A Younger Woman Page 9

  “To Blu?”

  Margo swore. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “If you don’t like how I’m looking at you, you should have stayed in my bedroom with the door closed.” His gaze slid over her breasts. “I remember this T-shirt, but not it being that tight.”

  Margo attempted to move past him and escape back inside, but he stepped sideways and blocked the door. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. He had never been much of a drinker in the old days. In the past year she’d seen him with a beer now and then at the Toucan, but rarely anything stronger. “Are you drunk?”

  “I don’t think so.” He grinned. “I still know my name…yours, too.” His expression sobered. “When you call Hewitt, does he normally pick up? Should he have today when you called?”

  The question shocked her. “You tapped your own phone. That was a setup, too.”

  He stepped closer, allowing the moonlight to dance dreamily over his bare chest. Margo didn’t want to notice, didn’t want to admit that her heart-rate had doubled. She wanted the sight of him to disgust her, wanted back inside so she could start thinking of another way to escape before morning.

  He reached up and ran his thumb over her marred cheek. It had turned a dark shade of blue. “Does it hurt?”

  “Only when you touch it. So don’t.”

  He dropped his hand. “How about your knees?”

  “Let me go back inside, Ry.”

  “Do you think hot packing your arm will work?”

  “I’ll let you know in the morning. Let me go back inside, Ry.”

  He slowly brushed her hair off her shoulder. “Do you ever think about the way it was? How hot we burned?”

  “I want to go back upstairs. Please, let me go.”

  He kept his hand in her hair, moving the strands around with his fingers. “I remember,” he confessed. “All of it. Those helpless little noises you always made. The way you would hold your breath when I—”

  “Stop it. You said no more games. Well this game is one I refuse to play with you.”

  “Does Hewitt make you burn? Burn the way I used to? Do you moan and fight it at first? Does he make your skin hot and your nipples turn to stone? Does he—”

  “Yes. Yes to all of it.” Margo needed a safety net for her emotions, needed to believe in what she was saying. If she didn’t… He was looking at her as if something was going to happen between them, something profound and earth-shattering. Something that would make them both “burn.” She’d already convinced herself that nothing like that could ever happen between them ever again.

  He took a step closer, forcing her back against the railing. His hands gripped the cool iron on either side of her, surrounding her with his heat, his masculine scent. “I think you’re lying about Hewitt. If you were getting what you need, you wouldn’t have so much trouble keeping your body reined in right now.”

  Slowly he leaned into her, and a surge of blood rushed through Margo’s veins. She swallowed hard and did her best to keep her chin up. “My body doesn’t remember you. I don’t feel anything for you.”

  He shook his head. “People are my business. I watch them, gauge their actions, their reactions. I listen for alterations in their breathing, watch their eyes. It’s what I do, baby, and I do it better than most.”

  What he said was true; he did have a talent for reading people, that’s what made him such a good cop. But she couldn’t let him read her thoughts right now, she couldn’t.

  “Should we test my theory?”

  “I hate you,” Margo insisted.

  “With good reason. But maybe not as much as you want to. I’m not reading hate right now.”

  Margo struggled to breathe, forced herself to look at him once more. “You always did have a healthy ego, Ry. But you’re wrong. Right now you’re making me—”

  “Hotter than you’ve been in a long while.”

  “No. What you make me is sick.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Instead of forcing him to back off, her words had tossed him a challenge. He reached up to trace her lower lip with the side of his thumb. Slowly, deliberately, he trailed a finger over her chin and down her neck.

  Margo stood perfectly still. She cursed the fact that she hadn’t taken the time to change her T-shirt. Her sensitive nipples had puckered against the worn-out cotton, and she knew Ry felt them against his hard chest.

  “You’re fighting for air,” he whispered. “Your eyes are wider, and your body… Your body’s caught and your brain knows it. Relax, Margo. Take a deep breath, then let it out slowly.”

  As if she had no will of her own, she did as he told her. She drew in a solid breath then exhaled.

