Distinguished Service & Every Move You Make (Uniformly Hot!) (23 page)

“Dad…”

“No, it’s okay,” Zach said, wondering what Hughie, himself, would reveal once they were alone. And if it took a day on the plains to do that, well, then so be it.

“You’re on,” he told her father.

Mariah rolled her eyes to stare at the ceiling and let out a long breath. “I was wrong. Life is the same now as it was back in the old days. Only now you use your lousy heads instead of pistols to duel it out.”

She made a beeline for the door. “I’m calling it a night. Zach, you’re in the last bedroom to the left.” She trailed back to her father and kissed him on the cheek. “Night, Daddy.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

Zach lifted his chin as if he expected a kiss, too. Mariah turned on her heels and left him hanging. Hughie chuckled. “Letterman, why don’t you go over to that cupboard there and get out a real man’s drink....”

* * *

T
HE
ONE
THING
FEMININE
about Mariah had always been her bedroom. And then only because her mother had decorated it and she didn’t have the heart to change the decor, even though the twin-size white canopy bed was a little too narrow and the lacy coverlet and curtains were old and faded. She lay back in bed now, her arm artlessly draped across her forehead, her feet sticking out of the bottom of the pink top sheet, searching for answers from the canopy overhead. She’d left the kitchen in frustration some three hours ago, and listened as George had stopped by to drop off some clothes for Zach, then Zach and her father continue on together, laughter drifting from the kitchen window to her bedroom window, even though she couldn’t make out their words. Another hot southern Texas night, but it wasn’t the external heat that got to her. Rather, it was the internal, twisting, skin-itching awareness just knowing Zach was not only staying under the same roof, but the very roof she had grown up under. About a half hour ago she’d listened as the door down the hall from hers had closed, indicating her father had finally called it a night. But she hadn’t heard any movement in the guest room next to hers.

Mariah rolled over and gave a strangled little cry, hoping her pillow was enough to muffle the sound.

Never in her life could she remember mooning over a guy the way she was with Zach. Yes, he played her body like a fine instrument, but it was more than just the sex. Something else had come into play over the past couple of days, may have been in play since the moment she met him. Something that seemed to seep into her very bones the more time she spent around him.

Of course, she told herself that their time together had a clock ticking on it. As soon as the wedding dress was repaired, Zach would be on the first plane to Midland. She reminded herself of that ceaselessly. And her want of him increased exponentially.

And maybe that’s what made him different from the other guys she’d dated. She’d known that Justin, Jackson and Tom would live no more than a five-minute drive away for the rest of their lives, while Zach…well, she knew very little about him, didn’t she? She knew he was determined to be a P.I. And that he was from Indiana. But why Texas? And what had he done before?

Mariah rolled over onto her back and pressed her pillow to her face, her head spinning with questions and possible answers, and her body just wanting him, period.

It was natural to be emotionally interested in the first man to give you an earth-shattering climax, wasn’t it? Earth-shattering? That she’d had one at all during sex was a major milestone. But was he to credit for it? Or was she?

In his attempts to make her more “feminine,” her father had brought home one of those chic women’s magazines from the store one day. After letting it lie on the coffee table gathering dust for weeks, she’d finally picked it up. Shout lines like “You’re in Charge of Your Own Body,” and “Ten Ways to Drive Him Wild” had been splashed across the front cover along with a scantily clad woman who could have posed for Anorexics R Us. The articles suggested that she was to blame for her own sexual dissatisfaction. That she should tell the guy what she wanted and how she wanted it and how often. But the last part hadn’t been what caught her attention. Rather the first part had lodged in her brain and stayed there. She was guilty for not achieving orgasm. It was simple as that.

So she’d tried harder after that. But the more aggressive she became in her quest for orgasm, the faster her boyfriends finished, leaving her even more frustrated than before she started.

Although Zach had been the only one to ask her whether she was satisfied, she sensed that if she’d pretended otherwise, he would have known she was lying. And would have made sure she came anyway.

Was this a Southerner-Yankee thing, she idly wondered? No. She recognized this was strictly an individual issue.

“Get to Know Your Own Body.” The headline from another of the magazine articles rang out in her head. Even though it was dark, and she was alone, she could feel her cheeks burning. To listen to the pastor at church, you burned in hell for even thinking about masturbation. Touching oneself was the work of the devil and would only lead to decadence and ruin. Then heap on top of all that, God hovering over you, watching you as you…pleasured yourself and, well, Mariah had rarely dared scratch herself down there when she itched.

