by Jeanne Adams
“You’re safe here, Torie. I don’t want you to think otherwise, but I need to—”
“To what?”
“This,” he said, leaning into her, pressing his lips to hers. He wanted to snatch her up, devour her, pull her into his arms and fill himself with her.
The temptation was overwhelming, but he locked it down. Instead, he savored. Gently. Carefully.
Somehow, the careful touch, the brush of their meeting lips, the slow progression to a deeper, more passionate kiss was incredibly arousing, more erotic than the headlong rush. He allowed himself to use one hand to slide under the heavy mane of her hair which she’d loosened, finally, from its strict arrangement.
With the other, he gripped the door jamb, willing himself to stay upright. Willing himself not to grab at her, like a greedy child. There would probably be impressions in the wood, he was squeezing so tightly.
“Ahhhhh,” Torie sighed, leaning into his hand. The sensuous sound coiled around his body, tightening every muscle. He had to call on every bit of control he’d learned, as a man, as a lawyer, to slow down, to stop the mad rush he wanted to give in to.
He’d frightened her once, on their one lone date. They’d been so hot for each other, so consumed that they’d rushed into sex. They’d set each other on fire. He’d been so blown away, so shaken by the power of it, he’d backed away emotionally and physically. The wound of that came between them at every turn.
God knew if there were ever to be another chance, he had to take it slowly. Maybe, just maybe.
“Torie.” He managed her name from a throat gone desert dry. “Torie.” Just her name. If he said anything else, he’d lose it, start trying to explain the years away. Something.
So he just let himself say it, the way he wanted to say it.
“Torie.”
He kissed her again, softly, then drew her in, letting her rest against him. When she pressed in, of her own accord, he felt her jolt just a little as she realized how aroused he was.
“Paul…”
“Shhhhh. It’s okay.” It was so much more than okay. She shifted, her soft breasts moving over his chest. He thought he was going to explode, like a green high school kid with his first crush. He eased back. If she did it again, he would embarrass himself, and her.
“It’s been an emotionally charged day. We’re both tired,” he said, pressing the shirt and shorts into the hand that was on his chest. “Here, take these. To sleep in.”
They stood in the dark, hovering mere inches apart for what seemed like an eternity. She didn’t look at him; her eyes were closed. He took the opportunity to savor the look of her, the clean, sharp line of her cheekbones, the curve of her ear, the glint of gold from the new earrings. His hand, still cupping the nape of her neck flexed, and she rolled her head, rubbing into his fingers as a cat might do.
“We need sleep,” she finally whispered. “We’re too tired to think.”
There were a lot of things running through Paul’s mind, and his thinking was quite clear, but he knew what she meant.
Lowering his mouth to hers one last time, he kissed her, let himself drown in her lush, immediate response. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away.
The cool air rushed between them and in defense, she clutched the borrowed clothes to her body.
“Good night, Tor.”
She said nothing, just stood, looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. He got to his own bedroom door and stopped.
She finally moved, turning into the guest room. Before the door closed, he heard her response.
“Good night, Sir Paul.”
He hadn’t slept. Big surprise. Paul woke up feeling like he was on the last day of a four-day drinking binge, without the benefit of the fun party beforehand. His empty stomach was already clenching at the thought of seeing Torie again. A recipe for instant indigestion.
He groaned, and slapped the alarm again. Lurching to his feet, he headed for the shower.
Feeling only marginally better, he dressed for work and listened for Torie. He heard the water running and presumed she was showering as well.
“No. Do NOT go there,” he told his reflection. But the image of Torie, wet and soapy, in his guest shower wouldn’t be denied. He felt the sweat begin to bead on his forehead.
Great. He was either sick or crazy.
He’d put money on crazy.
Doors opened and shut, and he waited long enough for her to not be in the hall when he made a break for the kitchen. He couldn’t face running into her in the hallway where they’d kissed last night, fresh from a shower.
“Nonotgoingthere,” he growled under his breath as he slapped the coffee machine. It spluttered as the last of the coffee ran into the carafe.
He poured a mug for himself, threw a bagel in the toaster, and wondered if he should ask her about breakfast. Did she eat breakfast?
He had no idea. She used to, when they were in school. The protein girl, Todd had called her, always ready for eggs and bacon. Wincing at the memory of his friend, Paul got out another mug.
“Just going to knock and ask about coffee,” he lectured his raging hormones. “Christ, Jameson, you are not seventeen. Cut it out.”
He tapped a knuckle on the door. “Torie? You decent? How do you take your coffee?”
She didn’t answer. He frowned, leaning in toward the door to try and catch any response.
“Torie?”
Now he was worried. Decent or not, he was going in.
He knocked one more time for form’s sake, and twisted the knob. He’d only opened it an inch when she spoke.
“I’m okay, just…”
He knew that quaver. She was crying. Damn it. Steeling his nerves, reminding himself to be professional, he walked in.
She was sitting on the side of the bed, her cell phone cupped in between her hands. He could see the scroll of a text message. Her head was bowed, her loose hair camouflaging her expression.
“Really, I’m fine.”
