Skin Tight (15 page)

“Me either. But I’m glad. It is an unexpected grace.” He put out a hand, and she took it, knowing it implied acceptance of whatever came next.

He pulled her toward him. Mia fell, laughing in delighted discomfiture. She wasn’t the sort of woman who lolled on a man’s lap in her jammies. His arms went around her, and he tucked his face into the curve of her neck. Then she realized he wasn’t as relaxed as he pretended. Fine tremors ran through him, as if he’d run a very long way.

Hesitantly, she put a hand to his hair, which fell through her fingers like damp silk. If it didn’t seem so ridiculous in a man so self-contained, she’d say he needed comfort, not sex. She dusted a kiss over his temples, and then her lips meandered down the sharp curve of his cheekbone.

A shudder worked through him. He put a hand to her cheek to stop her. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, what?”

In answer he pulled her fingers to his mouth and kissed them, as if in homage. There was a peculiar, brittle air about him, as if he might shatter at a touch. Her heart constricted at seeing his customary self-possession banished. Tonight, he seemed . . . lost.

“Today is . . . an anniversary of sorts.”

“Of a loss,” she guessed.

Mia couldn’t help but feel touched he’d come to her. Maybe there was nobody else in his life to offer solace, but she imagined he had spent the occasion alone before. Sometimes it took only one tiny shift to change everything; they called that the butterfly effect.

“Yes.” He sounded as if the word was ripped from him. “A profound one.”

I’m sorry
seemed too prosaic for the colossal sorrow she sensed in him. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

She wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

His smile was fleeting as sunlight in winter. “Take your pick.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“Knowing you were close by proved too much temptation.” He leaned his head forward, resting it on her shoulder. “When you e-mailed me last year about Kyra . . .” He trailed off with a shrug.

“No, finish the thought.”

He shook his head, disavowing whatever he had been about to say. “How did you know I would still be monitoring that box?”

“A guess, no more, but I suspected you’d want to make sure no loose ends from your old life turned up in your new one. Having those e-mails forwarded would give forewarning, if nothing else.”

“Precisely,” he said.

“And I knew you’d have some way to get in touch with the man you hired. Kyra needed to see him again.”

“Closure?” he surmised.

“Not exactly.”

“She wanted to kill him?”

“Again, no.”

To her surprise, he wanted the details, so she filled him in on how Kyra and Reyes had sailed off together and, by her best reckoning, ought to be in Singapore by now. When she finished, he looked both amused and astonished.

“That’s—”

“Wonderful. A regular guy would never have made her happy.” She grinned at him, pleased that some of the shadows had left his eyes. “You should ask for a finder’s fee. Open your own matchmaking agency. You’d make a great
shadchan
.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

She shook her head solemnly. “Not at all. But I’ll need to fatten you up a bit first. Whoever heard of a matchmaker being thin as a blade?”

“You cook?”

“Nope. And that’s going to make it tough.”

His laugh came out choked and rusty, but it was most definitely a laugh. Mia realized she’d never heard it before. She gazed at his sparkling eyes in wonder, then sought the rare curve of his sensual mouth. He usually kept it drawn into such a taut line that she hadn’t noticed its beauty before.

Now she did the only thing that made sense; she kissed him. He tensed, as if this act had long since ceased being pleasurable. If the women all went crazy, she could understand why. But it didn’t happen. Not this time. There was just the taste and feel of him. She luxuriated in his mouth. He’d had chai tea at some point, and the faint sweetness lingered.

At length, she broke away, surprising a look of pure wonderment onto his face. The rush went straight to her head.

“You’re still with me.”

“Get used to it.” She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “Seriously, would you like something to eat?”

This was such a domestic scene; it didn’t fit either of them. Mia didn’t nurture men. In her opinion, women who did wound up playing the role of mother all their lives, and she wasn’t interested in that gig, never had been. And yet, there was something about him that called out a secret cache of tenderness.

He shook his head. “I ate at a café before I came over.”

