“Still warm enough?” he asked as he began to tug at the hem of her panties with his teeth. He brushed his lips back and forth across the curls there, but didn’t go farther.
“I am burning up, you rotten tease.”
Laughing softly, Rowan took hold of her bare hips, squeezing her ass, then tilting her closer to his waiting mouth. She tensed the tiniest bit; then all tension slid away and she became a boneless heap of sensation as he licked into the folds of her sex, finding her clit and slowly stroking it with his tongue
“Oh my God,” she whispered, overwhelmed by the pleasure of it. She’d been thinking of wild, hard, pounding sex. She hadn’t even considered all the other amazing, delicious, delightful ways Rowan could make her so very glad she was a woman.
He toyed with her until she trembled, bringing her close to the edge. Rather than taking her over it, however, he moved away at the last possible second. She groaned in frustration, at least until she felt that hot tongue gliding lower, into the wet folds of her sex, dipping in, teasing her, driving her wild.
She gasped. “Can’t take much more of this.”
“Yeah. You can. I have faith in you.”
His laughter was wicked. So was his mouth. Oh God, so wonderfully wicked.
Sliding his hands around her thighs, he parted them, further settling between them and making slow, deliberate love to her with his tongue. He savored her like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet, leaving her helpless to do anything except lie there and love it.
Evie vaguely remembered they were on the beach, lying on rough sand. She barely processed the sound of the waves crashing near their feet, barely saw the rays of late afternoon sun slanting across their little cove. She just…enjoyed.
“Oh, Rowan,” she groaned, tangling her fingers in his hair. “I need to—”
“Shh. I’ve got you.”
She couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but lie there as all the sensations came together and her senses took in every bit of it—the sky, the sun, the sand, the lapping waves, the unbelievable ecstasy of his mouth on her clit—and she shook into a shattering climax.
Evie let out a little scream. The ocean breeze caught it and carried it out to sea.
She hadn’t even caught her breath before he was there, covering her mouth with his. It was strange—tasting herself on his lips—but still so incredibly erotic. She grabbed his hair and held him so she could thrust her tongue against his.
He grabbed the condom and moved back between her parted legs. She stroked his taut butt, arching up in delight at the feel of warm skin between her thighs. His erection lay hot and huge against her belly, and she started shaking again in pure, unadulterated want.
He tore open the condom with his teeth, but Evie shook her head. She needed to touch him, to stroke that velvety skin before he covered it in latex.
“Wait. Let me help you.”
He looked into her eyes and must have seen the need there. Rolling onto his side, he guided her hand until they were both touching the tip of his cock. She sighed as she stretched her hand wide, stretching to grasp him, and stroked.
“Oh, Evie,” he groaned. “I love how your hands feel on me.”
She intended to see how he liked having her mouth on him, but knew the need was too much for the both of them now. She had to have him inside her, and that’s where he had to be.
Although her hand shook, she was able to roll the condom down, her fingers lingering, her touch obviously driving him wild.
“Evie,” he warned when she slid her hand lower, to the base of his shaft…and beyond. When she cupped his balls, he let out a guttural groan. “If you don’t want me coming right in your hand, you’d better let me set the pace,” he said. He immediately pushed her onto her back, settling again between her thighs.
“Set the pace, take control, do whatever you want,” she said, now nearly desperate to feel all that rock-hard flesh buried inside her. “Just do it now, Rowan, please.”
He didn’t hesitate, driving in, driving hard, driving deep. He stretched her, filled her completely. And it was such a relief, after so much waiting, she needed to shout out loud. So she did. She shouted, she groaned, and when he began thrusting, short and quick, then long and so deep she thought she’d split in half, she screamed again.
“People up the beach are gonna think you’re drowning,” he muttered.
He quickly covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply to shut her up. She didn’t mind, kissing him back with wild hunger. Twining her arms around his shoulders, she arched up to meet every slow, deliberate thrust, taking all he could give her and demanding more.
Rowan tried to keep it slow and deep, and at first, she let him, loving how she could feel the glide of every spectacular inch. But soon her body caught the pounding rhythm of the waves. The tide was coming in, and suddenly the water lapped over their feet. Cold, foamy, splashing a little bit higher with each subsequent wave.
The wildness leapt into her blood, and she scratched his back, groaning with pleasure when he responded with the kind of thrust that drove her deep into the sand. The hunger took over and there was no more control, no more measured touches, they simply poured themselves into the connection, pounding, giving, taking.
And enjoying every single solitary second of it.
Until the seconds were done, they were both utterly spent, and completely satisfied.
* * *
They walked back to the house a little while later, neither of them moving too fast, both still wrapped in the hot aura of sex they’d created together back on the beach.
Rowan had never experienced anything like it.
She was beautiful, he’d known that, just as he’d known she would be soft to the touch, that her body would taste so sweet.
He just hadn’t been prepared for the two of them to fit together like two halves of an almost unsolvable puzzle that had to be fitted together, twisted, and set into place permanently.
