Cavanaugh Cold Case (17 page)

Definitely moved.

Not just a tiny bit that would have caused her to doubt her perception, but moved with a mighty jolt. So mighty that she was surprised she was still standing.

Had his arms not tightened around her the way that they had just then, she was certain that she would have fallen. Especially since her knees had somehow been obliterated, taking on the consistency of cotton after it had been left out in the rain for three days.

She wound up clinging to him for dear life even as her mouth remained sealed to his, and something akin to ecstasy riding a lightning bolt darted through her entire body, leaving no part of her untouched.

Chapter 16

O
kay. She'd done it.

She'd kissed him, and yes, it had turned out to be a great deal more than she'd bargained for, Kristin realized. But even so, she actually
did
bargain on that in her own way.

Because this was Malloy Cavanaugh, and countless women couldn't be wrong.

But she'd satisfied her curiosity. So now was the time to push him back, declare “Done. Finished. Moving on with my life,” and then do it.

In a second.

One more second.

Just one more second.

This was never going to happen again, so she needed to have it last a little longer in order to create that firm imprint in her mind that wouldn't immediately fade at first light.

Oh, who the hell was she kidding? In a heartbeat she'd gotten a ton more than she'd bargained for, and if she lived to be two hundred and twenty-four, this was
not
an impression that would fade, not at first light, not at
any
light.

Ever.

She was just using that as an excuse. She didn't want this to stop.

This was insane, and Kristin knew it, but the rush had seized her. Her heart was pounding so hard and so loud, she was certain she would go deaf.

It didn't matter.

She didn't care.

* * *

Malloy had wanted this from the very first moment he'd seen her, looking so stern and professional as she was bending over that mismatched pile of bones that had been dug up. But the longer he waited, the longer he'd wanted to wait, because somewhere inside his head, a little voice had whispered that if he proceeded the way he'd always proceeded, he would get what he'd always gotten, which in the end were just very pleasant memories and an empty space beside him as well as inside of him.

Kristin was different.

He'd sensed it, knew it, and winning her would mean winning not the brass ring but the gold one. The one that carried a great deal of weight with it, not the least of which was commitment,
real
commitment, something he'd never really considered.

In all honesty, he didn't even know if he was capable of it.

And Kristin wasn't the kind of woman meant for a fling or a tryst or two. She was a woman of substance, a woman for all time.

And maybe, just maybe, a woman who was too good for him.

But all that belonged in his cerebral realm.

Physically, emotionally, it was a completely different story.

Every fiber of his being wanted her, wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to make love with her until he was too tired, too worn out to breathe.

The rest of it he'd sort out later. He had no will left, no strength to deny himself what he wanted so supremely.

The actual lovemaking began on her doorstep the second their eyes met. Once inside the house, he started to make love to her in earnest. With his hands, softly touching, caressing, worshipping and, all the while, moving the cloth obstacles away from her body.

With each pass of his hands and each inch of skin that was exposed, he heard Kristin's breathing growing ever so slightly more pronounced.

Heard his own breathing increasing in tandem. Felt his heart pounding harder as he drew closer and closer to his goal.

She excited him more than any woman he had ever wanted. Any woman he had ever had.

From the beginning, she'd been so cool, so reserved, yet in his heart he'd been certain that a wildcat lived beneath all that icy control.

And he'd been right. He found that exciting beyond words.

* * *

The word “Stop!” echoed in Kristin's mind, growing weaker and weaker because she really didn't want him to stop.

As Malloy advanced, she moved back, but not because she was trying to create a chasm between them, but because she wanted to lead him farther into her house, into her living room.

Into her life.

Losing her bearings for a moment, Kristin stumbled backward when the back of her calf encountered the light tan sofa that was against the far wall of the room.

Caught off guard—every fiber of her being completely consumed by the onslaught of his lips—Kristin fell onto the sofa, and he fell with her.

His body pressed hard against hers.

That only further ignited her desire, all but setting her body on fire in every single place that his had touched.

Whatever articles of clothing were still left between them—and they were few—were quickly, impatiently, dealt with and discarded.

And all the while, he continued bathing every inch of her with ardent, openmouthed kisses that were swiftly becoming her entire undoing.

She arched her body in a silent offering as his lips and tongue continued to hold her hostage, making her quite possibly the most willing prisoner in history.

Kristin felt her head spinning, mimicking the rhythm of her heart. Shaken to the core, she half sat up, seeking his mouth and then sealing hers to it.

Her breathing was so ragged, so labored she was in danger of either hyperventilating or suffocating. She did neither. All she wanted, all she focused on, was doing whatever she could to hang on to to this wild, dizzying roller-coaster ride that had become a free fall through space for her.

She clung to Malloy harder.

* * *

Kristin was making him crazy, and he couldn't hold out much longer.

By his own reckoning, he'd already gone past all human limits that he'd thought himself capable of attaining. And then, unable to maintain the last shred of restraint any longer, Malloy moved until their bodies were perfectly aligned and, pausing for just one split second so that he could look into her eyes, he sank into her and united them.

Not with a driving force that had taken over his being, but slowly, like the calm within the center of a turbulent squall. He didn't want Kristin to remember this as a sudden storming of her body, but as a passion-laden union of two equal beings. He had nothing to prove, no conquest to triumph over. He just wanted to be with her and have her want to be with him.

Once he'd entered her, Malloy began to move with rhythm and purpose, increasing both with each heartbeat, each complementing movement he felt on her part.

She didn't just follow, she led.

They each did, taking turns until the rhythm reached an overpowering crescendo, and the final ecstasy found them, wrapping them both in its breath-stealing shower of fireworks.

He held her as if letting go meant certain death. And if death did come right at that moment, then it came. He was where he wanted to be.

With her.

