The launch paused at the dock near their hotel. He climbed up first and took her hand to help her out. In silence, they strode along the calle toward their hotel, her high heels clattering on the stones, the wind whipping higher and cooler. Restaurants were closing for the evening, proprietors closing the shutters, pulling down the grates over the doors. The walks were virtually empty. No one was following them.
In the elevator, at her door, he knew what he wanted to do, but told himself to wait for her lead. They were going to be together for a long time, days, weeks. He’d have time to enthrall her, make her invite him to kiss her. Yes, fool that he was, he was so far gone in lust, he knew he’d take her bed again, even if—even though she never wanted him permanently any other way.
She dug out her cardkey from her purse. He’d given it to her after he’d spoken to the desk clerk and arranged for the addition of this room to his own bill. The man had been curious about Grant’s need for the room, but he’d cut him off, saying the previous occupants had been noisy and he was willing to pay for peace.
“Let me open it,” he told her as he took it from her fingers.
With her eyes, she asked a thousand questions about his intentions.
“I want to come in to check that no one has been in to search your things.” Or plant anything.
She frowned, alarm in her eyes. “You wouldn’t think someone would do that here?”
“You never know.” He slid the plastic in its slot. The lock clicked and he turned the handle and he walked in first. Shaking a handkerchief from his pocket, he hit the light switch and beckoned her to enter.
“Look around. Try to remember how you left things. And no.” He caught her arm when she began to slip off her heels in her old habit of getting out of the contraptions as soon as she could. “Just examine.”
She paused in the doorway. “You’re making me scared.”
“I don’t mean to. Now do this. Tell me. What do you see?”
With regret, he closed her door and took his jacket from her. Lucky he could walk with the boner he sported, he deliberately marched around the sitting room with his coat in front of him. The place, a mirror image of the other room, seemed empty. Bare of humanity. Well, Coco never traveled with a lot of luggage. “Where’s your suitcase?”
“The bedroom,” she told him. She spread her fingers above her Blackberry on one end table, clearly tempted to touch it. But she didn’t. Instead, she went to the desk and looked at her closed laptop. “Nothing looks like it’s been moved here.”
He examined the tracks in the carpet. All seemed to be hers. Slim, high heels or bare feet, size seven. Strolling into her bedroom, he noted the chocolate truffles on her pillows. The maid had been in for the evening rounds to turn down the bedding and plop treats on top. Had anyone come with her? Might she work alone? He’d ask the desk in the morning, just for the info. Just in case.
Hmm. He strolled around the foot of the king- size bed. Coco’s camera bag lay open on the floor. Inside laid one palm-sized camera, one larger, and a Nikon, two telescopic lenses, her battery, and containers for all the odds and ends photographers used. Her little red suitcase lay open right next to it. She’d emptied it of the white cotton dress. He could see it hanging in the open doors of the armoire in front of him. He also saw the white linen suit hanging next to it. His gaze drifted back to the camera bag. Something about it niggled at him. What? Well, hello? He bent over to peer more closely at one item that socked knocked the air from him.
He fingered the tissue-thin fabric a major chemical company had perfected only a few years ago. A suit of this fit its host like white on rice. What’s more, the wearer could be fried, frozen, shot and stabbed—and survive. Coco, babe, what the hell are you doing with a suit of para-aramid? And how did you get something only deep cover agents ever acquire? Your job requires you to break and enter?
“I don’t see anything here, Grant.”
From the sound of her voice, he could tell she was headed his way. He stepped away from her bag and over to the window. He fisted his hands to stop the tremor that shook him.
He spun to look at her through the new perspective the suit gave him. What are you not telling me? “I don’t think anything has been moved in here. But what do you see?”
She strolled around the room as if she were window-shopping at Macy’s. She stopped when she spied her camera bag open, and with only a moment’s freeze to note the sight of the black cat suit, she announced, “No. Nothing amiss in here.”
“Check the bathroom.”
She walked away.
He flexed his hands. How many secrets did she have?
She came back in and approached him. “All clear.”
He caught her upper arms. “I’m going to say this. And I don’t want any arguments.”
“Okay.” She sounded tentative.
“That connecting door stays open tonight. No locks, no privacy.”
Being harsh was definitely not the way he meant to end the night. A man could always hope to get lucky, right? But the cat suit got to him.
“Sleep tight,” he said, trying for some of the congeniality they’d built over dinner.
He turned on his heel and left her standing alone by the window.
He didn’t look back. If he did, he’d sweep her up and carry her to his bed. There, within the sound of her voice, he could ensure safety for her. But he couldn’t save her from herself, could he?
He undressed and out of frustration, threw himself into a freezing cold shower. It didn’t calm his mood or his erection. So, naked, he went into his sitting room, paced, stood at the window for god-knew-how-long and watched the moon travel the sky. Running his hands over his head, he decided to move the chaise longue to angle toward the window, the view of the black velvet night and what he could see of her suite. Then he parked himself in the thing, hoping he’d wear himself out.