He hadn’t expected that sinking into her would feel like coming home.
He had never anticipated that he’d realize the very first time he made love to her that he wanted to do it for the rest of his life.
Was that love? Fuck if he knew.
“Hope you have a big shower,” he told her as they walked up her driveway. His car was parked behind hers, and he stopped to reach in and grab a gym bag. “I have a change of clothes and really wouldn’t mind getting this sand off me.”
She laughed softly. “Hey, at least you don’t have as many, um, crevices for it to get into.”
With a wolfish grin, he replied, “I’ll wash you, baby. I’ll focus very careful attention on every little nook and cranny.”
Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath as her cheeks flushed. He’d only become her lover an hour ago, but he recognized the signs already.
She wanted him again, just as much as he wanted her.
Maybe the shower would have to wait.
Or maybe it was a nice big shower and they could accomplish all kinds of tasks at the same time.
Waiting on the porch while she unlocked the dead bolt and then the doorknob, he followed her inside. The house was a 1960s era beach bungalow, completely renovated, of course, given the real estate value in this neighborhood. It might have been middle class when it was built, but the proximity to the ocean, and skyrocketing real estate costs, made this cute little place probably more expensive than a fifty-acre ranch somewhere in the Midwest. Her rent was probably as high as his brother’s place.
He’d been in the house before, of course, but hadn’t spent much time looking around. Mostly because he really hadn’t wanted to see all the soft, flat surfaces where they could do the kinds of things he fully expected to do with her for the rest of tonight.
Now, though, he walked around the living room, checking things out.
He would lay money that the house had come furnished. It was decorated with lots of parrots and bright, tropical colors. A yellow couch with red
and green cushions stood under the window. On two walls there were big framed posters of palm trees and jungle animals. The carpet was green, the lampshades decorated with toucans.
It was like Cancun had thrown up in here. And it didn’t suit her. Not at all.
Evie wasn’t exotic, orange, yellow, and red sunshine.
She was quiet midnight, mysterious and alluring, from her coloring to her personality.
After this afternoon, though, he also knew she was cool breezes and churning waves and hot skin on cold sand.
“Want a drink or something?” she asked. “I have some beer in the fridge.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
“I’ll be just a sec.”
She walked toward a doorway that led into what he thought was her bedroom. She didn’t walk through it, though. Instead, she froze, staring toward something in that room, her face a mask of confusion.
“What is it?” he asked, instantly on alert.
Not waiting for her to answer, he strode over and moved in front of her to eye the room. It looked normal to him—a tall dresser, a TV mounted on the wall, neatly made queen-sized bed. The cream-colored spread looked more to her taste, and when he spied a pile of garishly bright linens piled up on a chair, he knew she’d redecorated at least this little corner of her space.
“The window,” she murmured, pointing to the one that looked out into the backyard. The curtains were pushed back, the window raised several inches, enough to bring a slight breeze into the room. “It’s open.”
He heard what she wasn’t saying. She hadn’t opened it.
“Stay here,” he ordered, pushing past her into the bedroom.
The room was pretty sunny and uncluttered, with no nooks or dark corners in which anyone could hide. He could easily see into the attached bathroom, and a quick glance into the walk-in closet confirmed it contained nothing but clothes and shoes. He double-checked under the bed and did one more pass of the entire room.
Pushing past her, he went to search the rest of the house. He opened the kitchen pantry door, lifted the tablecloth, peered into closets, and pulled back the shower curtain in the guest bathroom. There was no attached garage, no other open windows, and the whole house was probably only a thousand square feet.
Nothing. Other than the two of them, it was completely empty of life.
Nor was there any evidence that anyone had been here and had left. Robbers usually didn’t bother with closing cabinet doors. They weren’t careful not to knock over furniture. They didn’t overlook computers on the kitchen table, electronics in the living room, or even a handful of coins left on her dresser. When he’d been to robbery scenes before, he usually found intentionally damaged belongings, broken glass, sometimes graffiti, not to mention clothing strewn all over the floor as the thief dug for hidden valuables.
This place was simply pristine.
“There’s nobody here,” he said as he rejoined her.
But he saw the expression on her face. Evie still stood where she’d been before, her arms wrapped around her waist, her creamy-complexioned face a little pale, though she’d been rosy with sunshine and passion just a little while ago.
He knew she was worried but had to ask, “Are you sure you didn’t leave the window open? Maybe you got up during the night to let in a little fresh air and just forgot?”
She was shaking her head before he finished speaking.
“No, never. What happened spooked me so bad I made a mental note to ask the landlord if she minded if I put up some of those cheap little window alarms. I would never leave them unlocked, much less open.”
“Okay,” he murmured. Seeing her dismay, he couldn’t resist lifting a hand to brush back a strand of her soft hair. “I understand why you’re so cautions, Evie. But you know he’s not gonna come after you. I’m sure Frankie Lee is somewhere in Mexico by now.”
