Fallen Angels: BeguiledWantonUncovered

by Lori Foster

  Harris was already inside the building, but only just opening his apartment door when Clair arrived. She stopped when she saw him, catching her breath, absorbing the sight of him. He looked…wonderful. Exhausted and red-eyed, but still strong and tall, still the man she adored with all her heart.

  Seeing him now, with the evidence of his work weighing heavy on his shoulders, Clair didn’t know what to say. Emotion closed her throat, love burned her eyes. She twisted her fingers together. “Harris.”

  He’d just shoved his door open and he turned to her with a smile. “Hey. I was going to change and come over in a few minutes.”

  Clair swallowed hard, fighting the urge to leap on him. “Change into what?” Dunce. What did it matter?

  He turned his nose against his shoulder, sniffed, and made a face. “Something that doesn’t still reek of smoke. I showered at the station, but the damn smell clings to my hair and my—”

  Clair gave up. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t wait a second more, couldn’t patiently stand there while he went through cordial chitchat. Launching herself at Harris, she grabbed his neck, kissed his mouth, his chin, his throat, then rested her cheek on his chest and squeezed him tight.

  Slowly, Harris brought his arms around her. “Hey? What’s wrong?”

  Almost too overwhelmed to speak, Clair shook her head, then confessed, “I was…worried.”

  “I’m sorry.” He smoothed her back, returned her bear hug, then caught her arm and urged her inside.

  He was sorry? Agog, Clair tried to acclimate herself to Harris’s new persona, to his easy acceptance. What did it mean?

  His voice low and somber, he said, “Let me shower again and change, then we’ll talk.”

  Clair watched him walk away, and he was whistling. The exhaustion remained, in the set of his shoulders, the dark smudges beneath his eyes. But he seemed more lighthearted, as if she’d pleased him in some way.

  Clair looked around herself with dawning realization. Harris was in a mellow, receptive mood. His apartment, other than a small kitchen light, was dark. She had the perfect setting and probably wouldn’t get another chance like this anytime soon.

  Her heart in her throat, her pulse humming in anticipation, she trailed silently after him. She pushed open his bedroom door to see Harris standing in the middle of the floor, his shirt off, his shoes and socks gone, and his hands at the snap of his jeans.

  Almost there, she thought.

  Harris looked up, their gazes locked for long moments, and his expression heated. “Clair?”

  Not giving herself a chance to back out, she flipped the wall switch, stealing the scant light and filling the room with obscure moon shadows.

  Harris, now a vague shadowy blur, asked, “What’s this?”

  Cautiously moving forward, Clair found his chest, firm and sleek and very hot. She moved her hands up to his broad shoulders, then to the back of his neck. She pulled his head down to hers. “I was afraid for you.”

  His hands looped around her waist. “I’m good at what I do, honey. You don’t have to worry.”

  “You said sex would change things.” Clair tunneled her fingers into the cool softness of his thick hair, such a dramatic contrast to his hard, hot body. “Well, get used to me being concerned. I know you don’t like it. God knows you bitch enough any time a woman starts to worry, but if we have sex—”

  His hands widened, sliding down to her hips. “We are,” he murmured. “Right now in fact.”

  Clair drew in a breath. “Great. Then I have rights.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “The right to worry?”

  “You betcha. And I also—” He kissed her, cutting off her demands in midsentence. “Harris?”

  “I’m open to the new rules, honey. But let’s talk about them all in the morning.”

  Morning? The sun would be out, light flooding through the windows. “Do you expect me to stay the night?”

  “Damn right. Next to me. In my bed.”

  “Oh.” Maybe by then it wouldn’t matter. Maybe by then he’d realize that he wanted her and only her. Or maybe he’d even figure out that she and the mystery woman were one and the same.

  “You followed me into my bedroom, Clair. You’re claiming the right to worry. That gives me a few rights too. Like the right to make love to you all night long, whenever the mood strikes me.” His hands kept moving on her, caressing her back, her hips, her waist, stroking her, learning her in a way that had been forbidden before now. “In case you get antsy or horny,” he teased. He turned, took two steps and lowered them both to the bed, half covering her. In a near growl, he added, “Or if you just plain want me.”