“Then what
would
you like to do?” It was a leading question, she knew, and was liberally laced with mischievous suggestion. He didn’t have a bag, so he couldn’t have brought his bedroom accouterments. Nobody would be getting tied up tonight.

“I hadn’t thought that far,” he confessed. “I was pretty sure you’d boot me out.”

“Ah, fantastic. Now you’ll think I’m easy.”

“You are many things, Mia Sauter. Lovely, brilliant, fascinating—but easy is not one of them. If you were,” he added, so softly she almost didn’t hear, “I would not have thought of you so often in the last year.”

“Is that so?”

She’d thought of him, too, but with a fierce anger attached. She’d rarely been so impressively wrong about whether she could trust someone. Until then, her intuition had always proved reliable. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that his betrayal had shaken everything, including her professional confidence. How could she find a thief when she couldn’t even tell a man was about to hand her over to her enemies?

Now she remembered all the reasons she shouldn’t open herself up to him. She had to get him out of here before he fucked up her head again. Mia tried to pull away, but his arms tightened on her.

His hands framed her face, eyes steady and level. “I swear on everything I hold dear . . . I will not let you down this time.”

Fear, unadulterated fear. She stiffened. “That promise lacks weight. I don’t know anything about you. So how am I supposed to believe there’s anything you hold dear?”

“There’s you.”

“Unlikely,” she said. “God, why can’t I tell you to fuck off and mean it?”

He sank his long artist’s fingers into her hair, cradling her skull in his hands. The gesture could have felt threatening, but his hands were exquisitely gentle. “Mia, look at me. Tell me what you see.”

“No one.” Her voice came from far away.

The horror of what it had been like for him finally sank in. Nobody knew him, not his face or his real name. He lived as a dead man in hope of completing his secret agenda, and she had never known anyone so unspeakably
alone
. Madness flickered along the edges, echoes of an obsession so deep it left no room for anything else.

Until now.

And yet here he was. With her.

 

 

She felt wonderful,
so soft and warm. In some ways, Søren was virgin-pure with her. He had never held a woman in his arms like this—at least, not one who recognized him.

“If things were different, I would bring you flowers every night. I’d write you bad poetry and call five times a day. I would give almost anything for that to be so.”

“Almost,” she repeated. “You speak as though it’s too late.”

If only she knew.

If only.

But he couldn’t wish away the past. He
didn’t
wish away the happy years with Lexie. Certain realities could never be altered.

He had to be honest with her. “It is for me. Not for you. I count myself lucky that I get to be with you for a little while at least. You haven’t changed your mind?”

She hadn’t officially agreed to anything yet; Søren wondered if she remembered that. He held his breath while she considered.

Finally, she shook her head. “No. We have an agreement: your help in catching the thief in return for the IT pass and my badge when my work is done. In the meantime, we’ll . . . enjoy each other’s company.”

Such a prosaic way to put something that felt like a miracle. He wanted to tell her about himself, so somebody would remember after he was gone. Maybe, just before the end, he would. Before then, the truth would give her too much insight, and he couldn’t afford to give her any ammunition. By now, he knew Mia well enough to realize his intentions would appall her.

“Thank you.” Søren buried his face in her hair, taking a deep breath. He’d ever after associate the scent of vanilla and cinnamon with a desirable woman. God, he’d be lucky if he could step into a bakery without getting an erection henceforth.

“I’m not doing you any favors,” she said pointedly. “I notch another win and enjoy a few weeks of great sex. How is that a hardship?”

She made him smile. Again. “How silly of me.”

“So we have the whole weekend. I was going to spend it going over their financial records. Are you saying I shouldn’t bother?” Mia tilted her head toward the dossier she’d brought home.

The weekend. He’d forgotten. Since his routine had shifted in the move, he visited Lexie and Beulah May on Saturday. When he’d worked nights at the Silver Lady, weekdays hadn’t proven a problem. That wasn’t the case any longer, and it had taken Beulah months to adjust; the old lady depended on his adherence to routine.