The shower that had enshrouded them retreated by slow, saddening increments. He went on holding Kristin, not wanting to acknowledge the change, the feeling of loss.

His heart was still pounding, as was hers, he noted with secret satisfaction. Slowly, both hearts returned to a semblance of their former states. Still, he didn't want to let Kristin go, even as he wondered how much longer he could go on holding her.

When he felt her stir against him, he knew his time was almost up. The rest of life was waiting. He wanted it to wait a little longer, but he knew that was asking for too much.

He took a few more subtle breaths, waiting for the world to return to normal—if that was even possible.

“I don't know about you, but for me, that was a surprise,” he admitted quietly.

Kristin could feel every word he said rumbling against her skin as she lay there with her cheek pressed against his chest.

She raised her head now to look at him, wondering if, now that it was over, he was mocking her. “What do you mean, a surprise?”

He brushed his lips against her hair. “Just that.”

She tried to make sense out of what he was telling her and couldn't. It was still all too vague. “You didn't think I was capable of passion?” she guessed. Her eyes unaccountably stung as she said that.

“Oh, I had a feeling that you were,” he assured her. Feeling her breath along his abdomen was definitely having an effect on him. He tried to concentrate on what he was saying. “I just didn't think it was to that level. I didn't think
I
was capable of reaching that level, either.”

Malloy took a breath, trying to steady his pulse, trying to clear his brain.

“So, did this settle things for you?” he asked, referring to what she'd said on her doorstep. “Can you move on now?”

This was the part where she said yes. Where she added some kind of sophisticated words that would make Malloy think that this meant no more to her than it did to him. All she had to do was say it and be free of him.

But what came out was a question, one that, if she had an ounce of self-preservation running through her veins, would have never seen the light of day.

“Do you want me to?” she asked him.

Ordinarily, he would have said something to the effect that she was her own person, that she could do whatever she wanted to do. That whatever she chose was good with him.

Instead, he breathed, “Oh, hell, no,” and shifted her so that his body was leaning into hers with his
really
feeling the effects of wanting her all over again, as if he'd never had her—as if he'd
always
had her and just wanted more.

His voice was almost ragged as he told her, “I want to make love with you all over again, bit by bit, until we're both too tired to breathe. And then I want to make love with you one more time.”

“Are you always this insatiable?” she asked, already feeling her excitement heightening in anticipation of what was to be.

A giddiness was bubbling inside of her like a newly uncorked bottle of champagne.

“There is no ‘always,'” he told her quietly. Earnestly. “This is different. I can't explain it. Not to you, not even to myself,” he said with sincerity, almost worshipfully framing her face with his hands. “I can only tell you what I'm feeling right this minute.”

Kristin was trying very hard not to let herself be swept away. Not to allow herself to believe that out of all the women Malloy had ever known, not to mention the ones he had been with, he felt that she was the one who stood out. The one who was
different
.

She knew better.

And yet, when she looked into his eyes, she knew nothing except that she wanted him to make love with her again, wanted him to take her to the very pinnacle of the world, to the very top of the mountain and then, holding her hand, jump off so she could feel that wild, heart-racing rush consuming her again.

Trying very hard to keep Malloy emotionally at arm's length, to keep him from getting through the last plate of her swiftly cracking armor, she said, “They said you were good.”

“‘Good' has nothing to do with it,” Malloy told her, pressing kisses first to one shoulder, then the other, before moving on to the hollow of her throat where the very touch of his lips created tidal waves in the core of her body.

She could feel herself throbbing, wanting him.

If she had an ounce of integrity left, she would have said something flippant, pushed him away and then called it a night, sending him on his way. She knew,
knew
deep in her bones that this was just a fling for Malloy.

But rather than terminate the evening on her own terms, she wanted to absorb as much of what was happening as she could so that she could store it and, months from now, comfort herself with the thought that she had at least had this one perfect evening in her life—even if she'd never admit it to him. Because until now, she hadn't realized that she was capable of this level of feeling, this level of joy and ecstasy. Malloy had brought her not just to the threshold of a world she hadn't known existed, he'd made her realize that there was such a thing as paradise.

With the right man.

Or the wrong one, depending on a person's view of Malloy Cavanaugh, she thought, her mouth curving despite herself.

He felt her mouth curving beneath his and drew his head back to look at her. “Something you'd like to share with the class, Kristin?”

She looked at him uncertainly. “What?”

“You were just smiling,” Malloy told her. “And I was just wondering why.”

“I'm not about to flatter you, Malloy.”

“I'm not asking you to flatter me,” he told her simply. “I just wanted to know what I did to make you smile.”

Suspicion flickered in her eyes. She wanted him, but trust was a completely different issue. He was up to something. “Why?”

“So I could do it again.” He touched her face, brushing his fingers along her cheek. “Make you smile like that again.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she all but ordered.

It was his turn to smile—and he did. Teasingly. “Is that all it takes?”

Her eyes were dancing, and she had no idea what prompted her to say what she did, all but giving him carte blanche. “You can make it up as you go along.”

“Whatever you want.” He shifted and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Your wish is my command.”

That kiss, small as it was, vibrated all through her. The man had a gift all right, there was no denying that.

“For now,” she murmured.

Malloy pulled her to him, about to kiss her. But he stopped for a second, his eyes meeting hers as he said, in all seriousness, “That's all we have, Kristin. All we have is ‘now.'”

He was right. There was no way to guess at what tomorrow held. Those young women whose bodies they had unearthed at the nursery had never thought their lives would be so brief or end so abruptly.

Every second of life was precious and shouldn't be wasted.

She wasn't going to waste another second of “now” because “later” most likely wouldn't work out.

With that thought echoing in her brain, Kristin passionately sealed her mouth to his and lost herself in Malloy's embrace.