A Little Too Hot (24 page)

I look at everything but him, because if I get caught in his eyes, I’m not going to be able to hold back. I watch Lexie and Trent, in the middle of the dance floor moving together and looking as if they’ve forgotten the rest of the world exists. I watch the band and try not to cry when I think about how much I wish it was Jonathan. I think about anything but how much the electricity of Blake’s touch brings me alive, and how strong his hand is, clasping mine so gently. And, more than anything, I try not to notice how my whole being reacts to his scent and the heat of his body, so close to mine.

But then the music shifts into the Bruno Mars song that was playing the night I met Blake in the VIP room—and I melt inside. I don’t stop him when he steps into me and draws me against the curve of his body. I don’t stop him as his hand releases mine and his fingers weave into the hair on the back of my head, pulling me to his shoulder. I lay my face against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as I sink into the music and melt into Blake, and forget everything else.

T
HREE DA
NCES AND
a weepy good-bye scene with Mom later, we’re driving home.

Blake reaches for my hand in my lap. “Did you have a good time?”

My eyes follow the strong lines of his face, illuminated by only the dashboard lights as he watches the road unfold. “I did. Thanks for doing this.”

His hand tightens around mine. “You deserve more. I wish I could turn back time and give you your life back.”

I tip my head into the headrest. “My life went to shit way before I met you, and it was no one’s fault but mine.” When I think about everything Blake has been through, it’s embarrassing to think how much I’ve taken for granted in my life. Maybe it’s seeing what he’s overcome to get where he is that’s made me regret some of my choices.

How to Ruin Your Life 101: When your mother pushes, you pull, and screw the consequences.

He shoots me a sideways glance. “Your life can be anything you want it to be, Sam. It’s far from over.”

“Maybe.” I turn my head and just stare at him. It’s all I want to do anymore. “What did you tell my stepdad, anyway?”

His jaw flexes as he twists his hand in mine and weaves our fingers together so we’re palm-to-palm. “I told him not to worry about you.”

I blow out a laugh. “And that shut him up?”

He turns the Escalade up the entrance ramp to the Bay Bridge and his eyes linger on mine for a second. “I told him I would die before I’d let anything happen to you.”

My heart stalls in my chest. I can’t think of a single thing to say. All I want to do is kiss him. My breathing’s a little shaky as I lean my head back again and close my eyes, forcing myself to stay put in this seat.

When we get back to the house, Blake walks me to the door of my bedroom. I want to open the door and pull him through, but after the magic of tonight, I don’t want to ruin whatever is happening between us by forcing him to shut me down.

My heart pumps faster when he stands here, gazing down into my eyes. He lifts his hand and traces my scar with his finger. “It’s been a while since I’ve danced like that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It comes out breathier than I mean it to, and the ice in his eyes melts into deep blue pools.

His hand scoops around the nape of my neck and he tips my face up. Oh-so-slowly, he bends down to meet me, his liquid eyes watching me the whole way. I sigh as he closes the rest of the distance between us and seals his mouth over mine. His kiss is slow, and soft, but not tentative. He kisses me thoroughly, and I feel it to the toes of my champagne shoes.

Too soon, he pulls back. There’s fire in his gaze. “Good night, Sam West. I’ll dream about you in that dress tonight.”

I kiss him again, just a peck on the lips. “Good night, Blake Montgomery. After a kiss like that, I’ll be dreaming about you too.”

He smiles and backs toward the stairs, and it’s everything I can do not to follow. Once he’s out of sight and the stairwell goes dark, I push through my door. As I undress, I picture Blake downstairs, doing the same. And, as much as I still want to climb into that bed with him, it’s different somehow.

I’ve been afraid to admit to myself the feeling growing inside me because I was sure Blake couldn’t return it. But tonight I began to believe that maybe he could. When this is all over, when I’m no longer his job . . . I think he might be able to love me.

