Janelle Taylor (26 page)

Spencer whimpered, “But I don’t want to go with him. Please don’t make me go.”

“It’s all going to be okay. Really,” Beau said. “I promise.”

Spencer looked up at Jordan, who smiled through her tears.

“When Beau makes a promise, he means it, Spencer,” she said shakily. “I guarantee you that he means it.”

“Can I visit you?” Spencer asked.

“All the time,” she said.

“Both of you?” He looked at Beau.

“Both of us,” Beau pledged.

Something fluttered somewhere deep inside Jordan. She tried to quiet it, but it refused to settle.

She was going to be seeing Beau again when she got back to D.C. Even if only on occasion, for Spencer’s sake …

“I hate to—” Curt looked at his watch, and then at Spencer. “I don’t want to miss the plane,” he said apologetically. “We really have to go.”

“Here, fella,” Beau said, reaching into his pocket. He took out a white handkerchief and held it over Spencer’s nose. “Blow.”

Spencer blew. Loudly. Several times.

Beau wiped the little boy’s eyes, then tucked the handkerchief into Spencer’s pocket. “You can borrow this in case you need it,” he told Spencer. “Remember, even superheroes cry sometimes. And I’m going to need it back, you know.”

“Why? Do you cry, too?” Spencer asked.

Beau nodded solemnly, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled Spencer into a bear hug. “So you’ll have to see me again. To give it back to me. Okay? Is that a deal?”

“It’s a deal,” Spencer said.

Beau released him.

Spencer looked at Jordan.

She knelt beside him and pulled him close. “Take care of yourself, sweetie,” she whispered raggedly. “I’ll be thinking of you every second.”

“Bye, Jordan,” the little boy said.

To her shock, he kissed her on the cheek.

Then he was gone, his small hand tucked into his uncle’s as the two of them left the hotel through the wide double glass doors.

A choking sob escaped Jordan, and she fumbled in the pockets of her shorts for a tissue but found none.
She sniffled and awkwardly wiped her eyes on the short, already damp sleeve of her T-shirt.

“Thank you for what you did,” she said, and looked up at Beau.

To her shock, he was weeping. Tears rolled down his face unchecked as he gazed after Spencer and Curt.

“Oh, Beau …” She reached out and touched his sleeve.

“He’s going to be okay,” Beau said, nodding, trying to get hold of himself. “I know he is. But I’m going to miss the little guy like crazy.”

“So am I.”

He looked at her.

Then he reached out and gently brushed away her tears with the back of his hand. “You look so sad,” he said.

“My heart is breaking.”

“So is mine. For him,” he added.

“For him,” Jordan agreed.

But it was also breaking for herself.

For all of them.

For what could never be, with Spencer—or with Beau.

“What are you doing now?” Beau asked.

She took a deep breath to compose herself. “Going upstairs to pack, remember? I have to catch my flight in a few hours.”

“Want some help? I have some time to kill,” Beau said. “Detective Rodgers isn’t going to be back for a while.”

“Sure,” Jordan agreed, as though it were the most casual thing in the world to agree to have Beau come back to her room with her.

They began walking toward the elevator bank.

Beau put his arm around her.

She looked down at his hand on her shoulder, and then up at him. His face was so close that she could see the golden flecks in his eyes. She could smell the familiar, musky masculine scent of him.

Their gazes locked.

Her breath caught in her throat.

They stopped walking.

He leaned toward her.

Jordan closed her eyes.

“I have to kiss you,” he said raggedly. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t, but Jordan, I have to.”

“You have to,” she agreed in a breathless whisper.

His mouth came down to claim hers then. She was lost in the sensation of his lips caressing hers, of his tongue dipping into her mouth. Her legs went weak beneath her and she clung to his shoulders as his arms encircled her waist. He deepened the kiss, moaning low in his throat, his urgent desire blatantly, excitingly obvious when he pulled the length of her body against his.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmured, fumbling for the wall beside them, hitting the “Up” button.

She didn’t protest.

He kissed her again, another passionate melding of mouths and lips and tongues.