And, oh boy, did she ever itch now.

Her throat grew thick as she turned over again. Where was Zach now? Still in the kitchen? Or had he gone into the guest room without her being aware of it? She caught herself pressing her pelvis into the mattress, ultra aware of the hardness of her nipples, the molten heat filling her body. She closed her eyes and gave a soft sigh, then slid her hand under her body near her hip. Not too close to the area she longed to touch, but close enough to make her shudder. She splayed her fingers against her stomach through her nightshirt, surprised by the growing tension down there, under her skin. Right at that moment, burning in hell didn’t seem as important as easing the pressure that made her breathing shallower and her thighs damp. She edged her fingertips down, feeling where her nightshirt had ridden up during all her tossing and turning so that she touched the thin cotton of her underpants.

Whoa.

Her hips seemed to buck involuntarily, pressing further against the mattress, trapping her hand against her stomach. She was so hot, she was afraid she’d spontaneously combust. And the only person around to extinguish the fire was her.

She closed her eyes tightly and tucked her fingers inside the top elastic of her pants, then down, down even farther until they tunneled through the tangle of hair between her legs. The instant her fingertips made contact with the core of her chaos, she flew apart, a small cry ripping from her mouth.

For long moments she rode out the wave of the self-induced orgasm, her muscles clenching, her breathing coming in rapid gasps. She sagged against the mattress, waiting for guilt to assault her. But it didn’t. Instead, she smiled softly into her pillow, feeling giddy at the guilty little pleasure she’d just experienced.

Mariah wasn’t sure what alerted her to the change in climate in the room. But when she turned her head, she wasn’t surprised to see Zach standing just inside the closed door, the light of the moon illuminating his glorious body clothed only in jeans, his eyes seeming to burn a path straight to her.

“Please, don’t stop on account of me,” he whispered.

9

O
NE
OF
THE
HARDEST
THINGS
Zach had done was stand completely still and watch Mariah Clayborn hesitantly coax herself to climax without any help from him. He didn’t have to wonder whether or not she’d done it before. Her tentativeness was a clear indicator that she hadn’t. And knowing that lent even more encouragement to his already painful erection.

He watched as she rolled over, then sat up, pulling the sheet tighter around her compact body. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m glad. Or I wouldn’t have witnessed what I just did.”

She turned her face away from him, but even in the dim light he could see the small smile she wore. “You know my dad is just two doors away?”

Zach dared take a step closer to the bed, quelling the desire to launch himself across the narrow mattress and find out for himself how hot she really was. “I think Hughie is pretty convinced that I wouldn’t dare try anything with him under the same roof.”

She laughed quietly and moved over on the bed to make room for him. It wasn’t much, but Zach made do. The box springs gave a telltale squeak that made him cringe.

“You ever consider getting a new mattress?”

Mariah giggled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Not until just now.”

“I think you should see to it first thing in the morning.”

He could feel her probing gaze on him in the dark and looked back.

Yes, while he’d enjoyed the male bonding session in the kitchen with Hughie, all he could think about was sneaking into this very room and, with any luck, into Mariah’s bed.

Now that he was there, he didn’t know quite what to do.

“Dad went to bed?”

“Yeah.”

Mariah was quiet. “You know he’s going to run you through the ringer, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She shifted until she squeezed her sheet-covered knees to her chest. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Zach reached out and smoothed her hair back. “Oh, I think I’ve been warned enough. Your father strikes me as the type of man to give any guy near his only daughter a hard time.”

She made a small sound. “He’s doing it because you’re a Yank. An outsider.”

“He’s doing it because I’m interested in you.”

She fell silent.

Zach wished he knew what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. Did she really think that Hughie was only interested in besting him, putting him through the ringer because of his outsider status? He bent his knee and leaned in closer. Having been an observer for so much of his life, he believed he’d come to know people pretty well. It wasn’t because he yearned for his idealized version of what life and family should be like to be true. But being raised by his grandmother, with no other family around to interact with, he’d been insatiably curious about the inner workings of the families around him. The next-door neighbors. The families of the friends he’d made in school. The dynamics of a one-parent household versus two. The shyness sometimes found in only children and the confidence of those who had been raised in a house full of children. He’d often lain in bed deep into the night running what he’d seen over and over in his mind. And if he sometimes indulged in thoughts of what it might be like if he could construct a different family environment for himself, wondered what might have happened if his father had stuck around…well, that was between him and his pillow.

