Read Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) Online

Authors: Angela Smith

Tags: #Romance, #Suspense

Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) (23 page)

BOOK: Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance)
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He could have flicked his tongue against her nipples, his mouth sucking her breasts as he experienced all of her, but he wouldn’t have been able to stop at just that. He had no intention of taking her to bed, of kissing her soft lips, when she wouldn’t remember. She instantly passed out the moment he lay her against the pillow.

He didn’t tell her any of that. He didn’t tell her that he’d almost come in his pants, until Chayton’s phone call jolted him back to reality. Instead, he said, “You took off your shirt before you lay down.”

“Then how … ”

How what?

“Did we … ”

“No,” he reassured her. “I don’t sleep with a woman who won’t remember the next morning.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Getting you a cup of coffee.”

He staggered into the kitchen and fixed her a cup with cream and sugar though he had no idea how she usually drank it or if she even did. He took his time, trying to dispel the trembling in his limbs and the hardness of his dick.

Time didn’t work. It didn’t ease his ache.

He wanted her.

She could be a felon. A thief, a murderer. But he wanted her so bad he’d die for her.

He shook his thoughts aside. If she was involved with the Mass brothers, it was only because of Kyle. She could be running from them. Which meant he had to keep his head in the game. No way, no how was she guilty of anything but being a beautiful woman caught in a web she couldn’t untangle.

She wore a sweater when he came back in. He handed her the cup, urging himself not to spill it all over her. He sat down, hoping to conceal his desire.

“Someone was murdered last night,” Garret told her, watching her face go from a flushed pink to pallor. Talking about murder should ease that yearning to touch her, and he didn’t want her to find out from somebody else. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

• • •

Reagan knew Garret stayed while she showered. She smelled coffee, bacon, and eggs when she emerged from her bedroom. Her massive suitcase clunked across the wood as she rolled it over the floor. Garret lowered the plate of food in his hands and flung it to the table, where it slid across the surface and halted before it plunged over the gulch. Like a dangerous precipice, the table clutched the fragile dish, but a piece of bacon escaped and softly slipped to the floor.

Reagan stopped and dropped the handle of her luggage. It teetered, but remained upright. She reached for the plate before it crashed to the floor, but lost an egg in the fight.

The yolk splattered across the tile.

Garret’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, his legs spread out hip distance apart in a relaxed stature. But the furrowing of his brow, the dent in his jaw, and his grip on the chair said he was anything but relaxed.

“What are you doing?”

This wasn’t how she wanted to tell him, but the chance never surfaced last night. She let it spill, believing her news was easier with little explanation. “I was hoping you would take me to the airport but if not I’ll get the shuttle to do it, or call a taxi.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“I have to go home, to Florida. Maybe you’ll be here when I get back?” She hoped he didn’t notice the desperation in her high pitch.

“I take it you already have a ticket?”

“Yes, yesterday. I planned to tell you last night … ” The suitcase lost its battle to remain erect and it smacked to the floor, missing her toe by barely an inch. She cursed herself for not replacing the luggage with something newer, something with two wheels.

“Have you checked the airlines? All flights are being cancelled because of a winter storm.” His face was straight, his words frank, and she wasn’t sure if he was upset about her leaving or just angry she hadn’t told him until now. “Check outside if you don’t believe me.”

Without moving, she glanced outside. The drapes were open, she hadn’t closed them last night. She peeked at the time. Nine o’clock in the morning looked like nine o’clock in the evening. The sky was dark and heavy, with just enough light to reveal the snow churning through the air.

Her breath clustered in her throat, and she quashed the urge to let it out in hacking cough. Clearing her throat instead, she said, “I’m sure they’ll just postpone the flight. I still need to get there.”

Garret scrubbed the egg from the floor. She couldn’t fathom why he was angry. She didn’t owe him anything. Not even an explanation, really. She only told him because she thought friends would do such a thing.

“Why?” he asked. “So you can go sit in the airport for days? This storm is predicted to last at least a couple of days and the news says not to get out on the highway unless it’s an emergency. You’d never find a taxi.”

