Fool's Gold (A sexy funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 2) (26 page)

He smoothed her cheek dry even as another
teardrop fell. “If he didn’t use it the way you intended, that was
his fault, not yours.” He tapped the paper on her lap. “The fantasy
is beautiful.”

She gasped. “Oh my God, you read it.”

“Yeah, I read it.”

“All of it?”

“Every single word.”

She dropped her head, burying her face in her
hands. “This is awful. This is so awful.”

“I’m an idiot. I saw your last email, and I
wanted someone to blame for Maggie’s pain.” He touched her hair. “I
was wrong.”

She sniffled, then raised her head slightly
to look at him, a hand still covering her mouth. “Did Carl kill
himself?”

He had no idea how much to tell her, but he
couldn’t let her go on thinking that. “No.” He pushed her hair away
from her face. “Carl left behind a lot of unanswered questions, but
that isn’t one of them. Not in my mind.”

“What about Sheriff Teesdale’s mind?”

“No one thinks that. Whatever happened to
Carl, he didn’t do it to himself.”

She shuddered and closed her eyes. “Did
somebody kill him?”

“I...” Maggie would say it tomorrow, even if
he didn’t say it tonight. “It is my considered opinion that someone
murdered him.”

Tears spilled over her lower lids once more.
“Oh my God, oh my God. No one in Goldstone would hurt him.
Nobody
.”

He steeled himself to handle her emotion.
Simone would never do things half-measure. When she smiled, she did
so from the inside out, and when she cried, she sobbed. Brax did
the only logical thing he could. He gathered her into his arms.
Pulling her onto his lap, he rode out the pain with her, whispering
all the while. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. There’s no need to cry. Don’t
cry.”

But she didn’t stop. Helplessly, he ran his
hands up and down her back, through her hair, along her arms, but
he couldn’t stop the flow. She’d run from the big, bad city to the
safety of Goldstone, and suddenly found that the secure place she’d
built for herself had fallen apart. Carl’s death had rocked her
trailer off its foundation.

His T-shirt moistened beneath the onslaught.
Her body shook, and she pulled her legs onto the sofa, curling into
him, into herself. Powerless to do more for her, he murmured soft
nothings against her hair, pressing his lips to the silky
strands.

When her sobs faded to snuffles against his
chest, he raised her chin with his finger and kissed the tip of her
nose.

“I’m a mess,” she whispered, wiping her
eyes.

“Yeah. Your nose looks as red as
Rudolph’s.”

She laughed, then hiccupped. “I’m sorry for
going off like that.”

Her gentle laugh loosened the knot in his
abdomen. “Don’t be sorry.” He pulled a tissue from the box on the
side table. “Here. Blow.”

That done, she held out her hand. He plucked
another, which she used to wipe the mascara smudges from beneath
her eyes.

“Trust a woman to have the tissues handy,” he
said, hoping to make her smile a little.

She did. Softly. Too sadly. “Sappy love
stories always make me cry.”

She’d admitted that, and he’d witnessed.
She’d almost cried when Dorothy sang “Over the Rainbow.”

Balling the tissues, she put them on the
table, then smoothed the flat of her hand down his chest. “I got
your shirt all wet, and it’s covered with lipstick.”

“It’ll dry, and lipstick won’t show on the
black.”

“You’re awfully understanding.”

Right. The most he’d been able to do was let
her cry in his arms.

“Thanks for letting me get that out.”

She was thanking him for doing nothing? “It
was my pleasure.” He’d almost broken down himself. First Maggie,
now Simone. He felt beaten to a pulp.

Her tangy shampoo tickled his nose, her bare
skin against his arm heated him, and the gentle swell of her
breasts suddenly seemed to mesmerize him. When she cried, he’d
offered the comfort of touch. Now, with her lying across him, her
breath caressing his neck, his body started doing some thinking of
its own.

Shit. Maybe the right place, but certainly
not the right time. He patted her arm in a hopefully comforting
gesture, then tried to ease her off his lap.

She burrowed deeper, her face to his throat,
her arms wrapped around his neck. He didn’t have the heart to push
her away, and instead pulled her closer still. God, she smelled
good. In a world that had suddenly gone sour, she was fresh and
clean and everything his mind and body craved.

