Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(42)

A wicked gleam touched her eyes and she smiled. “Perfect sense. You’re saying I’m not a one-night stand.” She touched the collar on his shirt and then the skin just below it, her gaze following her fingers.

Fire lit at his neck and shot downward.

He lunged forward and kissed her.

She met him kiss for kiss, and the next few minutes flew by in a flurry of hands and mouths. Tugging at clothing, undoing hooks, grasping at bedding as they flung back the covers to get bare skin on cool sheets. He moved her back against the mattress and stretched out beside her, touching every inch of that silky skin of hers with his own. She clung to him, gripping as she rubbed her thighs against his, her chest pressed tight to his.

He wasn’t done talking with her, but there would be time to talk later. She ran her nails through his hair, and his body lit up like fireworks. He continued his deep assault on her mouth as they rolled on the bed, taking turns for control. His hands traced her smooth skin, touching and memorizing every dip and curve. It was fast and hungry, no calm, soothing sex here. He felt like a starving man.

And Jamie was delicious.

He pulled back and stopped, holding her at arm’s length, pinned against the mattress, so he could look his fill. Her eyes were dark and her pupils dilated, her lips open and wet, her chest heaving as she paused. Her gaze held his, saying she was giving him a moment to look but not much more. Something possessive gripped him.

“It’s not just sex,” he repeated. He needed to know she truly understood before this went further.

“I know.” The pulse at her neck throbbed.

Her leg shifted between his, stroking his rigidity with her thigh. Michael tried not to moan. Instead, he bent his head to her breast and took her nipple gently between his teeth, teasing the silky tip with his tongue. She hissed and clutched at him. The scent of her skin shot heat down his spine and put every hormone in overdrive.

There wasn’t time. He parted her with a hand, stroking her, and found her slick wetness, which nearly made him release on her stomach. She pressed a condom into his hand. He ripped it open and sheathed himself as her knees came up and her head tipped back. He pressed against her and slid deep.

Their bodies arced together, their pace frantic and feverish. It was mindless, hormone-driven sex. Exactly what he’d needed and apparently she’d needed too. She scratched his back, and the small pain magnified his anticipation. White lights danced behind his eyelids as he heard her gasp, felt her clamp and pulse around him. His tension built.

Michael came, his brain and spine exploding with sensations.

Later, he wrapped his arms around her, relishing the feel of her skin pressed against him. She’d drifted off, but he didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to relinquish the moment. He wanted to stretch it out as long as possible, savoring the intimacy they’d shared. He still wanted more, more of everything she had to offer him. Physical, emotional, and mental. He was keeping Jamie around for the long haul.

But he couldn’t wait to pour two cups of coffee in the morning.





Gerald had packed a small duffel bag for a few nights, filled up his gas tank, and parked his vehicle a mile from Jamie’s house at a local gas station. He read the latest Lee Child novel as he waited for his boss’s man to update him. There was no way he was going near Jamie’s home after the break-in that morning. Thankfully, his boss always knew someone, somewhere. And to get one of the cops, who was currently keeping an eye on the Jacobs home for twenty-four hours, to give an update of any movements at the home took a simple phone call.

Something was going to happen, he could feel it. Sure enough. Just as Child’s Jack Reacher character was about to raise bloody hell on four beefy idiots with his bare hands, Gerald’s phone rang. According to the source, Michael Brody’s black gas guzzler had pulled up to Jamie’s house with her in the passenger seat. It’d parked at her home for ten minutes until the two of them emerged with Jamie carrying a small suitcase. And the SUV was headed his way.

Gerald reluctantly closed the novel, carefully marking his place. Were they headed to the airport? He was prepared if it came to that. Brody’s SUV blew past the gas station, and he pulled out after it. The SUV passed the airport exit and continued east on the highway, following the Columbia River through the gorge where the river cut through the Cascade Mountain Range. Gerald kept his gaze glued to the Range Rover, ignoring the wide blue river on his left. The river was the northern boundary of Oregon, separating it from Washington. On his right were towering steep cliffs with the occasional waterfall.

To Oregonians, the Columbia River Gorge was one of nature’s miracles. Gerald ignored it.

Hours later the cliffs eventually became flatland. The sights grew drier and browner. They crossed over into what Gerald mentally classified as redneck country. The eastern side of the Cascade Mountain Range was home to ranchers and cowboys. How far east were Brody and Jamie going? Boise? Montana? He believed it wouldn’t be too much farther. If they were going as far as Boise or more, it really made more sense to fly.

About fifty miles before the Idaho border, the SUV exited the main highway. A series of dusty two-lane roads and ninety more minutes of driving placed them in a tiny country town. Gerald stopped at the single-pump gas station to fill up and kept an eye on Jamie and Michael’s vehicle down the street. It’d pulled up to the sheriff’s building and they’d gone inside.