Hearts Out of Time (13 page)

As a last resort, she even rummaged through files on a writing desk. She heaved a long sigh, contemplating the fact that there was no other place to check out, losing heart completely. “This is pointless. We’ll never find it.”

“It must be here.”

“All right, where is it then?”

His reluctant silence made her feel worse, especially when he spread his hands in a patient gesture. “I don’t have the faintest idea, but I shall do everything in my power to locate it.”

“Do you know what this means, Garrett?”

He cocked his head gently while warm tears brimmed in her eyes.

Her mouth quivered. “It means we’ll never find Dad. He might be hurt, bleeding, or dead already, and look at me. Here I am, crying and babbling, doing nothing to save him . . . just doing nothing when he is probably . . .”

Garrett brought her into his arms and held her.

She leaned against his strong chest, the steady beat of his heart accentuating the rhythm of her pulse. Yet she refrained from snuggling when Garrett whispered over her head, “Don’t be anxious. All shall be well, Miss Richardson.”

Hearing her full name on his lips was the final bounce on a somewhat bumpy road.

In a matter of hours, she’d been threatened by a whacko, thrown into another universe, attacked, abused, and given no time to adjust to her uncommon situation, or to her father’s disappearance.

Whether in good faith or not, Jake had been pestering and insulting her while Garrett, the man she was supposed to trust, toyed with her feelings. And now, she’d just reached the point where too much was too much.

She tore herself away from his embrace, heedless of anything in her outrage. With a brutal gesture, she swept clean the desk beside her. Her father’s files flew like bullets, crashing to the floor and spreading out in all directions.

But her frustration still boiled inside her. She started kicking at the papers, kicking at the desk legs, banging her fists on the work table, crying out with fury.

Garrett tried to reach out, but she backed away from him.

“Don’t you touch me.” Hands balled into fists, pulse overloading, she confronted him like a wrestler about to leap on his foe. “Do not speak to me!”

She was way past talking, reasoning, soothing, or anything resembling lukewarm sentiments. She’d bottled up her darker emotions for too long, carried along in a whirlwind of agitation she never asked for. Now she desperately needed to let them out, but for the life of her, she didn’t know how.

Garrett grabbed her arm and dragged her across the room, his gaze glinting with resolve.

She squirmed against him. “What are you doing? Let go of me!”

“Not as long as you’re out of control. You need release, Miss Richardson, and I shall give it to you.”

When they reached the living room area, he released her, then quickly pulled down his pants and sat on the kitchen chair.

Her bottom lip dropped as the sudden sight of his nudity cleared her mind.

He looked straight into her eyes. His fully disclosed erection awaiting her touch, he spoke in decisive, meaningful words. “I am yours for the taking.”

Chapter 13

At first Tracy just glared at him, unable to understand what he was telling her to do. When his gaze didn’t waver, she acknowledged the determination etched on his features, in the set of his mouth.

He wasn’t pulling a stunt but actually offering his help, and his quick nod confirmed her suspicions.

She had to swallow hard. “You’re insane.” Her voice was almost inaudible, a whisper arisen from misery but, at last, bringing her back to reality.

This time he glared at her. “Do it!”

His commanding order and harsh tone quickened her pulse and stirred up a different kind of disorder in her mind. His naked desire in plain sight, he wasn’t in the least afraid of blowing wide open his private life, and he obviously expected her to make good use of it. Seriously?

“Garrett, I—”

“Do it!”

His eyes fixed on her, he repeated his command without an ounce of sympathy. Only purpose. Wavering might strengthen his resolve, and tremors slithered up her spine when another injunction whipped her. “Don’t just stand there like a stricken Vestal at sundown. Sit on me.”

She knew he was feeding off her anger, trying to shock her and push her over the edge, to the place where rationality packs its bags and flesh prevails. The trick worked. His deliberate, abrasive words suddenly aroused her, sending shards of desire throughout her limbs as she lowered her hands.

She removed her panties, the loose white fabric easily sliding over her ankle boots. Lifting her dress up, she came to him, close to him, above him. She spread her legs, yet he didn’t move a single muscle, didn’t in any way alleviate her unease over her own boldness. Still, she hesitated. “This is madness.”

“Get down!”

His voice again, so rough and commanding, impossible to resist.

A tremor of excitement made her fingers tremble around the hem of her dress as a rush of moistness filled her. Wide open to receive him, she moved to rest on his erection and heard his intake of breath when she touched him.

