Fall Into Me: Hearts of the South Page 10

  She shifted, trying to place the head of his erection at the opening of her body. His palm flattened against her stomach and he held her still.

  “No. Tell me. Make me give it to you.”

  “Fuck me.” She lifted heavy lids and tightened her slippery hold on the footboard. Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she swallowed. “Make love to me.”

  His forehead rested against her shoulder, only long enough for her to have an impression of warm, damp skin. He moved, hips canted into hers, and pressing forward, he took her, tunneling each delicious inch of hardness into her in a deep, luscious slide.

  “Oh.” The breathy sigh fell from her lips as her body stretched, adjusted, clung to him.

  “God.” His voice was broken, strangled. With his hand spread across her belly, fingers resting in the curls atop her mons, he pulled back and bore forward again, easy and slow. “You’re so soft, hot and soft and…damn, you’re wet. It’s so good, baby, love how you feel around me.”

  “More,” she whimpered on a shaky moan. “Harder.”

  “I thought about this.” He thrust, driving deeper, harder into her, his tempo increasing. His words emerged as harsh gasps, punctuating his strokes. “About what it would be like to be inside you, having you come around me, but this is so much better, Angel, so much more than what I imagined.” He licked at her back, nibbling, suckling. “I want you to come for me. I want to feel you coming all over me.”

  She ground into him, taking everything as he lunged over her in a hard, even rhythm. With every forward motion, his scrotum tapped into her clit, her lips, teasing, propelling her closer to climax. Cupping her belly, he used the pressure to pull her more fully into his momentum. She met him, twisting her swollen sex into each rolling shove of his hips.

  “Oh yeah, that’s it, baby.” He fastened his mouth on the sensitive area where her shoulder and neck met. “Take me, Angel. Fuck me, sweetheart.”

  The rough growl put her over the edge, pleasure searing into shards that pierced her whole body, forcing a scream from her throat, blanking her mind. Sweat dripped from his neck, hitting her back, and he plunged harder against her, callused fingertips strumming further notes of pleasure at her clitoris. She stiffened as the arousal pitched in her body again, rising to a sharper, razoring climax. On a raw gasp, she slammed down on him, and his hold tightened to a painful level. A hoarse shout spilled from his throat, vibrating over her skin, and he pushed higher into her, hardness pulsing within her.

  Huffing for oxygen that simply wasn’t there, she melted in his arms. He spun them to the mattress, his chest heaving beneath her. She threw out her arms above her head, her body one big live wire, teeming and buzzing with electricity.

  Oh Lord. She’d never…not twice…well, twice in one night, but not twice during one bout…

  His arms tightened about her and he rubbed his face against her shoulder. His humming sigh, redolent with male satiation, puffed over her skin. A pure, sweet emotion trembled in her, threatening to bring tears to her eyes. She liked this, being with him this way. He raised onto his elbows and peppered light kisses across her collarbone.

  “Bathroom?” He sounded winded, as if he’d run several miles and was panting for breath.

  Not possessing the capacity of speech, she lifted a languid hand and pointed toward the back of the house.

  “Be right back.” He brushed his mouth over her shoulder and rolled from the bed.

  A hand over her thundering heart, she stared at the ceiling and tried to gather her thoughts, her wits, herself. Laughter bubbled up from her throat. She’d thought Mark Cook was hell on wheels in bed? Shoot. Jim didn’t even make it into the starting lane of this comparison. She pushed damp hair away from her forehead. If she’d known it was going to be like this between them, she’d have tossed his long, lean self on that prep table in her kitchen two weeks ago.

  The mattress dipped and he sprawled out beside her. He propped an elbow on either side of her neck and kissed her, his skin hot and damp with perspiration, before he flipped to his back, their sides perfectly aligned to touch shoulder to knee. He stretched with an elaborate groan of satisfaction.

  She poked his side. “You have a bad-boy side hiding under that deputy’s uniform, don’t you, Troy Lee?”

  One corner of his mouth hitched up. “You like it?”

