But she wasn’t laughing three hours later. They’d untied a kayak that she’d moored at a small pier down the street from the marina and slipped out of the harbor, hugging the marshes here and there along the shoreline. They’d seen nothing; no boats, no lights, no suspicious silhouettes of darkened boats, no unusual activity. Nothing. Finally, just before midnight, he talked her into giving up the vigil.
“What makes you think that this drug activity is based at Harwichport?” They were motionless in a stand of scrub and marsh grass, and he spoke close to her ear in a low voice.
“It may not be here. They could be working out of Wychmere, Saquatucket or Allen. But I can’t figure out why Milo would have been a target if they weren’t worried about him seeing something at our marina.”
He nodded, and she knew she had a point. Her husband wouldn’t have posed a threat if the drug trafficking had been centered elsewhere. “It could have been simply a revenge thing,” he said.
“I’ve thought about that, too. But it doesn’t make sense. Usually revenge is done with a public purpose in mind, to teach someone else a lesson. Unless it’s extremely personal, which I doubt this was. Milo never offended anyone in his whole life. Besides, no one else knew Milo had spoken to the FBI.”
“That you’re aware of.”
She was silent for a moment. “True.”
They didn’t speak again until they got back to the dock and tethered the boat. Walking up the street to her house, he said, “Celia, you don’t know who else might be involved in this. You could wind up the same way your husband and son did if the wrong person suspects you’re still digging around.”
“I know.” She stopped on the small porch. “And until recently I didn’t even care. But now…” She shook her head, not caring if he saw the tears on her cheeks. “Dammit, Reese, why did you come back here?”
He stepped forward and gathered her into his arms, laying his cheek against her hair, and she savored the moment as she slipped her arms around his waist and clung. “Because,” he said, “I couldn’t stay away any longer.”
Dropping his head, he sought her mouth. The kiss he gave her was tender, rife with deep feeling, healing lonely aches inside her that she’d known since her family had died. Celia clung to him, needing to be cuddled and coddled, needing the warmth of his hard body surrounding and protecting her. It had been so long since she’d felt safe that she’d forgotten how good it was, and she reveled in his gentle touch.
But it wasn’t long before his mouth hardened, became more demanding, his tongue plunging into her moist depths in search of her response. And respond she did. She went limp against him, letting his arms support her, letting him pull her so closely against him that he made a deep growling sound in the back of his throat as their bodies fit together.
He bent her backward over one arm, his free hand slipping beneath her black sweater to caress the silky skin at her waist. His fingers were rough and determined, and she shivered helplessly when his hand slid upward, stroking and exploring her torso. His fingers glided over her ribs until he could cup her breast in his palm, his thumb rubbing ceaselessly over her sensitive nipple, and she shivered in his embrace, her arms coming up to clasp his dark head. Each small stroke sent wild arrows of arousal down to center between her legs, and she writhed against him.
He dragged her back to the swing, deep in the shadows, and settled her across his lap without ever breaking the demanding, tongue-tangling kiss they shared. Celia twisted as he tugged up her sweater to bare her breasts in the shadowed darkness, and when he bent his head and took one nipple into the hot cavern of his mouth, she stifled the sound she made against his shoulder.
“Don’t hold back.” He plucked at the other taut nipple and she squirmed, pressing her legs tightly together to alleviate the throbbing ache centered there. “Don’t hold back,” he said again. His free hand left her breast and smoothed down her body, gently probing at her navel, spanning her small waist. She felt a slight tug as he freed the fastening of her pants, and then his warm hand was in her panties, splayed across her abdomen, the tips of his fingers brushing back and forth over the tiny curls he found.
Celia’s arms clenched around his neck. Her whole body felt supersensitized, her breath coming in shallow gulps. Had it always been this…intense with Reese?
Yes. Always.
His mouth suckled harder at her breast and suddenly she felt a shocking nip of strong teeth as he closed them over the sensitive peak. She gasped and he gentled his mouth immediately while at the same instant he slid his middle finger over her feminine mound and deep into the wiry curls. She gasped again and he lifted his head from her breast and claimed her mouth in another intimate kiss, echoed by the finger between her legs probing gently but insistently at her tight folds. “Spread your legs,” he urged. She obeyed. Her whole body tightened when she felt him slide one finger deep into her, and her back arched involuntarily as her body clenched around him, pushing him even deeper.