She stared into his eyes, appearing confused. Then her mouth fell open. “Oh, no, I don’t mean that. I’m not worrying about him.”
“What do you mean, then?”
She swallowed, her slender throat flexing. “I mean, when I came home the day after that, I found that same window open then too. And some of my things were…moved around. At least, I think they were. It’s happened once or twice since, but it’s so subtle, I just haven’t let myself try to puzzle it out.”
“Explain,” he barked, going back on high alert.
She pointed to the bedside table. “The clock. I’ve turned off that alarm every morning since I’ve been here, and it’s always been on the right-hand nightstand.”
It was now on the left. The time was accurate, the numbers gleaming red. It was perfectly positioned to be seen from the bed. And it had been moved?
Gesturing toward her dresser, she went on. “My hairbrush was right there. I used it when I dried my hair this morning.”
If it had been, it wasn’t anymore.
“It’s like, things have been moved and touched—doors left open, a glass left in the sink that I know I didn’t use, things like that—but it’s all almost under the radar, stuff a person who wasn’t always on the lookout for anything out of the usual might not even notice.”
“But you did notice.”
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t you said anything?”
She pushed her windblown hair back. “I have been so stressed, so distracted, I’ve just been figuring I was becoming forgetful.”
“The coffee,” he whispered, remembering how it had been out of place in the kitchen.
“Exactly.”
His danger instincts were pinging. Evie was a cautious woman, with good reason given her history. She might forget one or two things, but this sounded almost like a campaign to make her doubt her own senses and memories.
It sounded very—very—deliberate.
Going to the open window, he glanced out into the small, fenced backyard and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Closing it, he tested the lock. He latched it—or thought he had—but when he tried to lift the window, it came up easily.
“It’s broken,” he said, now not just tense but on high alert. High enough to make him wish he had his backup service weapon in its regular place on his ankle.
The windows weren’t original to the house. They had obviously been replaced within the last few years. There was no reason for the lock not to work, as far as he could see.
He bent down and examined them. The plastic latches at the bottom that were supposed to snap into place and lock it down had been carefully trimmed across the back, shaved flat. It wasn’t something anyone would notice from the front, unless they carefully examined them. Evie obviously hadn’t even noticed as she closed it, not realizing there should have been a click when they attached.
“How much do you trust your landlord?” he said with a glower.
“She’s a little old lady who lives with her widowed daughter in Laguna,” she whispered. Then, with a visible shudder, she added, “Angstrom.”
“No, baby.” He walked over to take her into his arms. “He can’t get at you.”
She was lost to dark imaginings. “He warned me he has friends here. Maybe they started out trying to scare me so I’d already be rethinking testifying if he got a new trial. Now he has.”
He held her even tighter. “No way, Evie. He is not gonna get anybody anywhere near you, I swear to you.”
After she stopped quivering, he said, “Let me secure that window and then we’ll get out of here, okay?”
She nodded, watching as he went and broke off a short metal bracket from the closet. He positioned it in the track of the window. It wasn’t great, but it should hold for now until real locks could be put back on. In the meantime, he wasn’t leaving her alone in this place for a single second.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Looking over, he saw Evie standing near the bed, her arms wrapped around her middle, her mouth hanging open. She looked like someone who had just had a major shock.
“What?” h
e snapped, instantly at her side.
She nodded toward the pillows sitting on top of the neatly spread comforter. One was fluffed up. The other, on the right-hand side, where she usually slept given the preferred location of the clock, had an indentation in the center. As if a person had just been sleeping on it.
Then he saw what was in that indentation. And knew why she was so horrified.
“Pack a bag.”
She remained frozen, her stare locked on the horrible sight.
“I mean it,” he insisted, going to her closet and yanking the door open. He began to haul out clothes and toss them on the bed. “Take whatever you need for now. I’ll come back and get the rest later.”
“I can’t just—”
“Evie, listen to me.” He came over to her and put both hands on her shoulders, gripping tightly. “You can’t stay here. You weren’t imagining things. Someone has been in your house, using that window as a highway to invade your privacy.”
He didn’t even want to think about whether that person had been standing here, right in her bedroom, standing over her while she slept. Nor did he want to imagine what that person might have done tonight, now that word had gotten out that Angstrom actually was getting a new trial.
She was a key witness. The serial killer’s “friends” already had her in their sights. They’d probably just been waiting for the word to go. And somehow, Angstrom had gotten it to them.
Rowan, meanwhile, had been completely oblivious, barely paying attention when she’d told him the coffee was in the wrong place. He prided himself on being observant, and he’d failed to even notice that someone he greatly cared about was in danger.
“You’re coming home with me.”
She didn’t react. She wasn’t surprised. She just finally had someone else to confirm what she already suspected.
“Now let’s get your stuff, just enough to get you through, and we’ll get out of here.”
Wanting You Page 21