The screech of the plane overhead made Suzanna’s teeth hurt. Returning from the rest room, she winced as yet another flight took off. In a half-hour, one of Alitalia’s finest would fly her son across the ocean.
She was happy for him. Josh would be safe, far away from the Websters and Duchamps of Fairholm. Suzanna had hoped she was making progress with Max until this past week. As she headed to the gate, she shuddered, thinking of Max’s proposal and his belligerent insistence that they allow a Young Guns group into the high school. She was meeting with him and his father over spring break to discuss her objections.
As she neared the Fairholm parents and kids, she saw Heather talking with her mother. Suzanna liked the Haywoods, knew they adored Josh, and hoped the two kids were being sensible. But they were eighteen and in love; if things already hadn’t progressed to what she knew was their natural conclusion, she was sure they would soon. She just hoped Joe had been able to discuss this with Josh. Joe wouldn’t tell her, of course.
I met with him, Suzanna. And he’s talking. But don’t ask me what he says.
I won’t. I’m just worried about him.
Trust me. I’m helping him.
She found Josh and Joe by one of the huge windows, both leaning against the glass. Josh nodded and shrugged. Joe spoke earnestly.
Things had gone well between Joe and her son, despite the ruse of Joe and Suzanna dating. They’d spent some good time together this past week before Josh left for Italy.
She quickly made her way to them.
“Uh-huh. I remember.” Josh smiled at Joe.
“You remember what?” she said, coming up to her son.
“Nothing. Just guy stuff.” Josh hugged her close.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you, honey.”
“I know, Mom. I’ll miss you, too.” He kissed her hair. He had to bend down to reach her. When had he gotten so tall? She recalled vividly when he started to walk, when he learned to ride a bike, when he didn’t come up to her shoulder.
Static from the PA system. “Attention all passengers on flight 861, Alitalia. This is the first call...”
“That’s me,” Josh said cheerfully, and gave her a bear hug.
Suzanna groaned. She didn’t want to let go.
“Mom, don’t.”
Joe reached over and drew her away from her son, and next to his own big frame. “Go on, kid.”
With an assessing look, Josh picked up his backpack. “Watch out for her, will you?” he said to Joe.
Joe slid his arm around Suzanna. “I will. I promise. Be careful. And have fun.”
Before he left, Josh kissed Suzanna’s cheek again. With one last look over his shoulder, he headed toward the boarding area.
Suzanna’s eyes blurred. These days, she was uncharacteristically weepy.
“He’ll be all right, Mom.” Joe’s arm tightened around her.
She leaned into him. “I know.”
Thinking, he waited a moment. “Let’s go do some self-defense training. It’ll work off some of your anxiety.”
“All right.”
After they saw the plane take leave, the drive home was made in companionable silence. That had happened a lot since Connecticut. They were comfortable with each other, especially when they were alone.
When he steered toward Jordace Avenue, she asked, “We’re going to my house?”
“I’ve got workout clothes in my car. You have to change anyway, so I thought we’d practice here.” He swerved into the driveway. “Besides, Luke’s got buddies over today.”
“Who?”
“Smurf. I think Franzi’s coming later.”
“I’m worried about Ben.”
“I’m worried about all of them.”
Suzanna sighed.
“Let’s forget it for today,” Joe suggested.
Inside, they went in opposite directions to change. Suzanna trekked upstairs. Joe watched her go with resignation, feeling like he was walking an emotional tightrope. Already he was in deep with her, and now he had another attachment to shake.
Her son.
He could still hear Josh talking frankly about his plans with Heather. Joe had forced himself to remember the boy was eighteen and almost a man. He’d given his opinions, some warnings about safe sex, but refrained from preaching.
Crossing to the downstairs bathroom, he worried about the kid as a father would. Don’t go there, Stonehouse. You’ll never be his father. But as he passed the den where they’d watched a ball game, he thought about the other things they’d done together, as a family might.