“Celia,” he gasped. “I forgot how good you feel.” He rotated his finger slightly, grinding the palm of his hand against the throbbing button of need at the top of her opening, and she cried out, dazed by the intense sensations. The sound of her own voice was startling in the deep shadow of the night porch, and for the first time, she fully realized that they were outside, on her front porch, within hearing—and possibly within sight—of anyone who happened by.
“Wait.” She struggled in his arms, gripping his wrist tightly. She had no chance of moving his hand from its intimate nest unless he chose to do so, a fact that she was keenly aware of with the vulnerable knowledge only another woman could understand. Reese stilled his hand, although he didn’t withdraw.
“It’s all right, baby. It’s all right.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not.” She swallowed painfully, so aroused by the feel of his hand between her legs that she nearly forgot why she’d protested. “I—I’m not ready for this, Reese.”
In the darkness she saw the white flash of his teeth. One finger moved, drawing a whimper of need from her. “I beg to differ. And—” he shoved his hips forward against her hip so that she could feel the rock-hard bulge of his arousal “—I sure as hell am.”
“No,” she whispered again. “I—I want to but…I’m just not ready.”
He stilled, and she realized he understood that she meant it. Finally he heaved a sigh. “Okay. Okay, I can wait. I don’t want to rush you into anything.” Slowly, he withdrew his hand and she closed her eyes tightly as her body jerked involuntarily at the glide of flesh on flesh. His finger left a cool path of moisture behind and even in the dark, she blushed. Then he spoke again. “Can you tell me why? I mean, I’ve already stayed the night, technically, so if you’re worried about your reputation—”
“It’s not that. I just…have to think. A few days ago we hadn’t seen each other in thirteen years and now here we are, ready to…”
“Yeah. Ready to.” There was wry humor in his voice. He carefully refastened her pants and tugged her sweater down into place, then lifted her and set her beside him on the swing, cuddling her in the crook of his elbow. “Where do you see us going with this, Celia?”
She was silent. “That’s not a fair question,” she said. “I’ve barely gotten used to the idea that you’re back again.”
“It hasn’t been any longer for me,” he pointed out, “and I’m used to it.” He took her face between his palms and gently stroked her lips with his thumbs. “I’m willing to leave the past in the past. Are you?”
She hesitated and his hands dropped away. “Or are you still punishing me for taking off all those years ago?” His voice was rough, frustrated, impatient. “I’m not looking for an affair for a few weeks while I’m in town, so if that’s all this is going to be to you, tell me now.”
“What are you looking for?” She swallowed painfully. “I’m not the same girl you used to know, Reese. I don’t have a lot to offer anymore.”
“You have everything I want.” His voice was low, soothing.
“Not if you’re looking for a wife and a family,” she said bluntly, too agitated to soften the words. “I don’t want children. Ever. I just…I couldn’t handle that.” She stopped, aware that her voice was rising toward hysteria.
He was silent, and her heart felt as if someone had attached lead weights to it. This was it. Now he would leave. She’d told him how she felt so that he wouldn’t expect more than she could give…but she couldn’t prevent herself from praying that he didn’t walk away.
She caught his wrist and rose with him when he would have moved away from her. She knew she could never be what he wanted. It was wrong of her to encourage him, to give him hope and yet…
“Reese?”
He hesitated, but he didn’t pull away from her. Finally he turned and touched her cheek with his free hand, then linked his fingers through hers. “I want you, Celia. Just you.” He bent and kissed her swiftly, then walked down the path to her gate. “See you tomorrow.”
In the morning the first thing she thought of was Reese. Why had she turned him away last night? Was it self-preservation? Or was he right? Was she punishing him?
She worried at the notion the whole way to the marina, but when she entered the office, Angie’s expression erased all thoughts of personal matters from her head. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Hurricane.” Angie indicated the small television they kept atop a file cabinet. “The one they thought was going to move northeast off the coast? Well, it’s coming in for a visit.”
“Oh, no.” Her mind raced. “How long do we have till it gets here?”
Angie shrugged. “Maybe the rest of the day. It tore up the Carolina coast and is headed straight for us.” She laid a stack of papers on Celia’s desk. “Did you have a boat out last night? I found life preservers hanging on the doorknob this morning.”
Celia stiffened. “Yes. Reese and I went night fishing.” Duh. Hadn’t she used that very same excuse on the night she’d run into Reese?
Angie laughed. “Sure, boss. Night fishing.” She was grinning as she walked away.
