Waking Nightmare (28 page)
Her lips returned to his at the same time her fingers went in search of the buttons of his shirt, and he stilled, trying to recall his earlier reservations. But it was difficult to think while he found himself holding his breath, body shuddering at each brush of her knuckles against his skin. He swallowed a groan. Need was rising, too fast, too urgent. And his earlier certainty that he could walk away if she called an end to this was fading fast.
She was still working on the third button and her unhurried movements were their own kind of torment. He released her long enough to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside before hauling her against him again.
Abbie gave a slight sound of satisfaction as she ran her hands over him, and he paused a moment to look at her. There was a flush on her cheeks, her lips were swollen from his, and her eyes were slumberous. He reached out a finger and laid it against the pulse at the base of her throat, felt it skipping wildly. And he knew in that moment there would be no turning back this time. For good or bad, the hunger would be satisfied at last.
The realization helped him regain a measure of restraint. His fingers went to the top button of her shirt, the one that had drawn his attention over and over that evening. He watched her eyes as he deliberately unfastened it, noted the way her lids drooped. Heard her indrawn breath when he bent to press a stinging kiss to the skin he’d bared.
The small sound kindled something primitive inside him, something better kept tamped down. He knew how dangerous it could be when he didn’t keep all his appetites tightly leashed. But touching her was enough to have those tethers fraying, and at the moment he just didn’t give a damn.
Another button undone. The expanse of flesh widened to hint at the shadow of cleavage. He took his time, torturing them both, delving his tongue into the vee he’d bared. Her nails bit into his shoulders, but the slight sting barely registered. All his attention was focused on the intimate task at hand.
The next unfastened button revealed the top of her breast swelling above a black lacy scrap of bra. He stopped long enough to trail his tongue along the border made where skin met fabric, but his lungs grew strangled. Finesse was forgotten as his fingers grew clumsier, hurriedly undoing the rest to finally push the shirt open.
It framed her slender figure, the dark fabric of shirt and bra contrasting against her creamy skin. His hands splayed on her hips as he brought her closer, bending to catch one lace-encased nipple in his teeth. Her low throaty cry had all his senses roaring.
He knew how to satisfy a woman. Knew when and where to linger and how to draw the act out until both of them were steeped and satiated. But he wasn’t familiar with this whipping in his pulse, with this hunger that had the blood hammering through his system. Control had never seemed so difficult to summon.
He lifted his head, pausing to enjoy the sight of her nipple, rosy and peaked against the wet fabric. Demand was raging inside him. He wanted her naked, against him, under him. He wanted to possess her fast and hard and deep in a way that finally quenched the hunger that was slashing at him with jagged teeth.
Abbie trailed a teasing finger along the top of his waistband, and his stomach muscles jumped in response. He reached up to shove her shirt over her shoulders, intending to rid her of it completely. But she evaded the action by leaning back, increasing the distance between them. With her gaze fixed on his, she leisurely unfastened her pants, moving the zipper down with excruciating slowness.
Hooking her thumbs in the waistband, she worked them languorously over her hips, revealing first a whisper of black silk panties, then slender thighs. After she kicked the pants off, she bent to her holster, but he was already reaching for her, guiding her leg up to rest the small foot against his knee as he unbuckled the strap and removed the weapon snugged inside the sheath.
She took it from him and set it on the desk behind her and he stepped closer, urging her leg around his waist. Her body would tempt a saint. He’d never even made it to altar boy.
Releasing the front clasp of her bra, he peeled the lace aside to reveal small perfect breasts. He covered one with his hand and rolled the taut nipple between his fingers, learning the shape, the weight, and the texture of her. She was rose petal soft, silky and fragrant, but touch alone couldn’t satisfy the dark and desperate need crashing through him. He bent his head to take her other nipple into his mouth and sucked strongly.
Her back arched as he feasted on her, driving them both mad with teeth and tongue and lips. She was twisting beneath him, her heels digging into his back, her nails biting into his skin, and the evidence of her desire only fanned his hotter. He was dimly aware that the urgency riding him had been set loose. He wanted her now, right now. Wanted everything she would offer freely, and anything she’d seek to hold back. He wanted to stamp her with his possession so fiercely that neither of them would know where the other left off.
His hand went between her open thighs, rubbed lightly at the damp silk covering her mound. Her body jerked against his and a fierce male satisfaction filled him at her involuntary response. Pushing the fabric aside, he entered her with one finger, stroking deeply.
The broken cry she gave had him leaving her breast to cover her mouth again with his, his tongue mimicking the action of his finger. She was liquid fire against his hand, her slick moist heat issuing promises that his body was desperate to collect. He pressed open her soft folds and tapped his thumb against her clit rhythmically, and she bucked and twisted against him in response.
Razor-edged desire sawed through him as he worked her with his fingers, releasing her lips to go on a frantic search for flesh. And when the first climax ripped through her, when he felt her body clench around his finger, he felt his vision haze.
His own need was pumping through him, a brutal demand for satisfaction. He released her to grasp her hips and lift her, turning to lean her against the wall and sweep off her panties with one continuous motion. He withdrew a condom from his pants pocket, his heart jackhammering in his chest. It stuttered to a halt when he felt her hands unfastening his pants, reaching inside to grasp his cock firmly.
