Hot (18 page)
T
he second thing John noticed about Turner was the way her cat eyes immediately flew to the door. Even while petting the Great
Dane’s ears, her gaze was taking in the room. No doubt about it, the woman wanted to run. Good thing he’d taken the precaution
of shoving the dresser in front of the motel room’s door. True, it had felt like it was made of matchsticks when he’d lifted
it, but the dresser would still take her a moment to wrestle aside if she tried to make a run for it. Of course, she’d have
to get dressed first. Because that was the first thing he noticed about her.
Glory hallelujah, Turner was nude. Maybe this was his reward after a freaking bitch of a week.
“Why are your hands cuffed to the bed?” she asked.
Squeaky gave her one last lick and settled back down in the place he’d found for himself: the floor of the alcove closet.
He could just fit if he curled into a ball. John tore his eyes away from Turner’s breasts, soft and white and with shockingly
dark nipples. His cock was already throbbing.
“I thought it might make it easier for you.”
She looked wary, like a wild thing ready to run. Her slim legs were braced apart, and she held her arms slightly away from
her sides. “Easier for what?”
“To talk.” That was what he’d gambled on, anyway. If he made himself nonthreatening to her, maybe she wouldn’t run. Of course,
the flip side to that equation was if she did run, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
A gamble.
“Talk?” She made a sudden swift move that had his heart leaping painfully in his chest, but she only grabbed his jacket and
wrapped it around herself. Technically, she was covered. But the sight of her, with bare legs and the jacket only coming to
midthigh, was a wet dream come true. He was never going to look at that jacket in the same way again. He nearly groaned.
He didn’t, though. He kept his voice calm. Light. As if they were still conversing via cell phone. It was important that he
not scare her. “Yeah, talk. I think it’s about time we spent some time together and figured this thing out.”
“And the handcuffs?” She pointed with her sharp little chin. Her hands were occupied keeping his jacket closed around her
nude body.
“I figured you’d find me less intimidating this way. I’m not wearing my Glock.” He pointed with his own chin to the bedside
table, where his holster and a handcuff key lay. “I can’t chase after you if you decide to leave.”
She exhaled on a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Baby, do I look like I’m kidding?” He rattled the metal cuffs against the headboard.
“I’ve wondered what your expression would look like when you said that.” Her scratchy voice had lowered.
“What?”
“Baby.” Her gaze was on his crotch, where she was probably getting an eyeful.
Oh, man.
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “That wasn’t what I was wondering about you.”
She raised her green eyes and took a step closer. Was she conscious of her move? “What did you wonder about me?”
“Your taste. What it would be like to kiss you on the lips.”
She stared at him as if sorely tempted, and he sure as hell hoped she was. But she didn’t move closer. She just stood there
flexing her narrow hands on his coat lapels.
He exhaled. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“I ought to leave.” Her straight, dark eyebrows knit. “How do I know you haven’t called for reinforcements?”
“I haven’t.”
She nibbled at her bottom lip as if debating whether to believe him.
“We’re all alone,” John said softly. “Just you and me.”
Her gaze flew to his. Her eyes were narrowed, suspicious.
John waited, breathing in and out slowly, concentrating on the flow of air to his body. He met her eyes calmly and, he hoped,
reassuringly.
“Okay.” She sat on the far corner of the bed.
He suppressed his smile. True, she looked ready to fly at any moment, but he’d just won the first round.
“Bet it was nice to have that shower,” he said.
She snorted. “Obviously, I’m not meant for a life on the run when I can be caught because I stopped to bathe.” Her voice had
a bit of wry self-disgust, and her soft mouth had twisted.
He smiled. It would be wonderful to touch her, but just watching the expressions move across Turner’s face was oddly satisfying
in itself.
“You’re not doing so bad. You managed to escape from an experienced FBI agent twice.”
“Only to be caught the third time.” Her eyes narrowed again and the outer corners tilted up, making her look more like a cat
than ever. “How did you find me?”
He shook his head. “I can’t let you know all my techniques, can I?” Dumb luck, in this case. “So what do you plan to do now?”
Was it his imagination, or did the color rise in her cheeks? “What do you mean?”
“You don’t have the evidence, do you?” A soft canine snore started in the corner. They’d bored Squeaky.
“No.”
“Then what can you do?” He crossed his legs on the bed, and her gaze slipped down to follow the movement. “Is there another
place you can look?”
He carefully didn’t mention her arranged meeting with Victoria Weidner the next morning. That was his ace in the hole. If
this didn’t work, he could still catch her in Madison. But he was hoping she’d tell him about the meeting herself.
She didn’t. “I don’t know.”
“So what will you do?”
“You want me to give up, don’t you?”
“Not give up, exactly.” He grimaced. “If Hyman really is embezzling from the bank, we’ll get him eventually. Don’t worry about
that.”
