Ultimate Sins (10 page)

“Do you like that, fairy-girl?” he ground out, his voice a hard, hungry rasp as he worked his fingers inside her again, twisting, stroking sensitive tissue, and violently awakening nerve endings.

Amelia leaned back slowly, desperate for each sensation, locked in a battle to reach that farthest edge of sensation where complete rapture waited.

“Oh God, yes.” Strangled, shocked, breathless: The sound of her own voice barely penetrated the haze of pleasure surrounding her, sinking inside her.

“Lie back for me, Amelia.”

Leaning over her, he eased her to her back before dropping a kiss on her lips and straightening once again.

With one hand he guided her feet, first one then other, until they rested against the edge of the island, her knees bent, thighs splayed.

Forcing her lashes to lift, she watched him, his golden gaze locked on her pussy as his fingers slid back, releasing his possession of her, despite the tight flex of her muscles tightening around them.

How had she lived all these years without this? How had she lived without
him
for so long?

“Crowe.” She would have sobbed his name, but she couldn't find the breath. “Please … please…”

Bending over her again, his fingers began moving inside her as she worked her pussy against each hard thrust, feeling the pleasure building, her body tensing.

Dressed in nothing but high-cut panties, the leg band straining where he'd simply pushed it aside to possess her, Amelia found herself wishing she'd simply omitted the panties altogether that morning.

“Deeper,” she begged, her voice harsh, desperate, burning need searing her vagina as the clenching, steadily rising hunger and pleasure surged higher with each fierce stroke of his fingers inside her.

“Deeper, baby?” he moaned against her breast as he began kissing his way down her torso to the tight clench of her stomach.

Before he moved to the sensitive flesh between her thighs, he held the silk to one side and paused long enough to watch his fingers retreat from her inner flesh, thick juices coating his flesh.

A second later he took her again, the digits pushing in deep, hard, nearly sending her exploding into bliss.

As his fingers thrust inside her, his tongue flicked over the swollen bud of her clit. He tasted her with quick, firm flicks of his tongue and hard, tight suckling kisses along her flesh.

Amelia couldn't hold back her cries.

Pleasure swamped her, infused her. Crowe's lips and the heated interior of his mouth drew on the hard point, sucking it firmly, his tongue rubbing it, rasping against it as he fucked her hard, deep, sending jagged flares of ever-deepening pleasure to pierce her senses.

The hard knot of her clit swelled further, pulsing as the storm shook her body and flares of sensation tore through her.

Sensation exploded inside the tortured depths of her pussy with a violence that dragged a gasp of agonizing pleasure from her lips. Echoing stronger, deeper in her womb, it peaked in her clit in a furious explosion of pleasure. It was both agony and ecstasy.

Cataclysmic. Furious.

The sensations held her in a grip of overwhelming, burning rapture.

She wanted it to last forever. She feared another second of it would destroy her.

Locked in the grip of pure sexual intensity, she wanted nothing more than to burn in the sensual flames until nothing else existed, until nothing could pull her from it.

*   *   *

Crowe jerked at his belt, the painfully hard erection beneath his jeans demanding Amelia's attention.

He'd learned over the years that no other woman could ease that clawing need locked in his balls.

No other woman had the power. Only Amelia had ever satisfied that need.

A need he'd never known until he touched her, possessed her, seven years ago.

As he slipped the leather belt free, the computerized alarm system gave a harsh beep before announcing, “Basement entrance.”

Amelia jerked at the sound, her eyes widening. She came off the island counter, scrambling for her clothes.

Eyes narrowed, he watched her frantic search for her clothes, then the fumbling haste to get them on.

He had no fear, no sense of worry or concern for her safety, but her nervousness definitely had him curious. So curious he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter to wait.

“Would you not just stand there?” she muttered, moving hurriedly from the family room back to the kitchen.

She was now fully dressed, her hair a little less mussed than it had been, her expression irritated.

