Or did the shimmer of nerves come from the change in him? His grip had gone firm and commanding, his voice no-nonsense, and he was suddenly doing rather than checking first. He was the über-cop, the super-ranger, the guy who, when he had burned out on saving one chunk of the world had retreated to protect another.
She was a liberated female, a warrior, the best she could be. And as he carried her into a simply furnished bedroom lit by a dimmer light turned low, tossed her on the bed and followed her down to cover her moisture-slicked body with his own, she was hotter for him than she had ever been for any other man, under any other situation.
His muscular bulk made her feel small and delicate, and when he levered himself up on one elbow to look down at her with fierce heat in his eyes, her blood leaped right back to boiling, though they had had each other only minutes earlier. His look was a challenge, a dare, and it had her reaching for him.
He caught her wrists and guided her hands to the spindles of the headboard. “Not this time.”
She would have argued, but he kissed the words away, traced a finger down the center of her body and made her arch into him, helpless beneath the sudden heat, the maelstrom of sensation brought by his tongue and his touch, and the leashed strength she sensed him containing as his legs twined with hers.
Her better sense told her to let go of the spindles and give as good as she got, keeping them on the same level with each other. But the inciting stroke of his fingertips teased her senses and the promise that lit his eyes when he broke the kiss and moved down her body held her in place.
He cupped one breast and had her arching against him, then took her nipple into his mouth, wringing a moan from deep in her throat. Her body heated and throbbed. Pleasure coiled inside her as she tightened her fingers around the headboard spindles and hung on for the ride.
The soft bedspread had bunched up beneath them; he pulled it free and stroked her with it, blotting her face and pushing back her wet hair, then moving down her body, alternately drying and kissing her. All the while, he whispered hot praise and dark suggestions that stirred her to the point of madness.
The sun had set, turning the world dark and making it feel as if they were the only two people on Earth. Danger still lurked outside, but the need for him—and the temptation to let him take charge—was far more immediate. He reared over her, settling back on his haunches to scrub a corner of the bedspread through his thick, dark hair, down across his shoulders and broad chest, and down farther, to where his shaft emerged from its nest of dark curls, ruddy and engorged.
She feasted on the sight of him, shifting almost without volition to rub her thighs together as he tossed the bedspread aside and bent over her.
Her senses spun and her insides clenched when he kissed her stomach, her navel, the point of her hip. Someone moaned—she thought it might have been her, but couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore; her whole world hinged on the touch of his lips and tongue as he moved down and settled himself between her legs.
The sight of his dark head down there made her breath go thin and the contrast of his skin against hers shot flames searing through her. Then he slicked his tongue through her folds, and every part of her clenched in a sudden surge of pleasure that had her bowing back on the mattress with an inarticulate cry.
He rasped something low in his throat—a curse, maybe, or a plea—and did it again. And again. When she strained against him, trying to move, to speed things up, he held her in place with his weight and strength, and kept going—licking, lapping, nuzzling, taking.
The breath backed up in her throat as he stripped her defenses and broke through to a place of pure sensation. She responded to him without inhibition or boundaries, no thought of yesterday or tomorrow. He brought her to the edge of release again and again with his mouth and hands, until the pleasure burned her, consumed her, knotted her body tight and left her sobbing with pleasure.
Her hands cramped on the spindles; her body burned for his. She was gasping, babbling pleas and demands that went unheeded until, finally, he looked up at her, his eyes sharp, bright and a little wild. Voice rattling in his chest, he grated, “Now.”
“God, yes, now.”
He moved up her body. His skin was hot on hers; his scent had become theirs, and was laced with sex.
She was tight all over, needy and greedy. And when he came down atop her, pressing her into the mattress with his hard, solid weight, she couldn’t take it anymore. She tore her hands from the headboard and dug her fingers into his hips as he positioned himself at her center, the thick head of his erection just nudging her opening, which was slick and wet, and pulsed for him.
He kissed her long and deep, then broke the kiss, pressed his furnace-hot cheek to hers, and whispered her name as he thrust home, filling her in a single strong, possessive surge.
In an instant, his hard flesh was seated far more deeply, more intimately than before. He surrounded her inside and out, pinned her, possessed her.
Then he fixed his eyes on her and she found herself trapped in their green depths, laid bare by their intensity as he withdrew slowly, then thrust home. The first plunge wrung a gasp from her, the second had a groan rattling deep in his chest. He dropped his head, pressed his cheek to hers, slid into her with delicious friction.
She was laid flat and open beneath him, but moved when and where she could, digging in and meeting his thrusts. His breath was a roar, hers a sob. If she had been on the edge of an orgasm before, now she leaped to a new plateau entirely, one that was huge, breathtaking and scary. Nothing existed except the two of them and a bed behind bulletproof glass as he drove her up toward an impossible pinnacle, one she had never before glimpsed.
