The Phoenix (17 page)

Better.

She rode him harder, upped the rhythm, leaving him no choice but to match her stride, to race for the golden ring of release. Fire licked through her belly and flickered through her sex once more, kindling a powerful, aching throb deep in her womb. He kissed her harder, thrust his tongue into her mouth even as he thrust more thoroughly into her. It was frantic and wild, desperate and dirty, and she liked it, reveled in being out of control, in simply enjoying the basic, fundamental urge to need and be needed.

She felt him tense beneath her, his muscles tighten and strain as the climax built within him. Charlie squeezed around him, rode him with all the strength she possessed, kissed him, licked, nipped and scored his masculine flesh. He bucked wildly beneath her, made guttural masculine sounds that slid like an aphrodisiac into her veins and, though she wouldn’t have thought it was possible, made her want him even more.

“Are…you ready?” she breathed.

“Ready for…what?” Harder, faster, then harder still.

“To scream,” she told him.

“Sweetheart, I don’t scream,” he said, his chuckle low and confident.

Charlie reached around and slipped a determined finger over the tautened skin of his balls. The laugh died in his throat as though an off-switch had been thrown, his eyes widened in a instant of shock, and then, gratifyingly…

He screamed.

It was long and primal, more howl, in truth, but the noise she’d been waiting for all the same.

She smiled, gratified, and tightened around him, milking the climax from him one determined squeeze at a time.

Chest heaving, he sagged against the back of the car seat and slung an arm over his forehead. His eyes sparkled with masculine satisfaction and admiration.

“I stand corrected,” he said, shooting her an impressed look. “I don’t know what you did just then, but…
Damn.
”

Charlie knew the grin on her lips was more than a little self-satisfied, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his mouth, then carefully withdrew and settled back into her own seat. She snagged some tissue from the glove box and handed it to him, then made quick work of righting herself.

She felt
immensely
better. Nothing like a good orgasm to improve one’s disposition, Charlie thought, a droll smile curling her lips.

Jay glanced at her, his gaze turning suspicious. “Should I be nervous?”

She laughed at his dubious expression. “Why?”

“Because I don’t trust that grin. It’s…a little wicked.”

“That’s because I’m thinking wicked thoughts.”

“You should never keep those sorts of thought to yourself, you know,” Jay told her, as though imparting a bit of sacred wisdom. “They’re better shared.”

She grinned. “You mean like worries?”

He shot her a look. “Are worries better shared?”

“They’re halved,” she said, pulling a one-shouldered shrug. “I guess that would make them better shared. Grief, too.”

He frowned, his expression sobering a bit. “Or else it would only make two people depressed as opposed to just the one.”

Charlie chuckled softly under her breath, watched as he tucked his shirt back into his pants, then started the car. That sounded personal, but after seeing what he’d done today, she’d be damned before she’d pry. “That’s another way of looking at it, Eeyore,” she teased.

“Eeyore?” he scoffed, blinking innocently. “What happened to my hero’s welcome?”

She smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You just got it.”

His grin was pure sin and he sent her a sidelong glance. “I did, didn’t I? Have I thanked you yet?”

“Not in the traditional sense, no,” Charlie told him. “But I don’t feel the least bit slighted.” A little sore and sated, primed, aching and strangely terrified, but thoroughly pleasured all the same.

He poked his tongue in his cheek, his eyes twinkling with more masculine satisfaction than was strictly warranted. “I’m glad to hear it.” He paused, negotiated a turn and aimed the car toward the Betterworth estate. “I gotta admit I wasn’t expecting…that.”

Charlie heaved a sigh. “Then that makes two of us.” She turned to look at him, drinking him in. “What will you do now?”

He shot her a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m assuming that you’re no longer working for Andrew Betterworth,” she said. Her lips twitched. “You know, considering that you punched him and he put you in jail.”

His jaw tightened and a thundercloud of displeasure suddenly raced across his brow. “It was worth it,” he said.

And she knew he meant every word. Charlie swallowed, struck again at how different Jay Weatherford was from any man she’d ever known. Not that she hadn’t known good men—she had—but, in her experience, they were a bit thin on the ground. Most of the men she’d known had been so afraid that she was going to outperform them in some way that they hadn’t adhered to any sort of principle or code of honor. Her gaze slid to Jay and a peculiar pang tightened in her chest.

Meeting one who did both was as terrifying as it was thrilling.

Quite honestly, she didn’t know what to make of him.

He was an unknown quantity, a breed apart from the typical guy. Furthermore, he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by her. Why was that? she wondered now, when she’d managed to frighten so many other men away. It boggled the mind. And miracle of miracles, he seemed to genuinely like and appreciate the very things about her that other men had found worrisome.

“Just because I’m no longer employed by Andrew Betterworth doesn’t mean that I’m no longer committed to finding Ms. Aggie’s dog,” Jay said. “I told her I’d see to it that Truffles was returned to her and I fully intend to follow through.” He darted a look in her direction. “Do you have any objections?”

Not if it meant that he was staying. She shook her head, ridiculously pleased. “None at all.”

His vivid eyes rounded in mock surprise, the golden lashes catching the afternoon sun. “Two miracles in one day,” he marveled. “This must be a record.”

She frowned. “Two miracles?”

