Could he be wrong about her? Henry wasn’t quite ready to believe that. Nor was he ready to believe just how attracted he was to her. In more ways than just her looks. Her beauty took his breath away, but it was her, all of her, that made his pulse pound so hard it echoed in his ears. Something about her had the ability to turn everything that had been hard and cold inside him for years warm and soft. He didn’t like it, had no idea what to do about it, either. This wasn’t an ordinary assignment. None of the cases he worked on were ordinary, but this one needed his full attention; there were so many bits and pieces that didn’t fit together.
Just like there were pieces of her that didn’t seem to fit together.
She seemed so young and innocent, but mention her sisters and she was like a mother bear protecting her cubs. Or was she using that to protect herself? Protect the mole?
What she’d said about Murray and Minnesota Thirteen was true, and Vincent Burrows had tried to convince Murray to peddle his bootlegged whiskey, right before he’d danced with Betty’s sister.
Coincidence again?
Couldn’t be.
“I can give you a list of other joints that only serve Minnesota Thirteen,” she said. “As well as those that don’t.”
Her smile, the way she blinked those eyes, heated up parts of him as if he was standing on a beach, soaking up every single ray the sun shone down upon the earth. He shifted in his seat, to ease the tightening of his body. The desire that kicked in every time he recalled kissing her had his heart beating faster and his adrenaline pumping harder than when he was about to make a bust.
He’d never experienced anything like this. Like her. And was having a hell of a time sorting out what to do about it. He’d considered not coming here to meet her tonight, but the idea of not seeing her played havoc on him. As much as he hated to admit it, he wanted to see her.
The piano player sat down, struck the keys, and instantly filled the room with a fast-beat ragtime tune, making sitting at the table too loud to talk. “Would you care to dance?”
She glanced over her shoulder, then looked at him, and shook her head. “We are here to talk, not dance.”
The other sister was standing next to the piano, tapping her foot. He wondered if she was the reason Betty didn’t want to dance. That, too, was curious. Was the other sister trying to hear what was said so she could report to someone?
He scanned the room, but just because he didn’t recognize anyone, didn’t mean that someone didn’t recognize him.
Although he’d convinced himself that he was not going to take her into the tunnel again because restraining certain desires was becoming as hard as holding back a hound dog on the scent of an escapee; he had to do what he had to. “It’s too loud to talk here,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes, it is.” She then waited for him to pull out her chair.
He took ahold of her hand, lightly, at first, then more firmly because a feather of a touch wasn’t enough. His attraction to her grew in her absence as much as it did in her presence.
Without a spoken word, they slipped behind the curtain, through the storage room, and into the tunnel. He locked the door behind them and pulled out his flashlight. “Let’s take a walk.” Sitting beside her with the music filtering through would bring back memories of last night, of dancing and kissing, and he didn’t need that. He needed to build his restraint back up.
“A walk? Where?”
“Down the tunnel.”
“To the abandoned house?”
“No, we won’t walk that far.” He took her hand and led her down the steps. The walk would give him time to collect a bit more information.
He had spent a few hours investigating her father this morning. LeRoy confirmed William Dryer had indicated that his daughters were young, but Henry had soon discovered they weren’t. They were indeed grown women. He’d discovered other information, too.
In fact, he probably now knew more about her father than she did.
The cabin in the hills that he was staying in, was where William Dryer was born. His mother had died shortly after his birth, and his grandmother long before then. William was raised by his father, Sylas, and his grandfather Edwin. Both Sylas and Edwin had been convinced there was gold in the Santa Monica Mountains, and laid claim to as many acres as possible each time land grants were available. They acquired thousands of acres, but never reported finding any gold. William had no formal education. He grew up searching for gold alongside his father and grandfather. After Edwin died, Sylas and William attempted farming the land, but it was too hilly and they couldn’t afford the equipment that would be needed to make the land workable.
There was a falling-out between father and son and William had gone to work on a cargo ship, which was how he met Marlys, Betty’s mother, up in Seattle. A short time later, Sylas had attempted to sell some land but couldn’t because Edwin had put it all in William’s name. William returned to California and sold off some small plots, but it was after Sylas had died that William received his major break, when movie studios started cropping up like weeds. They needed the one thing William had. Land. William ended up finding what his father and grandfather had been looking for, riches, but it hadn’t come from gold. It had come out of the pockets of men looking to make it rich in the film industry, and William had made them pay far more than a pretty penny for every acre.