His lips parted to ask her exactly what she wanted him to do when she suddenly gasped,

“Oh my God! Crowe, fix your belt. Now!”

His brow lifted.

“Basement stairs.” The computerized voice announced before Crowe could say anything.

“Fix it now!” she hissed before quickly turning around in front of him as though to hide the fact that he had been preparing to undress.

“Amelia,” he growled, fixing the belt. “What the hell—”

Before he could finish, Amelia's new-found brother, John Caine, stepped in the kitchen, his expression hard, his gray eyes flat and cold.

At the sight of Crowe, he relaxed marginally, though the question in his eyes as he looked between Amelia and Crowe was unmistakable.

Amelia nervously cleared her throat before stepping to open the refrigerator.

“Do you two want a beer, or coffee?” she asked, breathless, her hands shaking.

“Get out of the kitchen.” Stepping to her, Crowe pulled her back before closing the appliance. “He doesn't want a beer.”

“How do you know?” Pulling her arm from his grip and shooting him a glare, she looked ready to shatter from nerves.

“Because I've known him far too long for either of us to be comfortable.”

John only grunted.

“Oh.” She turned back to John slowly before frowning at Crowe again. “Then you knew he was investigating Wayne as the Slasher?”

He could see the accusation in her eyes, the fear that he had suspected Wayne and hadn't told her.

“Unfortunately, I didn't,” Crowe assured her. “Nor did I know he suspected Wayne was his father. If I had, then I might have figured things out quicker.”

“I doubt that.” John stepped farther into the room, suspicion filling his eyes as his gaze lingered a second too long on Amelia's neck before he looked at Crowe. “It didn't help me figure things out quicker.”

There was a silent warning in the man's eyes, and Crowe knew it was for him. The warning to stay away from Amelia tempted Crowe to prove that
no one
would keep Amelia from him ever again.

“I wondered why your truck was outside.” John at least tried to show a little tact where the question was concerned.

“Why did you think it was out there?” Crowe drawled.

Surprisingly, Amelia was the one who spoke up. “Crowe just stopped by to make certain everything was okay.” She cleared her throat as she clasped her hands in front of herself again. “The reporters are still refusing to leave.”

“Bastards,” John bit out. “They'll give up soon, though, I think. There's not much more to report now that Wayne's dead.”

John crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, giving Crowe a look that promised they would talk later.

Crowe grinned back at him. “I was just curious.”

“By the way,” John's gaze moved to Amelia, “I left my bags downstairs. Just tell me where you want me to put them.”

Crowe stiffened furiously. His bags? Dammit to hell. John moving in with her?

“You can take Wayne's suite. That way you'll have plenty of time to see if the FBI missed anyplace that Wayne could have hidden the rest of his journals or anything else they're still looking for.”

“What's missing?” Crowe asked.

“My mother's heirlooms, and all the money he had in savings. He'd been slowly making withdrawals over the past few months, and just before Amory kidnapped me, Wayne withdrew all my savings as well.”

The last comment had her voice filling with worry.

“Amelia, I told you, you don't have to worry about the money,” John told her. “I'll take care of everything.”

John didn't see what Crowe did in the stormy blue-green depths of her eyes or in that stubborn curve of her chin: determination to take care of herself. Over the years, she'd never asked anyone for a damned thing. If he wasn't mistaken, though, a hell of a lot of people in this county hadn't minded asking her for favors.

Especially favors that would get them out of trouble with Wayne Sorenson.

“I appreciate the offer, John, but I told you, I'll take care of it.” There was no hiding the firm refusal in her voice. “I won't be a charity case, especially to the brother I've only just found. He would have had to hide the cash here in the house; it's the only place he would have been assured of being able to check on it daily.”

“We'll see then.” Her brother nodded, his gaze gentling as he stared back at her. “If it's in his rooms, I promise, I'll find it.”

