by Dawn Brown
“Are you okay?” Dean asked.
“I’m fine.” And she wished to never utter those two words again. “Stop asking me.”
Dean frowned, his mist green eyes centered on her face. She dropped her gaze to his mouth. The smooth line of his lips. What would it be like to have them pressed against hers? To feel their heat? To have his hands on her? To melt against him? To stop thinking about Michelle, the Gallaghers, her family, the store? To do something just for her?
With her heart thundering against her chest, she leaned forward and rested her palm against his cheek. Invisible stubble scraped her skin. She lifted her gaze and met his eyes, bright and hungry now.
He wanted her. Maybe as much as she wanted him. The realization surprised her. Thrilled her.
Lightly, she brushed her mouth against his, a soft feather of a kiss, barely more than a whisper against his lips. Yet even his slightest touch made her quiver. Made her wet.
She started to move away, but his hand slid behind her head and he pulled her back to him, capturing her mouth with his. No gentle taste this time, but a searing, mind-numbing kiss that sent her senses spinning. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck, sinking into him.
His big hands slid over her sides. The heat from his skin penetrated through her sweater. She wanted to tear her clothes away, and his, too. She wanted the skin-to-skin contact.
He gripped her hips and a dark internal quivering filled her, but rather than pull her close, he pushed her back, tearing his mouth from hers. She bit her lip against the scream of frustration bubbling in the back of her throat.
“What is it?” Her voice sounded deep and throaty, even to her.
He lifted his gaze, his eyes wary and as turbulent as the sea. His breath ragged when he spoke. “I don’t want to be a mistake.”
Her heart trembled and swelled. Did he honestly believe he would be?
“I’m a grown woman, Dean, and I know exactly what I want.” She stood and faced him, tugging her sweater over her head and tossing it to the floor.
He licked his lips, and a shiver raced through her.
“Are you sure—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’m undressing in front of you. I don’t know how much more obvious I can be.”
She started to unbutton her jeans, but his hand closed over hers and he pulled her toward him until she stood in the V of his legs. He popped the button then drew down the zipper with painful slowness.
Heat pooled in her belly, spreading out to her limbs. Her every nerve ending came alive as his fingers curled around the waistband of her jeans. He pressed his mouth against the smooth skin of her stomach. Her breath clogged in her throat. Lower. She wanted him lower, easing the ache between her thighs.
“Don’t regret me,” he murmured.
She could barely form words. “Never.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dean tugged the jeans over her hips, dragging them down her legs until they lay in a heap at her feet. She stood over him slender and pale, the ends of her dark hair curling over the slight swell of her breasts above her bra. She was incredible. Everything he’d ever imagined, and yet so much more.
His mouth went dry as he ran his hands up the backs of her smooth, firm thighs then cupped her bottom and pulled her closer. He closed his mouth over her, tasting her through the creamy silk of her panties. A tiny whimper escaped her lips, filling his brain with raw primal hunger. He wanted to feel her come. To drive her to the edge and send her over. He held her tighter, his tongue working her through the flimsy material.
“Oh God,” she gasped, her fingers tangled in his hair. Tiny spears of pain stung his scalp and fed the raging need inside him.
He wanted to roll her beneath him and bury himself deep inside her, but couldn’t tear himself away from her musky scent and the taste of her wet heat.
Her leg muscles stiffened and she cried out. His grip on her backside locked her in place while his mouth drove her over the edge until she shuddered and went lax against him. But he wanted her as hungry and as desperate as he was.
He dragged her onto his lap, so her legs straddled his thighs and her apex rubbed his aching erection straining against the confines of his jeans. Starving, and unable to get enough of her, his hands roamed her body, following her every line.
He cupped one pert breast, kneading the small mound through the smooth fabric of her bra. She groaned as he pulled down the edge and bent his head, capturing the tip with his mouth.
Haley could barely think. The remnants of her orgasm still quivering through her, yet Dean’s hands and mouth continued drive her higher. His teeth tugged at the already tight nipple and she gasped and jerked at the sharp sensation then melted into the soothing strokes of his tongue.
She could feel it again. The tight spiraling, low in her belly and the throbbing ache between her legs. She rocked against the hard bulge in his pants. The wet material of her underwear slid easily over his jeans.
“Wait,” he murmured against curve of her neck.
Was he kidding? “What is it?”
He leaned back and let out a frustrated sigh. “Protection. I don’t have anything.”
Of course. How could she not have thought of that before now? With need humming through her body like a slow gathering charge, she knew exactly how. Still, didn’t she have a box of condoms from when she’d been with Jason? She sure as hell hoped so.
“Hold on, I think I have some.”
She eased off his lap and hurried upstairs to her bedroom.
“Please, please, please,” she muttered, yanking open her underwear drawer. She dug through the tangle of silk panties and bras until her fingers closed around a smooth box. Yes. But how long were those things good for? She turned the box in her hands until she found the expiry. They still had another six months.
She rushed back down to the living room. Dean was waiting for her on the couch.