Celia studied the weather pattern as the meteorologist on the screen droned on. The brunt of the hurricane had missed the southern coastline. But Cape Cod stuck out too far. If it continued due north, they were going to get slammed. She’d seen Hurricane Bob do the same thing more than a decade ago, and that hadn’t been nearly as powerful a storm as this one was currently.
Quickly she gathered the rest of the staff and began issuing orders. All equipment needed to be put away, including any watercraft small enough to be removed from the water. Bigger ones should be moored on long lines or moved to small harbors with marshes or sand beaches where they could be grounded without causing the damage that would result if they were tossed by waves into large piles of ruined boats at the pier. Anything that could blow away, even heavy deck furniture, should be stored. Flags and banners down, cancel all charters, close the marina. Get out the plywood and start covering all the windows, tape any that don’t get boarded up.
Many of the yachts were already gone, others were battening down and their owners were taking rooms in town. Lodging was easy to come by, since the autumn tourists were fleeing, clogging Route 6 up to the Sagamore Bridge where they headed west away from the water or north toward Boston.
Angie helped her remove the important files and compact discs, and take apart the computer. Then they took the whole mess over and set it up at her house, which would be far safer than the office. Her headquarters was commonly known as “the shack” despite its sturdy appearance. It would be exposed to the waves and storm surge and could easily fall apart if the pier should go.
While she was at home, she double-checked the small generator that would keep her freezer and refrigerator going when the power went down as it inevitably would, pulled oil lanterns from storage and filled them, and brought in armloads of firewood. She filled the bathtub and several extra buckets with water, just in case, and checked the batteries in her flashlights.
Then she headed back to the shack to help finish boarding up before she sent everyone home. Reese’s boat still sat in its slip, and she allowed herself to wonder where he was and what he would do during the storm. Part of her wanted to invite him to spend the time with her; the other part told her she was crazy, that she was heading for heartbreak.
“Celia.” Ernesto Tiello lumbered up the pier toward her, a sleeveless men’s undershirt stretched a little too tightly over his bulky body. He was heavily muscled rather than fat, and he reminded her of nothing so much as a Mafia-type don on one of her favorite television shows. She wondered momentarily whether he kept a weight room aboard his boat. The thought made her shake her head. Rich people.
“Hello, Ernesto. Staying with us through the storm?”
He nodded, his dark eyes grim. “Yes. But I have another question. Have you seen Claudette Mason this morning?”
She shook her head. “No. Did Brevery leave?”
Ernesto shook his head. “No. He has decided to stay, as well.”
“I imagine Claudette’s probably helping him.”
“No.” His accent was thicker than ever. “Neil has not seen her this morning. He thinks she may simply have quit. But I am concerned. She would have told me if she were planning to leave.”
“I’m sure she’s around,” Celia soothed. “Why don’t you check with the rest of my staff? One of them might know where she got to.”
“Thank you. I shall. And you will let me know if you should find her?”
“Of course.” She shook her head as Tiello moved along the pier to where some of her staff were working. The poor man was wild about Claudette, but Celia was sure Claudette didn’t return the feeling. Maybe she had simply taken off.
Still, she’d seemed quite content acting as a hostess or whatever it was she did for Neil Brevery while she flirted with everything in pants. There didn’t seem to be a physical relationship between Claudette and her employer, although Celia had noticed the woman jumped to attention when the small man spoke. The rest of the time, she acted like a cat in heat.
Now, Celia, be nice. Just because she’s drooled over Reese a few times is no reason to show your own claws.
“Hey, woman, why are you scowling?”
She jumped, startled out of her thoughts. Reese stood right in front of her. If he only knew! She smiled, then said, “Never mind. Have you seen Claudette Mason?”
Reese grimaced. “No, thank God.”
She couldn’t prevent the chuckle. “Been ducking her advances?”
“Been running like a gazelle,” he countered. “There’s someone else I’d rather advanced on me.”
“Oh?” She cast him a flirtatious glance, then caught herself. Lord, she was as bad as Claudette.
“Are you going to invite me to weather the storm with you?” He stepped a pace closer and his eyes grew heavy with sensual intent.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” she lied. “Can’t find a room in town?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s terrible. Everything’s booked solid. Even the emergency shelter at the high school is full. One guy offered me his stable, but I’m too big to sleep in a manger, so…”
She was laughing. “Con artist. I suppose you can come over. Let me finish getting everything stowed here and we’ll go.” She indicated the television. “From the look of things, this storm is moving a lot faster than they expected. We’re not going to have hours to sit around and wait for it.”
