Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (73 page)

The sheer masculinity of him was beautiful. She cupped his heavy testicles in her hands, very gently, and his powerful body arched. He shook from head to toe. “Lord have mercy,” he said in a strangled tone.

“The Lord?” she asked softly. “Or me?” The sense of her own feminine power over him was heady.

“You. Or both. I don’t care.”

Her secret places were damp and swollen, throbbing with need. Sex, even last night with Dane, had always been something that had been done
to
her. She wanted, needed, to be in control this time of her own body, and his. She wanted to give pleasure as well as seek it. She wanted the
warm sexual confidence of a woman who had no fears, no restraints. She was tired of boundaries.

With a sigh like a soft spring breeze she mounted him, straddling his hips and holding his shaft steady as she positioned it and slowly sank down. She was sore; she bit her lip at the discomfort of her tender flesh stretching to admit him. But there was also the wonder of feeling that warmth and hardness probing deeper inside her as she slowly took him, and lingered over the taking, inch by slow inch. The sensation was so exquisite that she lifted herself almost completely off him and began again. And again.

Dane’s fists knotted in the sheets, and sweat popped out on his forehead. She was only taking about half of him before sliding upward again, and he thought he was going to go howling mad for sure. He didn’t dare touch her, because if he did, he would lose control. This was her show, all the way. Her face was solemn, dreamy, absorbed as she explored the pleasure she could take from his body. She was concentrating on nothing except her physical sensations as she slid up and down on him, but he didn’t feel left out. Watching her learn about her own sensuality was as much a turn-on as anything in his life had been, and the way she was doing it was killing him with pleasure.

Marlie closed her eyes against the almost overwhelming surge of passion and pleasure. All that she had learned the night before was as nothing compared to this; now her body knew the sublime ecstasy awaiting, and enjoyed as well every inch of the path leading up to it. She fought against the need to rush to the finish. She wanted to savor every delicious explosion of sensation deep inside her as she lifted herself from him, feeling the drag of his sex on her acutely sensitive tissues, followed by that indescribable moment of deepening penetration as she took him again. She moaned aloud, sensing the approach of climax drawing inexorably nearer.
Not yet,
she thought dimly. She was enjoying this too much. There was no hurry.

Dane writhed on the sheet. Oh, God, if she didn’t hurry,
he was going to die. The shallow way she was riding him was working the swollen head of his shaft with almost ceaseless pressure. A harsh groan tore from his chest. He wanted to thrust, deep, needed to thrust more than he had ever needed anything, but he refused to let himself do so. There would be times when his needs would take precedence. This time, however, was Marlie’s. He shivered with the intensity of the pleasure. He thought his heart was going to explode; he knew for damn sure his cock was.

She was very wet now, and her rhythm had become faster. The fitted sheet came loose as he pulled at it. He arched, his body so rigid that his weight was supported only on his heels and his shoulders. A mist swam in front of his eyes.

“Marlie.” The word was guttural, his voice almost unrecognizable. Despite himself, he was pleading. “Deeper . . . please. Deeper. Take . . . the rest . . . of it.”

If she heard him, she didn’t respond. She was lost in her own sensual whirlpool, unheeding of everything else. Her hands were braced on his chest, her eyes were closed. Her hips rocked. A breathless sob broke from her lips, and with a convulsive shudder she went down into the swirling depths, her entire body given over to the pleasure racking it.

The rhythmic tightening of her inner muscles on him blasted the last shred of his control to smithereens. With a harsh, explosive growl he released his death grip on the sheet and grabbed her surging hips, forcing her downward as his own hips slammed upward, pushing his full length into her. He came with the first stroke, his orgasm bursting from him in a powerful stream as he convulsed beneath her, clamping her to him with ruthless, implacable hands, until it was over for both of them and she lay limply on his chest. Their heartbeats pounded together, shaking them from within.

He felt as if he would never have the strength to move again. She felt as if she were warm wax, melted and poured over him. Neither of them could bear to separate their bodies.

