Hard Silence (19 page)

When he sucked her into his mouth, she abandoned his shoulders for his hair, begging him for more as her climax began anew. His fingers joined his tongue, and she shrieked something that sounded like his name as she shattered against his mouth.

He crawled up her body with a wicked grin and a gaze full of pride and satisfaction. His erection nudged her opening as he lifted her knees.

Abby sighed as he filled her. Sliding her hands up his shoulders, she tugged him down for a kiss and tasted herself on his beautiful lips and his sinful tongue. He withdrew only to return again, going impossibly deeper, and she gave up kissing him to watch him make love to her, to see him come undone.

But watching him, feeling the friction, brought her to the edge again. His heated stare locked onto hers, and she was soon arching to meet him, fighting to keep him deep inside her, begging him to take her to oblivion again.

The tempo sped, and the crack of the flames was joined by the sounds their bodies made. His hands on her hips urged her to the rhythm he needed, and his gasps grew to shouts and mingled with her cries of pleasure as they finally found peace.

Jeff collapsed against her shoulder. “Jesus, woman. Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Very funny,” Abby grumbled as she ran her hands down his back, reveling in his strong, quaking muscles. Satisfaction combined with relief and pride, giving her a fit of the giggles. While she shook in laughter beneath him, Jeff raised up on his elbows.

Once she could talk, she looked into his eyes, imagining the ocean behind them. “What?”

“You have the most amazing laugh,” he whispered. “It makes me want to do this all over again.”

“Maybe we should sleep first,” she murmured.

“And shower.” He stood and brought her with him. One warm hand curved around her waist. “Did I hurt you?”

No one in her life had ever asked her that question. Abby blinked away tears. “No. Shower?”

He stared at their feet, and his smile made her look too. The ice cream had melted and all the toppings were scattered across the floor. The chaos continued to the furniture, which had been pushed out of the way. The rugs were bunched in wrinkled piles.

“Wow. We’re messy.”

He disposed of the condom. “Worth every bit of cleanup. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“The ice cream?” she asked. “You’d never done that?”

His smile was brilliant as he kissed her nose. “You inspired me. Now, help me find the lid for the peanut butter.”

Chapter Seventeen

After their shower, Jeff sat in the living room floor with a towel around his waist and Abby sitting in front of him. He was still worried that she was too cold, or too shell-shocked to realize if he’d hurt her.

Because a nuclear blast could level Idaho and he’d never notice.

He pulled a dry towel through her hair before picking up the comb. Sectioning off a small portion, he began at the ends and worked his way up. Once at the roots, he combed down the entire length before drying it again and draping it over her shoulder. Then he divided another section and started again.

“Jeff—”

“Shh. Drink your wine. Are you warm enough?”

She nodded and stifled a yawn. Good. He liked taking care of her, and he knew now that no one in her life had ever done it. She deserved better than that, but she seemed to be embarrassed that her parents had neglected her. Thinking about her childhood made him think of his.

“I used to do this for Cass when she was little,” Jeff said. “Mom was busy helping Ruthie and Jan with their homework, so it fell to me to get Cassie cleaned up and in bed.”

“Then you did your homework?”

“Sure.” He grinned. “Eventually. If I didn’t have a new book.”

“What did you read?”

“Detective fiction. I was fascinated with how they put the pieces together. And they gave me a chance to escape.”

He ran the comb through her hair from root to end in long slow strokes, and picked up another section. Abby tilted her head back like an affection-starved cat.

“Why escape?” she murmured.

He kept his focus on the knots in her hair. The knots he’d put there while he’d made love to her. “Before my father died, I had a partner. Fishing, baseball, helping on my grandparents’ farm—we did everything together. We talked about everything. He didn’t treat me like a kid, but he let me be one. We teased my sisters until they squealed. He made my mother laugh even when she tried to be stern.

“Then he died,” Jeff whispered. “And it was all
gone
.”

“But you had other people.”

“My grandparents cried whenever they saw us, and my mother moved through her day like an automaton. She forgot to turn off the stove, or the water in the sink, or to feed us. Ruthie and Jan were scared, and Cassie was too young to know what was going on. I was the man of the house. It was my responsibility.

“We settled into our new normal. We pitched in for chores, and we studied extra hard. Mom went back to work. And every night I listened to her cry while I read far into the night reaching the end of book after book where all the criminals were caught.”

