Endgame (Last Chance Series) (22 page)

He moved his hand, and lifted his body, bringing it home with one smooth motion, driving deep, feeling her tighten against him in welcome. He stayed still for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of connection, the binding of his body to hers, and then unable to stand it an
y longer, he began to move, first withdrawing, and then driving deep and then deeper still.

She rose to meet him thrust for thrust, their bodies moving in mirror image, up and down, thrusting, parrying. A dance that drove him to the brink of exaltation. His body tightened in anticipation and then, with no further warning, exploded in a symphony of sound and light, the release beyond pleasure, beyond pain.

Madison arched against him one last time, thrusting upward, pulling him deep inside her. And then, crying his name, she came, her eyes wild, her hands linked with his, her body's shudders engulfing him, humbling him.

And just like that, Gabriel Roarke fell in love.

THE SUN STREAMED through the window, splashing across the comforter and into Madison's eyes. With a groan, she flopped over, trying to grab a minute more sleep, wanting frantically to hold on to her dreams.

Amazingly erotic dreams. She sighed and ran a hand over her breasts, then sat up, clutching the sheets, reality hitting her like a force ten hurricane. She'd slept with Gabriel Roarke. Well, sleep hadn't exactly been on the agenda. To underscore the fact, her muscles rebelled as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her eyes sweeping the room for some sign of the man.

His jeans were missing from the floor.

Surely a bad thing.

Or was it a good thing? Relief warred with alarm, leaving her giddy. On the one hand, she'd had the most adventurous night of her life. On the other, she'd strayed into dangerous territory. Caring about Gabriel Roarke would be a one-way ticket to heartache.

Despite the amazing connection between them, he'd admitted to being a loner, and more than that, she knew him to be something less than a liberated male. And her last experience in that department was enough to make her run for cover. She'd fought too hard to recover from the damage Rick had inflicted to jump right into that kind of relationship again.

But then, Gabriel wasn't Rick.

Her mind was quite emphatic on the point, and her body echoed the sentiment with a shiver of corporeal memory.

She pushed her hair from her eyes, confusion warring with desire inside her. She didn't regret last night, not one mind-shattering minute of it
. She'd even be up for a repeat performance, but not if it cost her her heart.

Of course the point might be moot. Gabriel had appar
ently had similar qualms, the fact that he was currently MIA mute testament to the hard truth of the matter. The thought hurt a good deal more than she would have liked it to, and she realized that a part of her had already surrendered to the man—to the feelings she had for him.

Damn it all to hell.

She swung out of the bed, defiant in her nudity. Besides, there was no one here to see her. She'd just take a shower, find her clothes, and get back to business as if nothing had changed between them. It'd be a cold day in hell before she'd let him know the power he held over her. A romp in the hay. That's what it was. And that's the way she'd keep it.

Better
leave it there than to take it to the next level, where he was sure to revert to the protective nature of the species and object to the risks she took. Again the small voice in her head whispered that he was different. That he understood her need to walk the line. That he was, in fact, a kindred spirit.

But her feelings were too new, too fragile, and she quashed them before they could fully root, determined not to let her heart read more into the night than had honestly been there.

She searched the room for her abandoned clothing, finding her undershirt draped over a lampshade and her panties tangled with the covers at the foot of the bed. Heat crept across her cheeks, and involuntarily she raised her hand to her face, reliving every moment of the night before.

What the hell had she been thinking?

She hadn't, of course, that was the point. She hadn't been thinking at all. With a sigh, she sank down on the bed, her bravado vanishing as quickly as it had come. She wasn't the type to sleep around. And certainly not with a colleague. And yet, here she was—sitting in a hotel room without a stitch of clothing after a night of.. .well, suffice it to say, great satisfaction.

Sitting alone.

That was the operative word, really, wasn't it? Despite the connection they'd had the night before, he hadn't seen fit to greet the day with her. Instead he'd left her here, on her own, making him no different than any other man in her life.