Thought all but shattered. He was capable only of sensation, as every movement of her body summoned an answering response from his. She stroked him in a rhythm designed to drive him to madness. He was going to disgrace himself if he didn’t end this soon. Pushing aside her hands, he managed to don the condom and then lifted her again, urged her legs around his hips, then drove into her with barely restrained hunger.
Their moans mingled. He paused, trying desperately to summon a flagging bit of control.
“The bed,” she gasped.
“Next time.”
He dragged his eyelids open, looked at her, felt his entire body quiver at the sight. Her eyes were closed, her face and chest flushed with desire. She was wrapped around him, arms clutching his shoulders for support, breasts flattened against his chest. Her heels were digging into his lower back, and he could still feel the subtle clench and release of her inner muscles against him. Conscious thought faded, elbowed aside by sensation and a fierce primitive hunger that demanded release. He thrust, with all the brutal greed pent up inside him, and the world receded. There was only the woman in his arms, the lust crashing through him and spiraling desperation.
He hammered into her, incapable of finesse, of anything but the savage search for oblivion. He wanted, needed, to see her eyes as they mated, but the violent desire that had risen blinded him to everything else. He heard his name on her lips, a ragged cry that seemed torn from her, felt the delicate inner convulsions as she climaxed, and need turned to madness. Burying his face in her throat, he plunged harder, deeper inside her until his passion erupted, ripping through him and shooting him headlong into pleasure.
They made it to the bed. Eventually. And then spent the next few hours exploring and exploiting each other’s bodies until they fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, limbs still entwined. When Abbie opened her eyes, early morning light was seeping in the room from beneath the shade. And she had the thought that little could be as anticlimatic after a night of mind-blowing sex than to wake up alone.
But she was wrong.
As she sat up in bed, she realized two things simultaneously: She wasn’t alone. But it would have been infinitely easier if she were.
Ryne stood in the doorway, clad only in his pants, a towel clutched in one hand, his shirt in another. His chest was still damp. His wet hair looked like he’d only finger-combed it. The shadow on his jaw had deepened; he hadn’t availed himself of the disposable razors in the bathroom. He looked rumpled, sexy, and dangerous.
And extremely ill at ease.
Her earlier disappointment was swallowed by dismay. The expression on his face had her scrambling for defenses. There could be little as demeaning as being someone else’s regret.
Deliberately, she looked at the alarm on the bedside table, while tugging the covers to a discreet level. “It’s late. You’ll have to hurry to make it back to your place to change and get to the daily briefing.”
“It’s Saturday.”
Her eyes closed briefly. Of course. Which meant she couldn’t depend on the pressing need for work to defuse the tension. It was a struggle, but she managed a level tone. “I forgot. I’ll be at the station within the hour. I know you’re as anxious as I am to see Larsen’s reports as soon as they come in.”
He hadn’t moved, so she pulled the sheet loose to wrap around her shoulders as she slipped from the bed. She knew it was ridiculous, but she wasn’t up to parading by him buck-naked. She felt exposed enough as it was.
“Abbie.”
His voice was low, the awkwardness in his stance evident in the tone. Because there was no way to avoid it, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Last night was . . .” He hesitated, as if searching for words. She wanted, desperately, to hear him finish that sentence, even while she feared what he might say. Last night was what? Wonderful? A mistake? But the adjective he chose really didn’t matter. Her eyes had been wide open last night, figuratively, at least. She knew exactly what they could have between them. And what they couldn’t have.
“Last night doesn’t change anything,” she said clearly. “We work together. Nothing can cloud that.”
He couldn’t quite mask the flicker of relief that crossed his features, and she felt a sardonic sort of amusement. Nature should have equipped men with built-in parachutes to assist them in dealing with sticky morning-afters. They could just go out the window and avoid having these conversations altogether.
She moved toward him and he stepped aside to allow her through the doorway. “Give me an hour and I’ll meet you downtown, okay?” If he made a response, she didn’t hear it. She shut the bathroom door behind her and leaned against it, the blood pounding in her ears. She’d played this scene in one variation or another before in the past, so there was no reason for it to be having such an effect on her now.
But it
was
affecting her. There was no denying it. Limbs wooden, she let the sheet drop, crossing to the tub and turning on the shower. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she could be “normal.” She wished she could learn to trust a man enough to allow him close to her.
was
affecting her. There was no denying it. Limbs wooden, she let the sheet drop, crossing to the tub and turning on the shower. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she could be “normal.” She wished she could learn to trust a man enough to allow him close to her.
And she wished, quite desperately, that
this
man wasn’t the first one to elicit this sharp-edged longing in her.
this
man wasn’t the first one to elicit this sharp-edged longing in her.
There wasn’t enough hot water to erase the darkness of Abbie’s mood, but it helped, as it always did, to concentrate on the case. She was anxious to learn what she could about Karen Larsen. She wasn’t particularly eager to spend the day with Ryne, but the sooner they got their relationship back to a professional footing, the better.
Shutting off the water, she grabbed a towel and briskly dried her hair before wrapping it around herself. Immersing themselves in a new aspect of the case would ease the awkwardness between them. Logically, she knew that. Now if she could just put logic ahead of emotion, she’d be ready to face him again.
She finished her morning rituals with lightning speed, then headed to the bedroom, mind still lingering on the morning ahead of her. She reached for the light switch and flipped it on, then froze.
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