He still was. The list of requirements to purchase a single acre of Dryer’s land was long—so long, only the rich could afford to meet his demands, and the rich men who thrived on being elite liked the exclusiveness that owning property in Hollywoodland provided.
Henry couldn’t hold William’s goals and ambition against the man. His shrewdness had made him a millionaire, something he’d dreamed of becoming since he was a young boy searching for gold with his father and grandfather. However, those same goals and ambitions, those dreams of becoming rich, were still all William cared about. Making money far unseated his family, his wife and daughters. Very few people were aware that Dryer had a family, and those that were had thought the girls were young, practically babies, until recently.
A few weeks ago, Dryer had put out the word that he was looking for husbands for his daughters, and the list of qualifications was as long as the ones needed in order to purchase property in Hollywoodland. Meaning only the rich would qualify. Even though he had money, plenty of it, he wasn’t about to share it with anyone. Including his own family.
Everything Betty had said about her father, about his strict rules, had turned out to be true. The man practically kept them under lock and key. Prisoners. Henry could see why Betty and her sisters snuck out at night, because, like most prisoners, all they could think about was freedom.
He remembered feeling that way at the orphanage.
But there was more. William Dryer also seemed to be a recluse himself. Not in his house, though. He left early every morning and didn’t return home until late afternoon, and he wasn’t at building sites. He left most of the sale of land and home building to the man he was currently using to build his houses. James Bauer.
“Do you stay in the house at night?” Betty asked as they walked.
“No. I just use the tunnel to access places.”
“Where do you stay?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said. “For your own safety.” He meant that in more ways than one. Not only for security against outsiders, but also in case her father was to learn that Henry was using the shack on his property. “When you were in Seattle, do you remember a beach cottage on the bay?”
“No. I don’t, but I only went to the bay that one day.”
“Why?”
She sighed softly. “My grandmother was ill, had been for a long time. Tuberculosis. She came home with us and wanted clams one last time before leaving. That’s why I was digging them that day. We left the following day.”
“And you never went back to Seattle?” he asked for clarification. His mind still wanted to believe she was involved in this, somehow, some way, because if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t have a reason to see her again. That wasn’t easy to admit, but he could no longer deny it. This wasn’t about the case as much as it was about him. Which made it worse. He knew the trouble of getting mixed up with a woman.
“No. There was no reason to,” she said. “My aunt came home with us, too.”
“Where are they now? Your grandmother and your aunt?”
“My grandmother died, in the sanitorium, a few weeks after we arrived home, and my aunt entered the convent.”
He stopped walking and took ahold of her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, that’s kind of you to say—”
She let out a little squeak and jumped closer to him as the roof overhead started to rumble.
He folded an arm around her. “It’s all right. There’s a street above us. That was probably a truck—the cars aren’t that loud.”
Her thick lashes slowly lowered, covering those big blue eyes for a moment. “It frightened me.”
“I should have warned you.”
The tiny smile she offered was tentative, yet sincere. “I shouldn’t be such a scaredy-cat.”
He released her and stepped back, knowing if he didn’t, there would be another kiss.
She rubbed her arms, looked down both sides of the dark tunnel.
The tunnel was cool, chilly even. He removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Let’s walk back to the Rooster’s Nest.”
“But you haven’t told me what you need me to help you with.”
No, he hadn’t, but what she’d said earlier would help the other agents that were working on finding Burrows. “That list you mentioned, of joints and the booze they serve, that would be really useful.” He’d met with another agent working on the case, one of the three who he knew he could trust, and it seemed that every time they got a lead on where Burrows was, he had moved on as if he’d been tipped off. A list of joints serving Minnesota Thirteen would be helpful. Burrows was sure to show up at them sooner or later.
“I can bring it to you tomorrow night,” she said.
“That would be good.” Then, after receiving the list, he would be done seeing her. Her being here was nothing but a coincidence, and he had to remember what happened last time he’d allowed a woman to get mixed up in his life. He took her elbow, started walking back the way they’d come. “Thank you.”
“How long will you be on this case? Using this tunnel?” she asked.
“Not long. A month at the most.” He expected it to be less than that, needed to make it be less than that so he could move on.
“What will you do then?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Several things.” The emotions filling him couldn’t be ignored. She wasn’t hard enough, cold enough to be working with the mole, but she was dangerous. To him. He hadn’t let anyone get under his skin for years and years.
“What things?” she asked.
“I never know where I’ll be assigned to next or what the job will be. Could be anything from counterfeiting to bank robbing.”