A few more moments, that’s all he’d take, one
more deep breath to fill himself with her scent. He nuzzled her
hair, then grazed her forehead with his lips. She tasted salty. In
all that sobbing, she’d gotten her tears all over herself.

Damn, she was beautiful. She took him to a
place where death, murder, pain, guilt, and anger didn’t exist.
There was only her woman scent and her baby-soft skin.

Brax cupped her throat, tracing the line of
her jaw with his fingers, then down to test her pulse. It was
racing. So was his. And he knew he would never be able to resist
her.

* * * * *

Simone lifted her head. She couldn’t have
said whether she raised her face or he tipped her chin, but their
lips met. Mouths closed. Gentle. Sweet.

She felt as if she’d been alone and untouched
forever. His taste was a balm to her soul. Just a kiss, just
one.

She threaded her fingers through his hair,
massaging his scalp. Then licked his lower lip. Only this. She
wouldn’t ask for more. He groaned, tightened his hold on her, and
opened his mouth to her tongue. He bent her over his arm, kissing
her with his lips, his teeth, and his tongue, his hands at her
back, his chest to her breasts, and his erection riding her
hip.

Okay, so that was a little bit more than
she’d planned, but God, she could almost believe he kissed her with
everything he had. Reverently. In a way she’d never been kissed
except in her fantasies.

Her breasts rose and fell against his chest.
Leaving her lips, he pulled back, his hot gaze touching her flushed
skin. He trailed a finger down the slope of breast to the scooped
neckline of her T-shirt.

Please, please, please, more.

But there he stopped. Waiting for her
permission. Gentleman Brax. Darn it. She almost wished he’d do it,
touch her, so she didn’t have to make a decision.

What if she never got another chance? She’d
die a shriveled prune. Living on fantasy didn’t cut it. Not now.
Maybe tomorrow, she could return to her Goldstone way of life.
Right now, she needed Brax.

“Second base,” she whispered. Then she guided
his hand to her breast, cupping his palm over her tight nipple.

It wasn’t enough. It was too much.

“Jesus,” he breathed against her hair.

Lying back against the arm of the sofa, she
offered herself like a meal. “I know I’m selfish, but I don’t care
right now. Please touch me.” She was almost beyond thinking.

He smoothed a hand across the flesh above her
T-shirt. “What happened to heightening the anticipation until we’re
crazy?”

What had happened to her sense of decorum?
Poof, gone.

She bit her lip, wriggling in his lap. “This
is
crazy. We shouldn’t.
I
shouldn’t make you. I know
Carl’s gone, and Maggie’s hurting terribly. I know it’s wrong to
want this.” Wrong, yes, but she steered his hand once more to her
breast, rubbing his finger back and forth against the tight, aching
bud.

His blue eyes darkened, blazed with heat.
“Don’t think about the rest. Not right now.” His body surged
beneath her. “Just think about how goddamn much I want you.”

His words. They were almost out of control.
The way she felt.

Then he pulled aside the lace and cotton of
her bra and bent his head to take her in his mouth. Crying out, she
held him to her. He sucked her like candy, searching for the sweet
center. Cradling her shoulders against his arm, he plumped her
breast, stroking the underside with his thumb, its texture rough,
but oh so sweet. He soothed her skin with his fingers, then took
her nipple with his mouth and tongue.

She almost shouted with the pleasure, only at
the last moment clamping down with her teeth on her lip. Raking
both hands through his hair, she used the tips of her fingers, her
nails. A soft moan fell from her lips.

He found the strip of exposed flesh above her
waistband and dipped his finger into her belly button. It tickled.
She jumped, her stomach quivering with the anticipation. Fire
exploded inside, consumed her.

He threw his head back and held her down,
rocking his cock against her. “I want third base.”

“I don’t remember what it is.” But she wanted
it, whatever it was.

He stilled, his gaze roaming her stomach. “My
hand in your panties.”

“Yes, please.” Her voice came as a tremulous
whisper.

Shimmying, she pulled up her skirt for him,
baring her need and her desire as blatantly as she revealed the
white thong riding her hips and intimately cupping her sex. “Want
me, Brax,” she whispered. “Want me badly. Until you feel like
you’re gonna scream if you don’t have me.”

