Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) (24 page)

But he’d expect something from himself, something she deserved and he wasn’t sure he could deliver. Then her lips pressed against the underside of his jaw, and her tongue snuck out to taste him, and he knew he was losing this fight. It would take a very good man to say no, and God knew, he wasn’t good. So he cursed himself and said yes, pulling her mouth back to his and doing just what he’d wanted to from the moment he’d met her. He took and took, but she kept giving, meeting his lust with plenty of her own, and washing away any lingering doubts.

As he lifted her, urging her legs around his hips, he knew there’d be a reckoning later. He’d have to add this to the long list of things he felt bad about. But tonight, he didn’t care. He walked toward the bedroom, Meg wrapped around him, his hands cradling her thighs and his mouth on hers, and knew that he’d happily sign up for a tour of duty in purgatory if he got to have this tonight. Some things were worth the regrets.

Delicacy probably would have been the right approach. Meg deserved to be cherished, handled with reverence. He didn’t have that in him, not tonight. He set her down beside the bed, grasped the hem of her blue dress, the one that had been tormenting him all afternoon, and pulled it straight up and over her head. Meg gasped, but when he looked at her face, afraid he’d gone too fast and scared her, all he saw in her eyes was lust. She stood still as he looked her over, trembling slightly, lips parted, breasts rising and falling as her breaths came in urgent little pants. Good God, he wanted to touch. So much pale skin, scattered with light dustings of freckles in all the places he’d guessed. He wanted to lick his way to each and every one. But he didn’t touch, not yet. Instead, he took her face in her hands and kissed her again, slow and deep. She moaned, the most gratifying sound his ears had ever heard. Still, he didn’t touch. He kissed her plenty. Long and obscene, licking behind her teeth, biting at her lips, showing her with his tongue exactly what he planned to do with his body, but still, he didn’t put his hands on her.

When he broke away from her mouth, nibbling at her jaw and earlobe, she cursed softly under her breath.

“Come on, Garrett, touch me.”

He chuckled. “I’ve been thinking about doing nothing else since last night’s chat. I wanted you to feel a little of what I’ve felt.”

“You think I haven’t felt it?” she whispered. “You think I didn’t lay awake all night wishing you’d walk through that door and touch me?”

“Just touch you?” he goaded. He wanted to hear her say the word, because he suspected Meg generally wouldn’t say it. So when she did, when she
meant
it, it would be hot as hell.

“Fuck me,” she sighed. Yep, that worked.

“All right,” he muttered. Then his hands were on her. They were everywhere, learning every glorious inch of her body. While he was busy with her breasts, fighting to rid her of the bra that stood in his way, her nimble fingers finished the work on his shirt buttons. The hook on her bra gave way and he yanked it free just as she shoved his shirt off his shoulders. Her breasts were perfect, pale and just the right size for his hands, tipped with delicate pink nipples that made his mouth water. He laid one palm over her and she closed her eyes on a sigh. He wanted his mouth on her, but she was too short and he was too tall to make that easy. He wanted her on her back anyway.

He kissed her as he unbuttoned his jeans and wiggled out of them. Never releasing her mouth, he nudged her back until her legs hit the bed and then farther, until she was laid out underneath him. Now he could reach her breasts, and he did, exploring one with his mouth and the other with his hand before switching. Meg’s fingers fisted in his hair. She arched under him and he slid a hand up between her shoulder blades, holding her still as he took his time with her breasts. Her heels locked around the backs of his thighs, urging him closer, urging him higher. She knew where she wanted him and she kept tugging on him, writhing under him, trying to get him there. He could have taken all night with her, but her determination was impossible to ignore. Meg wanted him? He’d give her what she wanted.