“But it’ll take time, won’t it?” She stared at him with what seemed like fading hope in her eyes. “You’ll need warrants and
a special investigator and some kind of evidence just to start. That’s assuming the FBI even decides to investigate. And all
that time Calvin will be hiring expensive lawyers and destroying whatever evidence there is.”
He sighed. “Turner—”
“No. I’m right, aren’t I, John?”
He shifted. This handcuffing-himself-to-the-bedpost business wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He wanted to touch her, hold
her, keep her from running. Of course, he could get out of the handcuffs if he wanted to—he had the second key sewn into the
band of his watch. But he wanted to maintain the illusion of vulnerability.
Not to mention it would take some time to get the handcuffs unlocked. “It might go down that way, but there’s always a chance—”
“A chance? A chance isn’t good enough.”
“That’s how the system works.”
“No. I’m sorry, I can’t wait for a chance that might never come.”
She stood up, and he straightened reflexively. Or tried to. The handcuffs prevented him from moving his upper body much.
“Stay.”
She’d turned away to her suitcase, but now she stilled and looked at him over her shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I want you to.”
“What are you saying?”
He put as much intensity as he could into his gaze. “Stay with me. Forget about Hyman and the bank and everything else. Just
for tonight. Stay with me.”
“John—”
“Just the two of us. Here. Let whatever is going on outside stay outside. Just for tonight.”
She looked at the door. “You’re stalling.”
“No—”
“You’re waiting for some kind of backup and you—”
“No, goddamnit!” John lunged against the stupid handcuffs and nearly tore his arm from the socket. “Shit!”
She was by his side immediately. “I can’t believe you actually handcuffed yourself to the bed.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my brightest moment.”
“I don’t know.” Her mouth was wry. “It kept me here, didn’t it?”
He closed his eyes. “Stay with me.”
“You’ve hurt yourself.”
“Turner—”
“I can’t stay, you know that.”
“Why not?” He opened his eyes to find she was even closer than before.
He inhaled. There it was: the green scent of pine, even under the flowery perfume of whatever soap she’d used. He was smelling
Turner—her special scent. She stared at him mutely. He could see yellow slivers in her green eyes, she was that near. Finally.
God, he couldn’t let her disappear again.
“There’s nobody outside. It’s just you and me—”
“John,” she said in her low, sexy voice. “It’s impossible. You know that.”
“Why? No one need ever know.”
“That’s—”
“It’s only you and me. Forget everything else.”
“I can’t.” She ran a hand through the drying spikes of her hair. “You want to arrest me. I want to get Calvin. This won’t
work.”
“Just for tonight.”
She laughed softly. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. But I need you so much, baby.”
She sighed and looked away.
“Please.” Christ. He was begging.
“How do you undo these?” She was touching his shoulder lightly now, her fingers gentle.
He was losing her, he could tell. An uncharacteristic panic filled his chest. “Don’t leave me. I want—”
She turned her face and her mouth was suddenly inches from his. “What do you want?”
If he lived another forty years, he’d never forget the erotic huskiness of Turner’s voice whispering that to him.
What do you want?
You, he wanted to say, I want you, now and forever. But he settled for something a lot less intimidating.
“I want you to kiss me.”
A
kiss.
Such an innocent request. Unless the person making the request was a man with desperation in his gaze and an almost palpable
tension in his body.
A man like John.
Turner stared into his eyes. The irises were a strange kind of blue, so pale as to make his pupils stand out in sharp contrast,
with a thin, dark blue ring around the outer edge. They were the kind of eyes that made some people uneasy because they were
so light. But at the moment it wasn’t his eyes that were making her uneasy. And excited. It was the look they held: part need,
part compulsion. John wanted her very badly.
He hadn’t given up on her. That had been the first thought she’d had when she’d seen him. Somehow, despite all the times she
pushed him away, despite her prickly self-sufficient personality, he’d stayed. He’d come after her. It wasn’t logical, but
she felt triumph. Triumph and heat. She wanted this man, too.
She shifted on the bed. The jacket she was wearing had ridden up a little when she’d sat down next to him, and her bare bottom
was in contact with the bedspread. On top, the jacket covered her decently, but underneath . . .
Why was she still here? She should have taken advantage of his chivalrous urge to handcuff himself to the bed. She should
have been out the door fifteen minutes ago. Instead, she was leaning over him, so close she could feel the heat radiating
from his chest.
So close she could scent him.
Ah, that. She felt her eyelids droop half-closed. That was what she’d wanted to do the first time she’d actually seen John,
only two days ago at Tommy’s place: to smell him. And now she could. It was almost intoxicating, his aroma. He smelled like
a man. A delicious, wonderful man. Not sweaty or smoky. Not even any identifiable odor like cologne. She smelled just him.
His essence.
Turner swayed forward, tantalized by that scent, and found her mouth was almost on his. It seemed so natural, so right, to
give in to his plea.
