Close To The Edge (Westen #2) (16 page)

“I just bet you have.” A sultry chuckle escaped her.

Good. She wasn’t crying anymore. That had to be a good sign. And she was naked beside him. That was a very good sign. He slid his hand over her hip to cup a butt cheek firmly. “This was the first part of you I ever saw, and lady, you were made for squeezing.” Which he proceeded to demonstrate and pulled her tight against him.

She gripped his biceps with one hand, arched her neck and moaned again. The sound thrilled him and stoked the need inside him.

So much for going slow.

With a growl, he lowered his lips to her neck, tracing the column from her collarbone to her jaw. She tasted of heat and smelled like lemons and some sweet flower, which poets probably knew the name, but he didn’t give a damn. All he knew was he wanted more. With a need he hadn’t known before, he slid his lips across to hers, not just kissing her, but memorizing the taste and feel of her. Claiming her, marking her as his.

A tremor raced through her body.

God. He had to slow down. This desire was consuming him. He needed to give her time. He broke the kiss off, panting heavily as his hands caressed his favorite part of her anatomy.

“Sorry.” He dragged in another breath, opening his eyes to meet hers, which were half opened in arousal. “I’ll try to go slower.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, almost a plea.

“You want me to stop?” Not that. Anything but that.

“Don’t…go slower.” She stroked her hand down his side and across his hip until she held him in her hand. “I need you. Now.”

Yes, there was a God!

He reached for the foil packet and ripped it open with his teeth. She took it from him and sheathed him. Her hands shook. The knowledge that they did from either nervousness or need touched something primal inside him. Something that made him want to both claim and protect her.

Gripping both her hands, he lifted them high over her head and rolled her onto her back. She parted her legs beneath him and surged her hips up, pressing her mound tight against his hard-on. He took it for permission and entered her with one deep thrust.

A sound escaped Bobby. Half moan, half groan. He filled her so completely. She sucked in a breath, slid her feet up the back of his calves and pulled him in tighter.

It was his turn to groan.

All further thought escaped her. She rode the adrenaline rush and thrill of having him inside her. Each time he thrust, she parried with one of her own. The need inside her grew hungrier, the rhythm faster. The sounds of pleasure echoed in the dark.

Finally she clasped him to her with her legs and arms, her body arched beneath his as she crested the wave of passion. Above her he shouted out his own completion, clenching her to him.

Her eyes closed, she smiled and ran her hands over his back to soothe him as he collapsed upon her. As her finger crossed the two pucker marks on his back, she forced her hands not to linger, but gently caressed over all his sweat-covered skin.

Curious how he got the scars—she knew from crime photos she’d studied they’d come from bullets—she didn’t want to think how much pain he’d been in or why. And asking him questions would spoil the moment.

Slowly, as if the effort used more energy than he had, he lifted up onto his elbows to stare down at her. The intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter a beat or two. A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips and he brushed her hair from her cheek with his fingers, caressing her cheek with his knuckles.

“Better?”

“Mm-hmm, much,” was all she could manage. If she said any more, she’d either beg him to repeat the experience or cry tears of gratitude that he’d made her feel so good.

He leaned forward, his chest brushing the sensitive nipples, and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. He teased her lips with his tongue then slid it over her jawbone up to her ear.

“I’m still hungry,” he whispered into her ear, sending tremors across her body once more.

He couldn’t be serious? As spent as she was, she doubted she could do it again right now, even if the entire free world depended on it.

“I don’t think that’s possible right now,” she whispered back, even though she clenched herself around him where he remained inside her.

He chuckled, and lifted his chest back off her. “Sweetheart, I meant I’m still really hungry…for dinner.”

Even in the near-dark she felt the blush start at her toes and shoot up her entire body like a Roman candle. “Oh God. I thought… I mean… Oh.” She slapped her hands over her eyes.

He chuckled again, nipping her lips with his own as he slid off her body. From between her fingers she watched him stride from the room in all his naked glory.

He was magnificent. All sinewy muscles and arrogant male pride.