“This is an emergency.” She returned to the windows to remember what awaited her outside. Clouds hung low, bracing themselves against the side of the mountain barely perceivable through the haze of gray. The sky was nonexistent, and she couldn’t fool herself into believing any aircraft would attempt flight.

“I have to get home.”

“Stop being stubborn. You’re staying here.”

• • •

Garret wondered what the emergency was. Did she know about the necklace? Maybe she’d given it to the victim and someone else had killed him. Had Kyle called her? Did they plan to meet somewhere? Was she leaving for good?

Had she even meant to say goodbye, or did she plan on leaving without a word, like her cousin?

After scrubbing the egg from the floor, he tossed the rag into the sink and washed his hands, keeping his distance from her lest he be tempted to strangle her pretty little neck. She worried the bottom of her lip with her teeth, and he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or hurl the plate, along with the rest of the food he’d prepared, out the window. The crash would jolt him back to reality and loan credence to his irritation.

“Did someone die?” he asked as he swiveled to face her. Not the smoothest thing to say to her but he preferred bluntness, and none of his other options would fly.

He’d told her about last night’s murder, but none of the other details. She’d acted concerned, but not like she wanted to run, as she did now after her shower. Maybe she’d been thinking about it and figured out who he was, or maybe she’d found out about Agent Cox and had known her and grieved her death. Kyle had been seen with Agent Cox; they planned to meet up together. Then she’d been found with her throat slashed, much like last night’s victim. Maybe they were all in on this.

Or maybe they were after Reagan next.

Her face stretched as she shook her head and her upper lashes battling with her lower lashes indicated she was about to cry.

He stepped toward her and extended his arms. “It can’t be that bad.” Whatever was wrong, she seemed upset.

He would do whatever necessary to make sure she was safe. Witness protection was always possible, but he would protect her with his life if it came down to it. If she was mixed up in this shit, she probably didn’t know how to get out.

She moved into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder. Instead of being friendly and sympathetic, his body responded by hardening — every muscle, bone, crevice, and length of him.

She didn’t speak. It was hard to keep her close without touching him, but he promised himself he’d only offer comfort. Smoothing his hand across her hair, his calluses latched onto her silky strands. The stiffness in his jeans grew unbearable.

All reasoning, whatever reasoning he may have possessed, fled when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her hips closer.

She tilted her face up to him. Her eyelashes fluttered as she drew into him, her lips stopping a breath away from his mouth. “I want you.”

A deep groan stuck in his throat. Fire erupted behind his eyes. White-hot desire shot all the way to the tips of his toes. His heart flipped, emotions erupting as he melded his mouth with hers. He planted his hands under her ass and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he walked them to the kitchen counter, never taking his lips from hers as he settled her on the bar.

Reagan fingered the back of his hair, her featherlike touch igniting sparks of fire on his neck. Her tongue danced with his, her mouth opening, closing, sucking.

He shouldn’t be doing this, especially not right now. Not when he should find out why, so suddenly, she had to get to Florida. Why, when Agent Cox was dead, Kyle was missing, and a man had been murdered over a priceless necklace.

God, he just didn’t care. He couldn’t stop even if he did care. He’d wanted her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. His body was weak with the need of her, his self-control even weaker.

As his control slipped, he kissed her with an urgency that would chase away the bad stuff. The bad memories, the bad possibilities, and the bad realities. His head exploded. His ability to think fled.

He tugged at her hair and she angled her head back, granting him access to her neck. He suckled the sweet bouquet of her skin. Thumbing his fingers over her sweater, he ironed his hands down her waist, sliding his palms under the soft fabric to cup her breasts under her lace bra. Her nipples pebbled.

Removing her sweater, he struggled with the closure on the back of her bra, finally managing to unclasp the damn thing. He suckled her breast as the bra wisped to the floor.

She tasted like snow-kissed sunshine and timeless imagination. He imagined himself touching her and tasting her for the rest of his life under the sun-drenched waters of the sea or the mountains. Anywhere she wanted to be, at this point he would follow.