She kissed him.
She brushed her lips over his, warm and firm, and then brushed again. She felt his beard stubble at her cheek, and he opened
his mouth. His tongue stroked her lips and she parted them slowly, cautiously, to let him in. A groan whispered against her
lips, and then he darted his tongue into her mouth. She gasped. She could taste him. Coffee and something else she couldn’t
identify. He darted in again, and she stroked his tongue with hers, feeling the texture. She drew back a little and looked
at him.
“Come closer,” he murmured.
His eyes were half-lowered. Passion should have softened his face, but instead it had deepened the lines around his mouth
and hardened his jaw. She inched closer until her hip bumped his side and leaned down, delicately, deliberately biting his
lower lip. He watched her kiss him, his eyes still open. Then she licked his bottom lip, licked all around his mouth, slowly,
thoroughly, with him watching all the time. She broke the kiss with a small, wet sound, intimate in the still room. She raised
her head and paused, looking at him.
He didn’t comment.
So she lowered her head and fit her open mouth over his. Immediately, he angled his face and thrust his tongue into her mouth,
more strongly this time. She caught it and sucked until he groaned.
He pulled his head back. “I want you closer. Climb on top of me.”
She arched her eyebrows but did as he asked. First she knelt on the side of the bed, and then she swung one leg over him,
hiking the jacket up a little. Her bare bottom was now just below his pelvis, partly on his thighs. She sat still for a moment,
adjusting to the feel of his trousers against her bare legs. Her hands held the jacket—his jacket—closed across her chest,
but then she looked into his eyes and let go. The jacket fell partially open.
His gaze dropped to her pubic hair and her parted sex. His eyes narrowed, and his face became almost saturnine.
She leaned forward and placed one hand on his chest. The other cupped his jaw. And she kissed him again with tongue and lips,
moaning with the voluptuous freedom. She could do anything—anything she liked—with this man. For tonight.
Just for tonight.
She drew back a little and bit his chin, scraping her teeth against his stubble. He inhaled but didn’t say anything. He tilted
his head back. She softly, gently licked his throat and felt his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed.
“The key is on the bedside table.” His voice was gravelly. “Unlock me.”
“No.”
She sat up and watched him. His brows were drawn together over his blue eyes, and his jaw flexed like he was grinding his
teeth. She smiled. And began unbuttoning his shirt. It was a white oxford, nothing special. She slipped a finger underneath
the placket and slowly drew a button through the little hole. She felt the corner of her smile tilt up. John had chest hair.
“Turner—”
She parted the shirt between the next two buttons and leaned down to poke her tongue through the hole. She could taste a bit
of salt, feel the hair tickling her tongue.
“Jesus.” It was a low growl.
She spread both palms over his pectorals and felt his heat through the shirt cloth. The trousers where she sat were probably
damp by now, but she didn’t care. She brought her hands together in the center of his chest and trailed them down to his pants.
And paused. He inhaled sharply. She gently unbuckled his worn leather belt and left it hanging. When she pulled the zipper,
the rasp was loud in the room. Carefully she opened the fly to his trousers and almost giggled.
Navy boxers.
“What’s so funny?” he muttered.
“I figured tighty-whities.”
“Ouch.” But his voice was distracted. Because even through the boxers, he was standing outside the fly.
“Raise your hips,” she ordered.
She had to get on her knees to accommodate him, but she was able to pull the trousers and boxers down to midthigh even so.
Then she sat back down on his bare legs and almost gasped. His hot skin against her wet flesh felt wonderful. And decadent.
It had been so long. And usually this was when she started getting the willies. Instead, she just wanted to . . .
She bent and licked across the head of his cock. She heard his harsh gasp but didn’t bother looking up. His cock was beautiful,
tight and veined with a shaft that was thicker than the head. It was quite thick overall, actually. His pubic hair was dark
with a sprinkling of gray that she found sexy somehow. She licked again, tasting him, and then she took him into her mouth
and sucked. Just the head, while she played with the shaft and his balls.
Another gasp. “Turner—”
She hummed with him in her mouth.
“Christ.” His voice was guttural. “Condoms in my back pocket.”
Well, now, that was interesting news. He’d been that sure of her, had he? She looked up, his cock still between her lips,
and narrowed her eyes at him. His cheeks had flushed and his face was harder than ever; his pale eyes sparked with a hunger
that echoed her own.
“Would you prefer that I didn’t have them?”
He had a point. And besides, she really wanted him inside her. She dug under his thigh until she found a square packet and
unwrapped it. She carefully fitted the condom over his erection. She expected him to ask her again to let him go, but he didn’t.
He just watched her handle him with intense ghost eyes, his arms strained over his head. When he was covered, she inched forward
until her vulva lay over his cock.
Oh, Lord.
