All Night Long (23 page)

Without a word, Luke closed the refrigerator door. He
crossed the very short space between them with a single stride and gripped the counter behind her, one arm on either side of her waist. Leaning in close he put his mouth against her ear.

“Told myself I wasn’t going to do this tonight,” he said. “Clearly I lied.”

“This is probably not a good idea,” she whispered.

“Got a better one?”

Therein lay the real problem, she thought. She didn’t have a better idea. Kissing Luke was far and away the best idea she’d had in years, maybe forever.

She wound her arms slowly around his neck and smiled. “Nope.”

He gave a soft, husky groan, and then his mouth closed over hers.

Heat and sparkling energy crackled through her. He made the kiss last a long time, not rushing her. A slow hunger that had nothing whatsoever to do with peanut butter and crackers built inside her, tightening her lower body.

She could kiss him like this for weeks or months at a time, she thought, relaxing into the embrace. The sleek, muscled contours of his back felt wonderful beneath her hands. Experimentally, she slid her palms under his tee shirt and around to the front of his chest. She spread her fingers in the crisp, dark hair she discovered there.

“This,” he announced, releasing his grip on the counter to peel off the tee shirt, “is a whole lot better than peanut butter and crackers.”

He pulled her close a second time. First she felt his lips on her throat. Her head tipped back. Then she felt his teeth. Thrill after thrill coursed through her. She had been wrong, she thought. She could not go on kissing him like this for weeks or months. If she did, she would suffer unbearable frustration. She needed much more, and she needed it right now.

Obviously he was able to read her mind because the next thing she knew, his warm, strong hands were gliding downward
toward the bones that defined the curve of her hips. He flexed his fingers, squeezing gently.

He was so strong. He could break things with those hands. But he wouldn’t hurt her. She knew that intuitively in every fiber of her being.

He touched her as though she were made out of silk and moonbeams, making her feel as though she were a rare and magical being, capable of sorcery. She sensed wonder and a deep, clawing need in him. No man had ever made her feel that she could cause him to shudder with desire.

Excitement and a heretofore undiscovered sense of her own feminine power swept through her, a rush of pure, intense sensation that left her dazed and breathless.

She let her hands drift down his sides until her thumbs slid just inside the waistband of his jeans. Slowly she moved her fingers to the front where she could feel the hard, shockingly masculine bulge.

“If I weren’t a tough, seasoned journalist, I would probably succumb to an attack of the vapors right about now,” she said.

His laugh was rough and sexy. “If it weren’t for my rigorous training, I’d probably be doing the same thing.”

He scooped her up against his chest. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him. He carried her out of the kitchen, negotiated the narrow hallway with amazing deftness, and put her down on the tumbled bed.

He paused just long enough to get out of his jeans and briefs and remove a small foil packet from the pocket of his pants. He tore off the top of the packet with his teeth.

And then he was coming down on top of her, one leg anchoring her thigh so that she was open to his touch.

He tugged the nightgown up to her waist and higher still until he could pull it off entirely. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the crumpled garment go sailing off into the nearest corner. She didn’t see it hit the floor because she was too utterly focused on the looming shape of Luke as he bent his head to her breast.

When he took her nipple between his teeth she heard a soft, breathless sigh of pleasure. It took her a moment to realize that she was the one who had made the sound.

She reached down and enclosed him with her fingers, exploring the length and breadth of him. The fierceness of his erection excited her. She felt him grow even tighter and bigger at her touch.

His hand moved up the inside of her thigh. She did not know whether to urge him to hurry before she lost this glorious pulsing sensation, or if she wanted him to slow down so that it had time to intensify. Decisions, decisions. She was entering uncharted territory. Her trusty vibrator was home in Glaston Cove in a drawer beside her bed.

One long finger slid slowly, deeply into her, stroking, prodding and stretching. Another finger followed. She could feel the slick dampness gathering between her legs.

So far so good. But she knew that without the vibrator this was probably as exciting as it was going to get.

Not bad, though, she told herself. Not bad at all.

Luke did something very interesting with his thumb, startling her out of thoughts of her vibrator. Jolted, her body clenched tightly around his invading fingers.

“Luke?”

“Mmm?” He nuzzled her belly.

“Now,” she urged, digging her nails into his shoulders. “Please, yes,
now.
”

He did the thing with his thumb again. “There’s no rush.”

“Yes, there is.” She tried to shake him, but it was like trying to move a large boulder. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re still tight. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me.” She clutched him harder and moved her hips against his hand. “The thing is, I never get this far without—” She broke off. Don’t go there, she thought. Too much information.

“Let’s see if we can make you a little wetter first.”

He started to move farther down her body, pausing here and there to drop kisses onto her sensitive skin.

He reached the inside of her thigh.

“No, wait,” she gasped. “Come back here.”

She heard his low, wicked laugh again, and then felt his warm breath and his tongue on her, right there in the place where she usually relied on Big Guy.

It was all she could do to keep herself from screaming.

It was too much. He was taking control, demanding a kind of surrender that she had never been able to give any man. It was unthinkable. She barely knew him. How could she trust him with her most intimate responses?

A moment later the climax rolled through her, as deep and unstoppable as an earthquake.

She was vaguely aware of Luke shifting his weight, sliding heavily between her legs. He pushed himself deliberately into her, stretching her, filling her completely.

She was stunned to feel herself coming again. Luke rode the new tremors with her, pounding hard and fast into her body. His back was slick with perspiration, every muscle rigid.