If he had any sense, he’d excuse himself now and come back tomorrow night. As Mia shifted on his lap, ratcheting his lust up another notch, he knew he wasn’t going to. He’d slip out in the morning.

Belatedly, he realized she was still waiting for a response. “It won’t hurt to check, but I’m relatively certain this goes further up the ladder.”

A sexy, knowing smile curved her mouth. “Am I distracting you?”

One wouldn’t think a woman in flannel pajamas could affect him so, but she drove him crazy. He remembered the warmth and softness of her skin. With slightly unsteady hands, he worked the band from her hair. It spilled raven-dark around her face, softening the bold lines.

“Absolutely,” he admitted.

“I’m thinking work can wait until morning,” she said thoughtfully. “Or maybe even Monday. Am I going to get in trouble for seducing the director of HR, by the way? I’m just a lowly IT analyst.”

His smile blossomed. She brightened his world until he couldn’t think about anything else. “That depends. Are you trying to sleep your way to the top?”

She kissed the tip of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “On top of you, sure.”

“That does it,” he said firmly. “Cute as they are, those pajamas have to come off.”

Mia slid off his lap with a wiggle and headed toward the bedroom, every movement an enticement. “Promise?”

As he followed her, Søren knew it wouldn’t be the same this time. He would be every bit as vulnerable to her in bed. When he reached the bedroom, he found her already naked, stepping from a pool of flannel. His mouth went dry at the sight of her lovely bronze skin gilded in the lamplight.

His gaze skated from her shoulders to her breasts to the indent of her waist and the flare of her hips. Her thighs were thick, muscular, as if she liked to ride—horses or bikes, perhaps. If he dared to yield control, she might take him for a spin.

“You’re so beautiful you make me ache.”

“Let’s see how you make
me
feel.”

He accepted the challenge. Søren stripped without any of his usual finesse. His hands trembled in his eagerness to touch her, kiss her. The time they’d cuddled in her living room had inflamed him beyond what seemed safe or sane. It had been so long since anyone stroked his hair or caressed his face. Most of that isolation was self-imposed, but regardless, the end of a long drought could only come via a powerful torrent.

Her eyes widened as he prowled toward her. He swung her up in his arms, kissing her as he pressed her back onto the bed. She responded like a dream, all fierce heat and open generosity. They landed sideways, but the mattress was big enough it didn’t matter.

“How’s that for starters?”

She smiled up at him, glorious in her dishevelment. “Good.”

“Just good? Clearly I need to do better.”

Humor glinted in her dark eyes, mingled with banked arousal. “Well, I have to give you something to which to aspire. If I said you were sex on a stick, you’d quit trying.”

A startled chuckle escaped him. “Sex on a stick? You think?”

Mia brushed the hair away from his brow, her touch tender. “I do. God, what’s the world done to you?”

He recognized that as a rhetorical question; she understood his circumstances as nobody ever had. Braced on his arms, Søren gave a wry shrug. “It’s enough you think so.”

Almost, he could stay like this forever, gazing into her upturned face. But her body felt too good beneath him. He shifted his hips and her legs parted wide, making room for him. She was already wet, and the awareness went through his brain like lightning.

Shoving into her like an animal was out of the question. He had to display a little finesse before he took her, make her come until she wouldn’t notice his desperation. He didn’t want her knowing how powerful her hold on him had already become.

“God, you feel good.”

Mia tilted her hips. “So do you.”

He wasn’t inside her; he had that much control left, but he couldn’t resist the luscious heat. Her juices coated him as he slid up and down her cleft. Each time he brushed her clit, she jerked and hissed, nails digging into his shoulders. He hadn’t felt a woman’s naked pussy on his cock in years.

It would feel amazing to thrust deep and feel her tighten on him as she came. He could tell she was getting closer with each tiny movement. Her breathing sped up, and her head was tossing side to side. Soon, she’d start bucking, and what he’d give to be inside her when she came.