She knew in the back of her mind that they shouldn’t be doing this right here in the lobby for anyone to see. They were behaving like two lustful teenagers, yet she couldn’t seem to help herself any more than Beau could.

The doors slid open with a
ding
and they stumbled inside.

As he reached for the panel of buttons, she said, “It’s the third floor.”

“I know. I memorized your room number.”

“Were you planning this?” she asked, not caring if he had been. For once, she didn’t care about anything.

“No. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know. Come here.” He reached for her as the doors slid closed, leaving them alone inside.

Her back was against the wall, his body pressed against her as the elevator rose with a jerk and a shudder. He kissed her hungrily, his hands cupping her face, his fingers laced in her hair.

She wanted to cry out in protest when they reached their destination and the doors opened again. She couldn’t bear for him to break the exquisite contact even for a moment, but he took her hand and led her out into the deserted corridor.

“Which way?” he asked raggedly, squeezing her hand.

It took her a moment to remember. She led him down the hall, past closed doors. Up ahead she could see one that was ajar, with a maid’s cart parked in front of it. She prayed that it wasn’t her room. She needed to be alone with Beau behind closed doors now—and to hell with the consequences.

Right here, right now, there was only this.

Only the simmering passion between them that threatened to erupt at any moment into a full-blown inferno.

They passed the maid’s cart, could hear the television blaring and tub running in the open room. There were a few more closed doors between that one and Jordan’s, and both had plastic “Please Make Up Room” cards hanging around the doorknobs.

“That’ll keep her busy,” Beau said with a low chuckle.

Jordan nodded, fumbling in her pockets for the card
key. For a horrible moment she thought she had lost it.

“Don’t tell me we’re locked out,” he said with a groan.

“I can’t … bingo!” She located the credit-card-shaped key and held it up, showing it to Beau.

They laughed and he took the key from her, slipping it into the electronic slot. He pulled it out. Tried the door. Nothing.

“Try again,” she said urgently, desperate to be alone with him.

He did.

Nothing.

He cursed and shoved the key in again.

“Third time lucky,” she said as the green light flashed and the door opened with a welcoming click.

His laugh was more of a growl as he plunked the plastic “Do Not Disturb” card on the outside knob and kicked the door closed behind them.

The room was just as she had left it: bed unmade, clothes strewn over the desk chair, half-empty water glass on the bedside table. The drapes were still drawn, leaving the room dimly lit except for a narrow shaft of light that filtered in through a crack in the curtains.

It was hardly the most romantic of settings. It couldn’t compare to the other night on the deck overlooking the crashing surf. But Jordan realized that it didn’t matter where they were, as long as they were together.

It didn’t matter what had happened earlier, or what would happen next. Now was all that mattered, and if she closed her eyes, she could forget all the rest of it.

Beau pulled Jordan into his arms with a sweeping kiss, and the flame was ignited once more.

Lips locked, hands roaming, they found their way to
the bed. As she sank back onto the rumpled, stiffly quilted polyester bedspread, Jordan felt Beau tugging on her T-shirt. She raised her arms above her head and he pulled it off, pausing to devour the hollow of her throat with his wet, hungry mouth before reaching for the clasp of her bra.

It came open easily, the weight of her breasts spilling from the cotton cups as he pulled the bra away and tossed it recklessly aside.

She arched her back, anticipating his caress. Goose bumps prickled her flesh as first his stroking fingers and then his suckling mouth found her. She could feel the fierce tightening of her nipples in response to his caress, and she began to squirm on the bed as his fingers moved low over her belly and slipped inside the waistband of her shorts.

She raised her hips and he slid both shorts and panties down over her thighs as she went to work on his shirt, tugging it over his head. He paused to help her, then unfastened the buttons at his waist. Soon his jeans and boxer shorts sailed overboard to join the rest of their clothing in a heap on the floor.

Both naked at last, they kissed again, settling their bodies against each other in an intimately perfect fit.