Abby snuggled closer, and he accepted the comfort. “How did it get better?”

“Cassie did it. The kid was a menace. She refused to be left behind. She’d sneak off and follow me everywhere. I finally gave up one year when she skulked after me when I went fishing, and I hooked her when I was casting a line. So I took her with me and she did everything I did. She was fearless. I swear she went a whole year with Band-Aids on both knees.

“And she pretty much demanded we attend every event. Dance recitals, gymnastics, plays, art shows—you name it, she did it. For the longest time we were the most somber row in the building. Then one day Cass flubbed a line onstage, and I heard Ruthie laugh. Cass did, too. She became the family clown after that.”

“And your mother?”

“She got better once she knew I wasn’t going to follow Dad into uniform. When I went off to college, Cass kept her occupied. She came back to herself after a while.” He ran the comb through her hair and watched the chestnut strands flicker in the firelight. “You cut yourself, didn’t you?”

Abby sat her wine on the floor and turned to face him. “Once.”

“What happened?” A stubborn frown knitted her brows, but he refused to give in. This was important. “Please.”

“It was my. First year. Alone.”

The waltzing speech pattern was back. She only used it when she was nervous, and she almost never used it with him. He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “How old were you?”

“Eighteen.” She dropped her head to his shoulder. “Everything. Was so hard. I was cold and afraid. And exhausted and lonely. And hungry. I was so hungry. It was Christmas. And I had a pile of presents from the Colemans, the Simons, the Mileses, the Mathises...
everyone
.” She sighed. “And I didn’t have anything to give them. I was poor.” She leaned back and looked up at him. “Like Charles Dickens poor.”

He wrapped her tighter as the images she conjured caused him physical pain. “So...”

“I got in the bathtub. I thought the femoral artery would be easier, but it’s deeper than I thought. And I don’t like knives.” She fiddled with the tie on her robe. “And I realized Faye would find me, and that was a shitty thing to do to her. So I put duct tape on it and took a bath.”

“Jesus,” he breathed. What would she do after he left? What about when Evan got adopted? “Abby—”

“I never thought about it again.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m not that person anymore.”

Her denial only made her seem more fragile. He ran his hand over her hair.

“I only told you because you asked. I hate pity, Jeff.”

“I can be sorry that you were in that situation without pitying you,” he said as he tilted back to stare at her. “And I can be glad that you came to your senses. But, sweetheart, where was your family?”

A shadow flicked across her face, making her chocolate eyes impossibly darker. “My mother had left, and I would’ve rather starved to death than gone with her.”

“But why stay here at all?”

“I’ll bet you had tons of friends growing up,” she said. “And you had your sisters. I had Maggie, and I didn’t know how to do
anything
. At least here I had a home and people I trusted.” She blinked up at him. “This is sort of a downer conversation for two people who just had amazing sex.” She stood and offered him her hand. “Let’s go to sleep.”

They blew out all the candles in the living room and walked down the hall hand-in-hand. In her bedroom, he slid her robe into a pile at her feet. He wanted to sleep with her skin to skin, but he didn’t want her to be cold—or nervous. “Okay?” When she nodded, he moved aside the quilts and crocheted afghans and watched her snuggle into the pile of pillows before he tucked her in. He stripped his towel and climbed in behind her—and tossed at least three pillows to the floor.

She surprised him by rolling over and kissing him, shy and sweet. “Thank you for staying.”

He wouldn’t have left her for all the money in his research budget. And not because of what she’d shared. Because he had no choice. Leaving her now would make him ache. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to?”

“
Cosmo
says guys don’t cuddle.”

He pulled her close and snuggled under the blankets as their shadows danced across the far wall. “
Cosmo
is full of crap. Good night, Slugger.”

* * *

Hours later, he woke to a loud crack of thunder. The rain thudded against the roof and clicked against the windows. The power was still out, and the room smelled like hot wax.

The shadows flickered over Abby as she slept beside him. Most of her dark hair trailed down her back, but a few strands clung to the pillow. She was a study in contrasts—dark lashes and pale complexion, delicate brows and blunt, utilitarian nails, reserved with everyone else, but passionate with him. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and his body twitched as he remembered them wrapped around him.

