She tipped her head. “I’m begging.”
He let out a low laugh, then slumped against the stairs. “Even a saint couldn’t resist. Make me blow, baby.”
She relished every drop, every flex of his muscles, every pump and grind of his hips, every sigh and groan that fell from his lips. He throbbed in her mouth, and when he came, he cradled her head in his hands and called her name as if he worshipped her.
She caressed him with her tongue and lips until his shudders died away, and he pulled her up to look at him. His eyes were the hot blue of a flame’s center. “Was that your worst?”
She batted her eyelashes. “I’ll try to do better next time.”
“Come here.” He tugged on her arms until she straddled his lap above him. “Kiss me.”
“After I just did that?”
“Nothing more erotic than a woman’s kiss after she’s just taken you to heaven.”
“Was that heaven?” She had to know if she’d given even the tiniest bit of what he needed.
“Furthest from hell I’ve ever been.”
His kiss was delicious, the soft, gentle mingling of his mouth and his essence. It was so freaking sweet, she got a lump in her throat.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips.
She shrugged away from him, feeling inexplicably shy. Why, after all the things she’d done in the past, she should be shy now, Max couldn’t say. “Ah, gee, you don’t have to thank me.”
“Don’t—” His cell phone went off. He reached for his belt clip.
Damn, damn, don’t what? She wanted to know, was terrified of it at the same time. Would fear ever go away?
He glanced at the Caller ID. Max squelched her desire to lean over and look.
“Gotta go.”
She backed off, let him right himself and his clothing, contenting herself with the thought that if his job was in jeopardy, they wouldn’t be calling him on a Sunday night. A Sunday night call had to be a case, an emergency. Yeah.
He stepped down two stairs below her. Her heart beat furiously. She felt sick to her stomach. When will I see you? Will you call me? Did I make everything better?
Pathetic. She hadn’t let questions like that trouble her in years. She hated doing it now. Yet she couldn’t help herself.
Witt took her hand and drew it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “See ya.”
See ya? That’s all?
“Okay.” That was the trouble with a relationship. All of a sudden a girl was unsure of everything. She lost all her power. She became an emotional mess.
But Max wouldn’t give up the taste of him in her mouth for anything. She wouldn’t regret the words. She had made love to and with Witt. She knew she had.
Didn’t she?
*
Max’s cheeks burned all the way to Sutter Cahill’s house. She wasn’t sure she and Witt had returned to normal even as she stood on the doorstep and pressed Sutter’s doorbell. No, they hadn’t returned to normal; they’d moved into a whole new frightening realm. She’d taken them there.
“I love you, Max.”
“I love you, too, Cameron.”
“And I’m proud. Of what you did for Witt. And for facing Sutter again.”
Her whole body warmed with Cameron’s praise. “I’m trying to learn.”
“You’re even facing the fact that Sutter might see me.”
Everyone had a special gift, even if they never knew it. Sutter’s was seeing ghosts. Perhaps that had been one of the reasons Max had stayed away. Sutter might see Cameron. And if Cameron was real instead of a figment of her imagination, then there was always the possibility he’d leave someday. She’d have no control over that.
She rang the bell again. “Please be home, please be home,” she chanted as if that would make it true. She never even considered using a psychic nudge to find out. Turning to the street, she stamped her feet, more from nervousness than cold.
The night was quiet except for crickets and other nocturnal creatures. A car passed, slowing, the driver’s side window down.
He didn’t register at first, just a man giving a brief turn of his head to look at her. Then boom, she recognized Angela’s Greek God.
He’d been at the Embassy every night Max had been there. He’d sat across the room from her in Belladonna’s as she lunched with Bud Traynor. And here the guy was again.
Damn. The man was definitely following her, not Angela. Why? What the hell did he want? She’d have to tell—
The rest of Max’s thoughts died as Sutter opened her front door. And smiled.
Epilogue
Max’s phone rang in the middle of the night. Opening her eyes, she looked at the red numbers of the clock. Three. It was dark. Terror of a middle-of-the-night call set in. Witt. Bad news. She picked up before the answering machine could.
“Hello?”
No one answered. There was click and a mechanical whir, then a voice.
“Front or back?” Distant, echoing. Witt’s voice.
“Back.” Her voice. Tucked beneath the warm covers, Max’s body chilled.
Rustling, a human huff, the closing of a door, a car door, finally, Witt again. “I think that was a warning to you.”