  “Again.”

  “Please, Ry. Back off.”

  “It won’t help, baby. There’s only one thing that will help. It’s got to get worse before it can get better.” He gave her an inch, but it didn’t last long. Suddenly his hand was between them, brushing his fingertips across her aching swollen breasts.

  Margo jerked her gaze back to his. “Ry, stop! Stop right now. I want to go back inside. My arm hurts. The infection is—”

  He shook his head, smiled a little sadly.

  “I hate you!” she flared again.

  “Like I said, you should. But even if you do, the one thing you can’t deny is how much you want that memory we share.”

  “I can’t want someone I hate.”

  His hand stilled. “I’m convinced a body has a homing instinct. It knows where it’s the safest. Where it belongs, and to whom.”

  “My body doesn’t belong to you,” Margo argued. It couldn’t, she thought with a sense of panic. If that was true, she’d be miserable her entire life.

  There was no reason to stand there and listen to him any longer. No reason to carry this conversation further. Only, she was doing just that, standing frozen in place like a stone statue.

  “Ry, please.”

  “Please, what?”

  “What is it you want? Information? I don’t have any to give you. Honest.”

  “Any good cop worth his salt is always ready to work out a deal for the sake of his case. I have to confess right now the case is the farthest thing from my mind.” He smiled and it softened the intensity in his very blue eyes. “No, baby, what I want tonight is simple and selfish. I want to see you naked, fighting me a little and panting my name at the same time.” His hands were suddenly on her, pulling her away from the railing and against his swollen arousal. “Here. Upstairs. In the grass. Where doesn’t matter. But it’s your call.”

  He was confusing her, purposely making her remember a time when all she had ever wanted was to be swallowed up in his arms, his powerful body setting her on fire. The memories were too profound to ever forget, but she had to forget the passion to save herself. She had to remember only the pain to keep from making a fool out of herself one more time.

  Desperate to get away, to think clearly, she said, “You’re right, Ry. It’s my call, and I want you to let go. I don’t want this.”

  This time when she tried to move, he dropped his hand and took a step back. Relieved, Margo hurried toward the door.

  “Margo?”

  She didn’t turn around, but she hesitated in the doorway.

  “Lock the bedroom door.”

  Chapter 7

  Ry picked the lock in record time, then eased the bedroom door open. She was sitting in the middle of his bed, moonlight capturing her in a stream of light.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d remember,” he drawled. “It’s been a while since we’ve played this game.”

  “I remember the rules. Locked, you’re welcome—unlocked, stay out.”

  It was a crazy game, one they had made up to sharpen his lock-picking skills. He’d told Margo if she was waiting for him in bed, it would give him more incentive.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Ry asked, suddenly afraid that he’d pushed too hard downstairs on the veranda.

  “Good sex is hard to tu
rn down. The best is when there’s no strings.”

  It wasn’t exactly what Ry wanted to hear or agree to, but tonight he would settle for a slice of the heaven he remembered. He would enjoy holding Margo close and be swept away by the feel of her sweet body against his. He would immerse himself in her heat and feast on that incredible rush of excitement that only came when she was the woman in his arms. Tonight he would be just a man hungry for the woman he loved.

  She turned back the coverlet in invitation and revealed she was naked. “‘In your arms, panting your name’ will come as soon as you decide to join me, Ry. But it won’t happen with you standing way over there.”

  He realized he’d frozen up. Ry supposed it was natural. He’d dreamed of this moment for two years, and now that it was here he was overwhelmed by the sight of her in his bed inviting him calmly and confidently to join her.

  He strolled forward, stopping when his leg brushed the side of the bed. Her gaze shifted to his jeans, his arousal crammed painfully tight against his fly. Leaning forward, she boldly brushed her fingers over him. “Can I see, or have you turned shy in your old age?”