“Found them,” she said and handed him the box.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see those,” he told her, taking her hand and pulling her back onto his lap.
“I think I do.”
She caught his mouth with hers, tugging at his lip with her teeth. He growled low in his throat, his hand tangling in her hair and his mouth devouring hers. His fingers expertly unhooked her bra and pulled the thin straps over her shoulders, leaving trails of heat along her skin. He cupped both breasts in his hands. The hard calluses on his skin scraped her sensitive nipples, and she whimpered for more.
Desperate for the feel of him against her, she struggled with the buttons of his shirt, but her fingers trembled and the process seemed to take forever. Finally, she gripped the edges and yanked, sending buttons shooting off in different directions.
He lifted his head and looked down at her. A wolfish grin curved his mouth, sending renewed fissures of heat zigzagging through her. She pressed her hand against his chest and pushed him back on the sofa, letting her fingers explore the hard, flat contours of his body.
She had wanted this, wanted him, for so long. A teenage fantasy come to life. She kissed him again, while his fingers trailed her ribs, making her hot and shivery all at once.
She moaned when his arms wrapped around her, crushing her against him. Desire streaked through her blood like liquid fire as his teeth scraped at the delicate skin of her throat. She couldn’t still her trembling. How could she feel so hot and tremble like this?
A wild throbbing pounded at her core. She needed more. She needed all of him against her, inside her. Her hands fisted in his hair as her mouth hungrily found his. His callused fingers slid over her back and curved around the edge of her panties.
“God yes,” she murmured.
He groaned and tugged at the flimsy fabric, his big hands sliding under the smooth satin and cupping her bottom. She shifted so he could pull them off of her then yanked open his jeans, freeing his penis and running her hand over the hot, hard flesh.
<
br /> “Christ, Haley,” he gasped. “Hold on a second.”
He took one of the condoms from the box, tore open the package. She watched, transfixed, as he smoothed the rubber over his swollen erection. Then he was gripping her hips and helping to guide her over him. She lowered herself gradually, taking him one exquisite inch at a time as he stretched her, filled her. The sensation fed her need like dry scrub to a brush fire. Never in her life had she experienced want like this. The desperate need to possess, and be possessed.
She rode him slowly, savoring the feel of him inside her. His hands moved up her body, cupping each breast, then he closed his mouth over the tip of one. He caught her nipple between his teeth, sending a jolt to her core. She gasped, her entire body trembling as she teetered on the brink of orgasm.
With a low growl, he gripped her hips and thrust deep inside her, setting his own pace. He drove into her, hard and frantic. Their sweat-slicked bodies moved together, filling the air around them with the slap of damp flesh against damp flesh, and their nearly desperate panting. He suffused her senses like no one had before. All she could think of, all she could feel was him. She gripped his shoulders and cried out, spiraling into the sweet abyss of her climax. Spasms rippled low and deep inside her. She clung to Dean while he pumped into her hard and fast, until he thrust a final time, groaning his release. Breathless, Haley collapsed against his chest, the aftershocks of her orgasm still shuddering through her body. Holy God, where had all that come from? She hadn’t realized she had wanted him that badly, but as his arms wrapped around her, one hand trailing fingers down her spine and the other tangling in her hair, the sharp tightening in her belly told her she’d barely whetted her appetite.
A small tremor of panic rippled over her. She felt too much, wanted too much for a brief affair. No, she’d be fine. The strange feeling of expansion in her chest was just the thrill of being with a teenage crush, and the aftermath of really good sex following a dry spell. More like a drought of biblical proportions, but why dwell.
She closed her eyes and pushed the confusing thoughts from her mind, concentrating instead on the rapid thud of his heart against her ear. The denim of his jeans rubbed against her thighs. She hadn’t even managed to get him completely undressed. At least he had seemed as desperate as she was. A slow smile curved her lips.
“Something funny?” he asked.
“You’re still wearing your pants.”
She sat up and looked at him. With his head back against the sofa, his features relaxed, he watched her through hooded eyes. Her heart skipped a beat.
“A situation I intend to rectify. I have to get up first though.”
“Right.” She shifted so he could stand.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her before going upstairs.
Once alone, she reached for his shirt and pulled it over her shoulders. She felt little conspicuous sitting naked in her living room by herself. Above, the toilet flushed and Dean’s foots steps thudded on the stairs as he came back down.
“You look good in my shirt,” he said, moving to stand in front of her. He reached down, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Why don’t we continue this upstairs.”
“You just didn’t want to spend another night sleeping on this lumpy couch.”
He smirked, drawing her against him. “Who said anything about sleeping.”
She chuckled and snuggled against his chest, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of his body next to hers. But the muscles beneath her cheek hardened, the arms holding her went stiff.
“What is it?” she asked, trying to sit up.
“Wait here,” Dean said, moving away from her and never taking his eyes off the wide front window.
Cold slick fear curled in her belly. She bent, snatched jeans from the floor and dragged them on. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought I saw someone outside.”
She glanced at the window, hidden behind long, white sheers. The idea that someone may have been watching them made her sick, but surely a peeper couldn’t have seen more than shadows through the drapes.