And she’d made love to him. Or at least had sex.

She couldn’t believe she’d just done that. With a man she’d known less than a week.

What must he think of her?

That I’m an insatiable sex kitten?

Or desperate?

She groaned and pulled the sheets up over her body and curled on her side.

When he returned a few moments later, he stopped to pull on his jeans and a t-shirt. He brought her one of his own flannel shirts from the closet. “Bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll go start the grill.”

He leaned forward for another kiss before leaving.

Nonchalant. That’s how he wanted to play it. Okay. She could be nonchalant, too.

Grasping the shirt, she climbed out of bed and slipped it on. Taking a deep, steadying breath she rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and buttoned the front.

So what if her fingers shook a little bit? She was nearly forty after all. Sex should be no big deal. True, it had been the best sex she’d ever had. Not that she’d been
that
experienced. Losing one’s virginity to the high school nose tackle, Adam “the moose” Bartholomew, and sleeping with the occasional boyfriend over the past twenty years didn’t really qualify her as sexually active. More like a sexual bystander. This time with Gage was definitely…different.

At the end of the hall she found the restored Victorian bathroom and cleaned up as best she could. She glanced at her face in the mirror. Her mascara had smeared during either the crying jag or her hot wrestling match with Gage.

Great. So much for looking like a sex goddess. What she needed now was something to scrub it off.

A bar of soap lay in the soap dish on the sink. Don’t suppose he had anything gentler?

She flipped open the medicine cabinet and searched through its contents. Toothpaste, shaving cream, razors, deodorant. No cold cream. Something odd caught her attention. Shoved back in the corner was a glass jar.

What the heck?
She pulled it out and studied the contents. The gold wedding band was obvious. The other thing inside was a mashed and mangled piece of metal.

Oh, my God. She nearly dropped the jar. The metal must be one of the bullets that had left the scars all over Gage’s body. The ones she’d felt while holding him tight against her. Symbols of his shooting and a possible marriage.

She sat down on the toilet seat—hard.

Why hadn’t he told her he’d been married before? Or was he still married? No, she would’ve heard something about his wife, if he still had one, in the two days she’d been in this small town. Of that she was certain. So he must’ve been married once before, but not now. But why hadn’t he said something?

Well, it’s not like she’d asked and he’d lied. And he was almost forty. At least she guessed he was her age. There were few never-married men or women their age, at least not straight ones. Besides, his past was his business. She hadn’t asked for strings when she’d begged him to make love to her, and he hadn’t given any either.

Turning the jar she studied the contents.

Why keep them stored together? Were they two separate events or connected in some way?

One thing she knew for sure. The man didn’t want to talk about them. And he’d probably be pissed that she’d found this.

Carefully, she slid the jar back where she found it and replaced the toothpaste in front of it.

Somehow she’d go downstairs, have dinner with him and pretend she hadn’t found his secrets. She’d also pretend she was as carefree as him about having sex. So she’d think of it simply like a physical release to the things she’d seen today.

She lathered the soap onto a washcloth and began cleaning the smeared makeup off her face.

Yep. That’s what she’d do all right. Think of it as two people helping each other through a physical need.

No big deal.

Downstairs, she stopped in the doorway and watched him cleaning potatoes. His body, even clothed, would tempt any woman. She liked the way the jeans hugged his hips and thighs, the thickness of his arms in the t-shirt shouted all-male with every move.

Her heart jumped and her nipples tightened just at the sight of him.

No big deal, my ass.

“Hope you’re as hungry as I am.” He glanced up and smiled at her without breaking stride on the spuds.

Yes, I’m hungry, but meat and potatoes probably won’t cure what ails me.
Nonchalant, remember? Keep it light.

“Starving.” Focused on looking around the kitchen, she didn’t remember seeing any of it when he’d led her inside earlier.

Unlike the upstairs bathroom, this wasn’t a Victorian remodel, but a vintage nineteen-fifties kitchen. Black and white linoleum tiles checkered the floor. The cupboards were painted white with chrome handles. On the wall hung a red Coca-Cola clock and signs advertising bottles for five cents. The table and stools looked like they’d come right out of a soda shop, complete with chrome edging.