But what he’d seen over dinner that night was a crusty old man who loved his daughter very much. You had but to see the way Hughie looked at Mariah to know that. His generous mouth tipped up in a proud smile, his blue eyes glistened with adoration.

And it didn’t take a psychologist to see that Mariah didn’t have a clue how her father felt about her. She interpreted his teasing as criticism. Saw his sharing her childhood stories as a way of undermining her. And she ultimately believed she fell way short of the mark in her father’s eyes.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think telling her that she could do no wrong in Hughie’s eyes was going to help matters any. Besides, he’d only passed a few hours in the household they had spent their lifetimes in. He didn’t feel completely comfortable telling them both they needed to talk.

“I didn’t know if you would come,” Mariah whispered. “You know, to my room.”

A part of him was glad she’d thought that, because he wouldn’t have viewed what he had otherwise. Another was disappointed that she questioned his need for her.

He untangled one of her arms from around her knees then pressed her hand against his pulsing erection through his jeans. “Then you don’t know me very well.”

She explored the thick ridge through the denim. “I was just thinking that I don’t know you at all.”

Zach fought a long groan as she squeezed the knob of his arousal. “I think you know all that matters.”

He heard her lick her lips in the dark and longed to have that saucy mouth of hers on him, all over him. “You think?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He heard the pop of the button on his jeans before he realized she was freeing him from the tight fabric prison, only to be ensconced in the warm sheath of her hand. She wrapped her fingers around his hard heat then slowly moved down, then up again. Then she bent toward him.

Zach caught her before she could touch her mouth to him. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

He heard rather than saw her smile. “Why not?”

“Because it’ll be over before you’ve begun.”

She slowly moved her hand over him again, causing him to groan. “Then tell me about yourself while I’m…well, otherwise occupied.”

He chuckled and threaded his fingers through the hair over her right ear. “What’s say we move to the floor where I can be inside you—where I’ve wanted to be all night?”

She shook her head. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you used to do before you decided to become a P.I.?”

She pressed a kiss to the very end of his erection. He finger-combed her hair back, straining to watch by the moonlight streaming in through the window behind her bed. She dipped her tongue out, tentatively tasting him. Appearing to like what she found, she pressed another kiss to his hypersensitive skin, this time openmouthed, swirling her tongue around him before pulling back again.

Good God, there was something about watching her forge ahead with a plan. He didn’t have to ask if she’d performed oral sex before. It was obvious in her sweet hesitancy that she hadn’t.

She slid her hot, wet mouth down over his arousal and he nearly came right then and there.

She removed her mouth. “You’re not talking.”

He swallowed hard. “Talking? You expect me to do this and carry on a conversation?”

She laughed quietly. “No. I expect you to perform a monologue. I, um, plan to be busy with other things.”

She squeezed him in her fingers.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Okay. What did I do before I decided to become a P.I.,” he repeated, using the tactic every kid learned in school when forced to speak on a subject. Only his mind blanked the instant she moved her mouth over him again, this time applying suction.

“I, um, used to own an, um, tool and die company.” He sucked in his breath with a low hiss, fire burning a trail over his skin as she continued her efforts. “Actually, I still do own it. I just don’t run it on a day-to-day basis anymore.”

She paused as if taking in his words, giving him a moment to regroup. Sweat coated his brow with the effort it was taking to hold back.

He felt her tongue again and groaned.

How much did he tell her? Houston was far from San Antonio and Trueblood, Texas. Did she know about Finders Keepers? Did she know about his great-grandmother Isabella Trueblood? Would she care?

She moved her mouth down until she nearly had his entire length in her mouth. No small task. His hips automatically bucked and he was forced to remove his hand from her hair so he could hold on to the bed to keep himself from toppling over the edge, both figuratively and literally.

“My maternal grandmother died last year, the last of my Indiana blood relatives. I, um, knew I had family in Texas, and decided to look them up. My cousins own a P.I. agency and, well, I decided to see if I had what it took to make it in the family business.”

White-hot heat flooded his brain, making it almost impossible to think. “So my cousins arranged for me to work, incognito, for Jennifer Madison until I get my P.I. legs under me.”

Amazing how quickly Mariah dropped all hesitation and surged ahead with the instincts of a pro. She sucked and licked and worked her hand until he felt like every ounce of blood in his body might explode into her sweet, hot mouth.

Where was he? Oh, yeah. Coming to Madison. He gritted his teeth. Better not to think of the word “coming.” “Then, I…” It was getting harder and harder to concentrate, to hold on to the sentences in his head. “My first case, I was assigned to work with this beautiful, smart, incredibly sexy woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about making love to since.”

