Shiver of Fear (24 page)

Ending the kiss, she backed up enough to study his face in the firelight, memorizing the lines, trying to etch the moment
into her brain. No matter what happened to them, no matter what the future held, she’d have this night. This sexy, romantic,
loving man. The kind of man she’d always wanted but didn’t even know existed.

She stroked his strong jaw, drinking in the shadows formed by his cheekbones and whiskers, the power of his Roman nose and
full lips. She dragged her hand over his chest, down the symmetry of his abdomen, and finally closed her hand around his erection.

He closed his eyes and let out a moan.

His tip was wet, slippery under her fingertips. She kneeled again, straddling him, kissing the skin of his stomach, then fluttering
her tongue over the head of his shaft. It tasted as creamy as the Baileys she’d been sipping, and just as smooth. She closed
her mouth over the top, sliding her hand down the length of him slowly, letting every muscle and vein glide through her palm,
taking him a little deeper into her mouth as he rocked his hips forward.

Once, twice, a third time and his hands dug into her hair, stealing another stroke before he lifted her head and eased her
back on the pillows, sliding down with her.

“I want to be inside you.” The demand was husky and irrefutable. “All the way inside you.”

Without waiting for her response, he eased her to the side and got to his feet in one move. Instead of feeling bereft of his
warmth, she pulled the comforter around her, watching him open the bag he’d dropped on the settee.

“So condoms were mission critical?” she asked.

“Guess that depends on the mission.”

“And I was feeling guilty about a tub of body butter.”

Returning to her, he dropped the packet next to them and climbed back into the nest, reaching for her, then caressing her
breasts, her stomach, her hips, and finally settling on her backside. “If that’s what makes you feel like satin and silk,
then it was also mission critical.”

He kissed her breast, suckling just enough to make her ball the comforter under her fists; then he lifted his head, his eyes
hooded and dark. “I didn’t plan to seduce you, Devyn,” he said. “I want you to know that wasn’t my intent.”

“I know.” She splayed her hand over his chest, reveling in the mightiness of it and the amazement over what all these muscles
covered. A good, good heart. “I came to you, remember?”

“But I was only going to give you five more minutes in that bed.”

She laughed softly. “But you know I’m impulsive.”

“I was counting on it.” He silenced any response with a deep kiss, laying her back and delving into her mouth with his tongue.

He stroked every inch of her, branding her skin with his touch, making every spot come alive when he reached it and making
her beg for more when he left. Finally, his hand settled between her legs, watching her eyes as his thumb found the sweet
spot of her clitoris.

The shock of his touch stole her breath and made her rock against his hand until he replaced it with his erection. She instantly
wrapped her legs around him, and their bodies melded.

Between whispers of her name and groans of pleasure, he kissed her again and again, each wet, warm connection tasting like
whiskey and chocolate and heaven, dragging her closer to the point where all she wanted was him inside her.

She rolled her hips and reached down to feel him pulse and grow in her fingers. While she stroked him, he bit open the condom
package, letting her slide it over him as part of her strokes.

As he nestled between her legs and braced himself over her, they shared a long, silent look.

She tried not to get lost in the darkness of his eyes, told herself not to attach too much meaning to what he’d freely admitted
was just sex, but she couldn’t help the bits of daydream that flashed like sparklers in her head.

What would it be like to love a man like this… always?

She closed her hands around him one more time, guiding him between her legs, wanting him in her so badly she almost cried
out. She lifted her hips and relaxed as he slowly took ownership of her body. Deeper and deeper, he entered, his eyes half-mast,
his arms flexed, his neck strained with the fight against thrusting into her.

And then he was all the way inside her, throbbing against her flesh, still and steady. He lowered himself enough to kiss her
but still didn’t move his hips. She battled the same urge, aching to just rock and roll and ride, but instead took one more
slow, wet, smoking hot kiss.