Chapter Thirty-Four

A
LL DAY
S
UNDAY,
Blake and I find reasons to be in the same places. I spend less time in my room, and he spends less working out. He doesn’t touch me, but every time our arms or knees “accidentally” brush as we’re sitting on the sofa, or at the breakfast bar, it sets my heart ablaze. It’s different than anything I’ve ever felt before—deeper and more visceral, as if Blake has taken root somewhere in my very being.

I think he feels it too, but how do I know?

He’s still in a good mood when Cooper shows up Monday afternoon to stay with me while he goes to the office.

“I’ll see you for dinner,” he tells me with a wink from the elevator.

The doors slide closed and I turn to find Cooper giving me the eye.

“What?”

He shakes his head and drops into the armchair, picking up the remote. “I don’t even want to know.” I go to the kitchen for a Coke as he clicks on the TV. “Let’s see if we can find your dad on here.”

I roll my eyes and head for my room. “I’ll be in the pool if you need me.”

I
T’S LATE A
FTERNOON
and I’m lying facedown in a lounge chair with my top undone, having a long conversation with my dragonfly about Jonathan and Izzy and Ginger and all the things I imagine them doing out in the world, when a shadow blocks my sun.

I press up on my elbows and Blake is standing at the end of my lounge. I smile before I notice the twist to his face. I press my top to my chest. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over my body before returning to my face, intense with some deep agony. “Nothing. Everything is right. Navarro’s shutting us down. You go home tomorrow.”

I tie the top of my suit behind me and sit up. “That’s good, right?”

He nods. “It is.”

“Then, what’s wrong?”

He settles onto the lounge chair next to mine, his hands gripping the wooden frame, like he’s straining to keep them to himself. “Nothing. Everything’s perfect.”

“You’re sure?”

He nods slowly, his gaze locking on mine. “As of tomorrow, you’re a free woman. What are you going to do with the rest of your life, Sam West?”

That’s a question my dragonfly has been helping me sort through. He listens and I talk, and what I’ve figured out is, helping Sabrina at the shelter and being able to help track down the girl from Benny’s felt better than anything I’ve ever done in my life. I’m not sure how I want to do it, whether in law enforcement or some sort of counseling career, but I know I want to keep doing that—helping people who have no one else. “Not waste it.”

We stand and wander back up the path to the house. He opens the door for me and I step through. When he turns to me and twists a strand of my hair around his finger, I wait for him to move closer—to give me a sign that he’s ready to let this take its course. But instead, he tucks it behind my ear and steps back. “I’ll pull together something for dinner,” he says. “Then we should pack.”

T
HIS MIG
HT BE
our last night together. I don’t even know how to start the conversation about what comes after for us. But I know if anything’s going to happen between us, it’s going to be now. I’ve showered and changed into a short cotton skirt under a white cami. I’m barefoot and braless, and I won’t deny it’s so he’ll notice.

He’s got one of his favorite country CDs in the player as he moves around the kitchen, and I smile when I catch myself internally singing along.

He makes Chicken Provençal, over pasta this time, instead of rice, and serves it with red wine. It’s amazingly good, but I can’t really eat. My stomach’s in a knot, trying to figure out how this is supposed to go. Is he leaving? Will I ever see him again? Am I still his job? Or can we finally give in?

I’ve got more questions than answers, and Blake isn’t in a talkative mood, so we pick at our food in silence.

After we’ve cleaned up, I step out onto the balcony and rest my elbows on the rail. The lights across the suspension half of the Bay Bridge stretch out like a runway, drawing my eye to the city, sparkling like a jeweled tiara across the black water of the bay. It’s truly beautiful up here.

“Nice night,” Blake says from behind me.

I rest my chin in my hand. “I’m going to miss this.”
I’m going to miss
you
.

For a several beats of my galloping heart, he doesn’t say anything. When I turn, I find him staring at me. “Are you packed?”

“I . . . I wasn’t sure about the clothes and things that you guys got for me.”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a sad smile. “It’s all yours, Sam.”

His smile pulls hard at my soul. It feels like a stone fist is crushing my heart. He hasn’t said anything about staying here after the case. Will he go back to L.A.?