Jordan could feel the ardent fluttering low in her abdomen as Beau buried his lips in the hollow beneath her ear and began to blaze a slow, passionate trail downward. Again his mouth found her taut nipples, teasing first one and then the other until she cried out softly in fervent need, opening her legs to him.

“Please, Beau,” she whispered against his ear as he positioned himself above her. “Please … now.”

He hesitated. “Open your eyes,” he said hoarsely.

She did.

His gaze collided with hers, burning into her soul. His breath was coming fast and furious, matching her own.

For a long, agonizing moment, time seemed to stand still. They lay poised, staring at each other, prolonging the inevitable.

Then he sank into her with a guttural moan.

Jordan gasped at the sensation, clinging to his shoulders, exhaling his name on a shuddering sigh.

Their eyes were still locked as he began to move in an age-old, flawless rhythm, her movements soon matching his. She could feel the tension building at her core, and she knew that if he stopped what he was doing or the precise way in which he was doing it, she would, quite simply, die.

But he didn’t stop.

Not when her breath began coming in high-pitched pants, or when her body began to quake violently beneath his.

She was at the brink, and then she was plunging past it, falling, spinning, reeling with one exquisite spasm after another.

She heard him call her name, felt him bucking above her, felt him pouring himself into her until he lay spent against her heaving breasts.

She reached down and touched his sweat-dampened hair, stroking his head as their passion subsided, leaving a glow of contentment in its wake.

Beau awakened to the sound of knocking, and an accented female voice calling, “Hello? Hello? Is anybody here?”

His eyes drifted open.

The instant he saw where he was—in a dimly lit hotel room, in the afternoon—he realized what had happened.

“Hmm?” Jordan stirred sleepily, naked in his arms.

“We’re here!” he called to the maid. “Don’t come in!”

“I have to make up the room,” she called back from the corridor. He could see a triangle of light where she was holding the door open a crack. “It’s past checkout time.”

“We’ll be out soon,” Jordan called, bolting from Beau’s arms and looking wildly around the room, as though trying to get her bearings.

Beau sat up, seeing their clothing strewn beside the bed.

“Then I come back in five minutes,” the woman called with an exaggerated sigh, sounding disgruntled. “No longer than that, though. Or they have to charge you for another night.”

Beau wanted to tell her that was fine. To go ahead and charge them for another night. It would be heaven to sink back onto the bed and pull Jordan down with him.

He looked at her, naked beside the bed. She was beautiful, tousled hair, stricken expression, and all.

“What time is it?” she asked him.

He checked his watch. “Past two.”

“Two!” she echoed. “I have to get to the airport.”

She began throwing things into a plastic shopping bag. Shorts. T-shirt. Sneakers. Hairbrush.

Then, as though realizing what she was doing, she began taking things out again, putting them on.

He watched her shove her arms into the straps of her bra and then hurriedly fasten it. As she pulled her
T-shirt over her head he felt a pang of disappointment. He didn’t want her dressed, rushing, leaving.

He wanted her here, in his arms, languid and lusty.

“You don’t have to go,” he said lazily, stretching.

“Yes, I do. The other flights today are full. I’m lucky I got a seat on this one.”

“You can stay here and drive back with me when I

go.”

She pulled on a pair of white cotton panties, shaking her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already called my partner and told him I’d be back at work tomorrow,” she said.

It sounded like a lame excuse to him—and probably to her, too, he realized, seeing her pause momentarily with a faraway expression before reaching for her shorts and resuming her clothes-donning marathon.

He wanted to protest.

He longed to beg her to stay with him.

But her swift, certain movements—and her mention of the job that waited for her back in Washington—brought reality seeping into the room as vividly as the shaft of afternoon light spilling through the slightly parted curtains.

She had to go back.

He had to stay.

That was how it had to be….

Unless he wanted something more.

Did he?

His thoughts whirled.

Do you? Do you want more?

Of course not, he told himself firmly. He had already decided before—several times, in fact.

He was going to move on, and so was she.

This last interlude between them had served its purpose. It had tied up loose ends, had sated his hunger for her, had been nothing more than a final good-bye.