night-but he still wanted the host of players involved in his uncle’s firm to be aware that he was home and needed further updating.
His firm, Harm kept telling himself. All of it was his problem now, not his uncle’s.
By the time he hung up, he realized he hadn’t heard a sound from Cate. The bathroom door was closed where he’d directed her-which was the spare bath, had clean towels and no guy-messes that he could remember.
He headed for his own shower, and before he’d gotten the first layer of travel grime off, he was trying to imagine the house through her eyes.
It was just a basic brownstone type. Grown-in neighborhood, all ages. The yard backed up to woods and a ravine, but it wasn’t fancy, looked more like a professor’s digs than a millionaire’s dream house. Practically every room had bookshelves. The main living area had big, fat furniture, either old leather or corduroy, with splashes of dark red and blues in the Oriental carpets. Three bedrooms, a dining room no one had ever used to eat in, a den that was piled to the ceiling. There were no doodads, but dust coming off the books scented the air.
By the time he’d toweled off, nicked his chin twice shaving, and climbed into pants, he figured she’d hate it… but he couldn’t wait any longer before finding her. He pulled on a white shirt, thinking about dinner, but was still buttoning it as he started the search.
It was still hot-the house had been closed up, obviously-and he’d put on AC when he called the restaurant, but it was going to take a while to get the place cooled down. He padded barefoot into the living room. A window seat in the bay windows looked onto the two giant maples in the front yard. A black squirrel was perched on the windowsill, as if he owned the place. It was the one room that had some coolness to it, he thought, but that wasn’t where he found Cate.
She was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a short silk wrap, a hairbrush in her hand. It didn’t appear as if she’d used it yet. Her hair glistened, still damp from a shower, and was standing up in spiky enthusiasm. Typical of Cate, when she concentrated, she forgot everything else.
He edged up behind her, folded his arms. “What exactly are we looking at?” he asked.
She jumped when she realized he was there, then grinned. She motioned to where he saw an old box of a kitchen, a broom closet, a sturdy but well-scarred oak table. Last time someone had given the room attention, they’d gone for blue. It was definitely the most neglected room in the house, yet Cate’s face radiated animation and delight.
“I love a kitchen with an east view. That long sill is just a natural for growing herbs. The broom closet’s kind of a silly waste, but if you look at the space inside, it wouldn’t take much work to create a really convenient pantry. And the sink. I love a serious double sink. And that’s a great work counter. Personally, I think it needs better lighting, and obviously a paint job, but the guts of a terrific kitchen is already here. You can’t imagine how rare that is. I-”
She didn’t stop talking until he pulled her into his arms.
“What?” she asked, on the cusp of a laugh.
“You. Orgasmic over a kitchen. An old, beat-up, ugly kitchen.”
“It’s a little beat-up, but that isn’t the point-”
“I know.” Her excitement was the point. Which was why he had to kiss her. It had been aeons. She’d slept half in his arms on the flights, but there’d been no privacy for days, for exhausting, long hours. Being next to her was good. Very good.
But it wasn’t the same as finally getting his hands on her.
He didn’t know he’d been holding back and behaving himself until he tasted her lips again. That silky small mouth was as sassy as her personality, teasing and tasting and then settling in for a long, lingering savor. Her tongue got into it, then her teeth.
Her arms slid around his neck, clung. She swayed against him, deliberately giving him a tease of pelvis, a brush of breast. All promises, no substance.
She was not a good woman. Not a fair one. But she let out a wicked, low chuckle when he brushed something off the table-paper? Mail? Whatever. He needed a mattress and the only bed-type was far too many yards away.
“We don’t have time,” she murmured. “Didn’t you say we were going to dinner-?”
“Reservations. In an hour. Don’t care.”
“I thought you were starving.”
“I am.”
“We have serious stuff to do. We really don’t have time-”
This from the woman who was helping him swoosh mail and newspapers and keys to the floor, who’d already perched up on the table, who was sliding her hands inside his white shirt.
She was totally right. They didn’t have time.
For anything but this.
The chaos of the last two days disappeared. The wild sail back to Juneau, the jumbled flight and transfer arrangements, the chaotic connections with authorities at home and in Juneau-it had all been never ending, nonstop. Until now. With her.
Those small white hands handled the zipper on his dress pants so fast, he was ready to go, and there she was, laughing, coaxing him with more kisses, more speed. Her legs wrapped around him, bringing him closer, at the same time her tongue whisked damp, soft enticements down his throat, his chest, lower.
He put a stop to it.
She’d seduced him once, but the darned woman needed to learn to take turns. When she heard him laugh, she lifted her head, smiled up at him. “See, Harm?” she whispered. “That’s the thing. To steal moments of feeling good and being happy and just…being. With someone else. Just…”
Oh, yeah, now she wanted to talk? He hooked her legs under his arms, lifted them up and over his shoulders. He took his turn-and he made it a slow, long, lazy turn-whisking his tongue down, down, starting with the hollow in her ivory-soft throat. Then celebrating the shape and vulnerability and exquisite texture of each small, perfect breast. Then down, over her flat tummy, into her navel.
“Harm…” There, he saw her head drop back. She wasn’t laughing anymore. There was still a smile, but it was fragile, stark, intimate. “I don’t think I can…”
Yeah, he thought. That was the thing. She wasn’t a truster-which he understood, because he trusted no one, either. But that was exactly how he knew what to do, why, how. For her to believe that she could give her trust to him, he had to come through for her.
A man dreamed of work this good. His tongue dipped lower, lower, until he cupped his hands under her bottom, lifted her to him and sipped. She let out a cry of a sigh, a moan of longing and need. He tasted, savored, sank in.
She arched under his hands, then tensed until he felt the first vibrant tremors take her over, take her under. Before she’d recovered, he rewound her legs, this time around his waist, and plunged into her, hard and slow.
She called his name again, but this time on a hiss. The sound inspired him to dive deeper, slower, harder. They both seemed to crest on a roar of speed, a thrill of letting free…everything. For her. With her.
Moments later, they were both gasping for breath. “What you do to me,” she whispered, half laughing, half scolding, her tone so loving he almost lost it all over again. Unfortunately, they had to separate-the table was impossibly uncomfortable; both had to shift. And reality, of course, returned. They still had miles to travel in the coming hours.
Harm, though, figured he’d get more recovery time, because when she disappeared in the bedroom, he figured she’d take a lot longer than he would to get dressed and fixed up. Instead, he’d barely caught a fast reshower and changed and had a chance to sit in a living-room chair before she walked out of the spare bedroom.
At first, he thought a stranger had broken into the house and done something with his Cate.
It was just a black dress, he could see. But she’d done something with a scarf, added a little vanilla and dark chocolate in a low scoop under her neck. The heels were so high she almost reached his chin, not counting how long and sexy they made her legs look. Her hair was still a wreck, thank God, so at least he could recognize her. But the eyes looked smoky and dangerous, something tiny and expensive dangling from her ears.
“Who are you and what have you done with my Cate?”
She walked by him, chucked up his chin. “Didn’t you think I could clean up? But don’t start thinking I’d be any kind of corporate wife. I don’t do country clubs. Or private schools. Or being on boards.”
