Allison sat on the floor and held Nicholas Trott.
Zack had followed Horatio downstairs to make sure the warrior left. She could still hear Zack stomping around the house, probably trying to work off his temper before he came back upstairs. Because her digital clock had been blinking and she had no idea what time it was, she’d unplugged it.
Watching time tick down served no purpose.
She pressed her head into Nicholas Trott’s neck until he whined. She released him with a “sorry, boy” and went over to the fireplace. While the lights in the garden had come back on, it wasn’t enough to dispel the shadows. Yet she wasn’t ready to turn on the room lights. They seemed too harsh and real for a situation that defined harsh and real.
Instead, she stoked the fire. Minutes later, the fire was crackling and she was tucked in bed, thinking about everything that had happened. She lay on her side and buried her head in her pillow. She felt so raw, like she was a hot wire sparking around the room, ready to electrocute anything that came too close.
Zack came in and shut the door. A loud click echoed when he turned the seventeenth-century lock. Her heart thumped as he pulled off his T-shirt. Backlit by the fire, she had a full profile view. His loose hair reached his shoulders. His dark stubble made him look fierce. The way he poked the logs—jabs instead of pushes—made his muscles ripple and his tattooed dragon appear alive. He was the epitome of male perfection. Her wild man.
Stuart had always kept himself in excellent shape, but he’d also had a desk job. Zack’s physique didn’t come just from a gym. It’d come from a lifetime of hard physical labor. When a log rolled, he knelt to catch it with the iron poker. As he moved the log back, she saw his leg muscles contract and relax. That’s when it hit her: all he wore was a pair of gym shorts.
She inhaled sharply and he came over. She had to fight to keep her hands to herself. Even though they’d made love once and were sleeping in the same bed, she had no right to expect anything from him. One thing she was grateful for though was that he knew her darkest secret—he understood how hard it had been for her to live a double life of happiness and sadness.
He pulled the covers over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Do you mind…” He looked toward the other side of the bed.
She shook her head.
He came around the other side, but she didn’t have the courage to roll toward him. She stayed on her side, facing the fireplace, all her insecurities hounding her.
Zack rolled until his arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close to his body. The man had to have an internal temperature that would melt the ice caps. His breath tickled her hair and she snuggled against his bare chest.
“Are you tired?” she asked.
“I’m overtired. I can’t shut off my mind.”
“I feel the same way.”
His arm tightened, and she couldn’t help but rub his wrist and forearm. The hair on his arms felt so…masculine. Then there was his smell. That intoxicating scent of bay rum. She closed her eyes and relaxed, amazed at how well his larger angles fit against her smaller curves.
As she listened to his breathing and the logs crackling and the dog purring and the AC humming, she felt his hand move. The slightest pressure against her stomach. She held her breath and, just as she released it, felt his hand again.
His breathing in her ear sped up. Slowly, his hand edged down until his fingers found the waistband of her pj’s. He paused for a moment. When she didn’t move, he slipped his hand inside…until he stopped. He must have realized she wasn’t wearing any panties.
“Allison.” He whispered her name. “If you want me to stop, you need to say something. Now.”
“Don’t stop, Zack. Please.”
He pressed his lips against her shoulder at the same time his hand reached her most sensitive center.
She bucked at the unexpected pleasure. Heat spiraled low, contracting her lower stomach, and she arched her back.
His other arm reached beneath her body and his hand found her breast. Her nipples tightened, and he moaned against her shoulder. “Can you feel what you do to me?”
Yes. His erection pressed into her back and his fingers between her legs caressed and teased, building a tension she wasn’t sure she’d survive. His body clenched around hers, and although they were both on their sides, he forced her legs apart. When one finger reached inside her, she shoved her face into the pillow to hide her moans.
The building pressure was almost too much to bear.
He increased the speed and forcefulness of his movements, always tender yet demanding a response—a response she couldn’t help but offer. When the tension became too much, she reached down and covered his hand with her smaller one. He paused for half a second until she taught him the rhythm, a perfect blend of hard and fast that brought her to a climax far more quickly than she expected.
Before she was even finished with her last wave of the most intense pleasure, he used the arm around her waist to draw her up higher against his body. A moment later, he entered her from behind.
She gasped at the intrusion. Not because it was unwanted, but because he filled her to a point where she wondered if he’d even fit. She squeezed her legs together, and he began a driving motion that pushed the breath out of her body. He held her almost completely immobile, one arm around her breasts, the other around her waist, and had complete control of both of their movements. He kept hers small and tight while he drilled, as if making sure she knew he was offering her everything he had to give.
His thumb teased a nipple and she raised her free arm to hold his head. With her head against his shoulder, and his face buried in her neck, he increased the speed until they were both gasping. Without warning, he reached down to press his fingers against her core. He held her body between his palm and his erection and whispered, “Come for me, Allison. I need you to.”