  “I always want you.” Clair closed her eyes as his fingers found her inner thighs. Her heart pounded. “Harris?”

  “I smell like smoke,” he complained. With his mouth open and damp, he kissed her neck, her shoulder, leaving her skin tinging. “No matter how long I shower or how hard I scrub…”

  “I don’t mind.” Clair pressed her nose to his throat and inhaled. She wondered if the fires affected him that way, made him feel like he couldn’t get away from the smoke, the damage. She nuzzled against him. “All I smell is you, Harris, and you smell delicious.”

  “Yeah?” He chuckled, rising up to smooth her hair. With a smile barely perceptible in the dim room, he removed her glasses, stretching to put them on the nightstand. When he leaned back to her, he caught the hem of her shirt and tugged it up and over her head. His hand found her breast, gently shaped her, then he stilled. “Damn, Clair, I need a light.”

  “No, not yet.” If he turned on the light, he might recognize her. She wanted the intimacy between them before she told him the truth. In the morning, she’d confess. But not yet, not before she had that special bond to cushion her admission.

  Harris continued to caress her breast, toying with her nipple, making speech impossible. “Why not?”

  Why not? Why not? She forced herself to concentrate, then murmured, “I’m shy?”

  Slowly, with delicious precision, he tugged at her nipple. “You don’t sound certain, Clair.”

  Oh Lord, how could he expect her to talk while he did that? “I just…I’d rather leave the lights off.”

  Harris sat up beside her. “I’d rather see you. All of you.” Clair tried to protest, but before she’d even raised herself up on her elbows, a lamp came on, spilling light across the bed. Clair hurriedly turned her face away, her breath catching in dread.

  The seconds ticked by in agonizing silence. Slowly, because she couldn’t bear it any longer, she turned back to Harris. He didn’t look the least bit exhausted now. His blue eyes were bright, his gaze piercing while he stared at her breasts. His dark hair fell across his brow; his muscles were tight, delineated. He got to his feet beside the mattress, his gaze still unwavering, and began stripping off his jeans. “Can you see me without your glasses?”

  Clair bit her lip. “You’re a little fuzzy, but yes, I can see you.”

  Slowly, he nodded. “Good.” His jeans got shoved down and off his hips, and he stepped out of them. Her eyes widened. She could see him, but she wished she still had her glasses on so she wouldn’t miss a single detail.

  She started to sit up, to get closer to him, and he said, “Now you.”

  Not yet! If he saw her tush, would he recognize her as the woman in the photo?

  Clair tried to scuttle away, but that only amused Harris. He caught the hem of her shorts, and since they had a loose elastic waist, they came right off. Unfortunately, he took her panties with them, leaving her naked. “Harris!”

  “Clair.” His voice was dark, intense. “You’re beautiful.”

  He still didn’t recognize her? Clair couldn’t believe it. She should have been only relieved, but damn it, she was nettled too. The man had fawned all over those photos, studied them in detail, had them enhanced. But he didn’t see her as a sexy mystery woman, so he didn’t make the connection.

  When Har
ris stretched out beside her, she flattened both hands against his chest, holding him away. He tried to kiss her, but Clair wasn’t having that. Not yet.

  With dark menace, she demanded, “What about your mystery lady?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHAT MYSTERY LADY?” Harris murmured with deliberate lack of concern. At this particular moment, he didn’t care about anyone else, not with Clair in his bed, ready for him, looking sweet and soft and as perfect as a woman could look. Ready to take the next step in binding their relationship, he pulled her hands away, leaned down and licked her tightened nipple.

  Her back arched and her breath caught. “You know who I mean,” she panted. Her hands clenched on his shoulders, stinging in force. But still she persisted, saying hesitantly, “I, um, found the name of the guy who leased the place.”