“You are not. You’re crying.” He sat down on the bed, making sure there was at least a foot, maybe more, between them.
Torie raised her face, and he could see the streaks of her tears. Her mascara must be waterproof. Why that would matter, he couldn’t say, but her gorgeous eyes were reddened and as he watched, a tear escaped to run down her cheek.
“What is it, Torie? It’s not Pam, is it? Or your cousin?”
She shook her head.
“The dog? Bear?”
She half-laughed, half-sobbed. “No, they’re all okay.”
“But you’re not. Please, tell me. Maybe I can help.” He wanted to scoot closer, to touch her. He held back because if he touched her now, when she was upset and vulnerable, and something happened…He’d never forgive himself for screwing it up again.
“I don’t think so, but thanks,” she looked at the ceiling, and he decided she was doing it to keep from crying. Unfortunately, all it did was expose the long line of her throat, which directed his gaze straight to her gorgeous—
“Really. I want to.” Oh, I want to. “Help, that is.”
She looked at him, her smile forced. She held up the phone. “I was supposed to go back into the office today. I got an email from my boss. Seems like the HR team and the firm’s principals decided I needed administrative leave. The phones have been ringing off the hook you see, from the press. They figure it’ll die down if I take a week or so off.” She pushed off the mattress, went to stand by the window.
For a moment, all he could focus on was the way she moved, all grace and flow. Then, in the light from the window, he could see the outline of her back, the curve of her waist through the lightweight shirt she’d put on. It was one that they’d picked up from the Suites, slightly wrinkled from being tossed off its hanger, thrown to the floor.
Paul shook off the haze of physical need, drilling in on what she’d said.
“I beg your pardon, but they did what?”
She laughed, half-turned, and Paul nearl
y groaned. The shirt was still opaque, but he could see the curve of her breast, and the snug fit of equally wrinkled pants was killing him.
“They put me on paid administrative leave for two weeks. I guess they don’t want a murder suspect cluttering up the office.”
“Torie, no.” He rose, went to her. He couldn’t help it. The naked pain on her face, every line of her posture told him what a deep wound it was to be slapped down professionally for something over which she had no control. He wanted to tell her she had nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t. Not until she was cleared.
“They don’t believe I’m guilty, you understand.” She failed miserably at the intended sarcasm. “They just think it’s for the best.” She outlined the last words with her fingers making quotations in the air.
“Well, we both hate that, don’t we? Anyone thinking they know what’s best?”
She stared at him for a heartbeat, then laughed. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
He wanted to distract her, change the subject. Without thinking of the implications, he asked, “So how did you sleep?”
The answer spread over her face in a blush. Awww, crap.
“That bad, huh? Was it the bed?”
“No.”
He looked into her eyes and saw something kindle, hot and wild. It might be his imagination, but she was looking at him. Really looking at him, for once.
Torie dropped her gaze, then crossed her arms over her chest. Unfortunately, not before he saw that she was aroused.
“Do I smell coffee?”
It was impossible to resist. That glimpse of fire, the sight of her pebbled nipples erect, and her breasts straining the buttons of her shirt. He knew it was wrong. It broke all the rules, everything he’d kept to for more than ten years.
He didn’t care.
He took a step toward her, let his hand slide under her hair as it had the previous night. She froze, but didn’t retreat.
A good sign.
“Torie?”
“Paul, this is a mistake. We both know it. We can’t go there again.”
“Is it a mistake? Torie? Was it?”
She turned her head, and her hair slid onto his arm, lay like gold on the starched blue of his shirt. He was going to need a new shirt before he headed to the office.
He smiled at the thought.
“Paul?”
“Come here,” he urged, gently tugging her toward him. She eased in, not rushing, but not actually reluctant. “Let me hold you.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“On the contrary,” he murmured, lowering his head to look into her eyes, using the other hand to tuck her wayward hair behind one ear. “We should. We have every right to, no barriers this time, Torie. Whatever else there is, or isn’t, there’s always been this.”
The kiss was slow, soft, exploratory.
Then she leaned into him, and the tight control he’d managed to keep the previous night shattered irrevocably. He captured her mouth, let himself taste her, fully and deeply. He could have kissed her for hours, maybe days.
The brush of her breasts on his arms, her hands gripping his waist, all of it was almost unbearably erotic. When she dug into the fabric, holding on, it pulled his trousers snug and he groaned at the pressure.
“Let me touch you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure why, but the quiet was mesmerizing. He wanted to take things slowly, softly. He tugged the shirt from her pants, letting his hands slide up the soft skin of her back. When she arched like a cat, pulling away from his mouth, he actually moaned. Here was her elegant neck to feast on, to explore.
“Oh, my God,” she mumbled. “That feels so, so…”
“What? Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Hot, powerful. Sexy.”
“Oh, you’re all that, and more,” he managed to say, bringing her back to his mouth, forgetting everything in the turbulence of her kiss, in the feel of her body.
“I need to touch you, too,” she said, her hands restless now at his waist, tugging the belt free from its silver fittings, her fingers nipping the buttons open so fast he barely knew what she was doing. “Ohhhh.” She let the word vibrate against his lips, while her hands danced over his skin.