He trailed his hand up the slender length of her spine,
feeling the way she was put together. He didn’t know how many women he had made love to in his lifetime, but he did know that the way he had felt then was nothing compared to how he felt now. There had been no other woman like Marlie; everything about her was new. He had never before been so fascinated by the details of a woman’s body, soft and fragrantly feminine. He had never before concentrated so intensely on a woman, so that he saw every flicker of expression and read every nuance of emotion. From the very beginning he had been aware of her slightest move, his body and senses attuned to her. He couldn’t even remember the name of his last lover; there was only Marlie.

But as much as he wanted to spend the rest of the day right where he was, the red digital numbers of the clock beside the bed continued to chronicle the silent, relentless stream of time. It was eight-fifteen. He had to shower and shave, eat breakfast, and be downtown at ten.

“I have to go,” he murmured.

She didn’t lift her head from his chest. He continued to stroke her spine. “Where?”

“To the station. We have a meeting with the lieutenant at ten.”

She didn’t tense, but he felt the stillness that came over her. “About last night?”

“Yeah. It was him, all right.”

“I know.” She paused. “What happens now?”

“We put together all the details we have from both cases, try to find what the victims had in common. Set up a task force to concentrate on this guy. Maybe call in the FBI.”

She said steadily, “If you need me to go over it again, I will.”

He knew what that offer could cost her, and he knew she had already braced herself to pay it. She would be met with ridicule, disbelief, and suspicion; that was what she had gotten from him, even though he had been so attracted to her, he could barely think straight. She knew what she was letting herself in for, and was willing to do it anyway.

He squeezed her. “I don’t want to put you through that.”

“But you will if you have to.”

“Yes.”

To his relief, her feelings weren’t hurt. She accepted the necessity. He smoothed her hair. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t want you to read about it in the papers, or see it on the news.”

She waited, knowing that it was going to be bad. Dane wished that he didn’t have to tell her, but he’d put it off as long as possible. Yesterday she hadn’t been in any shape to watch the news, but today was a different story. He didn’t want her to be alone when she found out.

“Ansel Vinick killed himself Friday night.”

The breath she had been holding leaked out in a sigh. So much pain, she thought sadly.

“That’s three,” she said. “In one week, he’s killed three people.”

“We’ll catch him,” Dane assured her, though they both knew it was far from a sure thing. He looked at the clock again. Eight-twenty.

He rolled with her until he was on top, then gently disconnected their bodies. “Want to shower with me?”

She looked at the clock, too. “No, I’ll cook breakfast. It’ll be ready when you’re finished.”

“Okay. Thanks, honey.”

Amused at how quickly he had accepted her offer to cook for him, she dressed and went into the kitchen. She usually ate simply, cereal and fruit, but a man his size would probably need more than that. She put on a pot of coffee, then hauled out her seldom-used waffle iron. While it was heating she stirred up the batter from a package mix. How much would he eat? She couldn’t finish one, but suspected he could put two or even three away with no trouble.

She could hear the shower running, hear him whistling. The coffee maker was hissing and popping in the manner peculiar to coffee makers. She was cooking his breakfast. The domesticity of it stunned her, and her arms dropped to
her sides. She had never cooked breakfast, cooked
any
meal, for another person in her life.

For six years she had worked to build a safe, secure, ordinary, and solitary life. In one week, though, her life had been totally changed, and she was still struggling to find her balance. Safe, secure, and ordinary had gone by the wayside; now, evidently, her solitude was also gone. It wasn’t something she had chafed against; she had enjoyed being able to do things at her own pace, to sit up all night reading if she chose, to eat whatever she desired at the moment. Before Gleen, she had very much wanted a relationship, marriage, children. After Gleen, however, she had wanted only to be left in peace.