One night, he, Suzanna, and Josh had seen a movie; on a cold afternoon, they’d gone cross-country skiing with Heather. When the women begged off after an hour, he and Josh had stayed out, trading sports talk, college plans, girl concerns. The boy was a deep thinker, had ambition, and really cared about the world. Joe had talked to him the way he used to talk to Josie. Today, that realization stunned him. He couldn’t allow himself to care about Josh that much.
Or Josh’s mother.
Staring in the bathroom mirror, he gave himself a stern lecture. You are a government agent. You cannot get involved with this woman and her son. You will leave Fairholm, alone, and never see them again. Got it?
He got it.
He was in a black mood, moving den furniture, when Suzanna came down. She was dressed in clingy Spandex leggings and a peach T-shirt. Her hair was tied up on her head, with little tendrils escaping. Suddenly, he wished they had Luke to chaperone.
Sternly, he told himself he was strong enough to handle this. He was disciplined. He’d had to be, from the time he was ten years old. In his head, he knew he could resist this woman, but he had to be more sensible about the time he spent with her.
Gruffly, he said, “Ready?”
“Is something wrong?” she asked innocently.
“No. Let’s get started.”
Twenty minutes later, he wasn’t so sure of his resolve. She felt soft, yet supple, under his hands. She smelled like black-market French perfume. And he wanted her so badly, he ached.
So he tried harder. “You’re not concentrating, Suzanna. I’ve taken you down several times.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Your safety should be on your mind,” he said tightly.
“Let’s try again.”
“Fine.” He moved back. “I’m coming up from behind you. I get you in a neck clasp like this. What do you do?”
Swinging her hips out of the way, she brought her fist back but stopped short of smashing his crown jewels to kingdom come. He jumped back instantaneously. “That good enough for you?” she asked over her shoulder. “You’d be doubled over, Stonehouse.”
Without responding, he grabbed her from behind again. She didn’t react quickly enough, and he had her locked to him. He felt the heaviness of her breasts against his forearms. “Damn it, you have to react faster, Suzanna.”
“I was surprised.”
“A damned attacker isn’t going to announce himself.”
Still in his arms, she circled around. “Why are you so grumpy all of a sudden? You’re like Jekyll and Hyde since Josh left.”
“I’d rather not be analyzed. Turn around.”
“Yes, sir.”
This time, she was ready when he went for her. She swiveled her hips. He parried her groin attack. Surprising him, she hooked her foot around his leg, and his arms flew out to balance himself. Her elbow dug sharply into his chest and he fell to the floor.
“That ready enough for you, Agent Stonehouse?” she asked sweetly, plopping her hands on her hips and peering down at him with the haughtiness of a queen.
Glaring up at her, he snaked his hand around her ankle, toppling her down next to him.
Quickly, he rolled over her. “Major lesson in self-defense, sweetheart. Never get too caught up in your successes.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she watched him with something dangerous in her eyes. Suddenly he realized the folly of his maneuver. His body pressed into hers, and he could feel every curve and indentation. Her face was rosy from exertion, but she was breathing hard from his nearness.
He swallowed convulsively. Reaching up, he brushed a tendril of hair from her eyes.
“Joe,” she whispered, lifting her hands to his shoulders. Her voice was after-sex hoarse, and it zinged through him.
Bracing his arms on the floor, he drew in a deep breath; he knew he was about to make the most momentous decision of his life. He’d never kissed her. If he did, it would be all over.
Honor warred with desire.
She felt so good beneath him. And she was looking at him like a woman who wanted...only him. His heart thrummed in his chest.
But he’d trained too long in the art of discipline. Not just in the Secret Service but before, when he was trying to support both himself and Ruthie. And those long weeks, months, years of forcing himself to be strong came to his aid.
Swiftly, he rolled off her and stood. Reaching out, he said, “Come on, get up.”
Suzanna’s hand shook as she put it in his. On her feet, she turned away from Joe. It had been building for weeks, layering over itself feverishly. A flush crept up her neck just thinking about the hot brush of his hands on her when they worked out, the clean scent of his soap and shampoo, which now mingled with the smell of sweat. But mostly, it was that smoldering look in his eyes that said eloquently, I want you.