“That has to be hard, never knowing where you’ll be,” she said. “It sounds dangerous, too.”
“I’m used to it.” He liked it, too.
With a soft half laugh, she said, “I don’t think I could ever get used to it. The moving or the danger.”
“I’m sure most people would agree with you,” he said. “It’s all I’ve ever known.” He’d always liked that, moving, never getting attached to any one place, to any specific people. He thrived on being alone.
“You don’t have a family? A home?”
He’d worked on making sure there were no emotions attached to his past. It simply was what it was. “I grew up in an orphanage, until I was fifteen. Then I was adopted, but I only lived with them for a couple of months.” John and Esther had made him feel welcomed. They’d even given him a last name; up until then, he’d just been Henry, but they weren’t his parents, and he knew they never would be. His real parents had left him, as a three-year-old child who only knew his first name, on the front steps of the orphanage. He’d wondered why, for years, but eventually decided it didn’t matter if he was as unlovable as a child, or as an adult.
“Why did you live with them for only a couple of months?”
“Because I went to school, to a junior college, when I turned sixteen and lived in the dorms there for the next two years, and then I became an agent with the Bureau and started traveling. Moving from assignment to assignment.” He’d never told anyone that before. No one. Other than his uncle Nate, no one in the agency knew he’d been adopted. There had been no reason for him to tell her, either. It had just come out, like he knew he could trust her.
She stopped walking and turned, faced him. “I’m sorry, Henry.”
“Why? There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”
“Yes, there is.” Sadness filled her eyes as she looked up at him. “Everyone should have a family. No matter how strict or stern, family is everything. I would do anything for my sisters.”
She was so sweet. So precious. The desire to kiss her, to hold her, was painful. He held strong and merely touched the tip of her nose with one finger. “I’ve already figured that out.” He would do anything for one of his partners, but that was different to her reasons. She would do anything out of love. He did it out of duty.
Betty was certain she’d never felt so sorrowful for someone in her life. She might not agree with most of her father’s harsh rules, but he was her father, and she had her mother and sisters. Her family. She couldn’t imagine life without any of them. Her heart literally ached for Henry. For the loneliness he must have known his entire life. She wanted to take that all away for him. Stretching on her toes, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
After the kisses they’d shared, she wasn’t sure why that one made her cheeks grow warm and tingle. Attempting to hide her the flush of her cheeks, she bowed her head, but then lifted it and looked at him. She could be truthful with him, and that felt good. “I’m going to miss you when you leave.”
“You are?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She huffed out a breath. “Because I like you and I like helping you. I know I haven’t done much yet, but all you have to do is tell me what else you need.” That was very true. She had a list of all the joints she and her sisters could visit and couldn’t, and would share the entire list with him, going over each place and what she’d learned about each place. She wanted to do more, wanted to help him in any way she could.
He was looking at her, with a slightly odd expression. Like he couldn’t believe what she’d said.
“It’s true,” she said.
He touched her cheek, softly. It nearly took her breath away. Then her heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward. Her eyes fluttered shut as she tilted her face upward, fully ready to meet his.
Disappointment washed over her as his lips touched her forehead. “I like having you help me.”
In order to hide her reaction, she asked, “What other information, besides the list, do you need?”
Holding her elbow, he started walking again. “For now, the list will be good. It will help a lot.”
Falling in step beside him, she began telling him about the places that were on the list, and any information she could remember off the top of her head. He asked questions about the joints and she answered them, and then because she truly wanted to know more, she asked him about his life at the orphanage.
She kept a smile on her face, but it was hard. His answers were matter-of-fact, but to her his childhood sounded so lonely. He sounded so lonely, she couldn’t stop herself from holding his hand.
“Tell me some fun things about growing up there,” she said quietly. “There had to have been something.” Despite how she and her sisters complained, they did have fun together, especially with the sneaking in of material and sewing new outfits. He had to have had something like that.
He looked at her oddly, but then nodded, and grinned. “We, me and two other boys, used to sneak down into the kitchen at night and steal food. Not a lot, just enough for the younger ones who’d missed a meal for one reason or another. The kitchen workers would set traps to try to catch us, but we never got caught.”
She laughed. “No wonder you became an intelligence agent. You’d been righting wrongs way back then.”
He winked at her. “Or maybe we were just thieves. The other kids called us Robin Hoods, but they never ratted us out.”
“You were Robin Hoods, and of course no one ratted on you. They would have gone hungry if not for you. You were their hero.” He truly was in her eyes, and she wanted to know more. “What were their names? The other two boys?”