Instead, there was a man in her shower. Not just any man, but Dane Hollister: grim, rough, frighteningly intense, a police detective who never went anywhere unarmed—and who was the most generous man she’d ever met. He gave of himself in a way she’d never expected, given the hostility of their first few encounters. He had come to her without hesitation, after her despairing cry for help on Friday night, and since then she had seen only tenderness in him. She had been attracted to him before, but had fallen in love with him because of his unhesitating generosity. She had needed him, so he had been there. It was as simple as that.

She heard the shower cut off, then water running in the basin as he shaved. She finished the preparations for breakfast: a dusting of powdered sugar on the waffles, fresh strawberries, and syrup that she had heated in the microwave. She was pouring the coffee when he came into the kitchen. He wore only a pair of pants, and she went weak in the knees at the sight of that broad, muscular chest. His hair was damp and his face was freshly scraped, with two small nicks decorating his jaw. She inhaled deeply, drawing in his moist, soapy, slightly musky male scent.

He smiled when he saw the meal awaiting him. “Waffles,” he said appreciatively. “I was expecting cereal.”

She laughed. “That’s what I usually eat.”

“I usually grab a doughnut, or a fast-food biscuit.” He sat down and began eating with obvious relish.

She clicked her tongue reprovingly. “All that fat and cholesterol.”

“That’s what Trammell says.”

“How long have you been partners?” She hadn’t been around Trammell much, but she had liked him. He reminded her of a panther, sleek and exotic, with the same kind of supple, dangerous strength.

“Nine years. We were on patrol together before we made detective, which we did at the same time.” Dane set to work on the waffles with obvious zeal.

“That’s longer than a lot of marriages last.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but if I’d had to sleep with him, it wouldn’t have lasted a day.”

“Have you ever been married?” She bit her lip as soon as the question was out. Her own privacy had been at such a premium for most of her life that she seldom asked any personal question. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

“Why?” He shrugged. “I don’t care if you ask. I’ve never been married, never been engaged.” He cleared his throat, evidently feeling that called for some explanation. “But I’m heterosexual.”

“I noticed,” she said dryly.

He grinned, his hazel gaze moving warmly over her. “For the record, I’m thirty-four. My folks live in Fort Lauderdale, and I have three brothers and two sisters, all of whom are married and have contributed to the population growth. Between the five of them, I have eighteen nieces and nephews, ranging in age from two to nineteen. When we all get together for holidays, it’s a zoo. All of them live in Florida, though we’re scattered all over the state. There are also the uncles and aunts and cousins, but we won’t go into them.” He watched her carefully as he outlined his large family, knowing that someone who had lived as Marlie had might find even the thought of all those relatives alarming. He had never before wanted to include any of his women
friends in his private life, but everything was different with her. He hadn’t yet decided
how
it was different, but he accepted that it
was.

Marlie tried to imagine that kind of extended family, but couldn’t. She had always been forced to keep relationships of any kind at a minimum, and though in the past six years that limitation hadn’t been necessary, still she had clung to it, reluctant to let herself be vulnerable in any way.

“My mother died in a fire when I was three,” she said. “Lightning struck our house. I don’t remember anything about it except this loud crack, louder than anything you can imagine, and even the air seemed to dissolve. A white light blotted out everything. A neighbor got me out of the house, and I was only slightly burned. My mother was in the part of the house that took the direct hit.”

“Thunderstorms must make you nervous,” he commented.

“They should, but they don’t. I’ve never been frightened of them, not even immediately afterwards.” She had had all of her waffle that she wanted, so she laid her fork down and picked up her coffee cup. “Lightning does some funny things. Dr. Ewell theorized that the enormous jolt of electricity somehow altered or enhanced my normal mental processes, making me more sensitive to the electrical energy given off by others. I was supposedly normal before, but afterward I became difficult, easily upset.”

“Maybe because you’d lost your mother.”

“Maybe. Who knows? I could have had the ability before, but simply wasn’t old enough to make myself understood. From what I was told, my mother was a quiet, serene sort of person, so maybe her presence kept me calm. At any rate, my father had a difficult time trying to raise me. The more frustrated and angry he became, the more I felt it. I had no idea of how to block him out. We were both very unhappy people.