Chapter 95
“Don’t think I’m going to offer you a drink.”
“I wouldn’t presume.”
She marched straight through the living room to her bedroom. Since she was furious with him, there was no point in not following. Yep, she was well and truly pissed off. And he couldn’t say that he blamed her. In the past few days he’d insulted her, propositioned her and dismissed her fears—which turned out to be well-grounded. Now she thought he was accusing her of being involved in grand larceny. He’d be pissed at him, too.
Add to that the fact that he’d kissed her senseless in the security room and they still hadn’t talked about that…Well, he was lucky she hadn’t started swatting him with that lethal purse of hers again.
He followed her into the bedroom. She’d already pulled off the gown and it lay haphazardly over the jewel-toned quilt. On the far side of the room, she’d left the door just ajar and light slashed through the opening. From the other side he heard water running.
“Look, I know you’re angry right now—” he began.
“Oh, do you?” The water cut off and a second later, the bathroom door swung open.
Candace stood before him, wrapped in a hot-pink silky robe, her hair loose about her shoulders, her face devoid of makeup. She held a towel in her hands. Her cheeks were flushed, either with her heightened emotions or from being scrubbed clean. The sight of her there, haloed by the light spilling into the room from the bathroom, nearly took his breath away so that he forgot what he’d been about to say. She apparently wasn’t similarly struck because she paused in front of him only for a second, before pushing past him.
“Maybe you’ve just spent too much time thinking badly of me. But I would never be involved in something like this.”
Instead of waiting for his answer, she strode to her dresser and began pulling off her jewelry. He crossed to stand behind her, stilling her hand at her ear.
“I don’t think you’re involved.” He met her gaze in the reflection of the mirror and held it. “I never thought that. But right now, you’re still the best lead I have.”
She frowned, turning to face him. “But—”
“Even you can’t deny your brother is involved somehow. It's very convenient that he's out now, isn't it? The police will be looking for him. But you’re right. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”
“So you decided to stay with me.” She finished the thought for him, her tone sapped of its earlier anger. Her forehead was creased with a frown and she held one hand at her ear, absently toying with the earring that dangled there. “Then why didn’t you say that earlier? Why let me get all worked up over nothing and yell and scream at you?”
“You’ve had a rough night,” he explained. “You have every right to be angry.”
“At my brother. He’s the one who got me into this mess. Not you.”
“But your brother isn’t here. And you needed to yell at someone.”
“Oh.” Her voice came out hushed and reverent. “That’s very sweet.”
“No.” He said it through almost gritted teeth. “It isn’t.”
“You were always so chivalrous,” With languid slowness, she removed her other earring and set it on the dresser. “When we met, one of the things I liked so much about you was that you were so gentle and kind.”
“I wasn’t gentle and kind.”
The words made him sound weak. Vulnerable. Now she was watching him with her head tilted slightly to the side.
“Do you remember how nice it was? Being together?”
Of course he did. How could he forget this woman? She was etched in his memory and she was so damn beautiful. She moved toward him slowly, her sensual hips swaying beneath the robe.
He nodded. “I remember,”
Her lips gave a twitch of either amusement or nervousness. “Nolan, I—”
He didn’t let her finish the sentence. Sometimes she talked too damn much anyway. Instead, he pulled her close and covered her mouth with his. Her mouth was warm beneath his. Her lips pliant and moist. Soft. Welcoming.
Unlike the previous time, there was no anger in this kiss. No rebellion. No resistance. Only a gentle acceptance. Unlike earlier tonight, there was no grief. No remorse. No penitence. Only stirrings of desire. Of hope.
He brushed his fingertips across her cheek. Her skin was as velvety as he remembered. Pure heaven. He could spend decades exploring her skin.
Aeons memorizing the texture. He heard her groan low in her throat, and an answering moan rose up in his chest.
She bucked against him, one bare foot coming off the ground to rub along the back of his calf. Taking the cue from her, he sank his hands into her buttocks. He lifted her against him, grinding his erection against the vee between her legs. She parted her thighs and he automatically stepped between them, walking her backward until her weight rested on the edge of her dresser. Her robe had fallen open so that the only thing separating their bodies were his pants and a delicate wisp of silken fabric. He was one step away from heaven.
His hands slipped inside her robe to bare flesh at her waist. He explored her skin with a hungry neediness, relishing the quiver of her stomach muscles, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the heavy weight of her breast in his hand. There must have been a thousand metaphors for how desperately he wanted her. Metaphors about starving men and feasts, desert treks and oases. None of them conveyed the depth of his desire.
He didn’t want to merely have sex with her. He wanted to consume her.
To wrap his entire body around her and absorb her through his skin. To possess her so completely she wouldn’t know where he ended and she began. So completely she’d never again doubt how he felt. So completely that she'd never think of leaving him again.
Her hands seemed everywhere at once. Burrowing through his hair. Tugging at his buttons. Unfastening his belt. Her skin was hot against his. As enflamed as he felt. He slipped his finger under the silken fabric of her panties and found the moist center of her. When he ran the pad of his thumb across the nub of her desire, she ripped her mouth from his, tipped her head back and groaned. The guttural sound came from low in the throat and his body leapt in response.