Mariah slowed her movements. Zach panted, the only sounds in the room her mouth and tongue and his breathing. He vaguely wondered what he’d said to make her pause. Did she still doubt that he found her irresistibly attractive? Or was it—Mariah moved her mouth down almost all the way, which meant he’d have to be at the back of her throat.

All coherent thought scattered and the liquid fire that had been building in his balls exploded in one long stream. Mariah lifted her head and continued stroking him with her hand, prolonging his crisis as she watched, fascinated, his desire flow down over her fingers.

When the flood abated, she leaned down and ran her tongue across the tip of his erection, tasting his desire.

Zach’s entire body shuddered again. Then he urged her back onto the mattress and pinned her under his weight.

“I hope your father’s a heavy sleeper. Because squeaky springs or not, you and I are going to give this old bed a workout.”

Mariah smiled. “Bring it on, cowboy....”

* * *

Z
ACH
AWOKE
before dawn the next morning, Mariah spooned against his front, his arm asleep from the awkward positioning required for them both to fit in the narrow twin-size bed. He pressed the button to illuminate his watch then gently retracted his arm from under Mariah’s sleeping head. She murmured something in her sleep and wriggled her bottom against him. His physical reaction was full and immediate, despite the hours they’d gone at it the night before. He briefly splayed his fingers across her hips and pressed her more fully to him, earning another low sound from Mariah. Then he sighed and quietly slipped out of bed.

Considering the noise they’d made last night, between the squeaky bedsprings and Mariah’s soft cries, it didn’t matter how soundly Hughie slept, he had undoubtedly heard what was going on in his daughter’s room. And Zach wanted to soften whatever reaction he was sure to receive by getting into the kitchen first and fixing breakfast.

He slid into his jeans, then realized he would have to go back to the guest room for the remainder of his things. Damn. He listened for noises on the other side of the door, then opened it. The coast was clear. He closed the door after himself then crept down the hall…and ran smack-dab into Hughie Clayborn coming from the opposite direction.

Aw, hell.

“Morning,” Zach said quietly.

“Morning yourself,” Hughie said just as quietly, then cleared his throat.

Zach squinted at the older man in the dim light. If he wasn’t mistaken, Hughie was wearing the same clothes he had the night before. And the undeniable scent of a woman’s perfume filled Zach’s nose.

He raised his brows, realizing that Hughie hadn’t caught him coming from Mariah’s room. Rather, Zach had caught Hughie sneaking back in after a midnight rendezvous of his own.

Here he and Mariah had been afraid of making too much noise, of waking Hughie up, and Hughie had been out of the house all along, likely using the excuse of calling it an early night to do some midnight creeping of his own.

Zach started to chuckle, then rubbed his fingers over the stubble covering his jaw. “I, was, just heading for the bathroom.”

“Go on ahead.” Hughie pointed toward a door down the hall. “I’ll, uh, meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes.”

Zach nodded and began to pass him.

“Oh, and Letterman?”

Zach glanced at him.

“What you’ve seen…this stays between us, ya hear?”

Zach was certainly in no position to censure the other man for his behavior, because he’d behaved just as badly if not worse. “Does Mariah know?”

Hughie cursed under his breath. “No. Why in the hell do you think I just asked you to keep quiet?”

Zach grinned and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

M
ARIAH
AWOKE
to sunlight streaming across her bed. She closed her eyes again and stretched, feeling muscles she couldn’t remember having. Then the bedsprings squeaked and she bolted upright, everything from the night before rushing back.

Oh, God, her dad…

She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands. Oh, God, oh God, oh God. Sure, she and Zach had tried to keep quiet, but it had been virtually impossible on the old bed…and Zach had urged her so far outside herself that she’d been incapable of not crying out.

She’d never had anyone stay the night before, not even a girlfriend when she was younger. The first houseguest they had who wasn’t a ranch hand or family, and she turned into a sexual hellcat.

A hellcat? Heck, she didn’t even recognize herself anymore. The Mariah from three days ago would never have done anything like she had over the past two. She’d shamelessly pleasured herself while Zach watched. Okay, she hadn’t known he was there, but that hadn’t stopped her from feeling hot all over again just thinking about him quietly standing in the dark, his gaze on her while she reached climax by herself.

In fact, ever since meeting Zach, her body seemed to hum in some sort of high state of awareness. Her thighs were always damp. Her pulse thrummed thickly. And her breasts were always tight, her nipples puckered, as if longing for the touch of Zach’s talented mouth.