Her sigh escaped into his mouth, and it was all he needed. He thrust harder and faster, and she met each stroke, building
with him, grasping the granite of his shoulders, pulling his head to hers, hearing the sounds of their panting whispers in
harmony with the crackling fire.

He touched her, sliding his thumb between them, manipulating her like she’d been made for him to do just that. Dizzy and completely
lost, she forgot everything and gave in to the heat, the touch, the need as she finally let the knot inside of her unravel
under his relentless, magical fingers.

He kept thrusting, adding to the sweetness inside, holding her with his other arm as she shuddered against him with a long,
blissful orgasm.

She barely stopped panting as he hissed in a breath of his own. He pushed harder into her, far less tender as he plunged in
and out, sweat glistening on his face, his eyes closed, his lips parted. As lost as she was, he dragged out the pleasure,
finally letting go with a ragged groan of surrender as he came inside her.

For that one moment, everything, every single thing, felt right.

“That wasn’t sex,” she whispered, the words out before she even realized it.

He still couldn’t breathe but managed to lift his head and look at her with a rueful gleam in his eye. “Can’t wait to hear
what you call it.”

She was still floating, high on the sensations, numb to reality, all the pain deep inside her just… gone.

“It was like that aloe I put on you,” she whispered, no control over the words. “Soothing and healing, taking away the wound.”

The gleam disappeared as his expression grew serious. He placed one hand on her cheek, cupping her jaw. “See? The condom and
body butter was mission critical. My mission is to make you feel better.”

“That went way past better.” She closed her eyes and pulled him closer.

“Who wounded you, Dev?”

She wasn’t even sure how to answer that. Her husband, obviously. Her parents who never let her forget she wasn’t part of their
blood. The birth mother who didn’t want her. And, of course, Finn MacCauley. The man whose legacy she carried in her blood.

The reason she’d never know the answer to what it would be like to love and be loved by a man like Marc Rossi.

“Dev?” he asked.

She shook her head, shoving the demons into a drawer, wanting to be in his head, not her own. “No, Marc, it’s my turn,” she
said. “Tell me about this woman who took everything from you.”

He lifted his head, his eyes sharp.

“You told me the last time you trusted a woman it cost you everything. Did she take you to the cleaners in the divorce?”

“She’s in prison.”

Oh. Wow. Prison? “Really?”

“Yes, really. I put her there.”

M
arc didn’t want to talk about Laura while he was feeling the aftereffects of mind-blowing sex, still hard and nestled inside
Devyn’s sweet flesh, riding an endorphin high that was meant for kissing and cuddling and, God, sleeping.

“You put her in prison?” She moved just enough to dislodge him, the separation hurting more than he expected it to.

“She’s a criminal. That’s what I do. Did. I put the bad guys—and girls—behind bars.” He knew he sounded cold; he had to. This
wasn’t a discussion where he’d ever let his guard down. “Dev, you really want to drag ex-spouses into this beautiful night?”

She sat up, reached for the protection of the robe, scrutinized his face. Not many men had the dubious distinction of putting
their own wife in jail. The curiosity was natural.

“What happened?” she asked.

“What happened was that I naïvely believed that no one could be that perfect on the outside and that messed up on the inside.”

A shadow crossed her expression, or maybe it was the firelight. “What did she do?”

Besides step on his heart and shatter his belief in womankind and top it all off by taking away the one thing he wanted from
her? “Twenty-five counts of embezzlement, one of attempted murder. We divorced during the trial, and she’s doing seven years
in a state prison.”

“Who did she attempt to murder?”

“Me.”

She let out a little breath of shock.

He closed his eyes, remembering the night he walked into the office building in the financial district, looking for evidence.
Well, he sure found it. He could still remember the smell of the offices, the silence in the halls, until he heard… them.

Laura and her fucking partner in crime. Literally.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

She tied the robe firmly. “It matters to me,” she said. Of course it did.

