deeper, and continued to kiss and torment her breasts. She was starting to see stars, quickly building toward a release that just might leave her shattered…then put her back together again. Every time his arousal rubbed against her, every time her body clenched his, every strong pull of his mouth on her nipple….
“Let me…Brady, I want…” To capture this feeling and make it last forever. To grab hold of him and never let go. To scream. Explode. Weep.
The pressure inside her kept building, increasing with every touch, every kiss, every breath. Her muscles were taut, her nerves quivering, her breathing ragged and shallow. He pushed her until she was sure she couldn’t survive, and then he pushed her even farther, until her climax rocketed through her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t control the trembling that claimed her entire body. All she could do was feel and, sweet hell, she was feeling everything. She was drowning in incredible sensations, all hot and sweat-slick and shuddering and satisfied. Oh, yes, incredibly satisfied.
It wasn’t until much, much later, after her second orgasm, when she lay quietly in Brady’s arms, that she remembered what it was, in particular, that she’d wanted—to touch him. To run her hands over his body, to make him hot and achy, to feel his strength, to cradle his hardness in her palms. To tease, play with and arouse him, the way he’d teased, played with and aroused her.
She turned so that she faced him, even though she couldn’t see. “Can I ask you something?”
His breathing was so slow and steady that she thought for a moment he’d fallen asleep. Then he exhaled loudly and asked, “What?”
“Is it everyone or just me that you don’t want touching you?” She felt the tension in his body ratchet up a notch or two before he answered.
“It would be physically impossible to touch more than we are right now.”
That was true. Her head rested on his arm, her breasts were pressed against his chest, her legs tangled with his. But that wasn’t what she meant, and she suspected he knew it. “I’m talking about with my hands. You held my wrists so I couldn’t touch you.”
“Did I?” He asked it as if he hadn’t noticed what he’d done, but she knew better than that. He was too observant, too self-aware, for that to wash.
She stared at him, a shadow among shadows. When he didn’t say anything more, she laid her hand on his ribs. Soft, warm, dark skin—she couldn’t see, but she could visualize—as smooth and silky as her own pampered skin. She slid her palm up a few inches, then down again, then he caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his mouth for a simple, sensual, toe-curling kiss.
Hallie had to catch her breath before she could speak. “See? You don’t like it when I touch you.”
With another heavy sigh, he released her and rolled onto his back, arms and legs open wide. “You want to touch me, go ahead.”
She considered it a moment, then in a pouty voice said, “No.”
“Come on, Hallie,” he coaxed, reaching for her hand and pulling it to his chest.
“No.”
“Okay. Then I’ll touch you.” He raised up and reached for her, then rolled back again, lifting her on top of him. She tried to wriggle away, which caused an immediate and intriguing reaction in him, so with a womanly smile, she did it again.
Since he was being so agreeable, she took him up on his offer and spent some time exploring his body. Having a man in her bed was one of the things she missed about being married—the different textures of his body, the contrasts to her own body, even the simple sound of his breathing. Even when there was no sex, there was still intimacy, and she missed that with all her heart.
By the time she’d satisfied her curiosity, she’d aroused him to the point that his breathing was rapid, his voice guttural. “No more play. Come here.”
She thought about refusing, at least for a while, but knew she didn’t have the willpower, because all that touching, kissing and caressing that had aroused him had had the same effect on her. She was hot and achy, and she needed him, please, just once more.
She knew the moment she took him inside her that neither of them were going to last long, and she was right. The duration was short, the intensity killing.
Long after it was over, she found the strength to lift herself away from him. She pressed a kiss to his jaw, then bonelessly sank down to lie beside him.
She wasn’t sure exactly when she fell asleep—right away, she thought—but it seemed like mere minutes until he was shaking her awake. “Hallie?”
“Hmm.” She blindly reached for him and realized he was dressed again. She forced her eyes open and saw that the lamp nearest the door was on and he was, indeed, dressed and ready to go. She felt a twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t going to stick around to wake up, maybe get some breakfast, maybe make love again. Next time—
She cut off that thought the instant it formed. There wasn’t likely to be a next time. She’d already gotten so much more than she’d expected when she approached him in the bar Thursday night. She should be grateful for it and not hoping for even more.
“I’ve got to get home.”
“Oh.” She raised up on one arm, then shoved her hair from her face. She imagined she looked pretty darn scary without makeup, her hair standing on end and after only a few hours sleep. “Okay.”
At least he was telling her. She’d awakened Friday morning to cold sheets and nothing to suggest that he’d even been there besides her incredible sense of satisfaction.
As she scooted to sit up with the sheet tucked under her arms, he sat down next to her. Looking seriously intense, he threaded his fingers through her hair, tilted her head back and simply looked at her. When moments passed and he didn’t say anything, she smiled awkwardly. “Thank you.”
His mouth twitched as if he might smile, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward and gently kissed her. “It was my pleasure.”
Releasing her, he stood up and crossed to the door in three strides. He glanced back at her and finally did smile, just a little.
And then he was gone.
Sunday was just like every other Sunday in Brady’s life for the past fourteen years—long and empty. He worked his usual every-other-weekend shift, did his usual chores and still had plenty of time to brood. Every time he’d left the sheriff’s department, it had taken all the determination he could muster to stop himself from driving through the motel parking lot to see if the California Mercedes was gone.
Too bad he hadn’t had that much strength last night.
He’d never been proud of the women-and-sex aspect of his life, but this time he felt particularly despicable. If he could learn how to live without occasional sex, female companionship or human contact, he would. Hell, if he could learn to open up to a woman, he would do that, too. But life had taught him a few lessons too well ever to forget them, the first of which was that the safest way to live was alone.
Even if alone was sometimes pretty damn miserable.
So damn miserable this time that he was grateful to see Monday and what promised to be a long, busy work week roll around.
He hadn’t had any experience in law enforcement when he’d walked into the department and applied for a deputy’s job over six years ago. He’d been hired in part because the salary was so low most people couldn’t afford to work there, but also because Reese had been willing to take a chance on him. He’d been surprised by how much he liked the job and by how good he was at it. He’d advanced quickly to undersheriff, and wouldn’t likely go any higher. The only job left to aspire to was sheriff, and Reese wasn’t going anywhere. But that was all right. Work was one aspect of his life that he wouldn’t change if he could.
After a morning spent on the paperwork Jace had warned him about, he picked up his