“Mick Lawrence and Darrin Wolf.” He shook his head. “I haven’t thought about them in years. I never saw them again after I was adopted. They said they’d keep making sure the younger kids got fed.”
He grew quiet, and she squeezed his hand. “I’m sure they did.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He pulled his hand away from hers and shone the flashlight on his wrist. “It’s time for you to meet your sisters.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. It was time and she’d promised Jane she wouldn’t be late again.
She climbed into bed that night thinking about Henry, about him being adopted, not having a family or home and traveling all the time, chasing criminals. He was the most interesting person she’d ever met, a true hero. A very handsome one, and though she shouldn’t admit it, even to herself, she was sorely disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her again tonight.
Sorely.
She’d wanted to fully kiss him. To feel his hands touching her. His body pressed up against hers. The ache for that, the ache for him, had been burning hot inside her since the dance-off, and had grown stronger every passing day.
She was contemplating that the following morning, when directly after breakfast, her father requested her presence again.
Without delay, she entered his office and sat on the edge of the sofa. This could be because he’d found dust on a lightbulb, and, no matter who had dusted, she was the oldest, so it was her fault, or any other small household matter. Or it could be about James Bauer. The one thing she was certain about was that it had nothing to do with Henry, or sneaking out. She’d believed him when he’d said he wouldn’t tell anyone.
Father was a formidable-looking man. Tall, with short gray hair and a permanent frown etched in his face. “James Bauer has asked my permission for the two of you to get to know each other. Starting next month, you will attend one event with him per week.”
She sucked in air and blew it out, working up the wherewithal to answer. It was Henry who helped her. The Henry who lived in her head. The one who used to make sure smaller children had food and the one that would only be here for another month. She had to hold in a smile when she thought of Henry as Robin Hood. “When next month?”
Her father frowned.
She kept her head up, her back straight. She’d never outright rebelled against her parents, and wasn’t about to do that now, but did have pertinent questions that she would like the answers to. “Next month, by the calendar, is a week away, or do you mean next month, such as four weeks from now?”
Father slapped the top of his desk. “What difference does it make?”
She didn’t flinch at the sound of his hand smacking the wood or at his bellow. Years of experiencing such actions also aided her in holding her gaze on him. That was just Father. How he acted, how he spoke. It was as if he was always frustrated at everything, everyone. “I would simply like to know.”
If Henry still needed her assistance, she wanted to provide it. Actually, it went deeper than that. She had to provide it. Had to help him because that made her feel good, and she hadn’t had much of that.
Father huffed out a half sigh, half grunt. “I will let you know.”
“Thank you,” she said, but didn’t move because she hadn’t been excused yet.
“I will also let you know the exact date of the wedding,” Father said.
She didn’t move, not even her head to nod in acknowledgment. Something inside her wouldn’t let her because if she nodded, that meant she agreed with it, and she didn’t.
“You can leave now,” he said.
She rose and left the room.
Father left the house a short time later, and Betty completed her list of chores, counting the hours and minutes until she’d be able to sneak away and show Henry the list she’d compiled.
When that time finally came, he was once again sitting at the table near the piano when she entered the speakeasy, and though that instantly made her smile, by the time she arrived at the table, a raw sadness was welling inside her.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
She shook her head and sat in the chair he held out for her. The meeting with her father hadn’t totally struck her until this moment. She had a month, or less, before her life changed completely. She’d known it was coming, that she would marry James, but it suddenly was too real, too soon. She didn’t expect Henry to save her like some prince on a white horse, but she wanted fun, a life, before it was too late.
Betty glanced over her shoulder, looking for Jane. Her sister was right where she expected her to be, talking to the piano player. Jane loved music and was telling the piano player what song he should play next.
Henry was still standing at her chair and Betty stood back up. “Can we go to the tunnel?”
“Why?”
“Privacy.”
He took her hand, led her to the curtain and through the storage room. Once they were in the tunnel with the door shut behind them, he asked, “What’s the matter?”
She didn’t know where to start. How to explain what she was feeling, what she wanted.
He shone the flashlight down the tunnel, then back at her. “Could you not find the list you said you had?”
She shook her head. “No, I have the list. I thought we could go over them, back here, where it’s quiet.”
“We went over most of them last night.”
“I know, but I had more written down than I remembered.”
He nodded. “All right. Shall we sit down?”
She walked down the short flight of steps. “Can we walk?”
He was still standing on the steps and looking at her with a slight frown.
