The Newlyweds (15 page)

Sam reached for the fly of his trousers and deftly, swiftly, unfastened it. Slowly, he peeled the garment down his legs, kicking it off when it reached his ankles. Then he straightened again and tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, on each side of his body. Bridget held her breath as he bent to skim those off, too, sucking in a sharp breath when he straightened. In the pale glow of the candle, he was magnificent, his lower body as firm and muscular as his upper body, his legs kissed with the same dark hair that decorated his torso. And there, at his center…

Oh, my.

She caught her breath at the sight of him, because that part of him was even more magnificent than the rest of him. And only then did she realize just how far over her head she had gotten with Sam Jones. Because he was way more man than she was used to dealing with. Physically, intellectually, emotionally, spiritually. And the thought of joining her body, her self, to his and to him just then was…

Oh, my.

She gulped in another breath, hoping it might slow the rapid-fire beating of her heart, but it came out sounding like a gasp. Which, when she thought about it, was maybe what it really was. Because he'd taken her by surprise, her Sam. And now he would take her even further.

When he heard her response, Sam grinned again, proudly this time. “I'll take that as a sound of approval,” he told her.

She nodded slowly, but couldn't seem to form any words, as her mouth had gone completely dry and her
brain had gone completely slack. She grew even more agitated as Sam began to walk toward her, striding across the big bedroom with utter confidence, clearly unconcerned that he was completely naked and thoroughly aroused. He halted by the bed and reached for her, his hand covering her breast possessively. Just like that, without preliminary or permission, as if he were simply claiming something that belonged to him.

And Bridget realized then that she did want to belong to Sam Jones. She'd been kidding herself earlier when she'd thought she could couple with him on a superficial, physical level and then just walk away. Because there was nothing superficial in her response to him. And it went way, way beyond the physical.
Take me,
she wanted to tell him.
Make me yours.

And then she wanted to laugh at herself. She was already his, and she would remain his forever, whether he took what she offered him or not.

As if she had spoken her desire aloud, he lowered his body to the bed and lay beside her, the hand on her breast moving to her shoulder, urging her onto her back. And then he covered her, insinuating his thigh between hers, pressing his chest to her breasts, tangling his fingers in her hair as he covered her mouth with his own.

For a long time, they only lay there, Bridget supine with Sam's hot, heavy body atop hers, their mouths joining in the way their bodies soon would, exploring every inch of each other that their hands could reach. Heat shot through Bridget everywhere Sam touched her, every feverish sensation finding its way to her heart, where it gathered steam and exploded again, sending fire to her every extremity. And then Sam was pushing himself up and away from her, kneeling before her, one
hand on each of her hips, gazing at her as if he had some serious plans for her.

Bridget bent one leg and started to hook it around his waist, but Sam caught it in his hand, circling his fingers firmly around her ankle. Then he reached for her other ankle and grasped it, too. The sight of her black high heels among their naked flesh aroused her all over again, especially when Sam moved her legs to his shoulders and began to lean forward again. As he drew nearer, he shifted her legs again, so that her knees were bent over his shoulders. But he moved in a way that lifted her hips from the bed, and he tucked his hands beneath her, catching her bare bottom in both hands. Then Sam was tasting the sensitive skin of her belly, and flicking his tongue over the indentation of her navel, making Bridget sigh in both delight and agitation. But no sooner did she start to enjoy her new position than Sam moved his hands between her legs, against the insides of her thighs, and pushed them open wide.

At first, Bridget didn't understand what he intended to do. And when she finally did, she tried to push her legs closed again. It was far too intimate a thing for him to do. She wasn't ready. She'd never…not with any man. But Sam halted her efforts.

“Let me do this for you,” he murmured.

“Sam, no, it's too—”

“And let me do it for me, too,” he added, grinning.

“Sam, no, I—”

And before she could utter another word of objection, he dipped his head between her legs, opening his mouth over that most sensitive part of her. He traced a lazy circle against her with the tip of his tongue before tasting
her more deeply, then penetrating her. And then he did it all over again.

Bridget went absolutely still at the thrill that bolted through her when he began to savor her. She knotted her fingers in the pillow above her head, instinctively thrusting her hips upward, higher off the mattress. When she did, Sam caught her buttocks in both hands again, delving his fingers into the delicate cleft that separated them, penetrating her with one swift, deliberate finger. She jerked at the intrusion, then relaxed against him, unable to do anything but enjoy the feel of him against her and inside her. Again and again he tasted her, entered her, caressed and delighted her, until Bridget wasn't sure where she ended and Sam began.

She didn't know how long he continued his relentless pleasuring of her, only knew that eventually he moved back up her body, dragging openmouthed kisses all along her flesh as he went, pausing at her breasts to enjoy them as thoroughly as he had the rest of her. He moved away from her long enough to roll on a condom—and she was so incoherent by then that she didn't even care where it came from or that he'd had one ready, as if he'd expected this to happen all along. Then, vaguely, she registered him moving behind her, pressing his long body against hers from her shoulders to her calves. He opened one hand over her breast, the other over her belly, spreading his fingers straight enough to bury them into the soft thatch of curls between her legs. And as he pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, he pushed himself into her from behind, going deep inside, stretching her, filling her fuller than she'd ever felt before. And only then did Bridget realize how empty she had been before he came along.

“Oh, Sam,” she murmured. “Oh, you feel so good.”

“So do you,” he murmured back.