Not quite taking him inside, she saw the flicker of lust alighting in his eyes. She put her hands on his shoulders, taking some weight off her legs. Then she took a bit more of him inside her, just a touch.

Pleasure punctured her body, an eruption almost beyond her capacity to keep on a tight leash. But she didn’t want to lose her head. Not yet. She hankered for some sense of control over her actions, and she’d have it.

She slid down on him. The sensation of their skins melting was outlandishly enticing, the sight of his drawn features even more so. He breathed hard now, his decisive gaze never leaving her face.

Lower she went, the grazing of flesh causing her to tense the muscles of her buttocks.

He gasped under the slight inner pressure and closed his eyes for a fleeting second, his whole body stiffening.

She went down hard this time, all the way down to sit on him.

They both moaned, physically and emotionally wired, free of their respective burdens, touching each other in ways they’d never been touched before.

“Garrett, is that what you wanted me to do?” she asked with a coy look, her soft whisper sounding at once docile and defiant, subdued and rebellious.

“Dear Lord, you set my blood on fire.”

His panting matched the disorder of his heaving chest, but she stalled him when he abruptly put his fingers around her waist.

“No.”

He dropped his hands at her order, the fire in his eyes shifting from ardor to untamed excitement.

Still clutching his shoulders, she rose and came down. Once, twice, three times. What was it that made each of her moves so sensual? So freaking carnal. She wanted to mount him over and over again.

He half-closed his lids while he stroked her uncovered thighs, his ragged breathing making his stomach rise in fitful motions. He may have wanted release for her, but he was getting a whole lot more for himself.

She increased her rhythm, a flood of sensations surging over her, their sighs breaking the silence of the underground lab. Their bodies yielded to her deep riding, their hearts surrendering to a force stronger than desire.

“I need you to say it, Garrett. Is this what you wanted me to do?” She teased him with her erotic motions as well as her words, slowing down to relish the pleasure on his strained face.

“Darling, you are a vixen.”

His lustful tone spoke to her erratic pulse as he drew his hands up her thighs, and around her waist again. But she wasn’t ready for him to take charge.

“Don’t. Let me.” She resumed her tempo, straddling him even more widely, feeling all her pent up anger and despair sluicing off her soul, cleansing her of the hurtful emotions she’d kept in check until now.

He had challenged her to take this release, and in a twisted manner, he’d been so right. She was using him as much as she could now, yet her intuition yelled at her that he didn’t mind in any way.

She thrived on the pleasure she drew from him. Muscles stiff, breathless, she didn’t stop him when his hands encircled her waist for the third time. He held on to her, relieving her from the strain, altering their rhythm to a lull.

He heaved her up gradually to free himself. Why was he withdrawing when he was the one who initiated this thrilling encounter? An excited glint sparkling in his gaze, he steadied her with his hands and stood up.

“Garrett, why—”

“Hush, dearest.” He silenced her with his husky voice, the thrilled expression tightening his features, his warm fingers around her hips.

“I presently request your beautiful body. Would you permit me to bestow my strength upon you?”

She’d just been pounding on him like a wild creature, yet he asked for her permission to continue. Gosh, he was such a puzzling man. At best, infuriating in public, but so damn exciting in private. The juxtaposition left her speechless as desire wet her folds, and all she could do was nod her agreement.

He took her face between his hands, closing in, kissing her lips, penetrating her mouth, fondling her tongue. A profound and tender kiss that set her heart stammering, her body calling for coupling.

But he stepped back when she wanted more, his fingers tracing her lips, her neck, her shoulders. In a graceful motion, he turned her around and bent her forward, placing her hands on the back of the chair.

Her whole body stiffened. She didn’t like that position, perceiving it as kind of degrading. It wasn’t a very up-to-date notion for a twenty-first century woman, but this particular position always brought to mind images of a cavewoman being dragged by the hair to the river, yanked by a caveman whose sole intent was to discharge his gun. No feelings involved. No sharing. No merging.

Still, she complied.

Cool air stroked her legs when he lifted her skirts and flipped them over her back. She felt bare before his gaze, uneasy, and pretty edgy.

He paused. He must have sensed her nervousness while he held her hips. “Trust me, my love.”

Even if she hadn’t already given him her complete trust, she’d have abided by his wish without a second thought. Because he said the two aching words she longed to hear. Because he called her
my love
.

A slow caress ran up and down her thighs, shortly seeking out the fullness of her buttocks. He grazed her skin with his nails, and she gasped, gripping the chair tighter, opening up in spite of her prejudice.

