Found Wanting (40 page)

Alaina's breath caught. Julia was not speaking casually. She meant it as a warning.

* * *

"You sure you don't want to stay over?" Mitch asked as Julia shrugged into her jacket and pulled on gloves. "We're having Smores later."

Julia chuckled. "If only I had known, I would have arranged for someone to let the dog out for me. Rain check?"

"Sorry," Mitch said. "You know me and Smores. There won't be any leftovers."

Julia winked at Alaina. "Don't turn your back on him. When it comes to chocolate and marshmallows, he's ruthless."

"Thanks for the warning," Alaina said with a laugh, struck by how easy she felt with them, as if they were old friends saying goodbye after an afternoon visit, rather than three relative strangers plotting a kidnapping.

Mitch followed Julia out onto the porch, pulling the door closed, either for privacy or to retain the warmth in the cabin. Alaina, filled with nervous energy after the conversation with Julia, kept herself busy by cleaning up the remnants of their lunch. She was in the kitchen, washing coffee mugs, when Mitch ambled in.

"You don't have to do that," he said, coming up behind her.

"I don't mind."

She set the last cup in the drainer and turned, surprised to find him standing so close. Rather than step sideways, away from him, she stayed where she was. He watched her curiously, as if trying to read her mind.

"What did you and Jules talk about on the porch earlier?" he asked.

"You tell me first," she replied.

He smiled. "She likes you."

"She told me she wanted to kick my ass."

The light in his eyes danced. "Then she really likes you."

She felt a pull in her chest, almost resisted leaning into him, then didn't. His chuckle died away when she placed a hand on the front of his T-shirt, felt the hard muscle underneath, the rise and fall of his breath. Her pulse raced, then stumbled as she met his darkening gaze. He didn't move. She thought of how he had taken a bullet for his friend and partner, a bullet that could have killed him.

She thought of the many times since she'd met him that a bullet could have easily taken his life. Because of her. Yet he was still risking his life to help her, to protect her.

She thought of how brave he'd been to open himself to her after shutting himself away for so long. And she thought of how foolish she would be if she let these moments with him slip away, when he was the only man she had ever wanted.

She stepped into him, curving her hand around the back of his neck and drawing him down. Their lips met, and heat exploded between them.

His hands came up her arms, and he backed her against the sink as he sank his fingers into her hair, his mouth and tongue desperately seeking. Her head spun with how much she wanted this. With him. The sharp edge of the need surprised and liberated as the joy of discovery, the joy of relief, tumbled through her.

Now that she had taken the plunge, impatience took over. She tried to deepen the embrace, tried to steer him toward the front room and the sofa or the floor or the bedroom or wherever. Now, please, now, was all she could think.

But he gentled the kiss, slowed it, and refused to budge, taking his time scattering feather kisses over her face to her ear, where he toyed with the lobe, his breath soft and deep, unhurried. His hands, God, his hands were on her shoulders, and she wanted them on her breasts, on her naked skin. She wanted to feel everything at once.

She released a low moan as he lowered his head to the hollow of her throat, his tongue tasting, testing, sending shivers down her spine. If he didn't put his hands on her soon, she thought she would burst.

But he didn't. He simply kept trailing slow, drugging kisses over her face and throat and down the side of her neck.

She worked her hands under his shirt, reveled in the feel of muscle and smooth skin, pleased at his intake of breath when her nails scraped a nipple.

His hands slid down her back and pressed her against him until she felt the heat of him through his jeans. He wanted her. The knowledge made her feel strong and powerful. And she wanted the barrier of denim gone.

Her fingers trembled as they went to the button on his jeans, but he grasped her hands, stilled them. "Not yet," he whispered.

Frustration began to worm its way through her but was forgotten the instant he closed his mouth over the tip of her breast, T-shirt and all. She gasped, stiffening as pleasure arrowed into her. Her knees went liquid, and Mitch laughed low in his chest as he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the back bedroom.

Finally.

But when he set her on bed, his pace was anything but hurried. Giving her a languid look, he slowly drew the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. His fingers unhooked the clasp of her bra and let it fall open, lust darkening his gaze as his fingers stroked the curve of her breast, lingered.

"Perfect," he murmured.

Warmth spread through her. He made her feel adored, cherished, like she'd never felt before.

"Now you," she said, her voice breathy.

Smiling, he doffed his T-shirt, baring that fabulous chest and rippling muscles that contracted when she grazed them with her fingertips. She drank him in, swallowing the urge to dive in and devour. His body was full of power. Looking at it, touching it, made her head light with yearning.

Joining her on the bed, he eased her back, kissing her softly at the same time, his mouth gentle, leisurely. When her head hit the pillow, he cupped her breast in one hand, teasing it to a peak, his lips curving against her mouth when she moaned. He replaced his hand with his mouth, and she arched against him, releasing a surprised gasp at the clench of his teeth. Her pulse went wild.

