Authors: Virginia Kantra

Tags: #Contemporary Romance, #mobi, #Romantic Suspense, #epub, #Fiction

Home Before Midnight (37 page)

BOOK: Home Before Midnight

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Her mouth dried. Her nipples peaked.

With one finger, he traced the swell of her breasts along the line of plunging black nylon. Sliding his thumbs into the satin cups, he dragged them down. Her breasts popped free.

Bailey closed her eyes, turned on and embarrassed. And jolted with shock and need when his hot mouth closed on one breast. He suckled her, hard. She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by sensations: the brush of his hair, the scrape of his beard, the hot, sweet suction of his mouth. Fever and chills chased over her body. She swayed on her feet.

His fingers fumbled with the drawstring at her belly before he slid her pants over her hips and down her legs.

His breath hissed. His hands stilled.

Bailey opened her eyes, misgiving dancing in her stomach. “What is it?”

“I didn’t figure you for the thong type.”

What was he expecting? Granny panties?

“They’re actually very practical,” she said defensively. “They don’t show under my clothes, and they’re—”

“Sexy as hell.”

He took two fingers and rubbed them slowly over the tiny satiny triangle. It was already damp. She sucked in her breath. Her knees wobbled.

“Very sexy,” he said.

He stripped rapidly, T-shirt, shoes, belt, jeans. She watched, nervous and enthralled, as clothing hit the floor and his body was revealed. Powerful, hairy chest. Broad, smooth shoulders. Strong, hairy thighs. He left his underwear on, navy briefs that clung and stretched over his very male, very aroused body.

Oh, wow
.

“This is a first for me,” she said brightly.

He froze stepping over his jeans on the floor. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m twenty-six years old, and I finally get to have sex with a football player in my bedroom while my parents are out.”

“Ex-football player. But if you have some high school fantasy thing going, sugar, that’s fine by me. I was afraid you were going to say I was your first, period.”

He wasn’t. Not by a long shot. But she was hurt all the same, for reasons she couldn’t put a name to. “Would that be a problem for you?”

“Frankly, yes.” With his thumb, he smoothed the tension building between her brows. “I haven’t been with a woman—any woman—in three years. I don’t want to go too fast for you.”

She was appeased. Aroused. And more moved than she would have believed possible. This vital, virile man had gone without sex for . . .

“Three years?”

Since his wife died. Since before his wife died.

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a problem for you?”

Yes
.
No
. Yes.

Why now? she wanted to demand. Why me?

But she was afraid to hear the answer.

“I’m impressed,” she said.

He shook his head, his expression wry. “Sugar, I’m not looking to impress you with my lack of experience. More like warning you about my lack of control.”

Daring, she let her gaze drop to his navy briefs and then smiled into his eyes. “I don’t see anything lacking.”

Warm humor lit his gaze. “Maybe you need to examine the evidence more closely.”

He freed himself from his briefs and let them drop. Her insides clenched.

Naked, he sat on the edge of the bed. His long legs stuck out in front of him. His erection jutted up. He pulled her to him, guiding her with firm hands on her waist, her thighs, her hips to straddle him, her knees on the mattress.

“That’s it.” He stroked her. Opened her. Stretched her. “Just like . . . Oh, yeah, sugar, like that.”

She let herself sink down, down, entranced by the shuddering power of his body under hers, the play of muscle beneath her hands, his sudden catch of breath.

“Bailey.” His jaw was set. His voice was strained.

“Mmm.” She experimented, gliding over him, easing down on him, her senses humming.
Hot.
He was so hot.

“Birth control,” he said hoarsely. “Do you have any?”

“Oh, God.” She scrambled off him so fast she almost fell on her ass.

He caught her. “Easy.”

“Oh, God.” She was horrified. She was always so careful. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Easy,” he said again, supporting her. Soothing her. “It’s not a disaster. Unless you don’t have anything and I’ve got to go lights-and-sirens to the nearest drugstore.”

“No, I have . . .” She struggled to get away. “In my purse.”

He kept hold of her until he was sure she could stand. She stumbled across the room and dug in her bag, aware of his gaze on her bare ass. Tissues, Tic Tacs, tampon, mace . . . condoms.

Face burning, she crossed the room again and handed the foil packet to him.

“You don’t mind?” she asked.

“Hell, no. You’re practical. That’s part of what I like about you.”

“You like me because I’m practical,” she repeated, trying not to feel insulted.

“Yeah. Plus, you’re naked.” His eyes gleamed. “I really like that.”

“Practical and naked.” She nodded. “Anything else?”

STEVE looked at Bailey, pale, slim, and burning like a candle in the cool, blue room. Her eyes were mistrustful. Yearning. Their impact knocked a hole in his chest.

Christ, she got to him.