“Will I see you again? After tomorrow?” The question rises up on a swell of despair, and it’s just now that I realize how close to losing it I truly am.

I want him so badly to say yes. “I really want that, Sam.” Despite his words, his expression is anything but sure.

If this is it for us, I don’t want to walk out of here tomorrow with any regrets. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wishing I’d had the guts to follow through.

I push off the rail and take his hand. “Come on.”

He lets me tow him into the living room, where I sit him on the sofa and turn up the music—one of his current country favorites. And then I move. I dance like I did that first night in the club. I close my eyes and dance just for him, putting everything I am into it and hoping he can feel me.

I catch the hint of his scent—warm and musky—before he even touches me, and when his hands slip around my waist and he presses his body against mine, every single one of my nerve endings bursts into flames. His fingers are in my hair, so soft, sweeping my long auburn locks away from my face. His lips brush over my forehead, like butterfly wings, on his way to my ear where his tongue strokes before he nips at my lobe. I don’t open my eyes, because the sensations flooding through my body—his delicious scent, and the feel of his hands, the sound of his soft moan—are already too much to handle. Seeing him would send me over the edge of control.

He strokes his fingertips gently through my tangled waves, and his breath in my hair, his body pressed against mine, feels so good.

Tears press against the back of my eyes, and I can’t stop them. When they trickle past my lashes, he kisses them away. And when I finally open my eyes, his are open and warm and it’s as if he’s seeing straight into my soul.

His gravitational pull turns into that of the sun. My fingers dig into his chest, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, and the next second, my mouth is pressing hard against his. He groans as his lips move over mine, devouring me. His tongue takes possession of me, twisting through my mouth as if trying to taste all of me at once.

I glide my palms over his chest to the buttons of his shirt and work them one by one, but my shaking slows my progress. I break the kiss and pull it over his head. My eyes follow the black lines of his tribal tattoo from the waistband of his jeans, up his left pec, and over his shoulder, to where it’s interrupted by the bandage on his upper arm. I lift my finger and trace its edges.

Goose bumps pebble the flesh of his arm, and his chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath. His eyes are wild, gazing into mine, burning with a combination of barely contained desire and thinly masked fear.

Staring into those eyes, I don’t care what happens tomorrow. All I know is I want him tonight. I lift my shirt over my head and press against him.

He closes his eyes and tips his head back, breathing deep, as if trying to find some reserve of control. Apparently, there’s none to be found, because the next second, he grasps my ass and pulls me up so I’m straddling his hips. He carries me to the sofa and throws me down, pinning me under his body. His mouth finds my hardened nipple and he gives suck, setting off land mines under my skin. The shock wave travels straight to my groin, and I grind myself against the thigh he’s positioned between my legs. He presses his leg harder against me as his fingertips tease my other nipple into a hard peak. I can’t help the moan that claws up my throat, and he answers with one of his own.

“God, Sam,” he breathes. His eyes lift to mine as he drops kisses down my rib cage toward my belly button, where he swirls the tip of his tongue around my belly ring. His hands slide under my skirt and find my underwear, and he watches me with feral eyes, still swirling his tongue through my belly button, as he inches them down. I lift my hips, and he kneels on the sofa at my feet, sliding them off in one deft motion and tossing the scrap of fabric to the floor. His long fingers move slowly over me, stroking my most sensitive places before plunging deep inside me.

“Ah,” I moan as my muscles contract around his fingers. A groan rumbles out of him as he draws his wet fingers out of me and strokes my sweet spot.

“Oh!” I gasp, feeling an intense jolt of electricity spark my body to life in a way it’s never been before.

I roll my hips with the rhythm of his hand. He sucks his top lip between his teeth and his eyes flutter shut when I find the bulge in his jeans with my toes and press. When he opens them again, they’re on fire. In one smooth move, he tugs my skirt off and buries his face between my legs.

“Ahh!” I cry out when his tongue flicks the sensitive point there.

He slides fingers inside me, and swirls his tongue over the center of my universe. My long animal mewl fills the room as he brings me to that place that only he’s ever been able to take me. I buck and he growls low in his chest as he grasps my hips and sucks me. I’m barely coherent as I come, but what I know is I want more. I want all of him.