And they didn’t.
He arrived home with her around four, bringing a duffel bag of clothing with him. She felt a little funny marching through the streets with a man carrying what amounted to a suitcase, but she told herself that with the storm coming, everyone would be too busy to wonder about it.
At her house, he nailed the gate shut, took down the porch swing and put away the chairs in her shed, then helped her in the kitchen as she made several dishes that could be eaten cold over the next few days.
The wind had already picked up by seven, and they checked the forecast as a meteorologist pointed out the eye of the enormous storm system moving straight toward them.
They snuggled on the sofa watching the Weather Channel, which had devoted itself almost exclusively to coverage of the storm. She’d felt both exhilarated and awkward when he’d first put his arm around her, but when he’d made no further moves she relaxed. Now she leaned into his big, warm body with pleasure. He didn’t appear to be angry about last night, and for the first time she allowed herself to wonder, just for a moment, whether they had any chance at a future together. Then he spoke and she abandoned her thoughts with relief.
“This could be bad. I guess you’ve been through your share of wicked storms.”
Celia nodded, trying to ignore the erotic sensation of his breath feathering her ear. “A few. But a lot of times, the hype is worse than the actual event. And most of the worst ones were nor’easters. We don’t get slammed by hurricanes as often as the southern states do. How about you? Were you living in Florida when Andrew came through?”
Reese shook his head. “No. And my home isn’t anywhere close to where the worst of the damage was done. But hurricanes can be killers. I learned that the hard way.”
“What do you mean?”
A shadow passed over his features. “Nobody ever thinks bad things can happen to them. I told you about my friends Kent and Julie, but I didn’t tell you how they died. They took their boat down to the Bahamas for a couple of days. They had a baby at home and hadn’t had much time together, and Kent wasn’t too worried that there was a hurricane coming. He was a good sailor. He figured if he kept an eye on the forecasts and got out in time, they’d be heading northwest, away from a storm so they’d beat it to the mainland.”
Celia felt a clutch in her stomach as he continued, his face grim and stony.
“But the storm changed course and caught them. I was in radio contact with them for five hours and then…nothing.”
“Oh, Reese.” She turned in his arms and circled his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”
“The coast guard never found them, although a few pieces of their boat did eventually wash up.” He dropped his head to rest against hers.
Poor Reese. He’d lost his family—through circumstances she still didn’t entirely understand—then he’d found a friend—and lost him, too. She didn’t speak, sensing that words would be superfluous. The comfort he needed from her superceded oral communication. So she simply pulled him more closely to her and rubbed small circles over his back.
“Celia?”
“Yes?” She pressed a kiss to his jaw.
“There’s something else I’d like to tell you about Kent and Julie—” But his voice was interrupted by a loud banging at the back door. They both jolted.
“Who in the world is that?” It had already begun to rain and the wind had picked up significantly, although she doubted the winds were gale force. Wrenching open the door, she held it tightly to prevent the wind from ripping it out of her hands. “Roma!” Her friend was drenched, her fine black hair plastered to her head despite the raincoat hood she had over it. “What’s wrong?”
“Greg fell off the ladder.” Her friend’s voice caught. “I hate to impose, but do you have time to help me finish the windows?”
“Of course!” She turned to call to Reese but he was standing right behind her.
“We’ll both come,” he said. “Have you taken him to the medical center?”
“My father did. Mom’s keeping the kids.”
“How bad do you think he is?” Celia was already reaching for her raincoat on a hook in the mudroom.
“He’s going to need stitches, I think.” She made a gesture toward her eye. “He cut his eyebrow open pretty deep.”
Celia winced. “Bet he’ll have a shiner.”
They covered the block and a half to the Lewises’ home in short order, and despite the increase in wind and rain, they were able to help Roma nail plywood over her larger windows and put asterisk-shaped crosses of gray electrical tape over the remaining ones.
Just as they were finishing, Roma’s father and Greg returned. Rather than stitches, the cut in his eyebrow was covered by a shiny clear coat of something that resembled nail polish. Roma’s father explained that it was a special skin sealant—a type of superglue for humans—that wouldn’t leave as much of a scar as stitches might.
“I made clam chowder,” Roma told them in a half shout over the rising roar of the wind. “Come on in and have some. The least I can do is feed you after working you like that in the middle of this storm.”
“Oh, that’s all right—”
“Thanks. We’d love to.” Reese cut in right over Celia’s attempt to wriggle out of the offer.