Then his hand was sliding down her torso, his lips following behind, placing light kisses along her ribs. His fingers slid under the waistband of her jeans, teasing, tickling, and she opened her eyes, surprised to realize that she'd had them closed. His dark eyes were watching her as he lowered the zipper on her jeans, and he pressed wet kisses against her belly as he exposed skin inch by inch.

Her breath shuddered out, and she lifted her hips so he could tug the jeans down her legs. He did so slowly she wanted to scream. "You're killing me here," she said on an uneasy laugh.

He grinned. "That's the idea."

He slid her panties off as slowly, then stretched out beside her, gathering her close. She liked the rough rasp of his jeans against her bare legs, lost herself in the headiness of lazy kisses and gentle caresses that required all of her willpower to keep from squirming.

By the time he slid a hand between them and touched her, she stepped off the ledge with barely a nudge and fell through layers of quiet, unexpected pleasure.

As she floated down, he left her for an instant.

"Where are you going?" she protested.

"I'll just be a second," he said, gone long enough to retrieve his backpack from the other room. He fumbled around in it for a moment, then dropped it on the floor before settling back on the bed. His mouth returned to hers, and his tongue set a new pace, an insistent one that ratcheted her pulse rate up a couple of notches.

He quickly shed his jeans, breaking the embrace for only a moment. She heard the rip of a little foil packet before he was stretched out beside her again, skin against skin.

She skimmed her hand over his hip, her head whirling as his fingers stroked the back of her knee, the inside of her elbow, the small of her back. Every part of her seemed sensitized to the slightest touch, and he took his time rebuilding her need with his hands, his fingers, his mouth. She wanted to do the same for him, but she was so distracted by what he was doing to her that she couldn't focus.

She toppled easily over another peak, burying her head against his shoulder to stifle a ragged moan. She felt his lips curve on her throat. He was enjoying torturing her. And he was damn good at it.

When he shifted subtly, easing her onto her back, she moved with him, smiling. Yes, she thought. Yes.

He braced over her, his elbows locked to support his weight, his breathing unsteady. "Open your eyes," he whispered. "See me."

She did. His dark gaze locked on hers as he slowly filled her, and she arched up, eager to take him in, her breath hitching at the intensity of the sensation. "Oh, Mitch."

He closed his eyes, releasing his held breath. She heard him swallow. "If you move, it's over," he said. "I want you too damn much."

She held still, wanting this moment to last, conscious of his heart slamming against his ribs and her heart's answering, driving beat. She watched a drop of sweat trickle down his temple and stopped its descent with a kiss.

When he moved, she gasped and arched back, succumbing to another wave of shudders.

He held her tight against him through the quake. "You're not making me work very hard," he murmured.

She fought for air, her hands flattened against his lower back to hold him firmly in place. "Making up for lost time."

His chuckle dissolved into a groan. "Just so you know: If you do that again, I won't be able to keep from following."

"I'll try to control myself."

"I'd prefer you didn't."

Before she could respond, he resumed the onslaught, slow and easy. Tender. So tender. Then he shifted, taking her fast and hard but careful to not let her peak so easily again. Each time he sensed she danced on the edge, he slowed the pace, sometimes stopping altogether and leisurely kissing away her pleas.

Her breath was sobbing, her nails digging into his back, by the time he let her soar. He covered her mouth with his when she screamed, and she felt his body buck against her.

Damp and breathless, she savored the aftershocks that jolted through her, fairly certain she saw stars that time. This is it, she thought. This is what it's supposed to be like. And she'd been afraid she wouldn't like it.

Mitch kissed her nose, her lips, then paused, his eyes widening in alarm. "Are you crying?"

She swiped at the tear that had rolled back into her hair. "No."

"Oh, God, did I hurt you?" He started to roll away.

She caught his shoulders and, rearing up, kissed him. "You were incredible."

He relaxed, grinned. "Then you're up for another round?"

She smiled, thrilled to be there with him, naked and satisfied and knowing that her sexual appetite was indeed strong and healthy. "Bring it on."

* * *

"What kind of music do you like?"

Alaina smiled, enjoying the play of firelight across Mitch's bare chest as he sat cross-legged before her. Only moments ago, he'd brought two plates from the kitchen piled with grilled steak, mashed potatoes and green beans. A second trip had delivered two glasses and a bottle of red wine -- compliments of one of his treks for supplies. It touched her that he'd cooked while she'd slept in front of the fire, exhausted from their lovemaking.

"You're not going to psychoanalyze me again, are you?" she asked as she cut into the steak. It was pink in the center, just the way she liked it.

"Only if you say Springsteen."