The involuntary shiver had him pulling her nearer, molding her to him, pressing her amazing ass to lock them more intimately together. Now it was his turn to gasp.
Here, finally, was Torie. Glorious, amazing, supple, and powerful.
He fumbled the buttons, but got them undone. He wanted to rip the shirt off, but restrained himself. He didn’t want to frighten her. Never again.
That nearly brought him up short, nearly had him pulling away from her to be sure.
She was having none of that. “No, no regrets,” she said, her fingers plunging into his hair, bringing his mouth back to hers. “Not this time.”
She was taking charge, and he was in heaven. She pushed his shirt away, and he popped the cuff buttons getting it off. He kicked off his loafers, and she stepped out of the pumps she’d put on.
She turned him as they undressed each other, and before he knew what she was about, they were at the bed.
“I’ve wanted to—” Paul began.
“Years—” she muttered.
“Years?” Really?
They fell to the mattress. He’d think about that years thing later. For now, he had to…
“Oh, sweet heaven.” He hardly managed the words as she shimmied down his body to take him into her mouth. “Don’t, I can’t take it.” He didn’t want to explode, even as he was dying to climax with her fabulous hands wrapped around him.
To prevent it, he lifted her up, capturing her mouth once again and rolling them both. Reality yanked at him for one brief moment.
“Protection, we’ve got to—”
“I’m protected. Come here,” she insisted, panting now and as eager and ready as he was. “I need you. Oh Paul, please, just—”
“This?” She answered him with a long, drawn-out growl of pleasure. “Oh yes, let me see you, Torie, let me taste you.” He kissed her mouth, her neck, everything within reach as they came together in one swift stroke.
He paused, quivering with the effort not to come, not to launch himself into her ready heat, not to let himself sink too deeply, too quickly.
She twisted her gorgeous body, pressing into him, and backing off. The friction of her curls, the wet power of her eager response was overwhelming.
“Slowly, Tor,” he managed. “Let me be there for you, too. Show me what you like.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, shifting her hips to gather him more deeply in. “I like what you’re doing. Do it some more. Now. Please.”
He laughed and complied. Gently, with deliberate ease, he stroked her body, matched her arching hips with his own.
“Oh, Paul.” His name was drawn out, like a battle cry, and he felt her body tense. She twisted, pulling at his shoulders as her hips shot up, pinning him as she reached the peak of her orgasm.
The sight of her, the freedom of her response, the years of wanting all coalesced into a hot, flashing point of release.
It felt like a scream. Like an echoing shout of triumph across the misunderstandings and sharp rejections. It was a balm to all things in that brilliant moment.
Everything was hot. The long ache in his heart, and in his body, burst free. He felt as if he were exploding into nothingness as he braced himself above her, and into her and around her.
It was all about her.
Chapter Nine
“It’s all about her,” Paul said to Melvin Pratt Sr. “The whole thing surrounds Torie. Everything that’s happened to both Todd and Torie began when they called off their wedding.” He laid the neatly typed sheets on the desk in front of his boss and mentor. Martha had taken the two time lines and noted all the intersecting mishaps. There was definitely a pattern.
“So,” the older man began, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Paul. “You think there’s something more here? An attempt
to frame her?”
“I do.”
“Interesting,” Pratt murmured as he looked at the list again. “Does she know how much you care about her?” he said without looking up from the paper.
Paul froze. He and Torie had been so late coming into the office that he had expected questions. They hadn’t talked about it. They’d dressed in the hazy, powerful aftermath, and driven in, each submerged in their own thoughts.
To his surprise, everyone assumed he’d taken her shopping to replace the items damaged in the previous day’s vandalism.
He wished he’d thought of that. She’d been incredibly quiet. She was, however, off shopping for replacements while he was talking to Pratt. He’d managed to get a second bodyguard to shadow her, but again, only for a short time frame. He had to find someone who could focus on it.
Just one more thing on the to-do list.
He realized Pratt was waiting for him to answer the question. His collar felt tight as he cleared his throat.
“I don’t think so, sir.” Hard as it was, he kept his tone level. Pratt obviously had him dead to rights, but there was no reason to give him more ammunition. He’d be stupid to argue that he felt nothing for her. His poker face wasn’t good enough, especially since he could still imagine her in his arms.
“You might want to keep it that way until she’s cleared of murdering her former fiancé.” He winked at Paul as he handed the list back to him. “I’m presuming you don’t think she did it.”
“She didn’t,” he said with conviction. Now that he knew about Bear, he knew she wouldn’t have had time to murder Todd and put him in the church. “Timing’s off, personality type doesn’t fit.”
“Because you don’t want it to? Or because you think the DNA swab they took this morning will clear her?”
Paul hesitated. He’d questioned that. A lot. Ever since he’d gotten the news. He’d been disconcerted to find a technician at the office, ready to swab Torie’s cheek the minute they walked in the door.
Pratt waved at a chair. “Before you answer that, take a seat.”
Paul sat. Waited while Pratt stared. It was a tactic he recognized, and he wasn’t going to fall for it.