But he began to hear sounds from her room. She shuffled things. Left her light on for a while. Reading, maybe. She got a drink out of the mini-bar and he could hear her fiddle with the bottle and the glass. Then she went into her bedroom. After a half hour or so, he heard her click on a lamp and he could see rays dapple the carpet. Once more, she got up, this time to run water in the bathroom sink. He could hear her swallow and sigh. She padded back to bed.
Yeah, babe. Hard to sleep, isn’t it, when there is so much more to say?
He sat, reclined in the chair, one hand over his mouth, eyes glued to her room near the window. He waited. That’s one thing he was so good at.
He waited maybe five minutes. Then she came into sight as she drifted toward the window. Dressed in a floor length gown of some clingy stuff, she leaned on the credenza in front of the window. Her silhouette was a study for an artist, long and supple, her breasts a sweet accent. And in the moonlight, she lifted her tortured face, her eyes fell closed. Forgetting what we had? Remembering?
Steady, Warwick. It may be only her secrets that she thinks of. Not you. Why you?
She moaned and faced his room.
He dared not breathe.
Then she walked forward. On cat’s feet, she came to the doorway, paused and there in the silvery light, her gaze found his.
He let her look her fill. God knew, he was riveted to the chair.
Whatever she saw, she glided forward. His belly convulsed. His cock lay on his thigh, stiffening with interest.
She came to stand next to him and sank to her knees. With a gaze his heart described as loving, she put two fingers to his lips.
Don’t talk?
Okay.
She moved closer. His brain melted down in the fragrance of her perfume as she reached one hand around his neck and pressed her face to his bare chest.
The warmth of her flowed over him. He shut his eyes. Opened them. This silken body against him was really hers and not some fantasy. She kissed his shoulder, pressed her lips to his sternum. He heard her sniff and knew she fought tears.
That’s when his arms wou
nd around her and hauled her up to splay her upper body over him. He planted his lips in her hair. Her soft curls. He caressed her back. Sleek flesh and bones. He put one palm over a cheek of her ass and squeezed.
“Come up here, babe. I need all of you.”
She let her head fall back. Her eyes glistened with torment. She gazed at him, wanting, pleading. For what? Comfort? Affection?
He had that and more for her. He’d never stopped wanting her. Couldn’t, wouldn’t now that she was here within reach. He might be all kinds of a chump, but at the moment, he didn’t care about a thing about his pride. Only about helping her, having her, claiming her once more. He put his hands on either side of her head and smiled sweetly at her.
But she struggled up. Stood.
He panicked. She was leaving? The lump in his throat dissolved when she shimmied out of the gown, letting it puddle on the floor, and climbed back onto the chaise with him. Lying along his side, she rested her head on his chest.
The feel of her skin on his was like a stroke of satin. He’d dreamed of this, her, but hadn’t recalled how exquisite she felt. He decided he needed to touch all of her, from head to toe. He planted his big hand in her hair and rumpled her curls. She smiled against his chest. He traced the shell of her ear and pulled her earlobe. She wiped away tears from her cheeks. He grinned and began the descent from her delicate jaw down her elegant throat, defining its length with one knuckle. Until he reached her cleavage and halted. To go on was the question.
Check it, Warwick. If he caressed her, if he showed her how badly he had missed her, how he still yearned for her, did he risk anything? Other than his sanity, all over again? His pride would smart. Might even be dealt a permanent blow. But oh, what would he not give to have her bound to him for one long night?
Why she had left him, he might never learn. What she was doing with the cat suit, he would demand to know. But why she came to him here, he understood. He could tell from her insomnia and her tears. She wanted him, missed him.
And by god, that meant he’d welcome her.
He inhaled and slid his hand to cover her breast. She undulated, mewled in the back of her throat, and he crushed her close. His thumb circled her nipple and it blossomed for him. He moaned and sent his open palm down her rib cage. Curved but taut, her belly was such a turn-on. But not as much as what lay below. He splayed his fingers and dropped into the wealth of hair over her mound. She stopped breathing. Christ, he might never need air again either, she felt so moist, so soft. He let his hand dive lower and his fingers found her seam. He sank inside. She was wet and warm, swollen for him.
An arm curling around her waist, he rose up and whirled her beneath him. With brute strength and wild need to keep her, he pinned her to the longue. Her gaze on his was beseeching him for understanding or mercy, he couldn’t tell.
“Darling,” she murmured, heartache in her tone, “I’m so very sorry I left.”
He lowered his face to her shoulder then. Pride wouldn’t let him show her the raw emotion that wrecked him.
“Grant,” she whispered. “Please. sweetie. You’ve got my hands trapped and I want to kiss you.”
Chapter Four
As he drew away, Coco could see written on his face what she had known for three years. He had cared for her far and above the mind-blowing sex they’d shared. She had felt the same madness for him, and yet, the timing had been so awful. Her job not done. Her devotion divided. No time to be honest or stay and nurture a grand love affair.
Now she meant to change whatever had been wrong then. If she could. If he’d permit her.
Instead of looking at her, he raised his face and took one of her hands from between their bodies and buried his lips in her palm.
She freed her other hand to cup his cheek and lean up to press her mouth to his.