“The details aren’t important, Devyn. I was investigating fraud in a group of small angel investment partners in Boston. When
some of the evidence pointed to the firm where my wife worked, I wanted to get off the case. But Laura actually talked me
out of that. She said she could help me infiltrate the company, find out who was involved.”

“To keep you from finding the real culprit?” she guessed, accurately.

“Who happened to be her boss.” He blew out a breath. “Who was also her lover.”

“Oh,” she said, reaching a hand to him. “I know that feeling. That sense of…”

“Betrayal.”

“Yes.” She squeezed his arm but still didn’t slip down to hold him. “How did she… attempt murder?”

“I caught her in the act.”

“Of committing fraud?”

“Of committing adultery.” He let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “The coward ran and left us to argue it out. She pulled a gun
on me.” He was doing a great job of being emotionless, at least on the outside, considering just how much he hated this chapter
of his life.

“Did she shoot you?”

“I shot her.” His smile was tight. “Just to take her down, not to fatally wound her. But the whole incident was a mess, and…
I left the FBI. I felt I had to, after staying on a case I had no right to be on. And we divorced, obviously.”

After a long, quiet, endless minute, she said, “We have a lot more in common than I realized. Starting with cheating spouses
who get what they deserve.”

“She was a user,” he said, more roughly than he meant to. “I should have listened to my brothers, my cousins. They couldn’t
stand her, but I always had an excuse for her. She had a really rough childhood, beaten by her father, actually locked in
a closet when she was five. Serious trauma that left her with issues. You understand.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “To be fair, the worst thing my parents did was give me the cold shoulder over a formal dinner. Not
rough, exactly.”

“But you have that… issue”

She gave him a funny look. “What issue?”

“That sense that you’re not good enough,” he said, trying not to let the words rile, but he could see he’d struck a chord.
“It’s in the subtext of everything you say. You’re the child of at least one fugitive parent and another who is lining up
for that job. You wear that identity like… like armor.”

“Armor?” Her voice rose a little. “I just let you past it.”

“Did you?”

She pushed herself up, but he grabbed her arm to keep her down.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Dev.
You
haven’t done anything wrong.”

She froze and gave him a hard look. “That’s very easy for you to say.”

“I just told you what I carry around. I feel a lot of things about my ex-wife and what happened, but no shame.”

“You
married
her, Marc. You weren’t born to her. Big difference. And your family is… is… glorious. I’m sure they’re great judges of character.”
She shook off his grasp. “I have to get some sleep.”

He studied her for a while, considering the benefits of arguing. None. “Alone?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Of course not. Sleep in the bed with me. We both need company.”

Company? Comfort. Sex. Why did that leave him wanting more? It was all he should expect to give or get from her. Anything
more, and he’d be… rescuing again.

He followed her into the bed, dragging the cover with him as they silently got into bed together. She kept her robe on, and
he didn’t argue, turning her around to spoon with her, holding her as tightly as he could.

He wasn’t being fair. There was so much more to the story he hadn’t told her. But some secrets should stay hidden.

Neither of them spoke as the last of the embers cracked and a cowbell dinged softly on a distant farm. After a while, her
breathing grew steady and slow, and so did Marc’s. He was just about asleep when he felt her shift, slide, and move away.

He let her go, keeping his eyes closed. He felt her weight leave the bed, heard a bare foot hit the floor.

She took a few steps, slowly and surreptitiously. From under his lids, he watched, wondering what she was doing. Getting another
drink? Going to the bathroom?

She very quietly opened the bag they’d brought, glancing over her shoulder when the zipper made a soft sound, checking to
see if he was asleep.

She reached into the bag, rooted around, checking him periodically. After a moment, she pulled something out. Not
something
. She turned a piece of paper over, read the back, her head shaking slowly.

With one more look at him, she approached the fireplace and dragged the screen back very carefully, trying not to make a sound.

He purposely breathed evenly, the sound of sleep.

When she turned, he lifted his head to see a match flare, the flame dancing, ashes fluttering into the embers.

On some weird level, he understood.