“You’re trembling.” He was behind her, close. Too close. God, she craved that nearness, like an emotional junkie needing him for a fix.
“Yes.”
“We went too far,” he said meaningfully.
She didn’t look at him. “Did we?”
When he said no more, she pivoted. Anger, just as potent as desire, swelled inside her. He’d turned his back, bent over now, and got a towel from his bag. Casually, he wiped his face. She could see he’d just gotten a haircut. His black ragged-sleeved T-shirt with the Stanford logo clung to his wet back.
“How do you do it?” she asked, struggling to calm her voice and the rush of hunger in her blood.
“Do what?” He didn’t face her.
“How do you turn it off?”
“Turn what off?”
Without allowing rational thought to stop her, Suzanna grabbed his arm and dragged him around. His eyes were a cold, flat green. The agent was back.
“You know what. We talked about what.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Don’t say anything more, Suzanna.”
“Joe...” His name came out soft, full of the craving she felt for him.
The twitch became a throb in his neck, telling her it wasn’t so easy for him to resist her. “This would compromise my job, damn it. And that would be dangerous to you.”
She bit her lip to keep from begging. Her stomach clenched and her head spun, she wanted this man so much. “Then don’t.”
“Suzanna, I—” His hands fisted at his sides. He looked as though he was keeping himself from grabbing for her. She broke the eye contact first and turned around.
A long hesitation. Moments passed. She heard him gather his things.
“I’m going to leave for a while. Either Luke or I will be back. Follow me out. Put on the alarm.”
“I will. After you’re gone.”
“Now, Suzanna.”
She drew in a deep breath. “All right.” He always won. She wondered if his victories were always this empty.
o0o
An hour had gone by, and Joe still couldn’t contain it. As soon as he’d left Suzanna’s and driven home, he’d gone out for a brutal run. The Devil was at his heels.
Goddamn fucking son of a bitch!
Sex had never been easy for him, given his upbringing. Usually he could control the images. Almost never did he allow them into his consciousness. But tonight, on this cold and lonely street, in grim solitude, the memories came to him, and he was too weak with desire for Suzanna to stop them...
He’d not even begun to shave the first time a woman had touched him. His father had brought her to his stark room in the shack where they lived in the commune. “Joey, someone wants to see you.” She might have been beautiful, but it was dark, and Joe was frightened.
Even at almost eleven, he’d known the way she fondled him was different, wasn’t right somehow. “I don’t want to, Dad.”
His father had snapped on a light. “Go on, son, I’ll be here.”
Joe had thrown up after that first encounter. And he’d been so confused.
The next time was even worse, because he’d known what would happen...
“Come on, baby,” his mother had said, “We’re going down to the pond to swim. We’ll have fun.” He’d been asleep, and remembered the clock had read midnight.
He moaned. “I’m tired. Please, Mom.”
She’d let out a sultry laugh. “Everybody’s waiting for us. You can sleep all day tomorrow.”
“Please, no.”
“Do as your mother says,” she’d commanded.
But the worst had been the first time they’d gotten his little sister. He’d hidden her in a copse of trees, and was holding her close to him. “Don’t worry, Ruthie,” he’d said, terrified himself, knowing somewhere inside he wasn’t going to be able to stop them. “I won’t let them get you.”
Her slim child’s body trembled in his arms. “Joey...” was all she said.
He hadn’t protected her then, wasn’t able to for a few years after that, but when he turned fourteen, he’d found a way to escape.
It was a miracle that he’d ever learned to enjoy women and be comfortable with his own body. But he’d had some luck along the way. The foster care parents who took them in when they were finally found on the streets of L.A. were wholesome, happy people who had solid values. They soothed the glass-cut edges of his and Ruthie’s souls. They’d gotten trained professionals in child abuse to work with both him and his sister, and it became clear that these wonderful human beings, at least, knew that what had happened to two innocent young children was wrong, was criminal, really.
