Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(63)

Yeah. He was. So was she. She didn’t care. “What… what are you doing here?”

He smiled. “Getting wet. But we already covered that.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Hold on.” Her hands were shaking as she dug back into her purse and finally came up with the elusive keys.

“Damn it!” she swore, almost dropping them when she couldn’t make her fingers work.

A big hand covered hers. “Let me help.”

She let him take the keys. Then she just stood there, staring at his beautiful, hard, amazing face, trying to come to grips with the fact that he was here, in Georgia, on her porch.

He calmly inserted the key in the lock, turned it, and swung the door open.

“Carrie?”

She blinked. Lifted a hand. “Go on in.”

He motioned for her to lead the way.

Her legs felt wooden as she stepped into the small foyer. Her heart beat like crazy. And though it was a muggy eighty degrees outside, she shivered in her wet clothes as the door closed behind her.

“Pretty dress,” he said from behind her.

“I… um… thanks.” It was a pretty dress. It was a sleeveless, summery yellow linen, and why they were talking about it was beyond her.

Apparently any semblance of rational thought was beyond her, because she couldn’t come up with a single thing to say to him that didn’t start and end with her begging him to stay. Only pride kept her from doing that.

“How are you, Carrie?”

She walked across the foyer, set her purse on a small table, and after drawing a steadying breath, turned back to him. He looked so big standing there in her little house. Big and imposing and uncomfortable as he held out her laptop. And wet. His hair was wet. His shirt was wet and plastered to his skin. And why, oh why, was he here?

“I’m okay.” She took the laptop, then set it down beside her purse. “You… you look good.”

He looked fantastic in dark dress pants and a pale blue silk shirt that was open at the throat. She could see his pulse beating there, and suddenly she was swamped by a memory of her lips pressed there, where he’d been hot and salty and vital.

“Let me get you a towel.” She took off like a shot, because if she stood there one moment longer she was going to do something stupid. Like fly into his arms. Like kiss him until they were both senseless and show him exactly how desperate she was to keep him here. Right here, where he couldn’t possibly want to stay.

In the hallway that separated the living area from the bedrooms, she flattened her palms against the wall and leaned back against it. She closed her eyes, made herself draw a deep breath, willed herself to get it the hell together.

“Carrie.”

Her eyes flew open. He stood right in front of her, his dark eyes steady and unblinking on her face. His big body close and moving closer. “I don’t need a towel.”

His mouth was a shallow breath away. Heat pulsed off of him like a heartbeat.

“N-no towel?”

He shook his head, brushed his nose against hers. “No. What I need is you.”

“Oh, God,” she sobbed and flew into his arms.

She didn’t care anymore that she should exercise caution. And when his mouth slammed over hers in a kiss of desperation and desire, she knew he felt the same way.

He lifted his head long enough to murmur, “Bedroom,” against her lips before taking her under again with a blistering kiss that stole what was left of her breath.

They managed to stumble down the hall, fumbling with buttons and zippers before falling onto her bed. Naked. Hungry. Beyond greedy for the feel of skin on skin, his mouth on her breast, his hands in her hair, his body pressing hers into the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her breast, his breath hot and damp on her nipple. “I’m sorry I let you go. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She choked out a sob, a memory of the pain of losing him, and embraced the reality of now. He was here now. He was hers now. And there wasn’t any pain. Only deep, penetrating pleasure.

She arched against him, reveling in his weight and his heat and his passion as he parted her thighs and entered her on a long, deep stroke.

She cried out with wonder as he led her to a rich orgasm that shot through her like a fire that an entire year of rain could never douse.

Trembling, clinging, crying, she rode the stunning wave while he pumped into her one last time, then collapsed as his own release ripped through him.

IT WAS DARK by the time Cav roused himself enough to realize he was alone in the bed. A dim light glowed from the top of a chest of drawers across the room.

He rolled over to his back, willed the fatigue away, and indulged himself in his surroundings. Soft greens, pale, pale blues. Cloud whites. The woman knew how to create a serene, peaceful haven.

Ultimately, that’s what he’d come here searching for. A safe haven in the arms of this woman he loved.

“You’re awake.”

He glanced toward the doorway and felt both arousal and gratitude when he saw her standing there. Her pretty blond hair was a mess and he felt a swell of pride that he’d been the one to mess it up. To mess her up. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were slumberous and dark.

She was wearing his shirt. One button buttoned, falling off her left shoulder. It had never looked better.

He held out a hand. She crossed the room, took it, and sat on the mattress by his hip. He lifted their linked hands and studied the fit of their entwined fingers before shifting his gaze and searching her face.