  “Um, yeah.” She flattened her hand on his abdomen, relishing the feel of hard muscle there. Her body quivered with aftershocks of his possession, a feminine soreness pulsing between her legs. She could smell him on her, smell herself on him. “You could say that.”

  A chuckle vibrated under her fingers and he closed his eyes. “I’m bringing you fortune cookies more often, that’s for damn sure.”

  Laughter fizzed in her once more, ending in a replete sigh. After several silent moments, Troy Lee rolled to his side and levered up on an elbow. His gaze lingered on her face, trailed down her throat, caressed the length of her legs and back again. Angel squashed the instinct to squirm under that look, with its note of worshipfulness. Something about the glint in his blue eyes spoke of long nights spent thinking of her, of fantasies come true beyond imagining. That glint made her buzz and burn all over again.

  Silent, he touched her jaw with a single finger, letting the rough pad take the same journey his gaze had. The sense of being cherished, worshipped deepened. She couldn’t recall anyone ever looking at her, touching her, with such reverence. With his fingertip, he drew a line up her stomach, circled the silhouette of one breast, then the other. Under the simple feathering caress, her nipples tightened, breasts feeling more sensitive to touch than she ever remembered, and a rush of desire became a sweet pang low in her belly, the tender flesh between her thighs swollen and wanting.

  She swallowed and darted her tongue out to moisten her bottom lip. “Are you trying to start something, Troy Lee?”

  In a slow, languorous movement, his gaze lifted to hers, passion and emotion shining in the blue depths. “I think we started something weeks ago, something I don’t want to see end.”

  He couldn’t say these things, couldn’t dangle the temptation of finally being or finding something more before her. “Troy Lee—”

  “Don’t. I told you, no holding back, Angel.” The maddening digit found the hollow of her collarbone, slid to the wild pulse in her throat, shaped her bottom lip. “Baby, do you really think we were ever just about fun and a good time?”

  She tried to laugh and failed. “What about no expectations?”

  “Sweetheart, you are so much more than anything I ever expected, I can’t stand it.”

  “I’m scared.” She wished the too-revealing words unsaid as soon as she blurted them. “Afraid of not being enough—”

  “Stop.”

  “—of wanting this too much, letting myself fall, then losing it, losing you.”

  “Stop.” He pressed his finger against her lips. “I already told you, I’m so yours it isn’t funny. You won’t lose me.”

  She wanted to let go and believe, but it was still too soon. Jim’s broken promises still rang in her head, and even if he didn’t matter, the reality of those should slow her down.

  “You have the most expressive face.” He trailed a finger over her cheekbone. “Comparing me to Jim, weren’t you, wondering if you could trust me?”

  The quiet words shamed her. “I realize you’re not him, Troy Lee, but I don’t know you yet, not really.”

  “Probably better than you think.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Why didn’t you ever marry him?”

  How weird was this, to lie naked with the man who’d just taken her in the wildest way and have him ask why her last long-term relationship had failed. She started to sit up, looking for her pajamas, her robe, anything. “The right time just never came along.”

  With a gentle hand on her chest, he pushed her back to the bed. He curved that palm around the side of her breast. “You were with him how long?”

  She swallowed, gaze trai
ned on the ceiling. “Since I was eighteen.”

  “So it wasn’t a matter of finding the right time.” He laid his hand over her heart. “In here, you knew he was the wrong man.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re the right one and I was waiting for you.”

  The fabulous grin she loved spread across his face. “You said it, Angel baby, I didn’t.”

  “Oh, you…” She rolled over to pounce on him in retaliation. Still grinning, he dragged her down for a long kiss, his arm across her shoulder keeping her clamped to him while he plundered her mouth.

  When he lifted his head, she clung to his shoulders, both of them breathing hard. He cradled her cheek in one palm. “I’m not asking you to believe now. I know it’s too soon for that, after…well, after everything. If you can believe just for this second, then for the one after that, and after that, soon you’re believing in me, in us, all the while. Think you can handle that? This second?”

  She smiled, desire pulling at her again. “I can do that.”

  An answering smile flirted with his mouth. He kissed her. “What about this one?”

  “I can do that too.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers again. “How about this one?”