“Where are you going?” she demanded, following him to the door.
He pulled on his boots. “I’m going to take a look. Wait here.”
“I don’t think so. Have you never seen a horror movie before?”
“I’m not kidding, Haley.”
“Neither am I. The man goes to investigate on his own, leaving the woman alone. The man of course never comes back, and the psycho killer murders the woman.”
Dean pulled open the door. “I’m just going out on the porch.”
“Then I will just stand in the doorway and watch.”
“Fine.” He stepped outside.
“Fine.” She leaned outside, wrapping her arms around her middle to protect against the frigid cold. A set of messy footprints in the snow led from the narrow walk to the window. Dean followed the prints until he stood where their peeper had.
“How much can you see through the window?” she asked, through chattering teeth.
“Enough.”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
He glanced at the lawn buried under the pristine layer of snow. “When did it snow last?”
“A few inches late last night. I had to shovel the driveway and walk this morning.”
“Let’s get back inside before we freeze,” he said, coming to join her. He closed the door and slid the bolt into place. “Check all the windows and doors, make sure everything is locked.”
She nodded and together they checked the first floor.
“Like Fort Knox,” she said, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you think it was our would-be killer out there?”
“I don’t know. Could be some perv who just got a free show.”
“Here comes that nauseous feeling again.”
He pulled her to him, his arms warm and strong. She could have let herself melt against him, absorb some of that warmth, draw on his strength, but that would have been a mistake. As good as he felt, there was only now in his embrace. And when he was gone, she’d be back to relying on just her.
Lara, Erin and Jonathan. Haley underlined each name on a sheet of paper. These were Michelle’s closest friends and boyfriend. Her confidants and the last person to see her alive. Were any of them the one peering in her window last night as she and Dean made love?
“Are you going to help stain this?” Allister demanded, dabbing the intricate grooves of the dining room chairs with a thin paintbrush. “Burland is supposed to be picking the suite up tomorrow.”
“In a second.” She really should help him. They were behind already and she prided herself on never missing a deadline. Hadn’t she argued the point with Dean when he insisted she stay home?
“Just one day. Stay home and call in sick,” Dean had said, backing her against the kitchen counter and nuzzling her ear.
“I’m the boss, I can’t call in sick.”
He caught her earlobe in his teeth, and tiny darts of lust raced over her skin. “Yes, you can. Just one day, while I’m in the city.”
She laughed and shoved him away a little. “What are you planning to do when you get back? Stand guard?”
“Maybe.”
“Life goes on, Dean,” she told him seriously. “That’s the one thing I learned when Michelle disappeared. Bills need to be paid, inventory must sell, and Ed and Nancy Burland’s dining room table needs to be ready for pick up tomorrow. That’s just how it works.”
“I could cancel with Matt,” he considered.
“No, you can’t. You have work that needs your attention, and so do I. We can’t hide inside until we figure out who killed Michelle. What if we never do?”
Saying the words aloud terrified her. Two weeks ago she had accepted Michelle’s death and the anonymity of her killer. Now, she hunted for the murderer with a growing fury. An obsession that snowballed daily. And why? What would knowing the truth really change?
Would her mother’s dri
nking stop? Would she and her siblings develop a renewed closeness? Not likely. Dean would be exonerated in the eyes of the town, and while that would be very nice for him, it wouldn’t affect her life. So why then? Why this compulsive need to know what happened? And why did she feel like if she knew, she would be free?
Haley turned back to the piece of paper on the bench. One of these people had to know what was going on in Michelle’s life when she disappeared, surely one of them could help her.
Lara seemed the obvious choice, but not only was she not returning Dean’s calls, she wasn’t returning Haley’s either. Erin was her next best bet, but speaking to Erin would have the same effect as speaking to her family as a whole. Erin would no doubt blab, and Haley had no desire to explain her actions to anyone right now. Jonathan? Would he even speak to her?
Haley tore the paper from the pad and turned away from the workbench, ignoring Allister’s impatient sigh as she stepped into the store.
Let him do the work for a change.
The glowing green numbers on the register told her it was nearly four p.m. Jonathan would likely still be at the mill. She knelt and pulled the phone book out from under the counter then flipped through the flimsy pages until she found an ad for Williams Family Textiles. Producer of quality work gloves since 1952. Hareton’s only real industry.
Shifting from one foot to the other, she waited for Billy to finish taking down an order over the phone. As he hung up, she nudged him out of the way, lifted the receiver and dialed.
“Helen Campbell wants a quote on a desk. Today, if possible,” Billy said as Haley waited for someone to answer.
“Give me a sec,” she told him.
“Good afternoon, Williams’ Family Textile,” a perky voiced receptionist said.
“Jonathan Williams, please.” She used her best phony professional voice.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Haley Carling.” Maybe she should have lied.
“One moment please.” The receptionist put her on hold and a disturbing Muzak version the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” filled her ear. A moment later the music cut out and the receptionist returned. “I’ll transfer you now.”