This first taste of him made her ravenous. She’d hungered for him for three long years. Today, she’d tamped it down. His looks, his anger, his patience to listen to her combined to quell her fears that he’d ignore her. Maybe even walk away from her, the job with Nasar and the ability to work with her, be with her, day in and out. His off-handed charms were manna for her soul. Always had been. Had he known that? Could she prove it to him?
Warm and responsive, he let her kiss him as she pleased. Oh, she pleased.
Sweetly. Lightly. Brushing her lips over his, she sampled him time and again. Remembering and discovering anew his flavors, his textures, she learned once more his willingness to let her enchant him. The same way he enthralled her.
She wrapped her arms around his massive shoulders and pressed her breasts into his heavily muscled chest. Oh, she had missed him. She placed her hand on the back of his head to hold his steady, and sucked on his lips, licked the outline, kissed him with all the desire to erase the empty years without him.
Patient, he breathed deeply as she took him higher and drank of his lips longer, harder. Rough, tender, she set her mouth on his again and again, shaping, savoring, devouring. He began to groan and she knew she’d made her point. Time to make another, and so she took his lips once more and sent her tongue inside his warm cavern.
He gripped her nape and let his tongue tangle with hers.
She broke away, breathless. “I thought I remembered you, your body, this. I hadn’t. No dream compares to flesh and blood.”
Pulling her to sprawl flat over the chaise, he captured both her wrists and shoved them above her head. He thrust one leg between hers and spread hers wide. Against her mound, she felt the long steel of his desire. She shifted, trying to position him near her seam and take him inside.
He jerked up and bit her earlobe. “Not yet.”
She arched against him, blissful. She could give him time. Give him anything he wanted. It’s what she’d come for. What she’d planned for. If he’d let her. If he still wanted her. And from what she was feeling and hearing, he did.
She cried out in anticipation and wiggled beneath him, abrading her nipples against the hair of his chest. She hooked a leg over one of his hips and rocked against his thigh. She’d never been so brazen. But she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to make amends to him in all the intimate ways possible.
He slid down her body, eluding her, making her moan in frustration, his hands still gripping her wrists like manacles. Spouting nonsense, he murmured something torrid. Trailing his tongue down her throat, he stopped and pressed his lips to her pulse. Something that sounded like alive and here escaped his mouth. She reveled in that. His fingers slid down the backs of her arms and he placed his mouth to her sternum. And he cupped her breasts.
She burned for his teeth, his tongue, his kisses.
He gave them in a rush, his claim quick and thorough. She arched up as he took both breasts in his hands and with a rasping tongue, he laved her. Round and round, he bathed each breast completely, kissing the undersides and licking her cleavage. She gasped for air, her hipbones grinding up against his, searching for relief.
He didn’t give any. Kissing her breasts, he consumed her until she writhed on the chaise. He angled down and traced a long wet line with his tongue along her torso to her bellybutton.
“I wanted to put a ring in here three years ago. I damn well will tomorrow,” he promised her and pressed his tongue inside the hollow. “What do you think, babe? Amethysts? For your eyes?”
“Diamonds. For yours.”
Against her skin, she felt his warm lips curve in a smile. “Like putting my eyes on you?”
“A metaphor for the help you give me now?” To her own ears, she sounded more cynical than teasing.
He lifted his face and smiled at her, his sympathy a solemn thing. “Since the moment I met you, my eyes have seen only you.”
Blown by his admission, she told him, “And mine for only you, too.”
He pushed up on his heavily corded arms, flashed her a grin, but his mouth was thin, pained. “We’re overdue for me to put my hands on you. On every inch of you.” Bracing himself, he raised a hand and s
moothed her hair back. Anguish contorted his face. “But we can’t do this tonight.”
She froze, her hopes to heal their rift gone like a dream. “Oh, Grant. Let me make it all up to you. I never meant to hurt—”
“Babe,” he whispered, “it’s too late—”
“No!” She felt like he’d cut her heart out. How could he be so sweet, hold her, caress her and then deny her?
“Listen to me! You’ve got me wrong. Shops are closed.”
“Huh?” Was her brain working right?
He put his lips to her collarbone. “It’s not that I don’t want you.”
“Then what?” She placed a hand to his cheek.
He looked forlorn as a teenager. “I don’t have any latex.”
Staggered with surprise, she sputtered. “No…no…? But—”
“I haven’t bought any in…hell! A long time! I certainly didn’t expect to meet you in Venice and I—”
“Let me go, Grant.” She put her palm to his chest and pushed him away.
“Babe, I’m sorry!”
“I understand, sweetie. Let me up!” She struggled to her feet.
He gripped her arm. “Coco, we can do lots of other things!”
“Don’t want to,” she told him. He looked like she’d just torn his heart out. She patted his cheek and hurried into her room. Flung wide the door to her bathroom, fumbled through her cosmetics case and extracted a long string of condoms. She pivoted back toward his room and halted.
He stood in the doorway, his arms folded, his silver eyes streaked with sadness and growing jealousy. “You carry a package of them?”
“I don’t usually. But I bought some before I flew to Venice. I knew, even if you didn’t, that I was going to see you. I knew I wanted to make love to you and I wanted to be prepar—”
He grabbed her so fast, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Didn’t want to.
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