I spin with the sensation as Blake’s lips and tongue caress every inch of me on their way back to my mouth. He kneels between my legs and pops the button of his jeans. My whole body feels short-circuited, and when I reach up to drag his zipper down, my arm feels weak and shaky. But I manage it as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. I tug his jeans low on his hips as he tears open the condom and rolls it on, then gazes down into my eyes with a question in his. In answer, I pull him down on top of me and spread wide, letting him in. A second later I cry out, a sharp “Ah!” as he buries himself inside me to the root.

He thrusts again, hard and deep, and the center of my universe is right there, between my legs. I feel the spring in my belly winding tight again as he brings me back to the peak of sensation.

“Oh, God,” I whimper as everything inside quivers.

My body tells him exactly what I need, and he gives it to me. He moves inside me, hot and thick, and there’s nothing gentle about it. He’s all power and need.

Never have I felt so inside out, all my nerve endings on the surface—this crazy, blood-on-fire, synapses-on-overload, overflowing-with-pure-ecstasy feeling. His subtle male scent; the moisture starting to bead on his hot skin; the flex of his biceps under my hands; his firm pressure inside of me, stretching me and filling me in a way nothing else ever has; I take it all in, feeling his essence flow through me in slow waves of bliss. And what I need from him shifts. The singular need to feel him bring me to climax again gives way to something deeper and far more desperate—something that makes what’s happening between us feel so much bigger than just sex.

My head spins not only with the intensity of the sensations taking hold of me, but with the realization that I might be falling in love with this beautiful, infuriating man.

When the pressure has built to critical mass, I explode all around him with his last thrust, and it feels like we’ve both vaporized into pure energy. There’s an electric rush that sweeps from him into me, then back again. It totally knocks the air out of me and I lay gasping, my head back and my mouth wide, for a full minute before I can find oxygen.

He collapses on top of me, panting hard, and I relish the feeling of him there, finally as close as I’ve wanted him from the start.

“From the minute I saw you on stage that very first night, I’ve wanted this,” he breathes in my ear, “but I never dreamed how thoroughly you’d blow my mind.”

I glide my fingertips over his back and muse that he just said what I was thinking. No matter how much I’ve tried to ignore it or deny it, even through all the dissonance, we’ve always been in tune. I nuzzle into his neck. “Stay with me tonight.”

He presses up on his elbows and looks down at me, and that hunger’s not completely gone from his eyes.

I stretch up and kiss him, and he kisses me back, slow and deep, before scooping me off the sofa and carrying me to the bedroom. He lays me back on the pillows, then tugs off the condom and hikes up his jeans without zipping them.

His eyes devour my naked body. “Don’t go anywhere.” He disappears up the hall, and when he returns, he’s got a box of condoms in his hand.

“A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” I say, but I can’t stop my smile with the giddy rush that skitters through me. This is really happening. We’re finally together.

He shrugs as he sets them on the nightstand and gives me that sexy smile. “A guy can dream.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull him toward me by the belt loop of his open jeans. I slide his jeans and boxer briefs down his legs, and as he steps out of them, I get my first look at him in all his naked glory. He is spectacular: toned, and bronze, and perfectly proportioned.

I pull him with me as I scoot back on the bed. He crawls up next me. “You make me insatiable, Sam West.”

I burrow into him and smile. “Just keep those condoms handy, because you’ll be needing them.” I trace a finger down his chest to his happy trail. “Very soon.”

He groans—an animal sound from deep in his chest—and rolls on top of me. “How about right now.”

I wrap my legs around him. “I think I like the sound of that.”

I
T’
S EARLY WHEN
I wake with rays of pale sunlight slanting in the window right into my eyes. I hear water running in the shower and roll to my left, where I find an imprint in the pillow of Blake’s head. I smile and pull his pillow to my face, breathing deep. And God, I love the smell of him. I push the sheet back and sit up, rubbing my eyes, and look at the clock. Seven.