Oh, my was all Holly could think of as she lay beneath Chris, both of them breathing heavily, his body still embedded in hers. Oh, my. Oh. My.
Her dreams hadn’t even come close, because she’d had no idea. None. She gave a little hiccup that was half laughter, half tears, as she realized she and Grant hadn’t... They’d never... Not even once. Not like this. For just a moment she grieved for Grant, because she wasn’t sure she’d ever satisfied him the way she was absolutely certain she’d satisfied Chris. And she grieved for herself, too, for all the times she’d wondered what was wrong with her.
Chris grunted suddenly, as if he had temporarily blacked out and had just resurfaced. He tried to separate himself from her, but Holly tightened her legs, not wanting to lose this euphoric feeling, as if she was floating above herself.
“I’m too heavy,” Chris muttered, but Holly’s hands grasped his hips.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” she warned, only half kidding. “Move and die.”
He laughed, a rumbling sound, then swiftly rolled them over so she was on top. “That’s better,” he said. “But, Holly...” His eyes teased hers. “You can’t keep me prisoner forever.”
“That’s what you think.” She deliberately contracted and relaxed her inner muscles around him. Once. Twice. Three times. And each time she felt him respond. “Have you ever heard of Kegel exercises?”
“What’s that?”
“Something they teach women after they’ve had a baby. It helps restore pelvic floor muscle tone.”
“Oh, great.” He laughed under his breath. “I guess I really am your prisoner, ’cause I’m not risking damage down there.” That made her laugh, too. “But, Holly, much as I’m enjoying this, I have to do something about the condom.”
She’d forgotten about that, but he hadn’t. She stopped Kegeling him, then squirmed until he was free. Chris jackknifed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the shower running for a minute, then he returned, a towel wrapped around his hips. His narrow hips. Above which his abs and chest muscles rippled in masculine perfection that until a few minutes ago she’d touched up close and personal.
Holly’s fingers itched to touch him again, but instead she grabbed the top sheet and pulled it up to hide herself and her imperfections from his view. “Oh, hell no,” he told her, throwing the towel on a chair and diving across the king-size bed. He wrestled the sheet away from her, then playfully held her down while he looked his fill.
Warmth in her cheeks informed her she was blushing, although she couldn’t see it. But still he looked. And when his eyes finally connected with hers, he said softly, “Beautiful, Holly. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”
She caught her breath at the very male, very intent expression on his face, and almost believed him. “I couldn’t lose those last five pounds after the twins were born,” she said faintly. “I tried so hard, too!”
“Where?” He settled between her legs, bearing most of his weight on his elbows. “Here?” He cupped her breasts, breasts that had never quite returned to their original size and shape after she’d breast-fed Ian and Jamie. His thumbs played over her nipples until they tightened unbearably. “You’ll get no complaints from me here, Holly,” he bantered. His big hands slid down to her waist, his thumbs stroking back and forth over her belly until she quivered. “Here? No, I don’t think so.” His husky voice, the look in his eyes, told her he wasn’t kidding. Then those firm masculine hands curved over her hips. “Must be here, then,” he suggested, as if he were serious, his long fingers lightly squeezing. He shook his head after a moment. “Wrong again.”
She was melting and he knew it. That was all she could think of as his wicked blue eyes held hers. She’d just had the most incredible orgasm of her entire life, and already she wanted him again. And impossible as it seemed, he wanted her again, too—he was already hot and hard at the crux of her thighs, and she wiggled a little until she could feel him pressed up against exactly where she wanted him.
“Again?” he teased, emphasizing the last syllable.
She smiled at his playful tone and tried to make her tone just as light and playful. “Yes, please.” She wasn’t quite successful.
His eyes seemed to darken, and she shivered at the blatant desire that flared there. “Oh, I’m going to please you, Holly,” he murmured, reaching for a condom on the nightstand, not waiting for her assistance. He fitted himself in place, then twined his fingers with hers. “I’m going to please you until you can’t take any more,” he whispered seductively. “And when I’m done, you’ll know just how perfect you are.” He smiled a very wolfish smile. “Hang on tight,” he told her. “You may experience a little turbulence.”