“You didn’t argue with me and you made me scream.” He chuckled darkly and inclined his head. “Those are definitely miracles in my book.”

“What would you call it if I made you scream again?” she asked, chewing the inside of her cheek.

He reached over and slid a reverent thumb over her bottom lip. Something elusive shadowed his gaze—wonder, maybe? affection, certainly—and he smiled at her, making her melt all over again.

“Sheer dumb luck,” he said. “That’s what I’d call it.”

He couldn’t have answered any better.

12

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING to do with her?” Smokey asked as he poked at the ashes. Firelight flickered over his features, illuminating his profile in an orangey glow. His eyelashes were quite long, Aggie noted. How was it that she’d never noticed that before? She’d certainly looked at him often enough.

She sighed, absolutely heartsick over the poor girl upstairs in the Yellow Room. How had things gone so terribly wrong for the child? To think of her living with Andrew, suffering pain and abuse at his hands. It made her mad as hell, made her ache for innocence lost and missed opportunities and the injustices of the world.

“Just love on her a little for now,” Aggie told him. She took a sip of her sherry. “Lord knows she needs it.”

Everyone needed love. It was a universal requirement, a human desire, occasionally a flaw, but ever present all the same.

Smokey glanced at her over his shoulder, studying her face. “Doesn’t sound like the world has been really kind to her.”

It hadn’t. Horrible parents, opportunistic predators like Andrew. Josie was smart—there was a glimmer of intelligence in her frightened eyes—and there was, miraculously, still a hint of innocence about her despite everything that she’d been through. Those bruises on her legs… Aggie winced, unable to imagine how she’d gotten them. He’d kept her confined without money, without a car, without any means of independence. He’d beaten her down and then promised her the moon. A vicious cycle of hope and disappointment.

Black eyes would heal, bruises would fade, but Aggie almost thought it was the theft of optimism that ultimately was the biggest abuse. Trust was going to be a long time coming, that was for sure.

“Do you think she’ll press charges?” Smokey asked.

Aggie chuckled softly. “If Charlie has anything to say about it she will.” Her gaze slid to Smokey, who was still crouched in front of the fireplace. He could sit like that forever, she thought. Knees bent, his rear end resting almost on his feet. “I’m so thankful she was here. She’s dealt with this sort of thing before and knew exactly what to do.” She blinked, still somewhat mystified. “I would never have thought that a bath, of all things, would be the first order of business.” She released a soft sigh. “But it was just what she needed.”

“You’ve given her a safe place,” Smokey told her. “And the benefit of your kindness. She needed that, as well.”

Inexplicably, Aggie felt her eyes burn and water and a little sob rise in her throat.

Smokey looked at her in alarm and frowned, then came and knelt beside her, taking her hand in his.

That only made her cry harder.

He gave a low tsk and peered concernedly into her face. “Aw, come on now,” he said, his voice reassuring. “It’s not as bad as all that. She’s here now. She’s safe.”

He’d moved closer. The scent of the wood smoke clung to his clothes and swirled up around her. His hand was big and work-worn and the strength in his fingers was thrilling and comforting and Aggie didn’t know why she was crying or what it was specifically about Josie’s situation that had her emotions all tied up in knots.

She was just…overwhelmed with loss, she supposed. The loss of her friend, the loss of her pet, the loss of a young girl’s innocence—her watery gaze slid over Smokey’s dear face—the loss of what might have been had she met this man years ago. So much time gone. How different her life would have been had she met the right person to start with. She felt guilty for even thinking it. She’d loved her husband—he’d been a good man—and she’d adored her children. She hadn’t had a bad life, and yet…

He reached up and wiped a tear away from beneath her eye with the pad of his thumb, and she closed her eyes and turned her cheek instinctively into his touch. It was bittersweet and wonderful, the warmth of his big hand against her face.

He stilled.

It took more courage than she would have ever imagined to open her eyes and look up at him. She was terrified that she’d crossed an unspoken line, that she’d see regret or misgivings. He was a proud man, she knew that. She was the boss lady with a big bank account and a bigger house and all those other things that men worried over and women didn’t give a damn about. He’d said enough over their morning breakfasts for her to glean that much out of him.

His unreadable gaze searched hers, his thumb reverently stroking her cheek. Then, with a soft sigh of supplication and quite deliberately, he reached up and framed her face completely, leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Sensation erupted along her nerve endings and a burst of warmth shot through her veins, bringing anticipation and desire, things she’d imagined weren’t a part of her future anymore. She touched his face, as well—how long had she waited to do that, to feel the stubble along his jaw with her hands?—and her chest swelled with an emotion so sweet and pure and powerful that she almost starting weeping again.

When at last he drew back, his eyes were rife with affection and need, with fierce devotion, a mirror of her own, she knew.

And then, of course, there was only one thing left to do.

“Smokey?”

“Yes, Aggie?”

“You’re fired.”

“WE’VE HEARD FROM Betterworth,” Payne told him. “He’s threatening to sue us. I told him to go right ahead and we’d see who ran out of money first.”

Shit.
He’d been afraid of that. He’d been going through his notes, rereading all of the so-called evidence when his boss had called. It didn’t matter that Betterworth had fired him—he still felt responsible, still felt there was a key piece of evidence right in front of him that he was missing.