  She had always felt the need to tease him. And it usually centered around their age difference. He’d reasoned that she’d always been a bit insecure when it came to the twelve years of experience he had on her. He’d never made an issue out of her inexperience when he’d taken her virginity, but he had always suspected it had worried her—she had so much pride.

  Was that why she was trying so hard right now to be the aggressor? Or was it simply that Brodie had taken up where he’d left off two years ago, and Margo was just doing what came naturally?

  Her fingers climbed his fly and rested an inch from the snap. When he didn’t move, she hesitated and glanced up at him. “Am I going too fast for you?”

  “What do you think?”

  She licked her lips, then eyed his zipper. “I think I’m going to have a peek.” She deftly unsnapped his jeans then slowly slid his zipper down. When she realized he had foregone underwear after his shower, she dropped her hands. As the seconds ticked by Ry’s flesh began to tease the opening wider.

  “What are you thinking, baby?”

  “I’m thinking I’m impressed, Detective Archard.” Her gaze found his. “For an old man, everything appears to be in working order.”

  She drew up on her knees, her hands skimming over his arousal, once, twice. She kept her eyes locked with his as her hot little fingers tortured him mercilessly over and over again. Ry finally closed his eyes, gave way to the moment. “Margo…” Her name came out in a tortured rush.

  “Shhh. Everything seems to be nice and…hard. But then I haven’t seen everything. Maybe your butt has turned saggy.”

  Ry opened his eyes and found her smiling. “You’re teasing the wrong guy, baby.”

  “Are you going to pull your handcuffs out again and chain me to the bedpost?”

  “Would you like it that way?” Ry had been waiting to touch her, holding off until he was sure she was fully committed to spending the night with him. But he couldn’t hold back any longer. He raised his hands and, starting at the backs of her legs, guided his fingers upward. When he reached the indent that gave shape to her wonderful backside, his fingers curved into her and parted her backside just a little. She sucked in a quick breath, gasped when he squeezed slightly, his fingers finding her warmth.

  “Look at me.” When she did as he asked, he said, “This kiss, the one coming up. Show me you remember what it was like for us. Kiss me crazy, baby.”

  When their lips met, she opened her mouth and eagerly accepted his tongue. Ry took full advantage, and a moment later he nearly swallowed her whole. And then he heard it, a little strangled noise at the back of her throat. The one she had always offered him when she was surrendering completely to him.

  It had all been worth it, he decided, the guilt, the lonely nights. She was here in his arms. Alive. And, yes, kissing him crazy.

  Without a doubt, Ry knew he would never again question the choice he’d made two years ago. As difficult as it had been, it was the only choice he could have made. He sighed, kissing her again, then once more.

  His hands moved up her back to roam her lovely curves. He teased her delicate spine, then fondled her backside. Bringing her more solidly against his stony arousal. He murmured, “I’m burning.”

  “Me, too,” she sighed.

  “Need to be careful for your arm,” he warned.

  “My arm’s fine,” she whispered, “but the rest of me…”

  Her words trailed off as she lowered her head to nip at his bare chest. Ry moaned as her tongue teased his right nipple, then went on to the left. “These jeans look great on you, but it’s time to prove you’re not all talk, old man.” She sank lower and kissed his stomach. Inching lower, her tongue made a quick pass around his navel.

  Ry felt her hands sink into his back pockets, felt her slender fingers push his jeans off his hips.

  “It’s just sex,” she murmured once more. “Say it.”

  Her hot breath swept over him, her lips barely grazing the tip of his stony hardness. She was teasing him so fiercely that Ry was ready to explode. He reached out and pulled her back into his arms. “Just sex,” he agreed, then lifted her slightly to settle his hot mouth on one of her proud breasts.

  She clung to him as he suckled first one mound then the other.

  “I need to be inside you,” Ry murmured sliding her back down his aroused body to kiss her hot little mouth once more.

  “I need you inside me,” she agreed, pushing away from him to lie down on the bed. Her long legs stretched out to expose the nest of dark curls at the junction of her thighs. She relaxed one leg, opened a little.

