For a moment, all he could focus on was the way she moved, all grace and flow. Then, in the light from the window, he could see the outline of her back, the curve of her waist through the lightweight shirt she’d put on. It was one that they’d picked up from the Suites, slightly wrinkled from being tossed off its hanger, thrown to the floor.
Paul shook off the haze of physical need, drilling in on what she’d said.
“I beg your pardon, but they did
She laughed, half-turned, and Paul nearly groaned. The shirt was still opaque, but he could see the curve of her breast, and the snug fit of equally wrinkled pants was killing him.
“They put me on paid administrative leave for two weeks. I guess they don’t want a murder suspect cluttering up the office.”
“Torie, no.” He rose, went to her. He couldn’t help it. The naked pain on her face, every line of her posture told him what a deep wound it was to be slapped down professionally for something over which she had no control. He wanted to tell her she had nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t. Not until she was cleared.
“They don’t believe I’m guilty, you understand.” She failed miserably at the intended sarcasm. “They just think it’s
“Well, we both hate that, don’t we? Anyone thinking they know what’s best?”
She stared at him for a heartbeat, then laughed. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
He wanted to distract her, change the subject. Without thinking of the implications, he asked, “So how did you sleep?”
The answer spread over her face in a blush. Awww, crap.
“That bad, huh? Was it the bed?”
“No.”
He looked into her eyes and saw something kindle, hot and wild. It might be his imagination, but she was looking at him. Really looking at
Torie dropped her gaze, then crossed her arms over her chest. Unfortunately, not before he saw that she was aroused.
“Do I smell coffee?”
It was impossible to resist. That glimpse of fire, the sight of her pebbled nipples erect, and her breasts straining the buttons of her shirt. He knew it was wrong. It broke all the rules, everything he’d kept to for more than ten years.
He didn’t care.
He took a step toward her, let his hand slide under her hair as it had the previous night. She froze, but didn’t retreat.
A good sign.
“Torie?”
“Paul, this is a mistake. We both know it. We can’t go there again.”
“Is it a mistake? Torie? Was it?”
She turned her head, and her hair slid onto his arm, lay like gold on the starched blue of his shirt. He was going to need a new shirt before he headed to the office.
He smiled at the thought.
“Paul?”
“Come here,” he urged, gently tugging her toward him. She eased in, not rushing, but not actually reluctant. “Let me hold you.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“On the contrary,” he murmured, lowering his head to look into her eyes, using the other hand to tuck her wayward hair behind one ear. “We should. We have every right to, no barriers this time, Torie. Whatever else there is, or isn’t, there’s always been this.”
The kiss was slow, soft, exploratory.
Then she leaned into him, and the tight control he’d managed to keep the previous night shattered irrevocably. He captured her mouth, let himself taste her, fully and deeply. He could have kissed her for hours, maybe days.
The brush of her breasts on his arms, her hands gripping his waist, all of it was almost unbearably erotic. When she dug into the fabric, holding on, it pulled his trousers snug and he groaned at the pressure.
“Let me touch you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure why, but the quiet was mesmerizing. He wanted to take things slowly, softly. He tugged the shirt from her pants, letting his hands slide up the soft skin of her back. When she arched like a cat, pulling away from his mouth, he actually moaned. Here was her elegant neck to feast on, to explore.
“Oh, my God,” she mumbled. “That feels so, so…”
“What? Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Hot, powerful. Sexy.”
“Oh, you’re all that, and more,” he managed to say, bringing her back to his mouth, forgetting everything in the turbulence of her kiss, in the feel of her body.