After more counseling in college, Ruthie was able to open up to Al; Joe married a sweet and giving woman with whom he’d had a somewhat normal physical relationship. It had been the stress of the Secret Service job—and Joe’s inability to truly expose his inner feelings to her, to anybody—that had caused the divorce.
How do you do it? Suzanna had asked. How do you turn it off?
He shook his head. He’d had no choice, really, if he wanted to survive.
But tonight, he his will power wavered. He was open to Suzanna. Open, and very raw. His feelings wouldn’t stay down. He felt a clawing need, a terrible thirst that he’d never known before, never wanted to know before. Calling on every one of his skills to stay detached, to do his job, he pounded the pavement. Still, a tapestry of muscles inside of him knotted with raw desire.
For her.
His mind wouldn’t blank. He kept seeing her today, for the past three months, confronting him. He’d never respected anyone more.
Never wanted a woman more.
Images kept bombarding him: of her smiling at Kelsey; of her amber eyes misting when her son left today; of the anger lighting her face when she viewed Max’s website.
They just wouldn’t go away. Which was why he found himself at her front door once again. He rang the bell.
Nothing.
Again.
Still no answer. He leaned on the button.
His heart, already drumming in his chest from the exercise, escalated to arrhythmic proportions. Raising his fist, he pounded the door. “Su-zan-na.”
He started to remove his sweatshirt to cover his hand—he intended to put it through the tall, slender window of the foyer—when the door swung open.
She was dressed in a long, satiny robe the color of ripe peaches. From the vee in it, and the way it gloved her, he guessed she wore nothing under it.
Suddenly it was all too much. The wanting and not having. The danger she was in, and his urgent need to protect her. He grasped her shoulders. His fingers bit into her. “Never open the door without checking to see who’s there.”
“I saw you through the window.”
“Oh.” His arms dropped. “What the hell took you so long to answer?”
“I was running a bath. I just heard you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”
You.
Without answering, he brushed past her and strode inside.
She stepped out of the way and he slammed the door. Snicked the lock. Her eyes widened at his peremptory actions. Clamping her arms around her waist, she shivered, as if afraid.
“You should be afraid,” he said silkily.
“I should?”
Instead of his breath easing, he became more winded. Her eyes dropped to the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
He took a step toward her. A side of him had surfaced that he didn’t know existed. “Of what you bring out in me.”
Though he got close, towered over her, she stared up at him unflinchingly. “I’m not afraid of that.”
He threaded his hand through her hair. It was heavy and thick and curled around his fingers like a lover’s caress. He pulled—God, somehow gently—and her face tilted. “You won’t necessarily like what you’ve unleashed in me.”
“Of course I will.”
“I don’t like it.”
She smiled then, Circe’s smile, and it shot right to his gut. Lower.
Her reaction totally disarmed him. “You’re playing hardball now, Suzanna.”
Again, the feminine amusement. “Yes, I am.”
“Suzanna...” He said it wrenchingly, closed his eyes to get some control. He couldn’t, so he buried his face in her neck.
It was a mistake. She hadn’t showered yet. The thought that they were both sweaty, earthy, inflamed him. He kissed her bare skin, and she moaned. He bit her neck gently, and she whimpered.
Then he yanked her to him. He’d lost the battle. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t right. That he’d struggled for years not to let this kind of passion overwhelm him. That he was supposed to be protecting her, and to do it right, he had to have a clear head. All that mattered was that she was here, and for now, she was his.
His.
His grip on her tightened. He must be hurting her, but she didn’t protest. Instead, her hands wound around his neck. “Joe.” The word was filled with acceptance, with affection, with need.
He drew away, slid an arm under her knees, the other to her back, and lifted her. She gasped, then laughed that sultry sound again as he dragged her close. She should protest. She should pound on his chest for him to let go; instead, she clutched at him, buried her face in his sweatshirt as if she belonged there.
He took the curved staircase two steps at a time. Her weight was nothing with the adrenaline pumping double time through his veins. At the top of the stairs, a long hall stretched out. To the left, light spilled out of a door. “There?” he asked thickly.