And then words became unnecessary, because Sam began to move against her, inside her, going even deeper than before. He started with a lazy, even, confident pace, pulling out only far enough to propel himself in again with more force. Gradually, he increased his rhythm, doubling it, tripling it, the friction of their bodies moving against each other generating heat and so much more. A hot coil began to tense in Bridget's midsection, winding tighter and tighter until she feared it would explode. Just when she thought it would, Sam pulled out of her completely. She started to cry out an objection, but he only turned their bodies so that she was on her back, and he was covering her again. He braced one muscular arm on the mattress beside her, drawing her leg around his waist with the other. Bridget clung to him, curling her fingers around his nape, hooking her leg across his back.

He entered her again, faster this time, wilder, deeper. Again and again he joined his body to hers, until both of them were delirious with their hunger, their need. And as Bridget felt that coil inside her explode, Sam hurled himself against her one last time. Together, they cried out at the pleasure rocketing through them, then they collapsed against each other, panting for breath.

For long moments, they only lay there, each coming to terms with what had happened. It was Sam who finally moved first, pushing himself up onto his elbows to gaze down at Bridget's face. His gaze flew over every feature, as if he was mentally cataloging the way she looked just then. He seemed to want to tell her something, but he only shook his head slowly and smiled. Then he pressed his mouth to hers in a fierce kiss.

“That was incredible,” he said.

And Bridget had to agree.

“I'll be right back,” he added, rolling away from her.

The condom, she thought as she watched him walk toward the master bath. He had to dispose of that tidy modern convenience that had prevented pregnancy and the spread of disease. Too bad it hadn't prevented her from falling in—

Too bad it hadn't prevented her from caring so much for Sam Jones, too, she hastily amended.

Bridget closed her eyes and lay quietly on the bed, marveling at how very good she felt inside, in spite of the fact that she was already regretting what they had done. It was only going to complicate the investigation, she thought. It wasn't going to help anything at all.

Still, she thought as she began to doze off. She did feel very good….

 

When Sam eased into wakefulness in the twilit darkness of early morning, his first thought was that he felt very, very good. That must be because it was Saturday, he decided, and he didn't have to go to work. So since he felt very, very good and didn't have to go to work, he might as well go back to sleep. But then as he inhaled a deep, satisfied breath, reality hit. It wasn't Saturday. It was Friday. And the reason he felt so good was because he was holding a woman's breast in his left hand.

What the…?

And then he was wide awake.

Bridget, he remembered then. They had made love last night. Oh, boy, had they made love last night. And he had been the one to instigate it. All three times.

He waited for the crash of foolishness that was sure
to rain down upon him at the realization of what he'd done—what he'd allowed to happen. Waited to be overcome by the idiocy, the carelessness, the dereliction of duty. But really, all he felt was a sad sort of regret. Regret that he had succumbed to a simple weakness he would just as soon have pretended he didn't have—humanity. Or, even more specifically, masculinity. He was a man who had wanted something—someone—and he hadn't been strong enough to resist her. And now that he had enjoyed the pleasure of her company…

Well, truth be told, he wanted to enjoy it again. And again. He wanted to wake up this same way tomorrow morning. And the morning after that. Because as he lay there waiting for his thoughts to come, Sam realized that he didn't just feel very, very good. He felt excellent. Extraordinary. Sensational. Better than he could ever recall feeling. Waking up to find Bridget Logan in his arms, her warm, soft, naked body curling so naturally, so trustingly, into his, and remembering how the two of them had turned to each other during the night, and how incredible that had been… Well. Sam just found himself wanting to wake up that way every morning. For the rest of his life.

Which meant he had no choice but to end this now.

He had sworn he would never get involved with another rest-of-his-life thing again. One time had been more than enough for him. He refused to set himself up again for the same sort of treatment he'd received from his ex-wife. He might not be soured on women after that, but he
was
soured on lifelong forever-afters.

And even if he could find his way to lose the bitterness and risk his heart again, Bridget Logan wasn't the one who would be responsible for it. She could never be
part of a lifelong forever-after with him. Not necessarily because he didn't
want
to include her in his life—though, really, this thing was still too new for him to know if that was true or not. But his opinion on the subject was immaterial. The fact was Bridget Logan didn't want to be part of his life. Yes, last night had been amazing. And yes, he was reasonably certain that she cared for him, too, because no two people could have responded to each other the way he and Bridget had last night without there being at least some small amount of affection involved.

But she'd made it clear she wouldn't be hanging around Portland any longer than it took to haul in whoever was trying to bring down the organization her family held near and dear. Hell, the only reason she was even in Portland was because the FBI had dragged her here against her will. As soon as they wrapped up this case, she'd be hitting the road again, and she wouldn't stop until she was at least a continent away, back in D.C., where she'd been living since she left home to go to college. And if she had her way, she'd end up even farther away than that, back in Europe, or some other exotic destination, where she could pursue the dream of her career.

Bridget Logan might be a Portland native, but she wasn't a Portland girl. And Sam hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told her Portland was in his blood. He was a fourth-generation Oregonian. Leaving this state would be like leaving a piece of himself behind.

So he'd have to leave Bridget instead. Or, at the very least, watch her go.

As if he'd spoken the thought aloud, she began to stir next to him then, waking even more slowly than he had
himself. The soft squirming of her body against his made Sam go hard all over again, but the reminder of his decision put his arousal to a swift end. Still, she did feel very good lying against him, soft and warm and sweet-smelling….

She went utterly still, and Sam knew she was making the same realization that he had already made himself, that the two of them were lying naked in bed together after having spent the night coupling in the most basic, most erotic way two human beings could. And he couldn't help wondering if her other thoughts were mirroring his, too, about how this had to be the first and last time something like this happened, because there couldn't possibly be any future in it, and to pursue it might be enjoyable for now, but it would only hurt them both in the long run.

Sam made himself roll away from her, to give her what little space he could, then he lay on his back on the opposite side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Good morning,” he said. But his voice came out sounding flat, lifeless. Probably because that was how he was suddenly starting to feel inside.