“All the way to the house?” she asked. “I’d like to see it.”
“There’s not much to see. Some of the furniture is in the basement covered with dust sheets, but other than that, it’s just a house.”
“I know, but I want to see it.” She shrugged. “Please?”
“All right.” He stepped down the stairs and shone the flashlight ahead of them as they started walking along the tunnel.
She pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket and held it out to him. “Here’s the list. We can go over it as we walk.”
He shone the light on it. “Go ahead.”
She began to read, and as she did, the time she’d spent at each place came to mind, and she told him anything that came to mind that wasn’t written down. It was a long list, and about halfway through he stopped her.
“You’ve been to all these places?”
“No. Some are just on this list because of things I’d heard,” she explained. “They are on the can’t-visit list.” She shook her head. “The list isn’t the only reason I wanted to come down here.”
“Oh?”
“No, I wanted to know more about you.”
“What about me?”
“Everything,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’ve been to so many places, seen so many things. It’s exciting. Thrilling. I’ve had more fun with you the past few nights than I’ve had my entire life, and...” She shook her head. “I just want to know more. Anything you want to tell me.”
“I’ve already told you more than I’ve ever told anyone else, Betty.”
His voice was low, nearly a whisper and it made her heart race.
“You have?”
“Yes, I have.”
She stretched up on her toes and kissed his lips, softly, quickly. “I’m glad.” She then looped her arm through his and leaned her head against his upper arm. “And I still want to know more. Tell me about some of the traps the kitchen workers set out to catch you.”
He did. Stories about pots and pans tied together with trip strings and flour sprinkled on the floor that had her laughing, and then stories about sneaking extra blankets for cold children that had her confirming all over again that he’d been a real hero as a child.
She listened to all he said, but more than that, she listened to how he said it. She could hear the happiness in his voice when he spoke about certain things, and people. That made her feel so good. Knowing there had been some happiness in his childhood.
He’d just finished telling her a funny tale about a picture his friend Mick had drawn on a chalkboard that had them both laughing, when he shone the light ahead of them. “We’re here.”
There was a solid, curve-topped door ahead of them, with black hinges and a large handle. It excited her to open the door, see what was behind it. “I feel like I’m sneaking into the orphanage kitchen,” she said with a giggle.
He laughed as he opened the door and motioned for her to walk inside. “There’s no food here, and not much to see, either.”
“Yes, there is,” she said, taking in the white sheets draped over dressers, chairs, a couch, and kitchen table. “Look at all this.”
“They are just dust sheets.”
“I know, but it’s still exciting.” She couldn’t begin to describe the yearning inside her. She’d never felt it before. This burning need. Knowing he would soon be gone and she’d be married to James filled her with something she couldn’t describe. It was like she wanted to break every rule there was, now before she wouldn’t be able to. She set the list on a wood shelf as she picked up a dusty old bottle and blew the dust off it before setting it back down. “To someone who wants more.”
“More of what?”
She twirled around. That was it. More. Of everything. The next month, she wanted to live like she was never going to live again. Laughing, she walked over and pulled a sheet off the couch, tossed it aside, and plopped down.
“More of everything!”
“Like what?”
She jumped back up and grabbed his hands. “Everything we’ve done since I met you. You are only going to be here a month, and during that time, I—I want to help you with more than just a list.” She released one hand, held their clasped ones up, and twirled beneath them. “And I want to dance and laugh.”
This wasn’t like her, but it felt so good. So right. She stepped closer to him. “And kiss.” She stretched onto her tiptoes and whispered, “I need you, Henry. You make me feel alive.”
He cupped her face with one hand and, looking at her with those early-morning-sky-blue eyes, shook his head. “You don’t need me for that.”
Her heart skipped a beat, because she did. She did need him. “Yes, I do.” She grasped his hand and pulled him onto the sofa. “Tell me more about your life.”
“There’s no more to tell.” Touching her cheek, he said, “Tell me about you instead.”
“I’ve already told you...” She paused and bit her lips together at the happiness that rose up inside her. “I could tell you about my first kiss.”
He lifted a brow and she giggled. “It was with the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. First he rescued me, saved me from downing.” She leaned closer to him, so close their noses almost touched. “Then he kissed me.” She tilted her head and brought her mouth closer to his. “Like this.”
She pressed her lips against his, and then used her tongue to part his lips like he had hers the other night in the tunnel.
She felt a rumble, a groan, in the back of his throat as he pulled her so close against him that she could feel his heart beating inside his chest. Hers was pounding, and it felt glorious, alive.