He claimed her mouth. They stopped kissing long enough for her to pull his shirt over his head, and he recaptured her lips as she tossed the shirt to the floor. Trailing her fingers over his shoulders, she lightly nipped his skin with her nails. He struggled with the button and zipper on her jeans, their lips skimming and suckling and reaching until finally they could mate again. Her boots thudded to the floor, her jeans next.

He flicked his thumb across her lacy thong, teasing the lips of her wet heat, and slid his hands over her hips and across her pelvis as he caught the straps of her thong in his thumbs. Slinging it to the floor, he swept his mouth across her skin. She reclined on the counter and propped herself up by the elbows.

He lowered his mouth down on her and drank in her elixir. Chest bursting open, he imagined little patterns of heart-shaped tissue spilling out on the floor.

He’d never felt anything like this before. His heart wasn’t supposed to hurt, only his dick.

She moved against his mouth, emitting low, luxurious cries of rapture and release. He wanted to please her, but feared he would lose what little restraint he had left.

He had to step away.

“You’re a tease.” She jumped from the counter as he backed away, watching her heady flesh advance on him.

She grabbed him by the loop of his jeans and pulled him in closer. He captured her lips with his, soaking in her treasure. Their tongues tangled in a dance of fire and ice and heat.

He never wanted to let her go.

As she unbuttoned his jeans, she skimmed her tongue across his neck and nibbled his earlobe, leaving tinctures of fire on his skin. He could barely stand upright. He wrapped his arms around her and brought his mouth to hers again, taking her with him as he stepped back, aiming for the couch. When his lower back hit the rear of the sofa, he stopped his movement but not his kiss.

He’d never tasted anything so heavenly, so sweet.

She rocked her pelvis against the lap of his jeans. He situated his hands on either side of her hips as she swayed to and fro, offering him everything.

Breaking the kiss, Reagan stepped back, leaving him bereft. He felt like he was trying to find his way out of the mountains after a long day and sudden change in weather with no extra equipment to see him home. Lost, disoriented, and completely shattered.

“Do you want to take this to the bedroom?” she asked, her intoxicating lips curled in a semi-smile, her eyes wide and expectant.

The ringing in his ears intensified as his body flamed hot, his breath grew feeble, and the growl that had wedged in his throat erupted. Swinging her up into his arms, he sidestepped furniture, carrying her into the bedroom and tossing her to the bed.

She laughed and tried to sit up, but he braced his hands into the bed on either side of her, hovering over her.

“Now I want to finish what I started,” she said as she unzipped his already unbuttoned jeans. He kicked off his shoes and helped her tug his jeans down and off his body. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down, swirling her tongue with his. Coasting her palms up his legs and across his shaft, she cupped his balls and lightly squeezed, continuing on before he had a chance to react, her fingers waltzing over his stomach and to his chest. She circled her legs around his waist and drew him closer with her hips.

Binding her pelvis to his, her soft, moist heat stroked his shaft. He refrained from burying into her. Not yet, not like this, not unprotected.

He thought he’d go crazy with the need of her. He confronted every fear he’d faced since he first met her at Air Dog, every desire he’d felt since he first saw her on his computer screen. Body shaking, he slid on a condom and eased inside her. She was tight but wet, and she opened for him, sheathing him, circling her hips, taking him deeper. He thrust in and out of her, deep and long, releasing his pleasure through grunts and groans. Releasing his doubts about her and about what he was doing. The tingling clutch of her orgasm drove him crazy, into a pulsing rhythm that only rapture could sever. They crested together, spinning and swirling into sweet oblivion.

His breathing returned before cognition and with it the smell of musk, of mint, of sweat, of sex. He lay atop her, shutting his eyes against all distractions of reality. Seeing a dark future and coming to only one conclusion.

This wouldn’t end well.

• • •

“Wow, did we really just do that or was it all a great dream?” Reagan ran her hands along Garret’s chest. If she didn’t stop now, they’d be doing it again and while he relished that thought, he had to stop thinking down below and get his head in the game.

BOOK: Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance)
12.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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