She clung to him, anchoring herself to his shoulders, pressing her lips to the scarred indentation where the bullet had gone in. Misplaced terror flashed at the thought that he could have died, that she wouldn’t ever have known this, known him. That brought a warning buzz, quickly lost beneath the enormity of the breathless pause that presaged orgasm.
Her body tightened, sensation rushing inward to gather at the place where he stroked her inside and out. He touched all the right spots at once, their joined flesh slick with excitement, and…and…
The world paused. Held its breath.
And she went over the edge.
A shuddering cry escaped from her, mirroring
the all-consuming, wrenching fist of her orgasm. It defied logic and boundaries. She bowed into him, gasped against his sweat-slicked flesh as the radiating throbs of pleasure went on and on, sent higher by his harsh groan and three quick thrusts, then higher still when he stiffened against her and came whispering her name in a voice that was filled with awe, approval and satisfaction.
He shuddered, and bucked as her flesh milked him, the echoes of her pleasure prolonging his.
Then, even after things leveled off and their bodies began to cool, they stayed wrapped together, her arms around his shoulders, her ankles locked behind him, their faces pressed together.
Then he backed off and looked down at her, and where before there had been a challenge in his eyes, now there was only a profound tenderness that shifted something inside her.
He opened his mouth to speak, but then just stopped and shook his head. “Later,” he whispered, and dropped a kiss to her brow. He rearranged them, nudging her onto her side and fitting her into the curve of his body, then pulling the bedclothes up and over them.
She let him fuss, ignoring the nerves that churned over how far she had let him in, how much she had let go. Instead, she told herself to enjoy the moment, and the man. She would deal with the rest of it later. Tonight was tonight…and for tonight, she wanted to belong entirely to him.
THE NEXT MORNING, GIGI awoke from a fractured jumble of dreams and plunged directly into sensations that were entirely different yet equally terrifying: body heat behind her, an arm across her waist, the pleasurable ache that came from a sex-filled night, her feet pressing atop those of her lover…
Her lover. Matthew H. Blackthorn. Oh, God.
The dreams—an amalgam of the crashed Jeep, the fleeing truck and the imagined scene of a furniture truck slamming into his mother’s minivan—cluttered her mind as she rolled to face him.
He woke when she moved, going tense and alert for a second and then easing, cracking one green eye with an expression that said, Ah, it’s you. No threat.
But although she might not be on his threat radar, she couldn’t say the reverse. Because as she lay there with her head pillowed on his arm and her feet still pressed atop his, she badly wanted to snuggle into him, tuck her head beneath his chin and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. More, she could already feel herself storing away the small moments, the details that didn’t matter when the sex was just for fun.
She knew how his eyes went dark when he was aroused, how his voice rasped on her name when he climaxed. She knew how he smelled and tasted; how he moved with animal grace one moment and a cop’s blunt get-it-done attitude in the next; how he drove like a maniac but would always keep his passenger safe, or die trying.
“No regrets,” he said quietly, his eyes steady on hers. It wasn’t a question; it was an order. And part of her wanted to go along with him. Because if she could convince herself there was nothing to regret, that she hadn’t truly given herself over to him last night, then everything would be okay.
She closed her eyes and whispered inwardly: You’re fine. You’re whole. You can handle this. But instead of confidence came the images of the Jeep, the truck speeding away, brake lights flashing.
It repeated in slow motion: the…truck…speeding…away.
Shock seared through her as she realized what she had seen, what her brain was trying to tell her. Her eyes flew open. “Holy crap. I didn’t see it before, but now that I’m more relaxed,” she rushed on, not waiting to look hard at the source of that relaxation, “I’m seeing the truck driving away… And I caught a partial plate number.”
He stared at her for a three-count, expression unreadable. Then he nodded. “Call it in and let’s get moving.”
And just like that, their night was over. It was tomorrow, and they had a case to solve.
Chapter Thirteen
Matt drained the hot tub, stuck his clothes in the dryer and generally pulled the place back together while Alyssa ran the plates.
Any thoughts he might’ve had of a breakfast of eggs and toast with a side of “hey, that got pretty intense last night” had been shot to hell by the break in the case, but maybe that was for the best.
In the clearer-headed light of day, the mind-blowing sex they’d shared didn’t change the fact that she had her sights set elsewhere and he didn’t have his set on much of anything. In fact, he flat-out hated the idea of her joining a hazardous response team.
Not because she wouldn’t be good at it, but because she would be great at it, and there was no way in hell he could wave her off to work and then wonder if she was coming back. The fact that he could picture himself doing just that—and imagine it driving him nuts—just proved he had gotten himself in way too deep last night and needed to back off, fast.