When their mouths separated, she was gasping for breath, but also laughing.
Then they kissed again. And again.
She’d lost count of their kisses when he ended a kiss and stood up, breathing heavily.
She stood up, too, and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.
His body felt so good pressed up against hers, she wiggled against him. He twisted around and wrapped his arms around her. She kissed his throat, his chin, and then tilted her head back, giggling as he kissed the side of her neck.
Her legs wobbled and his hold around her waist tightened.
Henry’s mouth found hers again; her tongue met his and the teasing, the tasting, had her pulse hammering in her ears. She couldn’t get close enough to him, no matter how hard she pressed herself against him.
He pulled his mouth off hers, and breathing hard, whispered, “We need to stop this.”
Her heart was so full. Her world so right. But she still wanted more. She wanted all the desires, the wants and cravings, encompassing her to be fulfilled. She’d read the magazines that Jane had snuck into the house. The ones about flappers and movie stars, and about sex. That was what she wanted, had wanted since he’d left her standing on the beach craving more. So much more. “No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do,” he said.
Tossing her last inhibitions of the dutiful, rule-abiding Betty she’d always been, if she truly had any left, to the wind, she asked, “Why?”
He stepped back. “It could easily go too far.”
She stepped out of one shoe, and then the other, kicking them aside. Then reached up and plucked the hat off her head, tossing it on a sheet-covered chair. “What would you consider too far?”
“This.”
The shimmer in his eyes made her pulse beat even faster. “I don’t want to stop, Henry. I want you.”
He grasped her hand, pulled her close again. “I’ve wanted you since the day I left you standing on the beach.”
She laughed, because that made her feel good, alive. “I’ve never forgotten that kiss. The way it made me feel. The things it made me want.” She kissed the underside of his chin. “I want you, Henry.”
He let out a tiny growl that sounded so husky she nearly got goose bumps. Wonderful ones. She snapped one of his suspenders as she stepped back this time, and then pushed one of the narrow straps holding up her loose-fitting butterscotch-colored dress off her shoulder.
“Betty,” he said with that husky growling sound. “Are you sure about this? Because I can’t take much more.”
“If I wasn’t sure. I wouldn’t be here,” she said, and pushed the other strap off her shoulder. The dress fell slowly, revealing the only thing beneath it was a pair of white tap pants.
Her nipples were hard, her breasts tingling, and when he reached forward, cupped one, the muscles deep inside her, at her very core where a swirling heat was growing, tightened.
He rubbed her nipple with his thumb, then kissed one, and the other. She tossed her head back at the pure delight rippling through her from head to toe.
When he lifted his head, she pushed the suspenders off his shoulders. “Fair is fair.”
He removed his shirt, his pants, and stood before her in his undershorts. She planted her hands on the wide spans of his upper arms, her hands absorbing the heat, feeling the firmness, and kissed his chest, giggling as the black hair tickled her nose.
She stepped back and pushed down her tap pants.
His mouth was back on hers when he lifted her, carried her to the sofa, and laid her down. He started at her ankles, caressing the skin with the heel of his palm, the tips of his fingers, and worked his way upward.
“Your skin is so soft, so silky,” he said, kissing her stomach.
She buried her hands in his thick, soft hair, inhaling the spicy, soap-clean scent that she still remembered from that day at the beach.
Her body was begging, needing more. Each kiss, each caress, made her want more and more. She was squeezing her thighs together at the fire, the craving, pulsing hard and fast. “Henry,” she nearly gasped.
“I know you’re ready,” he whispered. “I am, too.”
He removed his undershorts and perched above her then, in one swift plunge, they joined together. The snap of pain was of little consequence as she arched upward, pressing her hips firmly against his as an unimaginable pleasure followed, consumed her. All she could think about was him, and the incredible sensations overtaking her entire body. It was as if he was lifting her higher and higher, until everything spun out of control.
She had to gasp for air as the overwhelming pressure threading through her entire being hit a crescendo like the final notes of a song, and then clutched tighter to Henry as wave after wave of bliss spread throughout her system.
An incredible warmth was unfurling inside her, when suddenly they were separated. Henry grabbed the sheet and pulled it over her stomach as the wonderful weight of his body was once again atop her. The waves of bliss retuned as he encompassed her in his arms, and they lay together, catching their breath and kissing. The joy inside her was massive, and she knew now what all the fuss was about in those magazines. Joining with Henry had been the epitome of pleasure.
The epitome of broken rules, too.