He liked the puzzle of her, her smart mouth, quick mind and slow smile. Beneath her sometimes brittle defenses, she was solid and warm and real.

And naked, or nearly so.

Blood pounded in his head and pooled heavy between his legs. His gaze traveled down her beaded breasts, the shadowy indentation of her navel, the tiny scrap of fantasy between her pale thighs, and he wanted her under his hands. Under his mouth.

He shook his head. “I can’t explain it to you, sugar. Hell, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.” Rising, he cupped her face in his hands. Her skin was cool and smooth as porcelain. He could feel the heat inside her, like coffee warming a cup.

“So I’ll have to show you,” he said, and laid his mouth on hers.

She gripped his wrists, but under his lips, her lips softened and parted. She swayed into him, the points of her breasts brushing his chest, the smoothness of her belly teasing his erection, and he almost exploded.

He licked into her mouth and felt her soften and yield, felt her quicken and sigh. Satisfaction beat in his blood. He wanted her willing and with him, wanted her open and under him.

Now.

He laid her on the twin-sized mattress and followed her down.

Take it slow,
he warned himself.
Make it last.

He took her mouth, and now she was kissing him back, sweet, deep, long kisses, her body arching and her tongue chasing his. He slipped his hand between their bodies, dying to touch her, eager to strip that bit of black nothing off her and feel her shudder and respond. But she wrapped her arms and legs around him, her hips rising, urging him on, pulling him in, guiding him home.

He pushed himself just a little bit inside her, and she reached around and grabbed his ass.

Sweet God in heaven.
He was buried to the hilt, and she was slick and sweet, hot and tight around him, making these little whimpers in her throat that destroyed him.

He was still in control. All he had to do was not move.
Yeah, right
.

Not breathe.
Entirely possible
.

Not feel
.

She tightened around him, a velvet fist, and blew his world and his control to pieces. Every time he tried to take it easy, to take it slow, to make it good for her, to make it last, she tugged at him or gasped or bit.

He was losing it. Losing himself in the slap of flesh on flesh, in the scent and sight and feel of her, wet and aroused.

Losing himself.

Heat built in his balls and the base of his skull like fury, blinding him, driving him, making him pound into her, heavy, hard, hammering faster, harder, into her.

She cried out and came, her short nails digging into his back. Her internal muscles clamped him. Milked him. She wrung from him every bit of response, wrested from him every pretense at control. He groaned and gave it up, gave everything up, emptied himself in her slim, pale body on her narrow white bed.

Home.

BAILEY lay stunned, her body in satisfied languor and her mind and emotions rioting.

Steve had shifted their positions so that she sprawled over him. She had to, to avoid falling out of bed. Her thigh nestled between his hard, hairy thighs. Her arm stretched across his broad, damp chest.

What was the old saying? Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.

Sexually, Steve had given her everything and demanded everything she had to give in return. She had never felt this way before. Smug. Sore. Confused.

Her fingers curled.

“Ouch,” he said mildly, and removed her hand from his chest hair.

He kissed her palm and laced his fingers with hers, holding their joined hands against his heart. The tenderness of the gesture made her melt.

“So, now that we’ve gone all the way,” he rumbled, “will you wear my letter jacket?”

She smiled against his shoulder. He smelled so good, sweaty, sexy, and male. “You’re too big. It wouldn’t fit.”

“Let’s see.” He rolled with her. Pressed against her.

She gasped with laughter and renewed desire. “We were talking about your jacket!”

“I wasn’t.” He rocked against her, his eyes dark and heavy lidded. “Got another condom?”

HE went into his office, where he could appear to be working and no one would disturb him, and closed and locked the door.

He was annoyed to notice his heart was still racing.

He had hoped to solve one problem, and now he had two. Taking out his find, he set it on his desk. It looked tacky and out of place against the brown leather blotter, a reminder of a tawdry episode from another time. Another life.

He sank into his desk chair. He’d thought . . . he’d really believed Billy Ray’s death would be the end of it.

But then Ellis had come, prying into things that were none of his business, bragging about things he didn’t understand. Frank Wells had barged home at the worst possible moment. And he’d seen his carefully constructed life, his plans and his reputation, shift like a house built on shaky ground.

He had done his best to shore up the damage. Nobody had questioned his arrival at the Wells place. That was the beauty of a small town, and the advantage of his place in it. He had made the appropriate noises about kids and drugs and why a good dog beat one of those newfangled alarm systems any day.

And he’d plotted his next move. He hadn’t gotten where he was today by leaving things to chance or other people.

He had to make this go away.

He had to find those tapes.

They weren’t in Ellis’s study. He’d searched.

And they weren’t in the Wells girl’s bedroom. Unless that skinny bitch had hidden them. What exactly did she know, or suspect?

BOOK: Home Before Midnight

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