“Uh-huh. Hurry, please.” Her words were muffled by his shirt as she fisted her hands in it.
He tripped over himself trying to get to her room. Once there, he strode to the bed, set her down, then stretched out on top of her. And, for the very first time, he took her mouth. His mind exploded with sexual fireworks as he devoured her. He would have tried to gentle the onslaught, if he could, but she returned the kiss with equal fervor, gripped his neck, pulled him closer. His hands threaded through her hair; his body sank into hers. The mattress was hard, and her womanly softness poleaxed him with its contrasts.
When he let her mouth go, he kissed his way down her jaw to her chest and nudged open the vee of her robe. He saw the swell of her breast and groaned. “Suzanna.”
She urged him down. He kissed the underside of her breast, tongued it. His hands came to her shoulders and eased off the robe, exposing her. Simultaneously, his knee came up; the bottom of the robe parted, and he wedged his thigh between hers.
“Ohhh...” Her primitive response ignited more sparks in him that flared into painful desire.
“Ah, love.” His mouth closed over her nipple, and he was lost. The sensation of suckling her overcame him.
Dimly he was aware of her movements against him. But it was as if he were in a black cloud of craving that blocked out everything else. Finally, her actions got to him. She was tugging at his shirt. “Off,” she said. “Off.”
Her need gave him the necessary sanity to draw back. “Okay, shh, okay.”
Her breath was coming in gulps. Her hands were clumsy on his shirt.
“Let me do it,” he said. It took forever—his own hands were none too steady—but finally he removed his clothes.
Then he reached down and untied her robe. It fell apart, and he drew in a breath. “You are so lovely.” Bracing a knee on the bed, he ran his palm over her. She started, so sensitized had his mouth made her. He let his hand wander over her stomach; she moaned again, and when he cupped her, she arced off the bed.
He took the opportunity to remove the robe completely.
When she reached for him, clasped him solidly in her hand, his body ricocheted.
“Now,” she said almost incoherently. “Now.”
He couldn’t speak, only took the time to find his discarded sweatpants and fish a condom from the wallet in his zippered pocket. As he rolled it on, then parted her thighs and felt her wetness, insanity returned. With swiftness, and little finesse, with need and almost no tenderness, he entered her.
After the first thrust, he was lost.
o0o
Light filtered in through the windows, but it was dim and private with the blinds drawn. “Hmm.” Suzanna purred like a kitten at the soft trail of his fingers down her spine. She buried her face in the pillow.
“Want to sleep?” he asked, his breath fanning her ear.
“No, just touch me.” Never stop.
A very male chuckle. “My pleasure.” His hand went to her waist, began to knead there.
“Ahh.”
“Hurt?”
“Um, no.”
“I was pretty rough the first time.”
“Were you?” A female giggle. “It was wonderful.”
A long chuckle. “Better than the second?”
She studied the armoire, the matching dresser, the blinds on the window. They looked so different now. The last hour had changed everything.
“I remember the second more. It was longer.”
And so, so special. He’d kissed her everywhere.
His hands moved to her buttocks. He massaged there. Another moan. “Mmm. J-o-e...” The word strung out.
“You pack quite a punch, Suzie Q. You know that?”
No, she hadn’t known that. She’d had a satisfying sex life with Lawrence, but this had been a blast of dynamite instead of small explosions.
“Suzanna?”
She turned over. It was a mistake. The agent was completely gone, and in his place was a sensual, skilled man. His dark hair was mussed from their lovemaking, and a beard was beginning to show. She reached up. “Scratchy.”
His hand slid to her thigh. “I think you’ve got a brush burn there, sweetheart.”
A slow, female smile.
“Don’t do that, unless you want to get another one.”
“I want to get another one,” she said sleepily.
He whispered in her ear. “All right. After a nap.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Eyes closed, she felt the weight of him on the mattress, on her pillow. He drew her close, into his chest, and pulled up the duvet. She nestled on his bare skin, inhaled him, and felt his hand come up to her hair. “Sleep now, sweetheart.”
“You too,” she said.
He tugged her even closer, and they settled in.