The ancient bedsprings groaned loudly, rhythmically in protest. The headboard slammed again and again against the wall. Her emotions were in utter, mystifying chaos. She wanted to laugh and was amazed when she felt tears in her eyes. The only thing that mattered was the man in her arms.

It seemed impossible, but Luke’s hoarse shout of exultant, triumphant release gave her as much pure, unadulterated pleasure and satisfaction as her own climax.

For a few rare, glittering moments she was not alone.

L
uke gradually drifted back to full awareness. He took his time about it, savoring the feel of Irene’s body curled alongside his own. Her head was cradled on his arm. She had one palm resting on his chest and one foot wedged tantalizingly, intimately between his legs. He felt her flex her toes a few times as though she liked touching him that way.

A warm, heavy, very bright sensation drifted through him. He could not remember the last time he had felt like
this. Maybe never. He shoved a pillow under his head and smiled into the shadows.

“’Ooh rah,” he mumbled.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” She folded her arms on his chest and rested her chin on her hands. “I’ve never actually had that happen with a man.”

He went blank for a few seconds. “A woman?”

She smiled and slowly shook her head. “When I’m in the mood, I sometimes get lucky with Big Guy.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but just who is Big Guy?”

“My vibrator. But I have to say that the experience has never been anywhere near as intense as what just happened. What I get with Big Guy is more like a good sneeze.”

“So, what you’re saying is that I’m better than a vibrator and a good sneeze?”

“You are, indeed. Don’t let it go to your head.”

He grinned. “Be hard not to.”

“One of my therapists told me that the reason I couldn’t climax with a man was because I had intimacy issues. Something to do with a fear of letting myself get too close emotionally.”

“Ever been married?” he asked.

“Right after college, for about a year and a half. My aunt had just died, and I wanted so desperately not to be alone.”

He traced the outline of her ear with his finger. “I understand.”

“It didn’t work out. My fault. My little obsession problems were starting to kick in big time back then. Rick tried to be sympathetic, but given my issues with sex, occasional nightmares and my erratic sleep habits, he just sort of burned out. I was on my third therapist. She suggested meds. When I refused to take them, Rick threw up his hands and left. I didn’t blame him. It was a relief for both of us when it ended.”

“You were in that other zone.” He twisted his fingers gently in her hair. “He couldn’t reach you.”

“And I couldn’t reach him. Like I said, it wasn’t his fault. I knew I had some work to do before I could be with anyone.
I had to get past the past. And I did try. I really did. I’ve seen three more therapists since the divorce. I finally tried the meds for a while. They helped a little. But I kept coming back to the fact that I wanted answers about what had happened in the past.”

“Sometimes we don’t get the answers,” he said.

“I know.” She hesitated. “I suppose that’s why I went into journalism. I couldn’t get answers in my own life, so I got into a line of work that gives me the ideal excuse to look for answers in other places and other lives.”

“I’m not sure it was a good idea for you to come back here to Dunsley, but speaking from a purely selfish point of view, I’m damn glad you did.”

She tilted her head a little. “I hated the thought of coming back here, but I think in a way it’s been cathartic.”

“Even if you don’t end up with all the answers?”

“I’m wrestling demons here in Dunsley. I may not subdue them, but—”

“But you’re no longer trying to pretend they don’t exist.”

“Believe it or not, that feels like progress.”

W
hen he awoke he was amazed to see the glow of early morning illuminating the world outside the cabin. Irene still slumbered beside him. He knew she had not stirred or felt compelled to leave the bed during the night. He would have sensed such movement.

What amazed and astounded him was that he had slept just as soundly.

H
oyt checked his watch in the same nervous, habitual way he did a thousand times a day. The small action never failed to irritate Ryland.

“I’ve arranged for you to give a short statement to some selected media immediately following the service, sir.” Hoyt handed him a folder. “I also canceled the business club luncheon this afternoon and tonight’s fund-raiser, but we’ll be back on the regular schedule tomorrow.”

Ryland opened the folder and read the statement. The request for privacy for a grieving father and the promise to introduce the bill to fund more mental health research was precisely what he had expected.

He closed the folder and looked at Alexa. She sat on the seat across from him, stunning and dramatic in a conservatively cut black suit and veiled hat. She would photograph beautifully today, just as she always did, he thought.

Pamela had been useful in his campaigns in the past few years, but a presidential candidate required a wife. The voters would never go for an unmarried man in the White House.

“I’ll want you beside me when I confront the press this morning,” Ryland said to Alexa.

She folded her gloved hands on her lap. “Of course.”

He switched his attention back to Hoyt. “Was there any fallout from the story in the
Glaston Cove Beacon
?”

“Nothing we can’t counter easily enough with your statement this morning.” Hoyt glanced at his watch again. “The
Beacon
did hint at an investigation, but—”

“That’s bullshit,” Ryland snapped. “McPherson isn’t conducting an investigation. I made it clear that I didn’t want one.”

“Yes, sir, I know, but I’m afraid the
Beacon
implied that there were some questions about Pamela’s death that were being looked into by the local authorities, or words to that effect.” Hoyt glanced at the folder. “The good news is that no one reads that damn rag. It won’t be a problem.”

“It better not become one,” Ryland muttered.

And in all likelihood, it wouldn’t, regardless of Irene Stenson’s interference, he told himself. Sam McPherson understood that it was his job to keep things quiet.

Nothing like owning an entire town, including the chief of police, he thought. Dunsley was a boring little spot on the map, but he had to admit that occasionally it had its uses.