Sitting up, he deliberately slid her underwear down her legs and off. No tentative touching, making sure she was okay with his boldness. From the first kiss, she told him what she wanted. She wasn’t a victim and she didn’t want kid gloves from him. Well, she wouldn’t get them. He kept his eyes on hers as he stood up and shucked his boxers. Her gaze dropped, of course, but he kept watching her face, that delectable flush in her cheeks, those lips, glistening and parted, her tongue peeking out to wet the corner of her mouth. The appreciation in her eyes was gratifying. He was older than her, but he was hardly
old
, and he kept himself in fairly decent shape. Seeing the way her eyes roamed over his body, he was glad he had.

With quick efficiency, he retrieved a condom from his jeans and rolled it on, his whole body singing with anticipation. Meg lay back and watched, her hair in a tangle across the pillow, her legs still spread for him.
Jesus
. He locked eyes with her one more time, to make sure this was what she wanted. The naked desire there propelled him forward, onto the bed, between her perfect thighs. His cock slid along her sex and she gasped. With a smirk, he did it again, watching her expression glaze over as he dragged himself back and forth across her. When her hips were lifting with each pass, and when he couldn’t take the waiting anymore, on the next drag, he shifted his hips forward and slid into her with one thrust.

“Oh.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

“Okay?” he muttered hoarsely. Please God, let it be okay because he’d die if he had to stop now.

She rocked her hips slightly and he groaned, slipping deeper into her. “Now it is,” she murmured.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“Please.”

And so he did, taking her hard, feeling her body shift under his with every powerful stroke of his cock. When he felt he might explode on the next thrust, he stopped, rolling them over and urging her up. Meg settled in, riding him, back arching, head thrown back in abandon. She was a glorious vision. The curve of her throat, her tangled hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders, curling around the pink tips of her breasts—he tried to remember all of it. This was an image he wanted seared on his brain. When her breathing shallowed out to desperate little pants, he reached between them and touched her. In seconds she was coming, shaking and clutching at his shoulders as it took her under.

“Oh God,” she gasped weakly. He gave her no time to recover, flipping them again so he could ride her to his own release.

“Almost.” He forced the word out through gritted teeth as he struggled to hang on through the storm of pleasure building inside of him. He hooked his hand under her knee and pulled it up. She let out a moan, a desperate, ragged sound, and then he could hear and feel it; she was coming again, just as he lost all control and exploded, too.

He listened as her breathing slowed and deepened, willing his own to do the same. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come so hard or felt so good.

“You okay?” he whispered, reaching up to touch her face, running his fingers down her cheek.

“Mmmm.” She turned her head and kissed his fingertips, which made something twist tightly in his chest. Not sexual, although he suspected he’d want her again as soon as his body had even a modicum of recovery time. This feeling was something else, something soft and long-unused. He’d enjoyed what they’d just shared, more than he could say, but he was also enjoying this, lying spent in her arms and touching her tenderly. But knowing he was crushing her, he reluctantly pushed himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed and cleaning up.

This next part could prove awkward. Staying the night to cuddle was not in his repertoire, but he could hardly do otherwise. She might have said she didn’t expect anything, but he doubted she’d be happy if he decamped to the couch. Turning back to gauge her mood, he found she’d taken the looming conversation off the table by falling soundly asleep. She’d rolled to her side, one hand tucked under her chin. He stole a moment to watch her, pale skin suffused with the blush he’d put there, curls tangled from his hands, and he realized he very much wanted to keep this. Her.

Wanting wasn’t having, though, and he wasn’t naïve enough to think it was that easy. Whatever she’d said earlier about not regretting this, he knew in time she probably would. He’d end up tangled up with one of the worst experiences of her life, and when she moved on from Mark Rubiak, she’d probably leave him behind with the rest of the unpleasant memories. He had to be okay with that, because he wanted that for her. He wanted her happiness even more than his own, which was a remarkable new development. That’s when he knew he’d been wrong when he’d told her all people were inherently selfish. Because he was going to let her go even if it killed him, and if that wasn’t unselfish, he didn’t know what was.