  Ry stepped out of his jeans and slid onto the bed. She spread her thighs in welcome and he settled between her long legs. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, then kissed her and sent himself swiftly inside her.

  It was like coming home, Ry thought as a flood of heat jerked him hard, then closed tightly around him. The sensation was so all-consuming, so emotional, that he went still. He told himself to breathe, to relax, but instead he started to shake.

  “Ry…”

  “Right here,” he promised, hardly recognizing his own voice. He was going to make a fool out of himself, he thought.

  He forced himself up on his elbows to gaze down at her. He would have said something, but he couldn’t think of anything but three little words. And I love you were the wrong words to say when they had just agreed that this was only going to be hot sex.

  He had no intention of driving her away, not now. Not when she was in his arms, feeding his dreams and making them a reality.

  Ry moved his hips, then, never losing sight of her beautiful face, he drew back and sank deeper. She arched up and bucked her hips against him. His name on her lips and her frenzied little moans sent a shudder ripping through him. And then, in one powerful surge of hungry heat, the love storm began.

  Forever and a lifetime, Ry vowed, that’s how long he would love her. He simply had no choice.

  The addiction was back, and like any good addiction, it had left Margo hungry for more.

  She stood at the bedroom window and gazed out over the sun-filled backyard. She couldn’t get last night out of her mind. She was still reliving every sweet, wild, insane moment. And she was wrestling with the right and wrong of what she’d done, as well.

  She was consoling her conscience one minute, then chastising herself the next. Mostly, though, she was glorying in the decadence of sated bliss.

  When Ry had insisted she lock the bedroom door, she had realized he wasn’t only giving her time to rethink his offer, but a way to act on her need without humiliating herself. After that it had been an easy decision to make—she’d locked the door, stripped off her clothes and gotten into his bed to wait.

  Margo glanced back at the empty bed. An hour ago she had opened her eyes and she had known that she was alone in the big bed. She shoul
d have been thankful that Ry had given her time to pull herself together, but for pride’s sake she had wanted to be the one to leave the bed first. Or maybe it had been for more selfish reasons, she decided—maybe if she had opened her eyes first she could have lingered to enjoy the sight of Ry’s beautiful body lying next to her.

  Yes, the addiction was back. In one weak moment she’d locked the door and thrown caution out the window. She could blame it on last night’s sultry heat or the open-faced moon. Or she could blame it on Ry’s handsome face and his hard, bare chest. Better still, on his powerful words of seduction.

  But she wasn’t going to. She would accept what had happened and view it as a man would—in the midst of chaos, she’d taken time out to refuel her body. Men had wild nights of consensual sex all the time, so why not a woman?

  Margo’s gaze caught sight of Jackson as he went to retrieve something from his late-model Ford pickup. Stepping away from the window, she decided a shower and clothes were in order. Then food; her stomach had already growled twice.

  A half hour later Margo walked into the kitchen wearing last night’s jeans and a lightweight white cotton shirt. As she headed for the fridge, the kitchen table caught her eye, and she stopped dead in her tracks—in the center sat a vase full of yellow roses.

  Margo’s heart began to pound. She crossed the room, a growing lump closing off her throat. Slowly she reached out and touched the delicate yellow rose petals. There was a card, and with a shaky hand she slipped it out of the small envelope.

  The note was lean. Ry had simply signed his name.

  The shrink had told him living in the past was manic. Suicidal, even. But Ry had argued the point. He’d tried to move forward and what he’d realized was that without Margo, life meant nothing. So he’d managed to stay sane another way—the answer wasn’t learning to live without her, it was learning to live with her in a new way.

  At that moment the tide had turned. He stopped drinking, and he’d stopped taking the pills, a dozen kinds for every mood. Then he’d designed a schedule for himself. He’d gotten back into top-notch physical shape, and he’d gotten busy shopping for a house. Next, he’d arranged his work schedule so he could have three evenings a week to spend at the Toucan with the woman he loved.