He didn’t add words to the heated air quivering between them. He just let the silence stretch between them, let her decide. He knew how to wait out suspects. Some days he felt like if he never had to speak another word, he’d be good with that. Words didn’t fix anything, and more often than not, he found the wrong ones.
He made a conscious effort to dampen his usual intensity, breathing slow and deep, forcing his hands to relax on her hips, leaning back imperceptibly. He also knew how to use his body to intimidate and coerce, and while turning it off wasn’t easy, he tried. His reward was the slow seep of trust and arousal back into Alana’s face. The muscles around her eyes relaxed as her lids drooped, and her mouth softened into a fullness he found sexy as hell. She rarely wore anything more than a lipstick one shade darker than her lips. Damned good thing, too, because she had the kind of wide, full mouth men dreamed about.
She peered up at him through soft black lashes. “Anything I want?”
No way in hell could this woman come up with something he wouldn’t do, so he nodded without reservation.
“Lie down.”
The . . . request? Hardly. Command? Demand? Instruction? A little of all three? . . . surprised him when not much surprised him anymore. He tried to remember the last time a woman wanted to work him over, and failed. He tugged the spread down to the foot of the bed, stacked the pillows, then stretched out on his back. The light from the dim reading lamp beside the bed gilded her bobbed hair as it slid forward, but rather than hiding behind the curtain she tucked it behind her ear.
For a split second she studied him. An odd mix of emotion flickered through her eyes, hesitation and nerves blending into a need that would have knocked at his heart if she hadn’t told him flat-out that she wanted to get over a mistake. No problem. If she wanted to go home with a sabbatical fling behind her, he could do that.
Then she straddled him, planted her palms on either side of his head and kissed him. It was hot and wet and sliding, pure visceral demand. A bolt of electricity splintered inside him, and he wrapped one arm around her waist while the other cupped her skull. Her tongue slid into his mouth, rubbed against his. He growled and fisted his hand in her hair at the same time he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her tight against his erection.
Easy . . .
But she rocked against him, the movement hard and slow, just like he liked it, and easy incinerated in the heat combusting between them. He used his grip on her hair to tug her head back and expose her throat. Lifting his head, he nipped and licked and nuzzled his way along her jaw to her pulse point. A faint scent rose from her skin, and it was all he could do to refrain from biting the town’s librarian in a place not even a turtleneck would hide the mark.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
She tugged her head free from his grip and straightened her elbows to loom over him. Shiny hair clung to her flushed cheeks, and he took a primitive satisfaction in the fact that her sexy mouth now crossed the line into provocative.
The corners of her lips lifted, telling him she not only knew what he was looking at but why. Once again, he exhaled long and slow, fighting to keep control.
When she bent and put that mouth to the hollow between his collarbones, his hard-won control slipped a little more.
No expectations. Just take what she’s giving you. Don’t ask for more. Hope is what burns you. Not disappointment.
“I want to taste you,” she said.
His heart stuttered in his chest before he answered. “Be my guest,” he said roughly.
She put her lips back to the hollow, slowly, thoroughly exploring the landscape of his chest and shoulders with her mouth. He took in the arched line of her spine, the flare of her hips in jeans until he couldn’t take any more, then closed his eyes. The blunt-cut ends of her hair added texture to the soft, wet kisses, while the contrast between trailing hair and her teeth made him tense and grunt.
“Too much?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
Fuck no. He managed to filter his response to a curt, “No.”
“Good,” she said, and shifted down, nuzzling into the mat of his chest hair, then the line disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. She sat up, straddling his thighs, and tucked her hair behind her ears.
He knew what was coming next. She’d unbutton his jeans. Instead she trailed her fingers over his hip bones, sending another flare of heat to his cock.
“I’ve never actually seen these muscles defined before,” she said.
Suits with desk jobs had no reason to work out enough to get that kind of muscle. In Denver, he had had good reason. Sure the chief and the mayor developed high-level strategies to combat gangs and drugs, but strategy didn’t mean shit at two in the morning when it was him and a tweaker. Strength and smarts lowered the odds he’d get zipped into a body bag. In Walkers Ford, he’d increased his odds of dying of old age, but old habits died hard. All he had left of the life he’d imagined for himself was Duke and his workout routine.