Stranger At My Door (A Murder In Texas) (16 page)

A camera flashed, flooding the front yard with white light. Turning away from the flash, she scrambled to break away in the opposite direction, but another journalist stepped in her path. The light of his camera exploded in her face. She staggered backward, blinded and confused.

“Dinah. Miss Pittman. Can you tell us who kidnapped you?” A male voice, aggressive, demanding.

“Is this connected to the robbery?” Another voice, deeper and harsher.

“Leave me alone,” she shouted.

The light from the flash faded to a pinprick in her eyes, and she blinked, trying to adjust to the dark. Where were they? A shadowy figure moved to her right. She spun left and nearly ran into someone who stepped out from behind a tree.
Where was her pepper spray when she needed it?
Another camera flash. The light felt like a knife plunging into her forehead. She waved her arms in front of her, trying to feel her way past him.

“How did they find you?” He was close to her, his breath reeking of coffee and cigarettes.

She backed away from him into another warm body. “Miss Pittman. If you just give us a few minutes and answer some questions, we’ll leave you in peace.”

“Get away from me.” She tried to push past him, but he grabbed the back of her T-shirt. She fought to break free and the shirt ripped. She pulled harder, desperate to get away, but he held fast. Then she was free, falling forward from the sudden release of her shirt.

Above her, a fist slammed into a body, then she was lifted up and set on her feet. Rafe glowered down at her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Rafe, please. Just let me go.”

Flash. Flash Flash.
Three cameras went off, illuminating the front yard and Rafe. Worry glimmered in his eyes. “Let’s go inside,
querida
.” He spoke the words softly. His strong hand closed around hers, warm and tight and possessive, and he led her into the bungalow amid the explosion of camera lights and whirr of advancing film.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dinah stood at her darkened bedroom window and watched the journalists’ cars pull away from the curb, red taillights twinkling as they disappeared. The vultures had gotten what they wanted, but they’d be back again with more intrusive questions and their snapping, snarling cameras.

The stairs creaked under Rafe’s boots. Without turning around, she knew he was standing at her bedroom door watching her. Her body warmed as if she’d just been touched. Momma was dead, and it was on her daddy’s head, just like every bad thing that had happened these past few weeks. Stupid girl that she was, she wanted an El Royo cop more than any man she’d ever laid eyes on. History repeating itself.

“I brought you some soup. I hope you like chicken noodle.”

“I can’t eat.” Or look at you
.
She’d want to hold him if she did.

The faint tinkle of pottery against wood broke the tension in the room as he set the bowl down.

“I’m sorry about your momma. I shouldn’t have told you that way.” He was inside her room now, maybe close enough to touch her.

“You were just doing your job.” That was unfair. He’d tried to be gentle. No one else had ever held her and talked to her the way he did. Like a lover. She remembered all her boyfriends, past and present. Takers and snakes, users, thieves. The kind who leave when the fun is over.

He sucked in his breath. “You should get some sleep then.”

“What about you? Where will you be?”

“I’ll be downstairs. Just holler if you need me.”

She turned away from the window. He was near enough she could make out the shape of his lips in the semi-darkness. His eyes trailed down her body—lingering on her mouth, the gaping tear in her shirt that exposed her right shoulder, the mounds of her breasts beneath her shirt—igniting a fire in each place before snapping back up to her face. He held her gaze, the tip of his tongue making shadowy impressions against the inside of his cheek as he considered her. It reminded Dinah of the taste of his mouth and how it had mixed with the musk of his skin when they kissed, wearing away her defenses until she felt weak…and willing.

Finally he turned. “Just holler now, Miss Dinah.” Regret deepened his voice, and the sound was thick and warm against her skin. Her body contracted.

When had he become a hunger that wouldn’t go away? “Don’t go.”

He stopped in the door. The light from the hall limned the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips. The soft denim of his jeans rolled over powerful thighs and down a set of long legs, and she allowed herself to imagine how those legs would feel entwined with hers.

He didn’t look at her. “I should be downstairs.”

“Stay with me tonight, Rafe.”

“Seems like I’d be asking for something you don’t want to give me, Di.”

“We’re two adults who are attracted to each other. Can’t we keep it simple?”

His head dropped. It was a gesture filled with disappointment, and it made her heart ache. But she was a mess. Her body was all she had to give.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going downstairs to lock up and make a call into the station. Why don’t you get yourself ready for bed? I’ll come up and sit with you until you fall asleep.”

Like hell he would.

She weighed the advantages and disadvantages of pajamas over a nightgown. A nightgown would be easier to work with if a little obvious. But Rafe seemed like a pajamas man. She’d bet he liked pushing up tops and pulling down bottoms and taking his sweet time doing it. A shiver of anticipation skittered through her, and she could almost feel his warm, rough hands against her skin, cupping her breasts, finding the place between her legs… She pulled a pair of green boxers and a translucent white tank from her dresser.