  With a long, exaggerated sigh, Harris dropped his forehead to her chest. “I don’t care, Clair.” He cupped her breast, thumbed her now wet nipple. “Can’t you see that I’m busy here?”

  Clair tried to hold him back again. “You don’t care?”

  She sounded so stunned, Harris grinned. “Honey, if you don’t shut up, how the hell can I make love to you?”

  “But you said—” He sucked her nipple into his mouth, drawing on her, teasing with the tip of his tongue. “Harris.”

  Her hips pressed up against his, seeking. He could feel the wild rapping of her heart. In a rough growl, Harris said, “I know I promised slow and easy, but honey, I’m not sure I can manage that this first time.”

  “No.” She panted too, sounding every bit as affected. “I don’t want you to.”

  Clair wasn’t a weak woman, and the way she gripped him now told Harris that she meant it, that she was as anxious as he felt. Unwilling to cheat her, to rush her too much, he switched to her other nipple at the same time his hand moved down her body, tickling her skin into a fever, over her ribs, her waist, her hip. She had a lush, full bottom, and her skin was silky soft, warm. He trailed his fingers over her sleek runner’s thighs, and smiled at the way she clenched them together.

  Knowing how his words would affect her, he said, “Open your thighs for me, Clair. Let me touch you.”

  Another moan bubbled up from deep in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling from the anticipation, and slowly parted her legs.

  Teasing her a bit, Harris traced around her pubic curls.

  “Harris…”

  He loved the way she said his name. Cupping her mound, he carefully stroked, opening her, then slid one finger in deep. She was hot, wet, and immediately her hips lifted, deepening his penetration.

  Clair gasped—and opened her legs more.

  Such an honest response, so typical of Clair. With his free arm, he pulled her closer to his chest, to his heart, while still stroking her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

  “You’re the one who smells good, Clair,” he couldn’t help but tell her. “Sweet and soft. I love how you smell.” To emphasize that, he pressed his nose into her neck. He thought about what Ethan had said, about having a woman coddle him when he got home from a hard day fighting a fire. He wanted that woman to be Clair. He wanted her scent to cloak his body, instead of the scent of smoke. He wanted her to hold him, not any other woman. He wanted to come home to her every day and know that she was his, and only his.

  The acknowledgment of his emotions pushed him over the edge. He needed to be inside her, soon. She was gasping, moving rhythmically against his hand, her skin radiating heat. But it wasn’t enough. Harris wanted her pleasure to be a foregone conclusion, because God knew once he got inside her, he wouldn’t last.

  “You’ll like this,” he told her, and kissed her breasts again, sucking hard, nipping a little with his teeth.

  She gasped, then gasped again when he kissed her ribs, gently bit her soft belly, and settled between her legs.

  “Harris?”

  “God, you smell good, Clair.” He pressed closer, inhaling the scent of her excitement, her femaleness. Using his thumbs, he parted her, sought her out with his tongue, and then closed his mouth hotly over her.

  Her groan was long and satisfying, accompanied by a stiffening of her legs, the spontaneous lifting of her hips, a surge of new warmth. She whimpered, and in a breathless whisper, said, “Oh God.”

  Harris pressed himself hard against the mattress, trying to curb the ache her pleasure created. He felt her straining, getting closer and closer, and he worked two fingers into her even as he continued to suckle her clitoris, working her with his tongue—and she came.

  Her shout took him by surprise, and thrilled him. He locked one arm around her, holding her still as she shuddered and trembled and cried out. He could feel her squeezing his fingers, feel the surge of wetness and heat. He loved eating Clair, and if he hadn’t wanted her for so long, he could have started all over again.

  But he had wanted her, whether he realized it or not. His feelings for her had made it easy to give up other women. Celibacy was much simpler when he wanted only Clair. But no more. He needed her. Now.

  Harris realized his hands were shaking when he sat up and fumbled with the bedside drawer, seeking a condom. Clair didn’t move. But he could hear her uneven, still-labored breathing, and he smiled.

  He had the condom on in record time and then he turned, hooked her legs in his elbows, spread her wide—and surged into her.