Holly’s sudden laugh turned into a moan as he flexed his hips and thrust deep. Then withdrew and thrust again...slowly. Agonizingly slowly. Intense pleasure, sharp and urgent, knifed through her with each perfect thrust, until she clung to his hands and arched like a bow, crying his name.
* * *
“Still no word from Mr. Colton,” Evalinda McCay reminded her husband as they dressed for bed...as if he needed the reminder.
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
The expression in her eyes bore no good for anyone. “How are we going to rid ourselves of Holly and get our hands on the twins and their trust fund if we can’t locate her?”
“Mr. Colton promised us results,” Angus protested weakly.
“One more day,” she warned. “We’ll give him one more day. Then I think we’ll need to look for another detective.”
“You really want to start all over? What if—”
“It was your idea to try to run her off the road the first two times,” Evalinda reminded him contemptuously. “You were so sure that would work...but it didn’t. Either time.”
“Yes,” he was quick to defend himself, “but at least Holly didn’t suspect anything. It wasn’t until you suggested running her down in the parking lot that she—”
Evalinda wouldn’t let him finish. “Don’t try to shift the blame for that fiasco onto me. You were the one who hired the men to kill her. If they hadn’t been so incompetent...”
“You think it was easy finding someone who—”
“One more day,” she repeated implacably, cutting him off, and he knew further argument was useless. Just as he’d fallen in with Evalinda’s plans to murder Holly in the first place, he knew he would cave on this, too.
* * *
Chris woke at two in the morning when moonlight crept through the bedroom window. He thought about getting up and completely closing the top-down, bottom-up blinds that were lowered at the top. The way the blinds were drawn now gave the room’s occupants privacy but still allowed them to see the night sky. That also meant, unfortunately, it let the moonlight in, and he’d always been a “pitch-black” sleeper. The blinds were completely drawn in the bedroom he was occupying. He just hadn’t thought about it here in the master bedroom because he’d been too focused on the other things he was doing.
But he wasn’t about to get up to close the blinds at this moment. Holly was sleeping cradled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. And he’d be damned before he woke her.
He and Holly had worn each other out earlier, but a certain part of his anatomy twitched to life at the reminder of everything they’d done tonight. Two spent condoms now resided in the wastebasket in the bathroom, but he hadn’t been satisfied to leave it at that. They’d dozed after the second time but had woken before midnight. And as they’d cuddled and lazily caressed beneath the comforter, he’d told her in all seriousness, “I want to watch you come. Will you let me?”
She’d been adorable in her confusion, and he’d had a strong hunch no one had ever done that for her before. Holly had told Chris her husband was the only man she’d ever slept with, but that didn’t mean other avenues had been completely closed. Apparently that had been the case, though. Equally apparent was the fact that Holly’s husband had never put her needs first, which didn’t surprise Chris. There were still a lot of men out there who never worried about pleasing a woman. Who thought she was responsible for her own orgasms, and if it happened, fine. If it didn’t, oh well. He wasn’t one of those men, but he knew some who were.
It had taken a little coaxing but eventually Holly had conceded. And then—holy crap!—her response had been off the charts. Hearing her...watching her...tasting her...had turned him on so hard he’d been tempted to use a third condom, but she’d pretty much passed out by then, so he’d refrained. But he’d promised himself next time they made love he’d start with that and see where it took them.
Next time? What makes you think there’ll be a next time, hot shot? The thought hit him out of the blue, and he stopped to consider it. He’d come up with some ideas for trapping the McCays when he was at the hospital this afternoon waiting for Ethan and Lizzie’s baby to be born, and they had to get going on that pretty damn quick. Now that Jim Murray had given them the go-ahead, he needed to coordinate with Annabel and Sam, who were supposed to stop by for breakfast tomorrow. If they were successful, in less than a week Holly wouldn’t need his protection anymore. Which meant she’d be free to...return to her old life. Her old life outside Houston, more than three hundred miles away.
