'There's a thread that runs through all the depositions,' she said, but his senses went on the alert when she moved a little closer, bent a little lower, then put her hand on his chest, splaying out the fingers. It was such a small gesture, and undoubtedly an innocent one. She had no idea how her touch branded him with its heat. He mustn't let himself reach out to her. If he touched her, he would have to kiss her, wouldn't be able to help himself.
Just like he couldn't help shifting under the pressure of her smooth, slim hand, turning the touch into a stroke, feeling her fingernails rasp lightly against his chest hair, making it tickle, making his own nipples harden with pleasure and anticipation.
The scent of her perfume wafted to his nose, not overpowering but intriguing, something rich, mysterious and suggestive. The gleam of her hair, the flash of her eyes, were casting a spell on him.
She felt it, too. He could tell by the way her voice slowed, thickened until it sounded like dark honey. 'They all want something,' she said, but her eyes had fixed on his face, and those long lashes were drooping down to her cheeks.
Did it mean there was a limit to her self-control? But was she feeling anything important for him, or was it just her excitement at having made a discovery? Or, just as hopeless, was it just a natural but impersonal reaction to the intimacy of being alone in a dark bedroom with someone, nearly naked? And did he even care?
God, how he wanted to pull her down to him and take her mouth so hard and fast that she'd want him to take the rest of her just as hard and fast. 'Everybody wants something,' he managed to say, hearing how his voice has hoarsened. He was desperate to tell her what he wanted. No, to show her, with his mouth, his tongue, his hands, his cock that throbbed so painfully with longing to be inside her.
That was more than he could hope for, no matter what happened.
'Yes,' she said, starting to sound a little uneven, 'and the interesting thing about these witnesses is that they all want the same thing. They want… they want…'
His heart stood still as her mouth came closer and closer, and suddenly she was there, her lips against his, his arms around her, his hands roaming that long, slim, sweet body. Then, at last, with a moan that vibrated through him, she straightened out her endless, silky legs and he tugged her on top of him, stretching her out over the full length of his body.
She was already in a state of such ecstasy she didn't know how she could bear anymore. He was all male hardness, the tongue that tangled with hers, the hands that gripped her buttocks and molded her against the hardest, most demanding part of him. In an agony of suspended desire she parted her thighs and their bodies meshed, all heat and wetness, and she instinctively moved against him, relishing the power of him as she sought the release she needed so desperately.
He kissed her with a passion that needed no words, no explaining. His chest pressed against her breasts.
Her nipples ached with pleasure, and she moved against him there, too, feeling the crisp hair against her skin, maddened by it, dissolving in a pool of liquid fire.
'We can't do this.' He tried to push her away, but she knew his heart wasn't in it, nor was the rest of his body.
'Yes, we can,' she said, breathing the words into his ear. She felt quite determined about it. 'We
'No, no, we shouldn't… oh, God,' he said as she darted her tongue between his lips and seized his mouth again.
She nibbled her way along his jaw. 'Why shouldn't we?'
'You don't really want to is why,' he panted as her lips reached his neck. 'It's just the moment. It's the night and the Christmas season and the tension of the case…'
With a soft oof, she found herself stretched out beside him. It was nice, but not where she wanted to be. 'What's wrong with any of that?' she asked, her voice so husky with need, she could barely speak.
'Oh, Mallory,' he said. 'Nothing, except-you're going to respect me even less in the morning.' Before she could organize her mind enough to ask what he meant by that, his arm went swiftly around her and his mouth came down to hers.
They'd passed the point of no return.
10
She was more than he'd imagined she'd be, sweeter, softer, hotter, a creme brulee straight from the broiler, all cream and sugary crunch. She protested with a delicious little squeak when he broke off the kiss that was carrying them too far too fast, but when he took the small shell of her ear between his teeth and nibbled at it, he heard her breath quicken.
He wanted to take his time with her. It wouldn't be easy-his mind was telling him slow and careful while his body craved hard and fast. But if he was going to be nothing more to her than a toy, something to relieve the sexual need she was surprising him with, then he was going to be the best sex toy she would ever possess.
And possess him she had. He didn't know when or how. The one thing he did know was that he wanted nothing but her, wanted to touch every part of her. He loved leaning over her like this, pinning down a willing wanton who shivered when his tongue explored the inside of her ear. Then she moaned as he trailed kisses down her cheek, finally burying his face in her neck, nipping and kissing as his hand went of its own accord to one of those mounded breasts he hadn't been able to get off his mind.
She arched against him, burying her face in his shoulder, and the breast filled his hand, so firm, the skin so velvety, the nipple a small, hard knot. A surge of animal desire rocked him, and he pulled himself back. He couldn't imagine she was very experienced in lovemaking, but even if she was, even if there were a secret Mallory he'd never dreamt of, he wanted to give her the most, be the best.
Caressing her breast, he was filled with the need to see the nipple that pressed against his palm, to circle it with his thumb, lick it, fill his mouth with it. His hand went to the shoulder of her robe and tugged it away. His heart leaped when he saw she was helping him, shrugging out of the robe, attempting to slither out of the gown.
'I have an extrication plan.' He heard the harshness of desire in his voice, hoped she recognized it for what it was, the voice of a man who was attempting intelligent speech when he was well beyond it. He trailed his fingers down the center front of the gown, found its hem and began to gather it up in his fingertips, sliding his knuckles between her thighs and pausing to nest in the soft, silky mound of hair he encountered next. She moaned, bent her knees, thrust against his hand.
'Mmm,' he murmured, 'I can't wait until morning.'
'Why?' she gasped.
'To see if your hair is the same color all over.'
'Want… to make… a bet now?' The words were challenging, but not her voice. Everything else about her felt yielding, meltingly soft.
'Yeah.' He pressed a little harder with his knuckles, reveling in the way she wriggled against him. 'I'll bet you breakfast in bed that it's not.'
'I'll, umm, bet you breakfast in bed it… is-oh, my God, what are you doing, what…'
His knuckles had found their mark, the tiny, secret nub he would seek again and again, with his knuckles, his fingertips, his tongue and his throbbing penis before the night was over. She parted her legs, arching her body as if she were craving his touch. He heard another little cry of protest when he moved on, gathering up the gown, pausing for only a second between her breasts, and that was for his own pleasure, to revisit that valley of firm creaminess.
At last the gown was over her head and tossed into a corner. He gathered that long, slim, silky body into both his arms, stroking down her back to mold her to him, felt her wetness soothing his painful hardness and thought he wouldn't care if he died right now. Nothing could feel better than this, except the sensation of her hands raking his skin from shoulder blades to buttocks, driving him to frenzy and making him fight for control of his male animal body, which wanted only release from the pressure of the tide rising inside him.
He sank his mouth to her breasts to wait out the wave. Her nipples were small and hard. That would be another thing he'd know in the morning, if they were pink as he imagined them to be, the pink of her lips. The only