As she was climbing into bed, he reappeared at the door. His eyes swept the room, traveling over her discarded clothes and coming to rest on her tank top.

“Couldn’t you find something more modest?”

“All my granny gowns are in the wash.”

“Hmm.” The hall light dimmed, and he became a dark shadow crossing the room. He stopped by the bed, standing over her as his fingers loosened his holster, and he set his useless gun on the bedside table. He kicked off his boots then lowered himself onto the bed.

“Come here,” he whispered.

His arms closed around her waist and gathered her in, twisting her around, pressing her back to his chest, cupping her with his body. The faint scent of spicy aftershave swirled around her head, and her bottom snuggled closer to his hips.

“Careful there, Miss Dinah,” he growled.

She lifted his arm from her waist and kissed his palm. “You hand smells like leather.”

“Di.” The single syllable fell from his tongue like a plea. His lips pressed against her bare shoulder, gentle and voracious at the same time. Her thighs grew damp.

“I don’t believe we’re looking at things the same way, and tonight is not the night to straighten all that out,” he said.

He was falling in love with her.
She hadn’t realized. But in this dark room, lying so close to him, it oozed from his pores and curved his muscles to the shape of her body as if she was a part of him.

“What about the sweet, hometown girl of your dreams? Have you given up on finding her?”

He pulled her tighter against him. He was hard, and she wanted to touch him, hold him, taste him.

“I can’t get you out of my head,
querida
. I’ve tried.”

She twisted her head and kissed his arm. His skin was salty and warm. “How?”

“How what?”

“How have you tried to get me out of your head?” She kissed his arm again.
Keep it light.

His lips moved in her hair. “Let’s see. I been going to the gym a lot lately and running in the evenings.” He kissed her head, and a wave of desire spread downward, an invisible finger touching and arousing her. “I even tried punching Swope.”

She smiled in the dark. “Maybe you just need to quench your thirst.”

His arms loosened. His hands slid up her ribs and cupped her breasts. “You’re in my blood,
querida
. A night of fucking isn’t going to get you out.”

She slipped out of his arms and turned to him. “How do you know?”

His mouth curled into a soft smile, but his eyes glittered with regret. “Stop talking and close your eyes.”

She did, and in an instant his mouth was over hers, and he was pushing against her lips with his tongue. With a sigh of pleasure she opened to him, twisting her tongue around his, teasing his lips with her teeth, combing her fingers through his heavy hair. The taste of him only whet her appetite.

She wanted to melt into him. Her skin screamed for the touch of his fingers, and when he pulled his mouth away to press his lips against her jaw and nibble at her earlobe, begging words fell from her lips like breathless kisses.

“Please, please, please…”

“Slow down,
querida
. We have all night.” The words rumbled through her ear and went straight to her loins. She tightened with desire.

A pajamas man. She’d been right about him.

He pushed her back, holding her shoulders against the mattress, and gazed down into her face. “You know how I feel.”

She trailed the back of her fingers across his pecs. “Rafe, I—”

“Don’t say anything. Just wanted to make sure you understand where I’m coming from is all.”

He bent his head, suckling her breast through the thin cotton until it pebbled. Then he turned his attention to the other one, taking the tip into his warm, wet mouth. The nub between her legs throbbed. The emptiness ached to be filled by Rafe’s body.

She twisted her hips up, struggling to rub herself against his hardness, but his hands stayed pressed against her shoulders. She pushed the heel of her hand against his erection, struggling to push him past self-control, but he pulled her way.

“Slow down.”

“Let’s do it fast and hard,” she whispered. “Take me. Fill me.”

He released her. The bed shifted as he sat up. “I figured you for a tiger in the sack, Miss Dinah, and maybe we’ll get to, ah, explore your uninhibited side another time, but tonight I intend to indulge myself.”

She tingled all over. “Indulge yourself?”

“By unwrapping you like a Christmas present and tasting every inch of you like you’re a particularly sweet mess of Texas barbecue and I’m a hungry cowpoke.”

He hooked a forefinger in the top of her tank and pulled it down. One breast popped out, still damp from his mouth. He bent his head and licked the mound with his tongue, drawing circles around her nipple. She gasped and arched her back.

“That’s better,
querida
.”

He pulled his T-shirt over his head. His chest was smooth and tanned with a feathering of dark hair. As he lay back down beside her, she caught his waist and buried her nose between his pecs, drawing in his musky male scent. His heartbeat quickened. She kissed the pulsing skin.