Meanwhile, Gigi was acting as if it was no big deal. He might have been annoyed if he hadn’t seen the hint of a plea at the back of her eyes, the well-hidden desperation that said she wasn’t any more comfortable with how things had gone than he was, and they should just leave it alone.
Her phone rang in the bedroom, where she was getting dressed in Chelsea’s spare clothes.
“It’s Alyssa,” she called. “I’m putting her on speaker.”
“Thanks.” He moved into the bedroom doorway and leaned in, looking at the phone rather than Gigi, yet very aware of the sidelong look she shot him.
After the hellos were out of the way, Alyssa said, “Assuming these guys were dumb enough—or ballsy enough—not to switch out the plates, there’s only one truck that matches the description and your partial.”
“The guys in the truck were amateurs,” Matt said with total certainty. “I’m not sure if they’re the same ones who went after Tanya or torched the station, but these guys didn’t shoot or drive like pros.”
“Who’s the registered owner of the truck?” Gigi asked. She had one hip propped on the edge of the mattress, as if trying to prove to herself that it was no biggie that they had shared the bed.
“Alex MacDonald. He’s a sometimes handyman, always troublemaker who lives near the arena and has a fondness for off-track betting and the occasional hunting trip.”
Gigi glanced at him. “Did he come through Station Fourteen?”
“If he did, he didn’t make enough of a fuss for me to remember his name. I’d check the records, but…”
“They’re torched.”
“Right.” Even with the fire threat, there hadn’t seemed to be any reason to store copies of the hiking permits online. Most of the people who came through Station Fourteen only lasted a few days, a couple of weeks at the outside.
“I’ll send you a picture,” Alyssa said.
“Do you have him in custody?”
“Jack is on his way over to his place right now. I—hang on. Tucker’s calling in on the other line. I’m going to put you on hold. Be right back.” Alyssa clicked off.
That left Matt in the bedroom doorway, Gigi on the bed and a huge elephant in the room, sitting between them.
He told himself to leave it alone, then surprised the hell out of himself by saying, “If I asked you out to dinner once this was over, what would you say?”
From the look on her face, he had surprised the hell out of her, too. Her eyes widened and new color touched her cheeks, but he wasn’t sure if that was from pleasure or something else. Then her lips curved, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “When this is over, why don’t you ask me and we’ll find out?”
With timing so perfect he suspected she had been listening in, Alyssa said, “I’m back. Jack says Alex MacDonald is in the wind, his apartment pretty close to stripped. Cassie is off on a call, so Tucker is going to pick me up and run me over to the apartment to process what’s left.”
“Are you sure—” Gigi began.
“I’m sure I’m going to lose it if I don’t do something other than sit on my rapidly spreading butt and coordinate calls and manpower,” Alyssa snapped. Then, a little calmer, she said, “The apartment is
locked down and there’s no off-road bouncing around involved in getting there. You’d need some serious firepower to keep me away, because I hate that these bastards came after you two, and it scares me to think they might try again.”
“How about Gigi and I meet you there?” Matt asked. “I can discuss a few things with Tucker while you two work the scene.” And it would double up on the firepower if it turned out that the apartment was a trap.
“He said you would say that. I’ll send you the address. See you when you get here.” The line went dead as she clicked off.
Gigi stood and pocketed the phone, then smoothed her palms down the borrowed pants, which were a little too big. “I’m ready to leave when you are.”
“One minute.” Going on instinct, making the sort of split-second decision that used to be second nature, he crossed to her, cupped a hand around the back of her neck and laid his lips on hers.
She stiffened and brought her hands up, he thought to push him away. But instead she curled her fingers into his T-shirt and pulled him closer, opening her mouth beneath his.
Heat seared straight through his gut at the touch of her tongue and the taste of her, which was instantly familiar yet still stunningly new. He crowded closer, so their bodies aligned, and his flesh hardened in moments, though he should have been sated.
He couldn’t get enough of her. He buried his hands in her hair, ran his tongue along the rim of her ear, tugged at the studs with his teeth and made her moan. Then he eased away, brushing her hair behind her ears and watching how the shorter half of it fell forward once more. “Okay. Now I’m ready to go.”
No regrets.
AS GIGI FOLLOWED ALYSSA into MacDonald’s apartment, which was a small second floor one-bedroom in a dingy three-floor apartment building in a not very nice section of town, she was still debating how much—if anything—to tell her friend about what had happened with Matt.
But the moment the door closed behind them, shutting out the two uniforms stationed in the hallway, Alyssa faced her, crossed her arms atop Baby McDermott and said implacably, “Okay, sister. Spill it.”
Bear Claw Conspiracy Page 13