Devastation sliced through him—another shock. He didn’t want Holly to leave; he wanted her to stay. And Ian and Jamie, too. He’d realized this afternoon that all three had crept under his emotional fences. He just hadn’t recognized how firmly entrenched they already were in his life.
Not even a week, the rational side of him protested. You haven’t even known her a week.
That didn’t seem to matter—somehow he and Holly just clicked. Not only in bed, although he couldn’t believe how perfectly matched they were, as if she were made for his earthy brand of loving. He had no doubt he’d pleased her, too—no way could she fake her response, especially the last time. But their sexual chemistry had its roots in something deeper. He wasn’t sure what to call it, but a connection existed between them. An emotional connection.
He examined that word—emotional—and acknowledged that somehow it fit. Problem was, he wasn’t sure exactly what it meant to him. Even worse, he wasn’t sure what it meant to Holly.
* * *
The pealing of the doorbell woke them. Holly unwrapped herself from where she’d migrated in the night—splayed across Chris’s chest—and pushed her tousled hair out of her eyes. She clutched the top sheet, wrapping it firmly around her. When she was finally able to focus, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand and realized it was already close to seven thirty.
She nudged Chris’s shoulder—the one she’d been using as her personal pillow—and said urgently, “Wake up, Chris! Someone’s at the door.”
He awoke with a start, looking from Holly to the clock, and groaned. “It’s Annabel and Sam,” he informed her. He was out of bed in a flash, retrieving his jeans and shirt from where he’d left them hanging on the back of the bathroom door. “I forgot to tell you they’re coming to breakfast,” he said as he pulled his jeans on commando and zipped them up. His shirt was halfway on before he realized it was inside out. The doorbell pealed again and he ripped his shirt off, turned it right side out and tugged it on.
He ran a hand through his shaggy hair—and oh, how she hated that it fell right into place as if he’d brushed it—then added, “They’re coming to have breakfast with you and me so we can make plans for catching the McCays in the act. I’ll go let them in and take them into the kitchen. You can come in after you’re dressed.”
He was almost out the door when he turned back, snatched Holly up from the bed into his arms and kissed her senseless. He took his time about it, too. “Good morning,” he whispered when he finally raised his head. His eyes were an intense blue, and Holly couldn’t think of anything to compare them to. “Thank you for last night.” Then his expression morphed from romantic hero to hard-as-nails PI. “And for God’s sake, don’t let Annabel see that satisfied look in your eyes—she’s a bloodhound. Sam, too, but Annabel’s a woman—she’ll know exactly what put that look there.” Then he was gone.
* * *
“About time,” Annabel said when Chris finally opened the door barefoot. “I thought I was going to have to use my key.”
Chris stared at her, perplexed. “When did I give you a key?”
“You didn’t. I asked Peg, and she gave me a copy. She gave me the alarm code, too.”
“What the—” He started to say hell but remembered just in time he was trying to break the swearing habit. He shepherded Sam and Annabel toward the kitchen while his guilty conscience gave him hell for all the times he’d said “crap” yesterday. You’re supposed to be cleaning up your language, his conscience reminded him. Not just for Susan and Bobby, but for Ian and Jamie, too.
Annabel was still explaining about the key. “I asked Peg what her cleaning schedule was, what days of the week she came out here, and I told her I’d swing by regularly to check on her. I also told her I’d stop by every few days when she wasn’t here, just to keep an eye on the place for you.”
Chris was touched. “Thanks, Bella.”
Annabel said gruffly, “Just part of my job—serve and protect,” as if pretending she hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. When they walked into the kitchen, she glanced around, then said drily, “Nice breakfast.”
“Coming right up,” Chris told her. “You and Sam have a seat. I kind of overslept this morning.” He quickly dumped food in the dog’s dish and checked there was still water. Then he grabbed bowls from the cabinet, spoons from the drawer, and slapped them on the table. The gallon of milk from the fridge was followed by boxes of Cap’n Crunch and Cheerios from the pantry.