But that was tomorrow. He still had tonight. Carefully, so he wouldn’t disturb her, he slid into bed behind her and brushed the curls from her face. Tucking her in against his chest, where she seemed to have been designed to fit, he slept, enjoying the only night of happiness he’d know with this remarkable woman.

#

Meg turned her coffee cup in small circles on the wood table. She was too anxious for more than a few sips. Even the fresh pan dulce Garrett had gone out for was sitting untouched. Thinking his name made her eyes seek him out automatically. He was sitting at the table, Mark Rubiak’s file open in front of him.

The morning after wasn’t as awkward as she’d feared. Garrett wasn’t glued to her side, proclaiming his love, but she hadn’t expected him to be. That wasn’t in his nature. Although he did hold her for a few minutes when he woke up this morning, and he’d kissed the side of her head before he got out of bed. Once or twice as they moved around each other in the apartment, he’d touched her, the small of her back or her shoulder. The touches were fleeting and insubstantial.

He was not in love with her. He was too jaded to fall in love, she reminded herself, although she suspected he was wrong about that. He wasn’t as bitter and cynical as he liked to imagine. She’d seen plenty of evidence to the contrary. It didn’t matter what she believed him to be, though, only what he believed about himself.

And now he was focused on Mark Rubiak’s file. That’s what all this was about for him, so she really didn’t blame him. She hadn’t been lying when she told him she didn’t expect anything of him. But she’d be lying to herself now if she didn’t admit that after last night, she
wanted
something from him. New Meg was turning over a new leaf regarding men. Eyes wide open and total honesty, at least with herself. She wanted him. Like, really,
really
wanted him. He was gruff, cynical, sarcastic, and sometimes a little mean, all of which should have been an automatic “no” for her. Instead, it all contributed to his inexplicable allure. Sure, he was older than her, but he was still hot as hell. His naked body had been a revelation. No, he wasn’t tan and ripped like Fictional Spencer had been, but he was lean, taut, and strong. And the way he’d made love to her…she was still reeling. Even now, absorbed in his file as he absently reached up to scratch his jaw, covered in dark scruff, she wanted to climb onto his lap, straddle him, and lick that scruff. And then maybe lick the rest of him.

That would be completely out of line, considering they were waiting for the FBI to show up, and besides, she knew where he stood. He had a story to report and that story was her.

The knock on the door made her jump, even though they’d been sitting here waiting for it. Garrett flashed one brief look at her and smiled slightly before going to answer it. David and Ken were joined by four other people. There were more, David explained, waiting in support vehicles downstairs.

Meg laughed nervously at that. “Wow, this is a big deal.”

“We don’t intend to let him get away, Meg.”

She nodded. Enough of mooning over Garrett. There was a serious task to accomplish and she meant to do it right.

“Agent Vasquez here” —he motioned to one of the new agents— “will take you to the bedroom before we leave and get you wired.”

“Wired?”

“We want to keep tabs on you for every minute, Meg. Now, let’s get started.”

Ken walked over to Garrett and clapped him on the shoulder. “This is your cue, buddy. As grateful as we are, you’re still a reporter and this is about to become an active arrest. You can’t be involved in any of this.”

“Wait…” Meg protested. “What?”

“He’s right, Meg,” Garrett said calmly. “They can’t have someone who’s reporting on the case also being an active part of the investigation. They’ve already bent too many rules for me. But don’t worry, it’s not an issue.”

She blinked. “Are you leaving?” She thought she’d have more time with him. And she really thought he’d be there for this next part. She needed him there.

“No, I’m staying, because I’m no longer reporting on the story.”

Ken raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure about that? This one’s gonna be big.”

Garrett sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Then he shut Mark Rubiak’s file and shoved it across the table. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m not here in any official capacity as of now.”

Meg shot to her feet. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looked at her warily, but he slowly rose and followed her around the corner into the kitchen. It wasn’t a separate room, but the partial wall lent some sense of privacy from the room full of federal agents.