“Great.” Roma turned and headed for the door. “We’ll hang your coats by the woodstove so at least they’ll dry a little before you go out again.”
As they followed her into the house, Celia cast Reese a dark glance. “Why did you do that?”
“I thought it would be nice to get to know your friends,” he told her quietly. “Unless there’s some reason you’d prefer I didn’t.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not that…”
“Then what?”
But Roma’s voice saved her from a reply. “Come on, you two. It’s getting nastier out there by the minute!”
They weren’t in the house ten minutes when he realized why Celia had been reluctant to stay for dinner. He’d thought—feared—that perhaps she didn’t want anyone to see them together. But it wasn’t him at all.
Greg and Roma Lewis had three small children. The oldest couldn’t have been more than six, and they plainly adored Celia. An older woman he assumed was Roma’s mother was feeding a baby girl when they walked in, and the infant squawked and reached for Celia with a wide grin that displayed four teeth and an astonishing amount of drool.
“I know, I know,” the woman said, her voice amused. “Gramma can’t compete with Aunt Celia. Here.” She handed the spoon to Celia. “Would you like to finish the job?”
“I’d love to.” Celia took a seat and began feeding the baby, and Reese watched in fascination as she coaxed the little mouth open by repeating a ditty about a choo-choo train entering a tunnel, complete with the whoo-whoo of a whistle. This was a side of her he’d never seen and for the first time he could finally envision her as a mother.
Roma introduced him to her parents and her husband, Greg, who shook his hand before wincing and settling into a rocking chair with an ice pack pressed against his head. “Thanks for helping Roma finish up,” he said. “I don’t know how the hell that happened. One minute I was on the ladder, the next I was eating dirt.”
The smaller of the two boys wandered over and surveyed his father with a puckered brow. “Daddy have a boo-boo?”
Greg nodded. “A big boo-boo. But I bet it would feel a lot better if someone kissed it.”
“Me, me!” the little boy demanded. His father carefully leaned forward and the child gingerly delivered a loud, smacking kiss near the wound above his eye.
“Ah,” said Greg. “It feels better already. Thank you, William.”
The little boy nodded with satisfaction and moved away again.
Reese felt a surprising tightness in his chest. He could barely remember Amalie at that age; Kent and Julie had died mere months before and he had still been trying to adjust to the role of father. Without a lot of success, he added mentally. The little girl had been withdrawn and silent for months after her parents died. It had been more than a year before the two of them had begun to really adjust to their new family status.
He glanced at Celia without quite realizing that he wanted to share the touching moment with her, but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead she was watching little William as he toddled off with a toy in his hand. There was such naked pain on her face that he nearly reached for her before he caught himself. Checking Roma, he caught her watching, as well, and when her gaze flashed his, he saw that Celia’s friend was fighting tears.
It was then that he realized why Celia had tried to decline Roma’s invitation. It hadn’t been reluctance to have him get to know her friends. He’d been ridiculously self-centered in coming to that conclusion. She simply hadn’t wanted to open the door and admit the pain and loss she lived with every day. He mentally kicked himself around the room. How could he not have realized the impact that a small child—much less a houseful of them—would have on her? And hadn’t she told him her son would have started kindergarten this fall? Roma’s oldest child looked to be about that age. Talk about rubbing salt in a wound.
He took deep breaths, feeling extraordinarily agitated. He couldn’t stand the thought of her suffering like that. Without thinking, he sprang to his feet. “Listen,” he commanded.
Everyone in the room except for the smallest child fell silent and turned expectantly to him. Avoiding Celia’s gaze, he spoke to Roma. “That wind is getting stronger by the minute. We’d better take a rain check on that dinner invitation, Roma, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid we’re asking for trouble if we stay much longer.”
“You’re welcome to weather the storm here with us,” Greg offered.
“No,” Roma said. “Celia feels just like I do. If something’s going to happen to my house, I want to be there to straighten it out right away.” She had looked away but then glanced back at Reese as she spoke, and he saw approval in her eyes. She knew exactly what he was doing.
“Reese is right,” Celia added. She handed the baby’s spoon back to Roma’s mother and stood, leaning forward to press a kiss to the little one’s forehead. “We’d better go while we still can.”
The baby’s little face screwed up and she immediately started to fuss.
“Well, at least let me send some chowder along with you,” Roma said above the din. She quickly ladled soup into a large jar, screwed the lid on tight and wrapped it in a dishtowel. “That should keep it from burning you,” she said as Reese put it in the pocket of the capacious oilcloth raincoat Celia had given him before they’d set out.