With a sigh
, she pulled on her panties. She was back where she started. And if she lied to herself, she could accept the fact that it had been a great ride. But a part of her, a part she tried to keep sequestered, wanted more. Wanted last night to be about something beyond sex. Something spiritual as well as physical. Something romantic.

But those kind of things only happened in movies, and she was an idiot to even give voice to the thought.
Little girl daydreams had no place in real life. Especially hers.

She slipped on her camisole, and walked over to the chair by the window to retrieve the rest of her clothes. Her gun lay on the table, mocking her. Making all her fanciful thoughts seem shadow—ridiculous. There was no such thing as a soul mate, and just because Gabriel Roarke had made her come seven ways to Sunday didn't mean there was more to it than raw passion.

She stepped into her pants, and was just zipping them up when a sound outside the bedroom made her freeze. She reached for her gun, and moved slowly toward the door, her caution probably unnecessary, but as automatic to her as breathing.

The door slowly swung open, and Gabriel's smile faded to astonishment. "You going to shoot the waffles?"

He held a tray and Madison immediately recognized the smell. Lowering the gun, she felt the rush of heat as emotion threatened to swamp her. His hair was wet, and he wore only his jeans, his feet bare.

He hadn't left at all.

Some investigator she was—jumping to conclusions without even checking the facts. "I guess I overreacted a little."

The smile was back, this time with something she thought akin to tenderness. A lump rose in her throat, and she struggled to swallow, feeling all of about ten inches high, despite the fact that he was not even aware of her mistaken logic.

"Occupational hazard." He shrugged, walking over to put the tray on the bedside table. Then in two strides he was beside her, his arms closing around her. "I didn't want to wake you. You seemed so peaceful." He said it with a note of longing in his voice, as if he hadn't slept like that before.

"I was having good dreams." Her smile came of its own volition, her fingers stroking the unshaven stubble on his chin.

"Funny," he said, his breath tickling her cheek, "I had really good dreams last night, too." His hands were stroking her back, sending little shivers of pleasure dancing through her. Whatever her feelings for the man, he certainly knew how to rev her engine.

"I thought you were hungry." She wasn't sure what she'd meant by the comment, but it came out on a provocative note, his eyes darkening in response.

"I am," he said, one hand moving lower, cupping her bottom, the other closing around her waist, pulling her so close their lips were only centimeters away. "Just not for waffles."

She could smell the soap lingering on his skin, and she watched as a droplet of water fell from his hair to cling to his shoulder. Without thought for the consequences, she leaned forward and licked him dry, savoring the taste of his skin on her tongue.

With a groan, he crushed his lips to hers, their shared passion igniting into full flame again. The kiss was as much a contest of wills as anything, each of them trying to find control, and each knowing it was a losing battle.

Whatever it was between them, it couldn't be stopped. And suddenly Madison wasn't at all sure that she wanted to. He walked her backward toward the bed, each of them struggling to remove clothing without breaking contact, the effort making them both laugh.

There was an ease present this morning that hadn't been there the night before. As if somehow they'd crossed a barrier, opening themselves to each other in ways neither would have thought possible.

Madison pressed against him, reveling in the feel of his hard body next to hers, anxious to prove that the night hadn't been a fluke, that together they were better than apart. She fell back against the covers, pulling him with her, their
lips still joined in an endless kiss that seemed to take and give and fill her all at once.

She explored his body, memorizing every part of him. Delighting in the daylight and the new sensory experience of watching him respond. He had scars everywhere. Symbols of who he was—how he lived. She kissed each with a sort of reverence, wanting to know everything about him.

He, in his turn, kissed her from head to toe, sucking and licking and tickling until she was writhing with need, all cognizant thought banished as she concentrated on the rising heat between her legs.

With a swift thrust, he was inside her, and they wer
e again one. Soaring together, reaching higher and higher, searching for release, craving it, yet cherishing the intensity of the ride. She bucked against him, wanting him deeper, wanting to lock them together, savor the moment, keep it as a treasure forever.

