“Temporary leave of absence,” she murmured.
He found the corner of her mouth. “I never spanked a woman in my life. Never even thought about it. Damn, it felt good.”
She resisted the urge to rub her tingling bottom. “It didn’t hurt one bit.”
He drew back so that she was looking straight into those tarnished golden-brown eyes. “I’m still furious with you,” he said.
“Understood.” She met his gaze straight on. “If it’s any consolation, I’m even more furious with me.”
Maybe that satisfied him because he brought his lips to her neck. “Promise you won’t fight any more of my men?”
She tilted her head to give him more room. “I promise.” Unless they’re not watching out for you.
He dumped her off his lap. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
She was done for. Hopeless and reckless. She reached for the bottom of his sweater and pulled it over his head.
It didn’t take long before they were both naked and back on the couch. Even a short interruption while he protected them didn’t dampen her desire. She wanted this-wanted dirty, no-holds-barred sex with this man. And maybe, maybe, she wanted to make him lose control the same way he’d done last time.
But he wasn’t playing her game. “Keep your hands to yourself, lady,” he said as she reached for him.
“You, too,” she replied. “No. Wait. You can put your hands anywhere you like.”
And he did.
She straddled him, the position opening her to the intimate abrasion of his fingers. His eyes were darker now, burnished with desire, but their gazes were no longer locked. That was an intimacy neither of them wanted.
She lowered her mouth to his, delivering a deep kiss, a kiss that began to feel as if it held too much of her. A hand tunneled into her hair, keeping her there. Mouths, teeth, tongues merged and battled. She lowered her hand to clasp him, but he was having none of it. He pushed her back into the cushions and pressed open her thighs. He gazed at all he’d exposed, and then claimed what she so willingly offered.
The press of his thumbs into her thighs, the sweet laceration of his mouth, the teasing, the torment… And then the abandonment. The cruel, callous, abandonment… until he shifted his weight.
This time there was no mistaking that hard thrust-sweetly painful. Her fingers dug into his back, slick now with sweat. The delicious burden of his body pressed down on her. Into her. Deep and deeper still, this tight, powerful breaching.
A crazy fracas broke out behind her eyelids. Inky swirls orbiting into a whirling vortex that spun faster and faster until it erupted into a perfect supernova.
He thrust on, full press. Her head thrashed. She cried out. His hips drove deeper. Stilled.
Finally… The silent howl of his arched neck. Muscles convulsing. The long shudder of his body.
And then the quiet.
They calmed. When she could breathe, she maneuvered for a more comfortable position only to send them both to the floor.
They lay there for a few moments, on their sides, wedged between the couch and his flying saucer coffee table. His finger circled the breast he’d neglected while he’d been busy with other parts. “You felt like a virgin.”
“It’s been a while.” She rested her head in the crook of his arm and gave in to the inevitable. “This can’t interfere with work.”
“Absolutely not,” he said, even more vehemently than she had.
“Because if it’s going to…”
“It won’t. We’re too smart for that. And we both know this had to happen. Now we’re going to see it through.”
“Lovers when we’re naked,” she said. “Business associates when we’re not.”
“I couldn’t have phrased it better.” He wedged up on one elbow. “Have I mentioned how much I like you? When I don’t feel like killing you.”
She smiled. “I like you, too. Most of the time, anyway, and that’s rare. I’m much too critical of your sex.”
He tweaked her nipple. “From the way you were screaming, I think my sex did pretty damn well for itself.”
“Definitely better than last time.”
“You aren’t going to let me forget, are you?”
“I’m not that decent.” She tugged hard on a piece of his hair. “You’d better not try that spanking thing again, because you won’t get away with it twice.”
“I’ll treasure the memory.”
She traced her fingers down the hard slope of his arm. “You should know I’m not usually so selfish. I believe in giving as well as taking.”
“You’ll have to prove that.” He nuzzled her neck. “Let’s hop in the shower so I can see if you’re all talk.”
“So soon?”
“I’m a highly trained athlete. I have powers far beyond those of mortal men.”
She definitely couldn’t argue with that. He helped her off the floor, and they headed for the open staircase, but before they got to the top, she had to make sure they were clear. “We agree, right? No games. We’ll do this until we get bored with each other or until another ravishingly beautiful movie star decides she needs some quarterback arm candy.”
He grinned and squeezed her rear. “It’s a deal. And no screwing around with your cop boyfriend.”
“Not until I’m done with you.”
His walk-in shower was bigger than four of her bathrooms. Its tumbled marble walls, multiple nozzles, and movable showerheads became a sexual playground for an inventive couple. Which they were.
“You’re definitely not selfish,” Coop muttered sometime later as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath.
Not selfish, but maybe stupid, she thought. She pushed the idea aside. She finally knew what she was doing. She’d set her boundaries and been up front about her needs. Most important, she was aware of her limitations when it came to having a relationship with a wealthy celebrity sex god, a man so far out of her realm of experience that the two of them barely occupied the same planet. She wasn’t beautiful or sophisticated. Didn’t care about clothes or makeup, and wouldn’t know how to swish her hair even if it were a foot longer. He was attracted to her out of novelty. And novelty was, by definition, temporary.
She gave them two weeks max before it fell apart. And she was okay with that. Two weeks of mind-blowing sex was perfect. But as she wrapped herself in an oversize bath towel, a shadow fell over one corner of her heart, a premonition that, when the sex stopped, she’d have lost a friend. One of the best friends she’d ever had.
15
On Monday morning, she got a call from the owner of a neighborhood minimart who’d seen her flyer. He wanted her to investigate what he believed was a fraudulent injury claim from one of his former employees, a guy named Wylie Hill. She headed south to check him out.
Pilsen was a predominantly Mexican-American Chicago neighborhood, rich with art and immigrant tradition. Two men leaned against a mural of the Virgin of Guadalupe and watched a couple of hipsters walk by. An old woman in bedroom slippers came up the steps from her basement apartment to sweep the sidewalk.
Wylie eventually appeared and sat smoking on the stoop of the row house where he’d rented a room. She was happy to have a new client, but stakeouts were her least favorite part of the job. First, because they were boring, and second, because they gave her too much time to think, especially today.
She and Coop had spent most of yesterday in bed, and not once had she been plagued by the emptiness that had always come over her when she was with a man-the panicky disconnect that made her look for excuses to get away. With Coop, there’d been nearly as much talking as there’d been sex. She’d described a couple of Duke’s more interesting investigations. He’d talked about ranch life and urban gardening. They’d exchanged surprisingly similar opinions about politics and religion. He’d even pried out some stories about her schizophrenic upbringing-stories she now regretted sharing. Too much talking. Too many places inside her she didn’t want him to see. From now on, she was leaving his place as soon as he put his clothes back on.