Close To Danger (Westen #4)(63)

And right now she wanted to make another memory with him—one of passion and desire.

Shifting her body, she slowly came up to straddle him, her gaze locking on his. “I need something from you.”

He slid his hands around her waist and down to her hips, urging her in tight. “And what would that be?”

“Make me forget my anger.” She leaned in and kissed him slowly, letting her teeth pull on his lower lip for a moment. “My fear. My worry.”

“I think I can do that,” he said before claiming her mouth.

She slid her arms around his neck, running her fingers up through his thick, short dark hair. Sparks matching those cracking off the fire shot through her. With a growl from deep inside her, she pressed her body tight against his, taking control of the kiss by invading his mouth with her tongue. The mixture of wine from dinner, the chocolate from their dessert and the sensual feel of his tongue meeting hers triggered more excitement to course through her.

This man.

Her body needed him like the dry earth of a drought craved water.

Reaching between them she pulled the hem of his sweater upwards, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull the thick wool over his head and toss aside. Once again she wrapped her arms around his neck, the heat of his body filtering through her own clothes.

Geez, how could he feel like a furnace in the dead of winter?

Before her mind could process the answer, he moved. Not breaking the kiss and with a firm grip of her ass cheeks, he lifted her as he stood. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clutching him to her and adjusting her mouth to his as he carried her through the cabin to the bedroom.

He paused and grunted. The door slammed closed behind them. Darkness surrounded them. She didn’t care. Seconds later, they landed in the middle of the bed they hadn’t made from their earlier love making session.

Hands worked fast. Clothes flew onto the floor. The foil pack crackled as he opened the condom.

Then finally, he slid in deep.

“Yes,” she moaned at the fullness of him inside her.

Gripping his hips tightly to hers with her legs, she arched her back to meet him thrust for thrust. The pace quickened. This joining a pounding rush of need between them. He reached above her head to clutch the headboard, his chest rubbing her breasts with each hard drive of his body into hers. Desperate to take him with her over the edge of the sensual precipice she neared, she slipped her arms down and around his torso. As her body convulsed in passionate release, she raked her nails down his back. He rewarded her with a shout and the tensing of his body as he fell over into the abyss with her.

Slowly, Chloe opened her eyes. Wes leaned up on his elbows, staring down at her, his face unreadable in the darkness.

“Feel better?” he asked, no humor in his voice.

Good thing. If he laughed at her shameless behavior, she’d have to hit him. And right now, she didn’t think she could make a fist, much less put any punch behind it.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good.”

He lowered his mouth to hers. Softly, slowly. A kiss so tender it brought tears to her eyes.

Damn. Good thing it was too dark to see in the room. She was already embarrassed she’d cried on him earlier.

Breaking the kiss, he shifted to the side, sat on the edge of the bed, then disappeared out the door, giving her a brief glimpse of his naked body as he went into the bathroom to deposit the condom. Turning on her side, she watched the fire through the open door. Wes appeared again. He went to the fire, doing something with the fire poker.

Good lord, there wasn’t one ounce of fat on that man’s body. Each muscle well defined. The only thing marring all that masculine beauty? Long red strips where her nails had scored him.

She couldn’t help the inner fist-pump. She liked that she’d left her mark on him.

A moment later he hurried back into the bedroom, scooted in beside her and pulled the covers up on them both. Lying on his back, he pulled her in tight beside him.

Her head resting on his chest, she heard his heart beating strong and steady beneath her ear, the soft hairs of his chest tickled her cheek and nose.

“I’m glad you left the door open,” she said. “I hate the dark.”

“I didn’t think there was anything you were afraid of, counselor,” he said, with a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Bad things happen in the dark.”

He brushed her face with the knuckles of his hand. “What bad things, Chloe?”

“My parents died at night.”

“What happened?” he asked gently.

“Daddy was a professor of engineering. He was invited to speak at the University of Kentucky in Lexington. Since it was their anniversary week, Mom went with him, leaving us home with Bobby. The second night there was a banquet and awards ceremony, which my parents attended. It’s only about two hours away, so they started home.”

She paused, thinking back to that terrible night. “It was a sudden rainstorm. The kind that pops up and the roads get slick before anyone realizes it. Even though they were on the highway, a drunk driver plowed into them from behind, sending them careening off into an embankment of trees.”

Inhaling slowly, she ran her hand over the hairs on his chest. “The police came to the house just after midnight. The doorbell woke me. I slipped out of the room I shared with Dylan. The house was dark except for the light coming up the stairs from the front door. Bobby stood there talking to the policeman. I’ve never seen her so pale and frightened.”