And then the world splintered into a kaleidoscope of color. She heard him call her name, his voice hoarse with his frenzy, his body slamming into hers, the rhythm almost desperate.

And for the first time in her life, Madison let go, surrendering herself completely to the moment and the man.

*****

THE INCESSANT MELODY of a cell phone pulled Gabriel out of his postcoital lethargy. Madison was draped across him, her legs tangled with his, their bodies still linked together despite being totally satiated. He hated to break contact, but whoever the hell was calling didn't seem to want to give up.

He shot a look at the clock, surprised to see that it was almost noon. Not that he regretted a minute of his morning. He smiled at her, pushing the hair from her face, and she muttered something incoherent and turned in his arms, snuggling against him without waking.

God, she was amazing. He felt stirrings below, and quickly put the kibosh on them. First things first. Sliding out from under her, he sat up, and searched the room for the offending phone, only to have
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
joined by the
William Tell
Overture. He wasn't sure what either ring said about the owners, and quite frankly, with the current cacophony he wasn't up to trying to figure it out. More important to stop it.

He reached Madison's phone first, and answered it with a terse hello, only to immediately wish he'd not picked it up at all. Philip Merrick was on the other end, and from the bated silence he was
currently enduring, none too happy to have his daughter's phone answered by a man.

"Where's Madison?" Merrick finally barked into the phone.

Gabe looked over at the bed, only to see her burrowing deeper underneath the covers, a pillow thrown conveniently over her head. He had no idea if she was honestly sleeping or faking it to get out of a conversation with her father, but he wasn't inclined to put it to the test. Let the old man stew.

"She's sleeping."

"Well, wake her up. I want to talk to her." The man's apoplexy carried from tower to tower across Manhattan, probably sending electric meters surging along the way.

"I'll have her call you back, I promise. Right now, I need to answer my phone. So if you'll excuse me..." He didn't give the man the chance to answer, disconnecting and reaching for his jeans and the other phone—still happily playing the theme from the
Lone Ranger
—in the pocket.

"Roarke."

"Where the hell are you?" It seemed everyone was a little testy this morning. Cullen's tone was just this side of irate.

"None of your damn business." He felt a bit like Romeo and Juliet, only no one was on his side. And the Capulets were in bed with the Montagues.

"Is Madison with you?" The voice was more controlled now, as if his anger were being held in check.

"Yes. And except for everyone calling us, we're fine."

"I'm sure you are." Cullen sighed, the action negating some of the sarcasm in his voice. "But in case you've forgotten, there's a killer on the loose, and every moment matters. I was all for Madison having a bit of time to herself, but enough is enough. I want you both in my office in fifteen minutes. We need to regroup, and I need to provide tangible evidence to Philip that you haven't eaten his daughter alive."

Gabe contained a grin, thinking about doing
exactly that. "An hour."

"Half an hour," Cullen insisted. "And not a minute longer. I've got a crisis on my hands, and the two of you are supposed to be fixing it—not each other."

"Fine. Half an hour." Gabe hated being dictated to, but Cullen was right; the respite was over. He clicked off the phone, turned toward the bed.

Madison had removed the pillow, and was sitting propped up against it, her hair spilling down over her breasts in a way that made his throat turn dry. "Anything new?"

Gabe shook his head, fighting hard against his hormones, feeling the effect of her nudity on his lower anatomy. "He just wants us in the office pronto."

"I'm not surprised, considering the body count. We should have been in an hour ago." She was reaching for her clothes, avoiding his gaze.

"You needed a break. Besides, until we get the forensics reports back, there really isn't that much we can do." He followed her lead, and began to dress, trying not to think about what her withdrawal might mean. "Cullen is just worried about the accord."

"Considering Jeremy's death, I'd say the concern is legitimate." She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and then tucked her shirt into her pants. "But I'm still not convinced we're looking at organized terror. The M.O. is all wrong."