  Under the persuasion of his kisses, his touches, his lovemaking, she gave herself up to believing, just for now.

  Angel woke, with a heavy male arm slung over her waist and an even heavier lump sitting in her throat. When she tried to slip away, he grumbled and tried to hold on. She stilled, struggling to breathe through the sickness determined to make her lose her cookies. Lord, she felt awful. Dragging air in through her mouth, she fought off a wave of nausea. What on earth…? Darn Hope and her new crab-dip recipe. This had to be bad seafood because the last time she’d felt this oh-my-Lord-I’m-going-to-be-sick awful had been after a plate of bad fried clams in Apalachicola.

  The lump holding her throat hostage grew bigger and moved higher. Oh Jesus, she was going to throw up. She shoved Troy Lee’s arm aside, ignored his guttural protest and sat up, legs over the side of the bed. Her head swam and she clapped a hand over her mouth, willing the nausea away. Thankfully, the rush subsided, although she was left feeling distinctly queasy.

  “Hey.” The bed shifted behind her and he brushed his lips across her bare shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, taking shallow breaths through her nose. This wasn’t exactly her preferred scenario when she envisioned waking up naked with an equally naked Troy Lee Farr. Naked and nauseous—yeah, that was a great combination. “My sister’s bad crab dip.”

  A big hand covered her stomach in comforting warmth and he rested his cheek against her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Want something? Water or maybe some tea?”

  The sick churning was fading. She pulled in a couple more breaths, feeling more herself. “I think I’m okay.”

  He kissed the side of her neck. “So I’m guessing breakfast at Lisa’s and a walk is out of the question.”

  She pushed her fingers through her hair. “Let me get a shower and we’ll see how I feel.”

  “’Kay.” Another butterfly wing touch of lips on her shoulder. “I’ve got the whole day and I’d planned to just be with you, but if you’d rather I went away so you could veg and feel better, that’s all right.”

  Her eyes prickled with unaccustomed tears. “You’re a sweetheart, but that’s okay.” She turned her head to drop a kiss on his hair, then his ear. “I want to be with you too.”

  Something deep inside whispered that this time, she’d found the right man, found the one who would see her as something more.

  And darn it, while she was believing second by second, she meant to enjoy every minute of it.

  ***

  Working a double on a holiday weekend wasn’t Troy Lee’s idea of a good time. The family togetherness increased domestic disputes; too many celebratory drinks led to an increase in drunk drivers on the road.

  After he intervened in yet another family get-together gone awry, he drew to a stop under the pecan tree that was his favorite spot to run radar on Gravel Hill Road and pulled his cell from his belt. Lowering the radio squelch, he let a little of the tension drain away. Another hour and he could change clothes, pick up his Jeep and meet Angel at the bar, spend a couple of hours with her there before they went back home to her place. Anticipation settled in him in a heavy rush.

  He punched the keys for her speed dial and waited through three rings, that same anticipation filling him.

  “Hello?” Beyond her sweet, breathless voice—the way she sounded when they were wrapped up in bed together—the buzzing chatter of voices blended with a Chris Cagle song.

  “Hey, baby.” Merely talking to her swelled his chest with warmth and pleasure. “What’s going on?”

  She laughed over a clinking of glass and ice. “I think half the county’s in here tonight.”

  He slumped, more of the day’s tension draining away. “Well, I’m dealing with the other half, the ones that have all gone crazy.”

  “Bad night?”

  “Just busy.” He smiled. “Looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Me too.” Her tone lowered to a sexy murmur.

  “Feeling any better?” The queasiness from her sister’s crab dip had lingered on and off for the last two days. He’d been ready to insist she go to the convenient care center tomorrow if it didn’t clear up soon.

  “Yes. A little…hey, what can I get you? Sorry, Troy Lee. A little tired but not sick anymore. What, Julie? Okay.” Her suddenly distracted voice flowed over him. “Listen, I have to go, but I’ll see you later. Are you coming by when you get off duty?”

  “Sure thing. Later, baby.”