He pressed her back into the mattress. “Where were we?” He pushed down her top and licked and sucked her other breast until her hips were jumping and she was moaning.
Just touch me. Let me come.

He tugged up the hem of her tank. Finally. She lifted her arms. The scrap of white flew over his head and joined the growing pile of clothes. He kissed her mouth thoroughly and deeply, while his hands caressed her spine, traveling from the base of her neck to the curve of her waist, then up again.
Go lower. Please.
She tried to throw a leg over his hip, but he pushed it away before dropping his head to her breasts again. He lifted them in his hands and kissed the sensitive undersides. Her desire sharpened into an exquisite pain.

His mouth moved lower, showering warm, wet kisses over her ribs like a summer rain and rimming her belly button with his tongue. He stopped and looked up at her. “That will do for the top half for the time being.” His eyes gleamed wickedly in the dark. “Although I might have to come back for seconds.”

She was wet and so hot for him, she wanted to tear off her pajama bottoms, but he didn’t seem to feel her urgency to finish this. Probably because he still had his jeans on. A protective shield.

“Take your jeans off.”

“Sure thing.” He slid his hands into the back of her boxers and cupped her bare bottom. The tips of his fingers touched her wetness. “I like the way your body responds to mine.”

“Then take off your pants.”

He chuckled. “Just as soon as I’ve finished tasting you.”

A stab of fear pulled her out of her hazy desire. He was too in control. He could take her with his mouth, see and taste the most private parts of her body, then grab his shirt and walk out.

“Rafe, no.”

His hands stopped kneading her bottom, and a moment later he was beside her, studying her face. His eyes crinkled with concern and her fear fell away. “What is it?”

“I, I mean, we’re going to, uh, do
it
, aren’t we?”

He dug his hand into the pocket of jeans, and pulled out a strip of condoms. “That is my intention, Di. But if you are having second thoughts about—”

“No.”

“What is it then? Tell me.”

“I-I just want to make sure we come together.”

He gazed down into her eyes. His dark depths gleamed with intensity. “Let me make love to you, Di. I promise to come with you.”

She was still a little leery. “Okay, but you have to take off your pants.”

“You’re making this harder for me.” He stood and unzipped his jeans and pulled them off. He wore black boxer briefs. The thick ridge of his erect penis stretched the fabric, straining to spring free. She itched to touch him, fondle him, take him inside her.

She pressed her hand against the hardness. It burned through the thin jersey. He pushed her hand away. “Hands off,” he growled and pushed her back against the covers.

His mouth captured her lips in a hungry kiss, but it was his hands, traveling over her belly, then slipping past the waistband of her bottoms, separating her thighs so his fingers could explore the soft, vulnerable places that made her heart pound and her breath come fast and hard. She bent her knees to give him better access to her, and he used the gesture to push her bottoms down to her thighs.

“Put your knees down.” He gasped the order in her ear.

Her legs straightened and a moment later her bottoms were pulled off, and she was finally, gloriously naked in Rafe’s arms.

She craved his hardness, the feel of him against her. She flipped on her side and tried to yank down his briefs. But he threw a heavy leg over her knees, pinned her body to the bed. She was at his mercy, unable to move, her thighs wet and throbbing, the center of her desire aching for his touch. Her hips pushing, pushing, pushing, but finding nothing.

“Settle down,
querida
,” he growled. But his fingers delved between her legs, and his fingers slipped inside her.

Her breath hitched at the sweet invasion and the fingers that moved inside her, stretching her, preparing her for him. “Please, Rafe.”

He kissed the edge of her jaw. “You’re already so wet for me.”

A cool breeze blew over her body as he sat up and pulled off his briefs. A tear of foil, a small groan, then he rolled on top of her, covering her body with his glorious weight, and she pushed her hips up, seeking him, but he eluded her.

His head dipped, his tongue licked down her breastbone, circling her nipples, glided over her belly. Her desire tightened into an exquisitely sensitive nub of needs. His lips brushed at her thighs, and they stiffened.

“No, Rafe. Together.”

“Open for me. I’m going to see you and taste you. Then I’ll give you what you want.”

She let her legs fall apart, steeling herself for the exquisite pleasure of his mouth and the soft pain of reigning herself in. His breath was hot against her desire as his lips brushed over the throbbing nerve endings in her thighs. Then his broad shoulders pressed her legs higher as his head dipped lower. Her world was reduced to the soft places on her body touched by Rafe’s mouth.

She gasped as his tongue pushed against her opening, exploring the inside of her deepest part. She’d never wanted a man as much as she wanted this one, never wanted to feel herself close around a man’s hardness as much as she wanted to clutch his. Her body had never been so open and liquid and ready.