With a fingertip, he traced her along the
cotton panty, pushing deeper until he found the nub of her
clitoris. A hum vibrated in her throat, and her head fell back,
exposing her neck to his lips. He nipped, then licked, still
playing her through her panties. Then he palmed her, shoving his
hand between her thighs. Tightening her legs, trapping him, she
soundlessly begged for more.

“Christ, you’re hot down there.”

She opened her eyes to his deep blue gaze. He
was so beautiful. “Uh-huh.”

Dragging his fingers over her once more, he
teased the skin along the elastic line across her belly.

She lost every last one of her inhibitions as
well as her fear. “It doesn’t count as third base,” she murmured,
“unless you’re
inside
my panties.”

“What’s it called when it’s outside the
panty?”

“It’s called the shortstop tease, and it
isn’t a nice thing to do to a lady.” She wasn’t a lady, not the way
he made her feel, not the way she wanted to cry out. But she didn’t
care. She wanted to feel good for a little while.

He stroked back and forth, back and forth,
until she thought she’d die if he didn’t delve beneath the darn
elastic. She wanted all of him.

He wasn’t going to reject her. At least not
yet, not until...later. She’d deal with it then.

He grinned down at her. “Are you sure it’s
not nice?”

Her skin tingled, and her body heated,
moistened, readied. She became one of those heroines in her
stories. She licked her lips, wriggling in hopes his fingers might
slip beneath the panty line. “I guess it’s nice. But it could be a
whole lot nicer.”

“Isn’t the anticipation better? The wanting,
the needing, like your whole body’s going to explode. The feeling
that you’ll die if I don’t put my fingers inside your sweet, hot,
wet—”

She slapped her hand over his mouth. “I think
you’re throwing my own words back at me.” Slightly altered, of
course. But oh my God, it was how she felt.

Pulling her hand away, he grinned, like a
feral animal, all white teeth and predatory eyes. “Yeah. Ain’t it
great?”

It was. She ached for his touch from the
inside out. On its own, her body moved in rhythm to his stroke,
building toward climax with nothing more than his heady male scent,
the tactile memory of his mouth on her breast, and the rough
texture of his big, beautiful hand against her stomach.

Don’t think, just do
.

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled
his head down until his mouth touched hers. “It’s perfect.” She
nipped his lip. “Make it more perfect. Please. Pretty please.” She
shouldn’t beg. Begging wasn’t done. It suggested a girl was about
to lose control.

Simone couldn’t help herself.

She probed his mouth with her tongue, greedy
for his taste, and pressed her breasts hard to his chest. Her heart
raced, and she gave voice to the breathless pant of approaching
orgasm.

He tugged on her hip, working the panties
down, while she wriggled, helping him and driving herself crazy
with all the squirming.

Tingles like fireworks sparklers accompanied
his touch all the way back up her calf and thigh. He slid a finger
over her clitoris, then deep inside her, and she went off like a
Fourth of July display. Thighs clamped, inner muscles contracting,
spasming, she cried into his mouth with unladylike abandon. He took
it all, took her kiss, made it his own, drank in her screams,
devoured her like the predator he was. With short, sharp movements
of his hand, he forced her to ride the edge until she trembled with
orgasmic exhaustion.

Then he held her, caressing her lips,
nuzzling her cheek with his nose, and soothing her tensed limbs
with gentle strokes. She was warm and tingly and snug and...

What had she done?

Had she screamed? Sort of. Against his lips.
Which was better than having him put his hand over her mouth. But
still. She’d been in a fugue state. The sobbing, the crying, then
his touch, his kiss. She’d lost her mind.

This was the problem with letting hormones
and emotions take over. She didn’t care how she behaved while she
was under the influence, not until it was all over. Then splat, she
came down off the high.

She tugged at the bottom of her skirt to at
least cover her pantyless state. “Well, that was incredibly
embarrassing.”

Brax kissed her eyelids. “That was
heaven.”

“You barely touched me, and I totally lost
control.” She’d screamed. She closed her eyes, too embarrassed to
look at him.

He rubbed his nose to hers. “This is very
unmanly to admit, and I probably shouldn’t, but I’ve never made a
woman orgasm like that in my life.”