“Are you frigging kidding me?” Sam asked. “Cap’n Crunch?”
“Hey,” Chris said, feigning hurt. “It’s one of the basic food groups.”
“I thought we’d at least be treated to your signature French toast,” Annabel said.
“I was planning on it, but I told you, I overslept.” Chris turned back to the counter to grab a couple of paper towels for napkins when he sensed rather than heard Holly walk into the kitchen. He swung around and barely managed to keep the betraying smile off his face. She was dressed as she normally was, in jeans and a cotton blouse—a deep, rich yellow this time. But now that he knew what she looked like without her clothes...
“Good morning,” Holly said, smiling at Annabel. Then she turned to Sam. “I’ve already met Annabel, but you must be...Sam, right? Sam Colton?” She held out her hand. “Chris said you’re a detective with the Granite Gulch Police Department. I’m Holly McCay.”
As soon as Sam let her hand go, Holly glanced at the table and said longingly, “Ooohhh, Cap’n Crunch. I haven’t had Cap’n Crunch since I was little.” Then she reached for the Cheerios box instead. “But I shouldn’t.”
Chris heard the regret in her voice. He poured Cap’n Crunch into a bowl and handed it to her. “Indulge. Once in a blue moon won’t hurt you.”
“Thanks.” The smile she gave was one some women reserved for a gift of expensive jewelry, and Chris couldn’t help returning her smile.
Out of the corner of Chris’s eye he could see Annabel’s head swivel from Holly to him and back again, and he could almost see her radar antenna quivering. Crap! He quickly amended the thought to crud, but it didn’t come anywhere near expressing his fear that Annabel had somehow divined he and Holly had slept together. Just because he’d given her a bowl of Cap’n Crunch.
Chris tried to deflect Annabel’s attention—and Sam’s, too, for that matter, since Sam was giving him the once-over and doing the same to Holly—by saying, “Before I forget, I should tell you I went to the prison yesterday, and I got my clue.” He snorted. “Biff.”
“Biff?” Annabel measured Cheerios into a bowl and added milk. Then she handed the cereal box to Sam. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Chris turned the coffeemaker on, leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms. “Beats the heck out of me.” He glanced at Sam. “Mean anything to you?”
His brother shook his head. “Doesn’t seem to match the other clues. Texas. Hill. B. Peaches. Remember Trevor’s theory that Matthew buried Mama on her parents’ property in Bearson, Texas? That house sits on a hill, and there’s a peach tree in the back yard. So all those clues fit. But Biff?”
“Sounds like a name,” Holly volunteered.
“Yes, but...I can’t think of anybody in the family by that name,” Annabel replied. “Not even if it was a nickname.” She turned to Chris. “Did you ask Trevor?”
He stiffened. He couldn’t help it. “No,” he said curtly. “Couldn’t reach him yesterday. Left a message on his voice mail. And Ridge’s, too.” Annabel looked as if she were going to take him to task over his attitude toward Trevor, but he cut her off, warning, “Don’t start, Bella. You can ask him if you want.”
Which effectively ended that conversation. Chris’s gaze moved from Annabel to Sam, who had his head down and his attention focused on his breakfast. Then Chris’s gaze ended up on Holly. She was acting as if nothing was wrong, but she’d poured cereal into a bowl for him—his beloved Cap’n Crunch—and was adding milk. Just as if he were as young as her twins. Their eyes met, and for a moment they were alone in the room. “Eat your breakfast,” she said eventually in a composed voice. Her “Mommy” voice, which she used with Ian and Jamie.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
Sam and Annabel had left an hour ago, promising to start setting their end of things in motion. Holly was talking with her sons on the phone in the master bedroom. Wally at his feet, Chris was sitting in his office, brooding. Not over the plans they’d made about the McCays, but about his clue, Biff. And about Trevor.
A voice from the doorway said, “Want to tell me what that was all about?”
