You can initiate things, you know, she told herself. But she had already done that, hadn’t she?
She had already soaped herself when she heard the door open. And then he stepped in behind her. A swift sensation of gratitude was quickly replaced with simple physical pleasure as she felt the bulwark of his body behind her. He pulled her close, reaching for the soap, then running it up and down her body in sweet suggestion.
She turned to face him. As steam and water cascaded around them, she looked up into his eyes, somehow feeling guilty, feeling that she should tell him everything.
But before she could say anything, he kissed her. Long and deep. It felt as if his tongue dipped down into the heart of her, as if they were locked together in the mist and heat. When his mouth lifted from hers, she met his eyes and would have spoken, but he whispered a soft, “Shh,” and she was lost.
His hands caressed a path down her back and encircled her buttocks, lifting her closer to him. Excitement drove through her like fire, and she pressed herself flat against his body.
They clung to one another, and his mouth found hers again, hot and sensual, no tenderness involved, just a need that seemed to fill her every cell with a soaring sensuality. She ran her finger over the wet skin of his shoulders, then down his spine. He reached past her, groping for the faucet, turning it off, and then he lifted her against him, stepping from the tub.
They didn’t bother with towels. On the bed, his tongue coursed over her, as if he could lick her dry. She gasped and shuddered, and the headboard hit the wall as he shifted above her.
“Shh,” he teased. “You don’t want to wake the neighbors.”
She nipped his shoulder, pushing him back, pushing him down. She moved with abandon against him, her body slick as she rubbed against him. She kissed and teased the muscled flat of his stomach, stroked his thighs, caught his erection in her hand. She heard his breathing deepen, catch, heard the growl that escaped him as she crawled atop him.
He wrapped his arms around her and swept her beneath him. She met his gaze, smiling, alive, feeling ridiculously vital and excited. She locked her thighs around him, and a soft moan escaped her as he thrust into her.
They began to move.
And whisper.
Words that inspired, that caressed, that soared alongside their passion.
The air was cool, his body was fire, and each thrust and parry seemed to drive her more insane. His lips found hers, broke away, found them again, and she heard the bed squeaking and didn’t care. The world began and ended with him.
She climaxed violently, her body a vise around him, shudders tearing through her at volatile speed. She felt his power as he climaxed with her, jerking into her, once, again and then again. Her arms tightened around him, and she clasped him tighter, feeling the matching drumbeats of their hearts. He caressed her head, smoothing back her damp hair, cradling her tenderly to him.
There was a loud thunk from the other side of the wall. They stared at each other, startled, then laughed.
“Is that Brent and Nikki’s room?” he whispered.
“Shush,” she teased.
They didn’t say anything else. He held her, they dozed and then they made love again.
As she finally drifted to sleep, she wished that she could really talk to him, that she dared to pour her heart out to him, to tell him about the fear and the wonder of what was happening to her.
They were so close, and yet, there were still such…ghosts…between them.
CHAPTER 18
The next day Brent called Ryan Wilkins and told him that they suspected a visitor to the Poe Fest might have been responsible for the Morton murder, then suggested that he might want to talk to the costume shops that had rented out Poe costumes at the time. He also told Wilkins that Joe was convinced something had been taken from the house: the bulk of William Morton’s notes on Poe.
Brent took the wheel when they left for Baltimore, because Joe was on the phone with Raif.
“I got the phone records, but I’ll be damned if I know what they prove,” Raif said.
“Did you find any calls between anyone in the society and Lori Star?” Joe asked.
“No. Were you expecting me to?” Raif asked.
“No. I was just hoping. Anything unusual at all?” Joe asked.
“They all called each other a lot, that’s for certain. Let’s see, there are more from Lila Hawkins to Eileen Brideswell than to any of the other members. And Larry seemed to call Thorne and Don more than he did anyone else. A lot of calls went out from Thorne to both Lou Sayles and Barbara Hirshorn.”
“Interesting,” Joe said.
“Yeah? Well, the weather can be interesting, too,” Raif said wearily. “I’ve traipsed all over New Jersey—with the blessing of the cops there—and I’ve still got nothing.”
“Have you checked on boats?”
“She didn’t take a ferry over, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Raif said.
“No, what about rental boats?”