She walked over and ran her fingers in the ridges of the chrome along the edge of the table. “This is fabulous.”

“Thanks. My dad loved the fifties.” He leaned onto the Formica counter as he explained. “He was a teenager then and collected stuff from stores and shops that closed over the years. When we moved here, he worked on making the kitchen what you see. The only modern conveniences are the stainless-steel appliances he added about five years ago. He always wanted a juke box, but none ever went on auction at a price he could afford on a sheriff’s salary.”

“You grew up with this?” She fingered the stainless two-sided napkin holder and tall glass sugar dispenser on the table. Framing the doorway that led into another room were framed vintage record covers of Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis and several Motown R&B groups.

“Yeah. For a few years as a cocky teen I resented his worship of old rock stars in favor of punk sounds. But with age comes wisdom. Dad really did impart some good taste into my life.”

“You miss him, don’t you?” It really wasn’t a question. She saw how his eyes lingered on objects in the room and heard the pride in his voice as he spoke of his father.

“Dad was the finest man I’ve ever known.” Gage turned and searched in the fridge, coming out with two steaks. “Now, you take a seat while I prepare you a feast.”

“You want me to help?”

“Nope.” From a drawer he pulled a pad of paper and pen and handed them to her. “I want you to write down everything you can remember about your sister’s client and his case. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how insignificant you might think it.”

“You think it might have something to do with Harley’s death?”

He nodded as he seasoned the steaks with salt and pepper. “Seems awful strange that you’re here to investigate some lien against a property, and the man who would’ve been in charge of making the supposed loan winds up murdered less than forty-eight hours later.”

“You don’t think I have anything to do with it, do you?” She sat at the table, waiting for him to say just that.

He winked at her, picked up a knife and started slicing the potatoes into long strips. “Sweetheart, if Harley was killed last night, I know exactly where you were, remember? If you’d even tried leaving that motel room I’d have known. The walls are that thin.”

Heat shot into Bobby’s cheeks. Apparently she wasn’t the only one aware that a thin wall separated them last night. Had he had as many problems sleeping as she did?

“Don’t look at me like that or neither one of us is going to get any dinner.”

She blinked and realized she was looking at him like a hungry tiger stared at a newborn calf. “Don’t forget, I like my meat a little on the rare side,” she said with more sass than she really felt.

“Why does that not surprise me?” He laughed.

She smiled and relaxed. If someone had told her a week ago she’d be sitting in the kitchen of a man as sexy as Gage, flirtatiously chatting and making comments with double entendres, much less having had incredible sex with him, she’d have sent them packing to the nearest insane asylum.

“So when did you first hear about the case?”

She picked up the pen, trying to focus on the task he’d given her. As she made her list, she talked aloud to save time so he’d hear things as she remembered them. “Everything started three weeks ago when Chloe called for one of her regular chat sessions.”

Both her sisters called on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis to keep her informed of how they were doing since she was as close as they’d come to having a parent in twenty years. But she suspected they also called to check on her. They feared she spent all her time hibernating in the townhouse she’d raised them in like some hermit. When she’d told them she’d taken and passed her PI licensure test, they’d both laughed until they realized she was serious.

“Did she ask you to look in on the case?” Gage watched her from across the counter.

Bobby shook her head. “No, she really did just call to talk. But I always ask about her work, and she started telling me about this case. She was sure it was simply a clerical error. Just in case there was something to the bank’s claim, she’d sent a letter to the bank a month earlier and had never received a reply.”

“And her bosses were putting pressure on her to get the matter settled quickly.”

“How did you know?”

He shrugged, tossed the pan with the steak fries into the oven and picked up the steaks. “I know a lot about lawyers, both junior and senior partners.” His lip set in that I’m-done-talking-about-it line once more. Carrying the steaks to the back door, he paused a moment. “You write, I’ll fire up the grill.”