  She arched hard against him, crying out, sinking her nails into his shoulders. “Yeah,” Harris panted, blind with the lust and love, shaken with the fury of his feelings for her. “Come for me again, Clair.”

  She did, almost too soon, because hearing her moan, feeling her inner muscles grip his cock, forced him to the finish line. She was wet and hot, open to him, letting him in deep, and he lost the battle. He closed his eyes and arched his neck and growled out his release, pumping hard, heaving.

  Minutes later, when his heart slowed its frantic beat and he could think coherently again, Harris thought to tell her how he felt, to admit he loved her. He pushed back to see her face, smiled at the sight of her sound asleep, and carefully separated from her.

  She mumbled, rolled to her side, and snuggled into his pillow. Harris looked her over again, smiling, but his vision still felt blurry and his heart felt too soft. He removed the condom, turned out the light, and spooned Clair. As he’d already known, she fit him perfectly.

  His life, with Clair in it, was good. He hoped like hell she wanted to marry him, because no way would he give her up.

  HARRIS MADE LOVE to her once again in the middle of the night, when she rolled to face him, and somehow her leg ended up over his waist and her breast was right there, close to his mouth—too tempting to resist. Though he was half-asleep and just going with the moment, he remembered to protect her—just barely. In the future, he’d have to keep a box of condoms on top of the nightstand, for easy access. Having Clair around and accessible would sorely test him, not that he’d complain.

  The second time was slower, gentler, and they rocked together for a long time, kissing softly, cuddling, until Clair started to moan. The sound of her pleasure seemed to ignite him, and once again, he lost the battle with control.

  After that, Harris didn’t wake up again until he felt Clair leaving the bed. He’d seldom slept the whole night with a woman, but having Clair close was comfortable and comforting. As she slipped away, he protested with a groan and tried to pull her back.

  She mumbled and swatted at him. “I have to go get ready for work, Harris.”

  He got one heavy eyelid open and found the clock. “It’s early yet.” With plenty of time for some morning hanky-panky. He glanced up at Clair, and got both eyes opened.

  She was naked, with rumpled hair and sleep-soft eyes, but she’d already put on her glasses. She looked like a fetish come to life. His fetish. He wanted her. Again. Always.

  But when he tried to reach for her, she laughed and stepped out of reach. “Down boy. I need a long hot shower.”

>   Harris looked at her soft, sweet belly and murmured, “Shower with me.”

  “Oh no, not on your life. I know where that’d end up.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, more awake by the moment.

  “Harris, I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  Her mouth went crooked in a silly grimace. “I’m a little sore.”

  Harris shoved into a sitting position. He couldn’t help it; he smiled like a conquering warrior. “I was too energetic?” He tried to look at her face, but her body held all his attention. Clair naked was a surprise. A wonderful surprise. She was so damned sexy…

  “It’s just been a long time, that’s all.”

  Harris looked at her hips, and frowned in thought. He’d never seen her nude body before, yet it all seemed somehow familiar. “I’ll be more considerate in the future.” In the future. He liked saying that.

  Clair drew a long, steadying breath. “For the record, you can be as energetic as you want.” And then, with a small smile, she added, “In the future.”

  Damn, he loved her. He patted the side of the bed. “We need to talk.”

  Worry darkened her eyes and she fretted, looking away from him. “I know.”

  Why did the idea of talking make her so solemn? Harris didn’t like it that her smile had disappeared. He much preferred her teasing, so he decided to put off the talk until later. “It’ll wait.” And because he couldn’t be with her and not want her, he agreed to let her head home. “Go get your shower before I forget I’m a gentleman and drag you back into my bed.”

  “I’ll…see you later?”

  Did she have doubts about his intentions? Was that why she looked so burdened? He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “You’d have one hell of a time getting rid of me.”

  Her grin returned, filling him with warmth. “Soon?”

  Sooner than she expected, most likely. He’d head to her office first to remove Dane and Alec from the case. Mystery women no longer interested him.