She released his head because she’d no strength left in her arm. But she could lower her hand until her fingers covered his, forcing him to press into her harder. “Faster.”
Zack took her request seriously and gave her three more strokes that sent her shattering like a thousand shards of light cracking open the night sky. Her body stiffened and her toes curled. She arched her back and cried out, “Zack.”
* * *
Zack tightened his arms around Allison, one hand holding her breast and the other buried deep in her sex. He had no control over his body; his hips drilled and his balls constricted until the pain/pleasure was too much. He exploded inside her, stroke after stroke, draining himself and filling her. He arched his neck, keeping her within his arms, and let out a raw, guttural growl.
Daaaaamn.
Thank goodness breathing was part of the autonomic nervous system because otherwise he would’ve stopped that as well.
Holding her close, he rolled onto his back. That left her sprawled on top of him.
“Zack.” She squirmed until he used his strength to keep her still, his hands still in place. “What more do you want from me?”
“I’ve been dreaming of this night my entire adult life. I’ve fantasized about making love to you in every position possible, in every situation possible.”
Her sharp intake of breath eased the constriction in his chest.
She hadn’t been ready earlier when they’d made love in the garden. Her body had been ready—her body had wept for his—but she hadn’t been emotionally prepared. Yet despite knowing that, he’d been unable to stop. Then when she’d broken down in the master bedroom, he’d understood the depth of her loneliness, the weight of that secret, and how sad she must’ve been despite her outward appearance of happy wife.
When he’d come back into her bedroom, he’d been determined to give her time and space. But as soon as he’d held her in his arms, smelled her jasmine scent, and felt the softness of her skin, all resolve melted away. He was, no kidding, the biggest ass in the world.
“Zack?” She squirmed. “What are you—”
“Shh. It’s going to be okay. I promise.” Before she could argue with him, he began to move his fingers between her legs again.
He had nothing to offer her other than this. He had no home, no real job, no security. And so far, he’d done a shitty job of protecting her and figuring out what the hell was going on. But this? He slipped two fingers inside her while his thumb found her most sensitive part. This was what he had, so this was what he was going to do.
And never again would they make love without her finishing with him. He was an ass, but he wasn’t a selfish bastard.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Really. I’m tired.”
He gently bit her earlobe. “I believe in you.”
She laughed and when she shivered, he caressed one breast while he made love to her with his fingers. The more she squirmed, the harder he held her. Her ass moving over his hips was just a penance he’d have to suffer if he was going to offer her this gift.
He loved her little moans and kissed her shoulder. She tasted sweet, like sugar cookies and cinnamon. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
A few moments later, she stiffened and her hand tightened on his, pressing him in deeper. He felt the vibrations roll through her body, felt her core tighten around his fingers, felt each breath as they got shorter and shorter until she stopped breathing altogether.
When he knew she was finished, he just held her. He didn’t want to remove his hands. Didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want this moment to end. But like all moments, a few passed and she shivered again.
He rolled her off yet arranged her so she was curled up around him, her head on his shoulder and her hand on his lower stomach. Sure, he had a raging hard-on. But he’d been in far worse physically painful situations.
She smiled, nuzzled against his shoulder, and met his gaze. Her eyes were shadowed in the dying light of the fire, her blond hair was spread across his chest like a silk blanket. He was sure he’d never get tired of seeing her soft, pale body against his darker, harder one. “Zack Tremaine, you are the most amazing man I’ve ever known.”
“You’re only saying that because I gave you three climaxes.”
“True.” She kissed his chest. “You also brought in my laundry, cooked me dinner, and make me laugh.”
“As long as I don’t have to do it all at the same time, I’m good with that.”
She closed her eyes, and he brushed stray curls off her cheek. Her skin was so soft, like satin, yet his hands were hard and scratchy. He didn’t want to hurt her.
“I love it when you touch my hair,” she said in a muffled, almost-asleep voice.
“Good. Because I intend to do a lot more touching.”
She rubbed her face against his chest and her breath tickled. As he settled himself, making sure she was comfortable and his arms weren’t going to go numb, he felt a thump on the bed. Nicholas Trott now lay at their feet.
“I know your mother doesn’t allow this,” Zack said to the dog. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
Nicholas Trott sighed and rested his head on his front paws. Before Zack could kick him off, Nicholas Trott started purring.
Without looking, Allison asked, “Is the dog on the bed?”
Zack glared at the dog, who was now so settled that there was no way to get him off without moving. That meant letting go of Allison. “No.”
“Good. He’s not allowed on the bed except in certain circumstances.”
“What are those?”
“When he’s lonely, when he’s hungry, and when he sees the lady in white.”
Zack glanced at her, but she was so buried in blankets, her face pressed so tightly against his chest, he saw only a wild mass of blond hair. “Who is the lady in white?”
“You know,” she said in a lilting, drifting voice that almost sounded like she was smiling. “The woman you saw outside Stuart’s study and in the garden. The ghost of Mercy Chastain.”