He slid from bed, almost embarrassed to see his cock at half-mast so soon. She was in his blood, under his skin, and he craved her.

He’d suspected it when he’d cheerfully considered shooting Andy Gaines in the back for daring to scare her, and again when he’d lain next to her alternating between watching her sleep and looking for later flights so he wouldn’t have to leave her.

That had scared him so much he’d deliberately left her alone for most of his trip. It had been impossible to focus on chatting with Evan when he could hear her in the background. He’d missed her, and it had bugged the hell out of him that she didn’t appear to miss him at all.

But she had. In that spare, direct way she approached everything else. As though it burdened him somehow for her to admit it.

Padding through the house, he added wood to the fire and checked the doors. Lightning cracked again, illuminating the stable and the paddock and throwing the trees into relief. He carried a glass of water back to the bedroom. Abby was leaning up on one arm, her eyes wide.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said as he returned to bed. “Just a security sweep.”

Her smile was shy. “I’m not used to having anyone in here, much less a naked man.”

He offered her the water, and then became mesmerized by her throat as she swallowed.

“Thirsty,” she whispered.

“Panting and screaming will do that,” he teased. “So will hot sauce.”

“Good thing I have lots of water.” She slid her hand under the covers.

God help him, he backed away. “I didn’t pack a supply of condoms, Ab.”

“Look in the bedside table.”

He slid the drawer open and found two boxes of condoms sitting side by side.

“
Two
boxes?”

“I didn’t know which size you’d need.”

He shuffled through the proper box, which was stuffed over the twelve count listed. She’d combined a box of plain latex condoms with more adventurous ones.

“How did you get these?”

“Amazon,” she quipped. “A woman should be responsible for her own protection.”

Did she have a subscription to
Cosmo
? “When did you order them?”

“After you left. I have Prime. Two-day shipping was free.”

“This one glows in the dark.” He looked over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows. “Could be fun.”

She shook her head. “Too much like Star Wars.”

Laughter bubbled up from deep within him—honest, belly-shaking, face-creasing humor. “Well then, let me show you my lightsaber, Princess.”

“You are such a nerd.” The end of her sentence was lost in a fit of giggles and squeals as he lunged across the bed.

Pulling her under him, he rolled on a condom and slid inside her. He should take his time with her, he knew, but now he had two dozen condoms and a goal—to get under her skin. Her groan sent shivers through him, and he flexed against her, driving deeper, so she’d do it again. He continued the same slow pace, watching Abby writhe and feeling her hands on him. She alternated between wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding her heels against the sheets.

She looked down their bodies. “Oh my God.”

He followed her gaze and watched his cock slide into her. And out, and in again. Her muscles gripped him tight. He looked her in the eyes. “Come to the dark side.”

If watching her laugh had been sexy,
feeling
her laugh was his undoing. His orgasm crept from his feet up, shaking him in its wake and leaving him heaving for breath. His arms went rubbery, refusing to hold him any longer. Rather than crushing her, he collapsed to her side and pulled her with him.

This weird, stubborn woman was amazing.

And he loved her.

* * *

Wallis flipped through the pile of mail that had arrived while she and Hale had been in Nassau. One postcard stopped her cold. It was from the Hoover Gallery in Boise, one of Hale’s favorites.

Still Life: Photographs of the Natural World by Abby Quinn.

The little bitch had stayed in Idaho. Probably in Fiddler at the godforsaken farm she’d loved. And apparently she wasn’t starving if she had enough time to take gallery-quality photographs.

If she was still there, she was comfortable. If she was comfortable, she was talking. And if she was talking, she was a liability.

After carefully unfolding the edges of the postcard, Wallis put it on top of the mail and carried the stack to Hale’s desk. Then she left and went to the spa for a massage. Travel was tiring.

When she got back to the apartment, Hale was home and the living room was full of red roses. “How’s my Beauty?” he asked as he sipped his drink.

He had the prettiest smile. She’d miss it.

“How’s my Beast?” she purred as she curled into him.

“A winner, as usual.” He handed her the postcard. “This is the gallery where I found that landscape we sold last year for a huge profit. I talked to the owner while you were gone and she says this photographer is going to be huge. We could go to Whistler after that.”

“I’d like that,” Wallis said. “I’ll start looking for flights.”