She heard a sound of fabric when he shuffled his feet to adjust his position, and she closed her eyes.

He uttered a brief sigh as something hard brushed her inflamed folds. Something warm, and moist, and alive.

Even so, he didn’t push on but seized her hips to pull her toward him. Not much, just an inch. When he touched the most sensitive part of her, an electrifying jolt pinned her down. She moaned, the satisfied noise seeming to fill her ears, chest, and lungs. She gripped the chair harder.

He slid into her warmth a little more. He knocked the wind out of her, the staggering sensation drawing forth whimpers, her limbs quivering from the rushing need in her veins. So overpowering that all her muscles constricted when he exhaled.

“Oh, Christ.” He fastened his hands on her hips, his fingers embedded in her skin, his erection rock hard. The high and mighty man who told her off many times since their first meeting didn’t exist anymore, replaced with a passionate lover who held her sanity between his hands.

Flashes of rapture ricocheted in her brain. She quivered and gasped, her knuckles popping as she squeezed the bar of the chair.

He inched his way in when she loosened up to suck in his strength, to absorb his stiffness. She knew he was holding back, allowing her to overcome her apprehension, or maybe giving himself a chance to regain his control.

She perceived his tension, sensed that he wasn’t far from bursting in her. And that was when she got the meaning of power. Real power didn’t lie in the position but in the emotional state it fostered. Swiftness and possession would have uplifted her, his slowness and restraint blew her away.

Colors sparkled behind her shut lids. A low moan escaped her lips while he moved, burrowing his path, sinking into her as deep as he could. Her whole being in turmoil, her mind a jumble of incoherent sparks, she clung to the chair for support, dimly aware that he was already driving her to fulfillment.

He glided out in the same way, slowly, branding her skin, leaving every ounce of her ablaze. He pulled out, his raucous pants proclaiming the extent of his passion, the fervency of his surrender.

“God Almighty.” Squeezing her waist, he crept in again, thoroughly rubbing her erected flesh.

This time, she jerked from the flaming sensation. A torrid gust engulfing her body, she let out a wail of blinding pleasure. “I’m coming.”

He curled his fingers in the curves of her hips to draw her to him in an ever slower motion. His hard-on seemed to pulsate, to live and beat along with the drumming of her frenzied heart.

She felt him inserting his erection into her core, felt him quivering at her cries of agony, but she couldn’t stop.

He groaned as he withdrew, never hastening, bringing them up to an almost intolerable height. He breathed like a drowning man when he emerged.

She trembled from head to toe, eyes now staring at the seat of the chair, mouth agape. She couldn’t bear the wait anymore, couldn’t stand this torturous lingering. “Do it, Garrett.”

“My love, I can’t hold back—”

Born of impending ecstasy, his forceful groan called forth the urgency streaking her belly as she blurted out, “Do it now.”

The tip of his shaft touched her, penetrated her, cut through her like a blunt knife. She climaxed before he was halfway in, overcome by a shattering blast, an unbounded shout of rapture pouring out of her.

He buried himself into her with a last push, grunting like an animal. Her heart thumping wildly, her throat dried out from shouting, her whole body shuddered while spasms of bliss jarred him. He slumped against her back and grabbed her shoulders, binding her to him, forcefully twitching inside her.

Neither of them moved until their breathing evened out, until their spirits and bodies recuperated from the experience they’d just shared. He, stretched on her back. She, using the chair as a prop.

She listened to the decreasing beats of her heart.

Now, definitely confronted with an embarrassing silence, he let go of her and pulled up his pants as she straightened to face him.

He picked up her panties and handed them over. “Here, Miss Richardson.”

He’d never learn, would he? She snatched the underwear with a sigh, bristled at his use of her last name. “Garrett?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t call me ‘Miss Richardson’ anymore. Ever.”

He tensed, but she turned her back on him. Exhausted and drained of all energy, she walked to the large bed and sat on the edge before lying down with no regard to time or place. She wished she could turn a deaf ear on him because she was positive one of his little speeches was on its way. She pouted when he merely agreed.

Although reluctance laded his tone, she believed he might call her Tracy from now on.

But he wasn’t done. “I most certainly hope you feel like yourself again. However, bear in mind that I granted you a favor. Let’s keep it at that. Please, do not read more into it.”

A favor? Yeah, right. Appreciating the firmness of the mattress under her back, she cast him a glance. “Oh and something else, Mister Burnes.”

His shoulders stiffened. A shadow of concern flittered on his not-so-prim features while she kept her tone casual. “You
will
do that to me . . . again.”