  He’d no sooner replaced his phone at his belt, when the radio squawked. “Chandler, C-13.”

  He reached for the mike. God, please not another domestic. “Go ahead, Chandler.”

  Roger Gentry rattled off the information for a suspicious vehicle report, off Stagecoach Road. Troy Lee shifted into drive and pulled onto the blacktop, accelerating in the direction of Plymouth Bridge. “En route, Chandler. C-13, C-5, request backup.”

  “10-4, C-13.” Chris’s voice crackled through the radio. “En route also, Chandler.”

  Troy Lee slowed as the approached the bridge. The area was rural and deserted, and something about the bridge and the adjacent abandoned church always gave him the creeps. Lights off, using the moonlight as a guide, he turned onto the narrow dirt road by Plymouth Bridge Church. Behind him, the same moonlight bounced off Chris’s windshield, his unit proceeding without headlights as well. Low brush and tree limbs scrubbed at the car, and Troy Lee winced. He’d end up on the carpet over scratched paint before it was all over.

  Beyond the church, the dirt path twisted a couple of times before opening up onto a sand pit. In the dark, a handful of vehicles surrounded the area and a fire burned in the middle, a bright beacon. Logs had been dragged up to provide seating and a group of kids sat around the flames. Even with his windows up, the music emanating from one of the trucks was audible. On a muffled groan, he reached for the mike, his radio set to the clear channel he and Chris had agreed on earlier. “Chris, you know what this is, right?”

  Chris’s growl held aggravated disgust. “Another pasture party.”

  Troy Lee knew the instant the teenagers heard his engine—they tensed and a couple rose, looking poised to flee. He hit his headlights and blue lights instantaneously, as Chris’s flared behind him. He angled his car to the left, leaving Chris the right, their vehicles creating an effective block to the only exit. Using his handheld radio, he called in their arrival to dispatch and stepped from the unit. Hound gave an audible whine as Chris left his own car.

  As they approached the kids, all chatter quiet, the only sound pounding music coming from a brand new Ford pickup, Troy Lee let his gaze linger on hands, stances, faces, recognizing a few, including Paul Bostick who glowered at him from under a cap bearing the local high school logo. They
’d given up any thoughts of running, and most hands were visible and empty. One or two boys had a hand behind their backs, likely concealing a beer bottle or can. At the edge of the circle, Troy Lee rested a foot atop a log and tapped the brim of his hat. “Evening. Y’all are out a little late, aren’t you?”

  He received various mumbled replies. In the firelight, discarded bottles and cans, from beers to wine coolers, glimmered. He pulled his flashlight from its ring. “We need to see your ID, please.”

  Keeping a close eye on them, he and Chris started at opposite ends and checked driver’s licenses. Not surprisingly, none of them were over nineteen, most of them still in high school. Halfway down the line, a tall, dark-haired youth held out his license in silence, a stoic expression on his face. Troy Lee flashed the beam over it and did a double take. Delbert Blake Calvert. Troy Lee swallowed a sigh. Oh hell, why did he know this was going to get sticky?

  He showed the ID to Chris as he joined them, then passed it back to the boy. He and Chris stepped a few feet away.

  “They’re all underage. Probably half of them have been drinking.” He pitched his voice low enough for only Chris to hear. “Easiest thing to do is transport them to the station, call parents to come get them and maybe put the fear of God in them.”

  “Yeah.” Chris passed a hand over his nape. “We’re going to have to call someone in to help transport, though. I’ll handle that while you make them pour out the beer.”

  With only the two of them, searching vehicles and interviewing the teens dragged. The quiet kids remained subdued and compliant, a little fact for which Troy Lee was grateful. The last party they’d busted up, he and Steve Monroe had ended up running through the woods after a couple of boys. Yeah, he liked to run, but not through the cold, damp pine forest in the dead of night.

  Finally, a pair of headlights swept the clearing. Pouring out the last couple of cans of beer, Troy Lee took his gaze off the teens to glance at the unmarked unit pulling to a stop behind their cars. Wearing jeans and a polo instead of his investigator’s uniform, Cookie stepped from the driver’s seat.