“Thanks,” Celia told her.
“Thank you,” Roma said. “I’d never have gotten everything done in time by myself.” She stretched up and planted a light kiss on Reese’s cheek as Celia moved off to say her goodbyes to the rest of the family. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I opened my mouth before I thought.”
“Yeah, but you did it for the right reasons.” They grinned at each other.
“Get her home safely.”
“Don’t worry.” Reese smiled down at Celia’s best friend, absurdly pleased at her apparent acceptance of his return to Celia’s life. As Celia came to stand beside him again, his gaze caught and held hers for a long moment. “She’s not going to get away from me.”
A few moments later they stepped out into the storm again.
“Yikes,” said Celia. “You were right about the wind getting worse.”
Reese took her hand, bending his head against the stinging pellets of rain hurled at them by the blast of the wind. “Did you think I was kidding?”
“No,” she said, “but I did think you might be exaggerating as a way to get me out of there faster.” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The wind was making it difficult to converse without shouting. “You can thank me again once we’re home.”
That startled a laugh from her and they fought their way the short distance back to Celia’s sturdy house.
They hung their dripping slickers in her mudroom and hustled into the warmth of her kitchen. Reese set the clam chowder on the butcher-block counter and they worked together to assemble a small meal, which they carried in and set on the low glass-topped driftwood table in front of her large fireplace made of water-smoothed stone.
“We’ll have to let the fire burn down soon,” she said as they lingered over coffee afterward, “because the wind will start driving the smoke back into the house.”
Reese surveyed her, nestled into a mound of pillows with a cranberry-colored woven blanket draped across her lap. “That’s all right,” he said. “There are other ways to keep warm.”
“Reese…”
“Celia…” he teased. He rose, holding her gaze, and he saw her swallow visibly. “Let’s clean up these dishes.”
Her eyes widened. She chuckled then, tossing a balled-up napkin at him as she rose and began to stack their plates. “You like keeping me off balance,” she accused as she brushed past him into the kitchen.
He followed her with a second load. “That’s because I live in hope that you’ll fall into my arms.”
Celia set down the dishes and moved aside so he could do the same. “Reese,” she said, her voice troubled, “we just had this discussion. You’ve been here less than a week. I know I invited you to stay here during the storm, but…we barely know each other.”
He made a rough sound of denial and moved forward, capturing her waist in his hands. “That’s not true and you know it. We knew each other about as well as any two people on the planet thirteen years ago and I don’t think either of us has changed that much.” He took her hand and lifted it, pressing her palm flat over his chest. “You still make my heart beat faster,” he said. “And I still want you as much as I ever did.”
Her face softened and he felt some of the tension leave her body. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”
“Only to you.” His voice sounded rough and rusty even to his own ears. Slowly he gathered her closer until there was no space between their bodies. “I have missed you so damn much,” he said.
“I missed you, too.” She brought her hands up to cradle his face as he dropped his head and sought her mouth. Her response to his kiss was everything he’d imagined during the many fantasies he’d had in which they met again. But there was one difference—he’d lost the desire to hurt her as she’d hurt him.
He pressed the tip of a finger to her lips, accepting the instant current of electric attraction that arced between them when he touched her. Then he walked her backward across the room, deliberately letting his body bump hers with each step.
She stopped when she came up against the wall, and her hands flattened on his chest. “What are you doing?”
He ignored the question as he slipped one arm around her and pulled her against him, sliding the other up to cradle her jaw. “I’ve never been able to forget you.”
Her eyes closed. “I know the feeling.” Her voice was rueful. Then her palms slid slowly from his chest up to his shoulders, and she leaned into him, laying her head in the curve of his neck.
Euphoria rushed through him as her breath feathered a warm kiss of arousal down his spine. The memory of the kiss they’d shared last night had simmered in the back of his mind all day, of the way she’d softened and let herself relax against him. It was the same thing she’d always done years ago, as if the moment he touched her she became his and his alone. It was an intense turn-on and he wondered if she had any idea how it made him feel when she made that soft sound of acquiescence. Her body aligned with his perfectly when she stood on her toes, and when he’d had her lying open and trusting on his lap, it had been all he could do to restrain himself from yanking open his own pants, stripping hers off and fitting himself into the soft, wet warmth of her spread legs.
Tonight he wasn’t going to walk away without finishing this.