She shuddered at the feel of him beneath her.
Sooo good. Oh, so good.
She moved slowly, grinding herself back and forth along his length, made slippery by her fluids. She reached his tip and
aligned it with her clitoris, then flattened herself against him and sought his mouth with hers.
His tongue was rough, his kiss almost violent. He hadn’t made a murmur as she pleasured herself on him, but she knew he must
be at his limit. She ground down again.
“Put me in you, baby,” he growled against her lips. “Fuck me.”
She shuddered at his coarse words. She tore open his shirt, spreading the halves so she could have access to his bare chest,
before rising and positioning him at her entrance.
Then she lowered herself.
The first inch or so slipped in easily, but then she had to push. She braced her hands on his chest, felt the hairs beneath
her palms, and bore down. It had been years, and John was thick, maybe thicker than any man she’d ever had before. She gasped.
She felt each inch of his flesh invading hers, parting and stretching her.
“Easy,” John whispered huskily. “Easy, baby. Take it slow.”
She slid up on his cock and sat again, taking a little more of him into her. Repeated the movement. And again. He thrust up
at her on the fourth try. She moaned as she felt him enter her entirely, his length sliding home and filling her.
“Is it okay?” John gasped. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Yes, I—”
But her words were lost as he thrust within her. She had to lean forward and clutch at his shoulders again, he was humping
up at her so roughly. His erection shoved back and forth inside her.
He watched her beneath nearly closed eyes. “Kiss me.”
So she kissed him as she rode his pelvis and his penis. She thrust against him and kissed him until his mouth went slack beneath
hers. And then she had to raise her head to look.
To watch John as he came.
It was such an intimate thing, watching a man fall apart, literally lose himself in her. John’s face was flushed, his teeth
gritted. He closed his eyes and grunted. Then she felt him jerking within her. His shoulder muscles beneath her palms were
bunched and rock hard as he convulsed.
A feeling of tenderness—of love—filled her. Tears beaded in her eyes.
He grunted again, and his thrusts became weaker until he went lax beneath her. Turner kissed him, little light kisses that
just touched his face. He was still in her, partially hard, and she didn’t want to separate from him.
He sighed, his eyes closed. “You didn’t come.”
“Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “It doesn’t matter. I—”
“It matters to me.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. The lines around his mouth had finally softened.
She was embarrassed now. As if she’d failed at some test that everyone else passed easily. “No, really—”
“No, really, it does matter to me.”
He bumped her with his hips, and she gasped at the feeling. She was sensitive down there after his lovemaking.
“I thought so,” he whispered. “Now, as I see it we have two options.”
She stared at him, half-shy, half-aroused. She couldn’t believe they were talking about—
“You can climb up here and sit on my face,” he drawled conversationally. “And I can lick you until you scream.”
Her eyes widened. There was no way she was going to—
“Or you can move on me like you were doing before I entered you.”
She wanted to hide her face. “I-I can take care of it myself—”
“I know you can, baby.” He’d lost his smile. “But I want you to do it with me.”
Oh, goodness.
She couldn’t do this. In front of someone else? She just couldn’t.
But John was watching her, waiting. And she wanted to please him. She closed her eyes and tilted down until her clitoris was
in contact with him. He was still inside her, not quite hard, and she knew if she moved too much he would slip out. And somehow
she wanted him in her when she . . .
This was so intimate it was almost unbearable. She ground against him, knowing that he was watching her, knowing that he could
see every emotion cross her face. She leaned farther and the tips of her breasts accidentally brushed his chest. She gasped.
His chest hair scraping against her sensitive nipples was . . . She brushed her breasts against him again and ground faster,
pushing out of her mind the reasons why she couldn’t do this. Instead, she thought about John, about how she had felt when
he’d come in front of her.
“That’s the way, baby.” She heard his voice through a haze, encouraging her. “Do it for me.”
She felt like fire, like a storm building. She felt . . .
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “So sexy. Come for me. God, you’re making me hard again.”
She knew she must not look elegant or pretty right now. She was moving almost frantically on him, her face contorted uncontrollably.
“I’ve never seen anything in my life as erotic as you are right now.” His voice was relentless. “I’m going to have to make
love to you again. Once won’t be enough. Come for me, baby.”
There was moisture on her upper lip, and she was making sounds. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was . . .
“Turner.”
She moaned, her voice loud in the room, and opened her eyes as the feeling broke and crested over her. Overwhelming. Nearly
frightening. And she found John watching her, his face hard again and possessive—and something else. But she couldn’t fully
analyze his expression, because she was arching and panting and coming. Coming in front of him, her eyes helplessly locked
with his. She knew suddenly that there was no going back from this point. Her world would never be the same again—her life
had just been roughly turned upside-down, and maybe she liked it that way, all cockeyed and crazy and off balance, as long
as John was with her.
John.
Tears ran down her face.
