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minute." She clung, wildly grateful to have him with her.
Drawing her head back, she stared up at him. "I wanted to run,
just run, when I heard the door and thought it could be someone
else. I hate being such a coward, and not knowing what I should
do. I can't seem& to think."
She trailed off, mesmerized. He was stroking her cheek as she
babbled, his eyes intent on hers. Her arms were banded around
his waist, all but fused there. The hand that had smoothed
through her hair was cupped at the base of her neck now, fingers
gently kneading.
He waited, saw the change in her eyes. His lips curved, just
enough to have her heart quiver before he lowered his head and
gently touched them to hers.
Oh, lovely& That was her first thought. It was lovely to be
held so firmly, to be tasted so tenderly. This was a kiss, this
sweet meeting of lips that made the blood hum lazily and the
soul sigh. With a quiet murmur, she slid her hands up his back,
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rose on her toes to meet that patient demand.
When his tongue traced her lips, slipped between them, she
shuddered with pleasure. And opened to him as naturally as a
rose opens to the sun.
He'd known she would. Somehow he'd known she would be
both shy and generous, that the taste of her would be fresh, the
scent of her airy. It was impossible that he'd only met her hours
before. It seemed the woman he held in his arms had been his
forever.
And it was thrilling, hotly arousing, to know his was the first
kiss she would remember. That he was the only man in her mind
and heart to hold her this way, touch her this way. He was the
first to make her tremble, his was the first name she murmured
when needs swirled through her.
And when she murmured his name, every other woman he'd
ever held vanished. She was the first for him.
He deepened the kiss gradually, aware of how easily he could
bruise or frighten. But she came so suddenly alive in his arms,
was so wildly responsive, her mouth hungry and hot, her body
straining and pulsing against his.
She felt alive, brilliantly alive, aware of every frantic beat of
her own heart. Her hands had streaked into his hair and were
fisted there now, as if she could pull him inside her. He was
filling all those empty places, all those frightening blanks. This
was life. This was real. This mattered.
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"Easy." He could barely get the word out, wished fervently he
didn't feel obliged to. He was trembling as much as she, and he
knew that if he didn't pull back, gain some control, he was going
to take her exactly where they stood. "Easy," he said again, and
pressed her head to his shoulder so that he wouldn't be tempted
to devour that ripe, willing mouth.
She vibrated against him, nerves and needs tangling, the echoes
of sensations thumping through her system. "I don't know if it's
ever been like that. I just don't know."
That brought him back to earth a little too abruptly. She didn't
know, he reminded himself. He did. It had never been like that
for him. "Don't worry." He pulled away, then rubbed his hands
over her shoulders, because they were tense again. "You know
that wasn't ordinary, Bailey. That ought to be enough for now."
"But " She bit her lip when he turned and wrenched open the
fridge. "I made I'm making iced tea."
"I want a beer."
She winced at the brusque tone. "You're angry"
"No." He twisted off the cap, downed three long swallows.
"Yes. With myself, a little. I pushed the buttons, after all." He
lowered the bottle, studied her. She was standing with her arms
crossed tight at her waist. His jeans bagged at her hips, his shirt
drooped at her shoulders. Her feet were bare, her hair was
tangled around her shoulders.
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She looked absolutely defenseless.
"Let's just get this out, okay?" He leaned back against the
counter to keep his distance. "I felt the click the minute you
walked into the office. Never happened to me before, just click,
there she is. I figured it was because you were a looker, you
were in trouble and you'd come looking for me. I've got a thing
about people in trouble, especially beautiful women."
He drank again, slower this tune, while she watched him
soberly, with great attention. "But that's not it, Bailey, or at least
not all of it. I want to help you. I want to find out everything
about you as much as you do. But I also want to make love with
you, slow, really slow, so that every second's like an hour. And
when we've finished making love, and you're naked and limp
under me, I want to start all over again."
She had her hands crossed over her breasts now, to keep her
bucking heart in place. "Oh" was all she could manage.
"And that's what I'm going to do. When you're a little steadier
on your feet."
"Oh," she said again. "Well." She cleared her throat. "Cade, I
may be a criminal."
"Uh-huh." Calm again, he inspected the sandwich makings on
the counter. "So is this lunch?"
Her eyes narrowed. What sort of response was that from a man
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who'd just told her he wanted to make love with her until she
was limp? "I may have stolen a great deal of money, killed
people, kidnapped an innocent child."
"Right." He piled some ham on bread. "Yeah, you're a real
desperado, sweetheart. Anybody can see that. You've got that
calculating killer gleam in the eye." Then, chuckling, he turned
to her. "Bailey, for God's sake, look at yourself. You're a polite,
tidy woman with a conscience as wide as Kansas. I sincerely
doubt you have so much as a parking ticket to your name, or that
you've done anything wilder than sing in the shower."
It stung. She couldn't have said why, but the bland and
goody-goody description put her back up. "I've got a tattoo on
my butt."
He set the rather sloppy sandwich he'd put together down.
"Excuse me?"
"I have a tattoo on my butt," she repeated, with a combative
gleam in her eye.
"Is that so?" He couldn't wait to see it. "Well, then, I'll have to
turn you in. Now, if you tell me you've got something other than
your ears pierced, I'll have to get my gun."
"I'm so pleased I could amuse you."
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