He swiveled around in his chair. He didn’t ask “What do you mean?” because he knew. “Trevor and I have...issues.”
“No! Really?” Holly said in a fake shocked tone. She moved into the room and took a seat on the sofa. Wally bounded over, tail wagging, and Holly scratched him behind his ears. “Want to talk about it?”
He did and he didn’t. He knew what Holly would say. The same thing Annabel said—he wasn’t being fair to Trevor. And he didn’t want Holly to think he was holding on to a grudge like an eleven-year-old kid...although he was.
He sighed. “It’s ancient history. And I know I should let it go. I know that. Annabel has told me often enough. But—”
“But you can’t.”
He shook his head.
“So what is it you can’t let go?”
He didn’t answer right away, tying to marshal his thoughts into some kind of order. Finally he said, “Trevor is three years older than me. I practically worshipped him as far back as I can remember. He could do anything in my eyes. And he was a great brother. I mean, he never seemed to mind when I tagged along after him, although three years is a pretty big gap in children’s ages. He taught me to read when I was four. How to slide into second base when I was seven. How to throw a perfect spiral when I was nine, even though my hands weren’t big enough to really hold the football right. He taught me so much...” The memories were all coming back to him, making his throat ache.
“So what happened?” The gentle, nonjudgmental way she asked the question told him she didn’t want to know because she was curious. She wanted to give him the opportunity to talk about something he’d kept bottled up inside him for years.
“My father murdered my mother, that’s what happened,” he said flatly. “All seven of us were sent to separate foster homes. I was eleven. Trevor was fourteen.” He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat that belonged to the eleven-year-old boy he’d been. “Trevor never made any attempt to stay in touch with me. I saw him a few times a year, but never at his instigation. Only during court-mandated visitation we all had with Josie at her foster parents’ home. And when Josie decided she didn’t want to see us anymore, that was it.”
“Oh, Chris.” Two little words that spoke volumes about Holly’s tender heart.
“That’s not all of it,” he told her. “The story is that when Trevor turned eighteen he tried to get custody of Josie—the baby of our family. She was only seven at the time. But I always wondered just how hard he really tried before he headed off to college.”
Holly’s eyes closed as if she were holding back sudden tears, a conjecture that was confirmed when she opened her eyes again and they glistened. “What did Trevor say when you asked him?”
“I never asked him.”
There was a long silence. Then softly, “Why not?”
Why hadn’t he asked Trevor? When Chris had finally reconnected with all his brothers, why hadn’t he asked Trevor why he’d abandoned him? Why hadn’t he asked him about Josie?
“Because...” Because why? he asked himself. “Because a grown man doesn’t ask another grown man those questions.”
“Oh, Chris.” The same two words she’d said before but this time was slightly different. Even though the maternal tenderness was there, even though he could hear how she ached for the lost and bewildered eleven-year-old boy he’d been as well as the man he was, there was also a note of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then it came to him. It was the same way all the women in his life had from time to time said, “Men!” As if the workings of the male mind were incomprehensible to women, and their feelings about it could be condensed down into one word that all other women automatically understood.
Despite the emotions churning inside him, something about it tickled his funny bone. “Stupid, huh?”
“Not stupid.” She looked down at Wally at her feet and scratched his head again. “But if you never ask, you’ll never know.” She raised her eyes to his. “And I think you need to know, Chris, one way or the other. You need closure. Just like you need to know where your mother is so you can bring her home. So you can give her a decent burial. Just like you need to find out what happened to Josie. Closure. You’ll never rest until you have it. One way or the other. Think about it.”
She stood and snapped her fingers at Wally, who immediately rose. “Come on, boy,” she said. “I think it’s time to let you outside.”
Chris stared at the door through which Holly had just left, thinking about what she’d said, and realized she was right in one way. But she was wrong, too. Because there was another reason he’d never asked his brother why he’d abandoned him—he was afraid to know the answer. Because the answer might be...that Chris hadn’t been worth the effort.