Watching Amelia, Crowe found it impossible to understand how a man could be as cold and cruel to his child as Wayne had been to Amelia. She was so delicate that even understanding how she had endured the many “punishments” was an impossible feat.

“I'll show you up to the suite.” She glanced at Crowe again before heading to the doorway. “I'll get clean linens if you'll show Crowe the basement entrance.” The suggestion was made in a less-than-steady voice as she paused at the doorway and glanced back at him, her eyes dark, wary. “Good night, Crowe, and thank you for checking up on me.”

He inclined his head mockingly, letting her see in his gaze the knowledge that he she was running from him.

“I have to go away for a while, Amelia,” he told her, watching as she paused, her back still turned to him. “I'll be gone for about six weeks. When I get back, be waiting for me.”

The soft, dark strands of her hair brushed below her shoulders as she turned back to him. “I stopped waiting for you a long time ago, Crowe. A very long time ago.”

His teeth clenched, grinding furiously at the sudden flash of something filled with pain and bitterness that flashed in her eyes.

“See you soon, fairy-girl,” he promised.

Heat flooded her face at the intimate name, and a hint of anger tightened her lips, but she didn't say anything more.

Turning, she all but ran from him like a frightened doe in hunting season.

Crowe restrained his chuckle, well aware of John's scrutiny and the disapproval in his gaze.

“Come on, I'll show you the way out,” John growled as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “How the hell did you get past that horde out there if you came in another way?”

It really wouldn't have mattered how he came in; he could have done so without the journalists being aware of it.

“I'm just good like that,” he claimed as John led him from the kitchen.

And through the dining room to a narrow hall at the back of the house.

“I just bet you are,” John muttered under his breath.

Crowe pretended he didn't hear the comment, though he had a feeling John knew better.

Just as Crowe knew better than to believe that John didn't know about the training Crowe had in the military. And that the training would have ensured his ability to enter the house without being seen.

Opening one of the hall doors, John stepped inside long enough to flip the light switch and brighten the rough-lumber steps leading to the basement.

This feature was not part of the plans sent to the county after they begin keeping such records, though. Crowe knew it wasn't, because Crowe had gone searching for the house plans during those first weeks, seven years ago, when he'd begun secretly seeing Amelia.

The rough drawing submitted after Wayne's father purchased the house indicated no more than a four-foot crawl space beneath the house.

“Interesting.” Crowe gazed around the open, though cluttered basement. “Believed in saving everything, didn't he?”

If the antiques were any indication, more than three generations had been storing their cast-offs down here.

“No kidding,” John agreed. “The attic is worse. You can't even walk around up there, let alone figure out where to look for anything in particular.”

The basement was far smaller than the house above it and, if he wasn't mistaken, laid out a bit oddly.

“Stay away from her, Crowe.”

Well now, hadn't that just been thrown out of the blue, Crowe thought, amused.

Narrowing his eyes, he gazed out at the basement for long seconds before he finally turned back to the other man.

“That's not your decision to make,” he reminded the deputy. “And even if it were, it wouldn't do you any good, John. Don't try to stand between me and Amelia, because I promise you, I won't stand for it.”

John's lips thinned, his gaze turning cold. “You don't have a choice. You used her to draw Sorenson out of hiding, and I don't appreciate that. I won't let you use her again, no matter the reason. She doesn't deserve it. And by God,
you
don't deserve
her
. Not anymore. Not the man you've become.”

Crowe nodded as though considering the warning before smiling mockingly. “There's where you're fucking wrong,” Crowe assured the other man, letting him see the full, blazing determination that filled him. “I do deserve her. I deserve her far more than you even know, John. And if you think I'll let you stand in my way, then you're wrong.”

“Dammit, Crowe—”

Crowe turned on him slowly, forcing back the humanity it had taken him years to find again after leaving the military.

The man John saw now was the stone killer he had been then. The killer John knew existed in his past.

*   *   *