Eleventh Hour
Page 102

“He was what? Jesus, Nick, I want to know how you could get caught up with a man old enough to be your father. I can’t believe that—No, wait, I want to know, but not just yet.” He crossed the space between them, jerked her against him, and kissed her.
When he let up just a bit, he was breathing hard and fast. Nick’s eyes, once tear-sheened, were now vague and hot. She said into his mouth, “Oh, God. Dane, this is—” She went up on her tiptoes and grabbed him tightly to her. She was kissing him, nipping his jaw, licking his bottom lip, her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, closer still, pushing into him, wanting him. She groaned when his tongue touched hers.
“Nick, no, no, we can’t—oh hell.” He wrapped his arms around her hips and lifted her off the floor, carrying her to the bed. He’d never wanted a woman like he wanted her. There was so much, too much really. His brother, all the death, and now the damned senator, more confusion, more secrets. No, he couldn’t do this, not the right time, not the right place. He pulled back, lightly traced his fingertip along the line of her jaw, touched her mouth. “Nick, I—” She grabbed him, pulled him flat on top of her.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop.” She was kissing him all over his face, stroking him, reaching to touch all of him she could reach.
“Oh hell.” He wanted to cry, to howl. He didn’t have any condoms, nothing. He wasn’t about to take the chance of getting her pregnant. Okay, okay, it didn’t matter, getting himself off wasn’t that important, at least not now. Nick was what was important. She’d been engaged to that damned senator? That old man who looked like an aristocrat, the bastard? Well, no matter, she wasn’t going to marry him, she wasn’t going to marry anyone.
He stripped her jeans down her hips, off her ankles and threw them on the floor. She was trying to bring him back to her, but he held her, looked a moment at the white panties she’d bought that were French cut, and he had those off her in a lick of time. She was beautiful, he couldn’t stand it. He was breathing hard, so hard, and he was panting. “It’s okay, Nick. Let me give you pleasure. Just hold still, no, don’t try to strangle me. Lie back and let me enjoy you.” He had her legs open, and he was between them, kissing her belly, then he gave her his mouth and within moments she screamed and went wild. God, he loved it, just loved it, and gave her all he could.
When at last she fell back, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest, breathing so hard she wondered if she would survive, he came up over her. He was harder than the floor, harder than the damned bedsprings, and he hurt. He also knew it was a good thing he had his pants on, otherwise he’d be inside her right this instant. But it just wasn’t important, at least not now. He wondered if there was a drugstore nearby. Hey, a gas station, anyplace that sold condoms.
He pulled himself over her and began kissing her, slow, easy kisses, and he knew she could feel him. It took a long time before he slowly pulled away from her and sat up on the side of the bed. He looked down at her long legs, flat white belly, and slowly laid his palm flat. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
She gave a small moan, looked surprised, then smiled up at him. “So are you.”
He grinned. It didn’t hurt quite as much. He was getting himself back together. He forced himself to concentrate on pulling her panties back up, then working on her jeans. Just before he zipped up the jeans, he leaned down and kissed her belly again. Oh God, he wanted her. No, no. He spent several minutes easing her upright, straightening her clothes.
He paused for a moment, leaned forward, and cupped her face in his palms. “This is just the beginning. You’re wonderful, Nick. But I can’t believe you were engaged to John Rothman.”
“At this moment, I can’t believe I was either,” she said, and kissed him.
She leaned forward, resting her face on his shoulder. He stroked her back, up and down. He shouldn’t be surprised, he thought, but he was, closer to floored, actually. “John Rothman is far too old for you. Why would you ever want to marry a man who’s close to the age of your father?”
His voice sounded back to normal, and so she got herself together and pulled away from him. “John Rothman is forty-seven in years, but much less in the way he looks at things, the way he feels about things. At least that’s what I thought.”
“If he paraded around naked in front of you, I can’t imagine that you’d be licking your chops, would you?”
She was so surprised by what he said that she hiccupped. She said, smiling, “I don’t know. I never saw him naked.”