Deep Freeze (West Coast 1) - Page 155

“Nothing out of the ordinary has happened since you dropped off.”

“Thank God.” She stretched, pulling the quilt up. It gaped open and her sweater slid up the flat wall of her abdomen. He felt his groin tighten. “I should get up.”

“You should sleep.”

“What about you?” she asked around a yawn, as she dropped her arms to her side.

“I’m fine.”

“A man of steel?”

He laughed. “Maybe that’s a little too strong. I’m probably more like a man of aluminum foil.”

She smiled, and the hint of teeth he saw against her lips was tantalizing, made his thoughts run in unwanted, dangerous directions. “Steel or tinfoil, I don’t really care,” she admitted and stepped up to him, “I’m just glad you’re here.” Her green eyes found his. “Thanks, Carter. I guess I needed you last night.” She said it as if it were a fact and he didn’t argue.

Instead, though he knew he was being the worst kind of fool possible, he slipped his hands beneath the quilt, drew her close to him, and kissed her. Softly at first, feeling her warm, pliant lips respond, and then, not thinking of the consequences, his arms around her tightened, his mouth pressed harder against hers.

Parting her lips, she sighed into his open mouth and he was undone.

Lust fired his blood.

He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d kissed a woman, but it was too damned long. And he’d been wanting this one ever since he’d pulled her over on the snowy highway. She wanted him, too. He felt it in the way she fit up against him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her arms circling his neck, holding him firmly to her, her legs parted as she stood on tiptoe. He pushed one leg between those legs, felt the zipper of her jeans rub against his thigh, heard a wanton groan escape her lips.

His hands splayed against her back, fingers rubbing her sweater, feeling the firm flesh beneath the soft angora, and he drowned in the scent and feel of her. His body screamed for release, muscles tight, mind weary, sex an easy and welcome antidote to all that was wrong in the world. She was so beautiful, so erotic, so damned sexy, and every nerve ending itched for the relief she could give.

Don’t do this, Carter. Use your head. She’s a victim, a woman you’re supposed to protect, a Hollywood princess who has been wanted by every man she’s ever met. Don’t do this.

But her body was rubbing against him and her mouth opened so easily to his. He felt her nipples through her sweater and bra, hard buttons that he ached to touch, to kiss, to pull on with his teeth.

His heart was pounding crazily, his blood thundering through his brain, his erection at full mast. His lungs were so tight, he was breathing shallowly, his mind running in reckless circles. He imagined what it would feel like to make love to her, to feel her warm, moist body sheathing his, to look down upon her beneath him, black hair splayed around her face, her breasts full, her nipples dark and hard with want, a sheen of sweat glistening on her skin as he pushed into her and began to move. All night…it would take all night and more.

But he couldn’t. Not here. Not like this.

He lifted his head and was nearly lost again when he stared into the slumberous, erotic eyes of Jenna Hughes. “I can’t,” he said, though his body was screaming that he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

“I know.”

“The kids,” he lifted a hand in the direction of the den.

“I know.”

She was tugging on him, walking backward, leading him through the living room and down two steps to a guest room. Empty. Cold. Dark.

“We shouldn’t,” she said, but threw her arms around his neck again and kissed him feverishly.

His willpower fled and he shut the door behind her and twisted the dead bolt without lifting his head. He peeled off her sweater, his hands anxious for the weight of her breasts against his palms. She was gasping as the sweater hit the floor and he yanked a bra strap over her shoulder to expose her breast. Her fingers were fumbling with the hem of his shirt and he pulled it off, then lifted her onto his hips and took her breast in his mouth, anxiously. Hungrily. She moaned and held on with one arm, letting her head loll backwards as he suckled.

This is a mistake, his mind hammered at him, but he ignored it. You’ll mess everything up. If you do her, Carter, your career, your life, everything that you’ve worked for will be gone.

He pulled off her bra as her fingers fumbled for his fly. He stripped her of her jeans and panties, and kicked his own away, then pulled her onto him, watched her gasp as he placed her over his erection. Sweet. Hot. Wet. He began to move, his tired muscles suddenly energized.

She held onto his shoulders, clung to him, their bodies straining. He held her around the waist with one arm, while the other tangled in her hair.

“Jenna,” he whispered hoarsely, listening to the tempo of her breathing, watching her breasts rise and fall as she rode him, used him, let loose. Only when he felt her shudder, when he heard her moan, did he plunge deeper, harder, aware of the strain of the cords in his neck, hearing her breathing increase again, her sweet, short gasps as she caught his rhythm and moved with him. Faster, faster, faster, until he couldn’t hold back a second longer and he threw back his head and released.

Both bodies jerked and she grasped him tighter. She let out a soft cry against his throat, burying her face into his neck as wave after wave ran through her body. “Oh, God,” she finally said, her hair as damp as his own, her face flushed as he carried her to the daybed pushed against the wall and fell onto it with her. Wedged upon the small mattress, too many pillows surrounding them, he held her close and kissed her crown.

She glanced up at him and smiled naughtily. “Well, well, well, Carter…forget that man of tinfoil. You really are a man of steel.”

Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery
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