When Garnier was chastised into silence, he cursed under his breath and sagged into his leather desk chair.
“He’s just like his father,” he mumbled after a pause.
“Leave it to me, and he’ll end up exactly like his father,” Garnier promised.
He hung up the phone a few seconds later, willing the stabbing pain in his chest to ease. After a moment, he stood and shuffled down the hallway toward his sleeping wife, weariness weighting every muscle in his body.
A lifetime of effort, and for what? he thought bitterly.
He could withstand many things, and fate had forced him to do so. But if there was one thing he couldn’t tolerate, it was disloyalty.
Disloyalty had to be stamped out at all costs.
Thomas listened to the shower running in Sophie’s private bathroom. She’d insisted upon showering after they’d made love, and he’d been too tired to protest her absence in his arms.
The thought of her warm and naked in the shower made his cock stir. Again. He told himself to get up and join her in the shower. He even prepared to do so by fully removing all his clothes. Once he’d stripped, however, a wave of exhaustion struck him.
He hadn’t been sleeping well since Rick’s death.
No, that wasn’t right. His sleep had been fractured and irregular for a week before Rick died. Ever since his brother had come to him, distraught and agitated about what he’d discovered in his investigative report about the Chicago mob.
He shut his eyelids and pressed his chest into the mattress, as though he were applying pressure to a gaping wound. He turned his face into the pillow and inhaled Sophie’s scent—floral, female . . . clean.
She’d implied he was ill . . . sick at heart, that a few days of relaxing at Haven Lake would serve him well. Thomas didn’t know if he believed her or not, but the thought of staying in the peaceful house . . . the prospect of spending time with Sophie appealed to him, feeling like a balm on the bloodied edges of his ragged spirit. He’d call his parents tomorrow; tell them he’d decided to get away for the weekend.
A pang of guilt and unease went through him when he thought of how his father would react to the Mannero warehouse explosion. He’d call Joseph Carlisle first thing in the morning, he promised himself. Thomas should be the one to tell his father instead of having him hear it from Fisk and Larue, who would be eager to somehow implicate his father in the arson.
For the destruction of those records Thomas had gone to examine.
He clamped his eyelids shut, willing his mind to clear. While he’d been making love to Sophie, he hadn’t even noticed his pervasive headache, but it throbbed to life now, the pain dull and muted, but still clouding his thoughts.
He knew the real world would interfere at some point with his avoidance of it. Chances were Fisk hadn’t identified them at Mannero’s warehouse. Even so, the FBI would want to question Thomas in regard to the explosion. They’d be asking for him. It was only a matter of time before he’d have to return to Chicago to be with his parents during this trying time.
But didn’t he deserve a temporary escape?
He buried his nose farther in the pillowcase and breathed Sophie’s scent, letting it soothe his agitation. The clean, white cotton reminded him of her underwear. It’d been incredibly exciting watching her undress, seeing her reveal all her firm curves and skin that reminded him of apricots and cream. He would never have guessed he’d find a modest, low-heeled pair of pumps, an old-fashioned padded brassiere, and white cotton panties sexy, but on Sophie, it was an image that defined erotic.
For him, anyway.
He’d insisted upon inhaling the scent from her panties while she’d watched. The memory of how wet the panel had been; the image of her wide eyes when he’d inhaled her delicate, delicious fragrance made his cock stiffen next to the cool sheets.
He’d wanted to shock her a little. He hated himself for always wanting to dirty her, but that didn’t stop the beast in him from craving to do just that: to desecrate the shrine of sex and innocence that was Sophie. When he thought about how he’d fucked her so savagely in her office . . . how he’d ridden her so hard just minutes ago, he twisted in discomfort on the bed.
But his damn cock swelled to full readiness yet again.
He knew it wasn’t right for him to take out all his unrest, his grief, his fury on her . . . but his regret wasn’t sufficient to make him walk away from her potent allure.
And it wasn’t as if she didn’t seem interested. Her large, dark eyes may hold a hint of trepidation at times, but she couldn’t hide her arousal. He’d never known a woman to get so wet. All that warm, sweet cream, Thomas thought as he wrapped his hand around his erection and stroked himself. Eating her had been like drowning in sex-honey. And when he’d spanked her, the flush of liquid heat around his cock had sent her right over the edge.
Sophie may look like the image of wholesome beauty, but she’d been turned on by being spanked.
He groaned when he realized he was pumping his cock . . . recognized he was conjuring all sorts of fantasies about Sophie in his mind. Stupid fantasies. Like he was a horny seventeen-year-old all over again.
He pictured himself getting up and entering the humid bathroom, joining Sophie in the shower . . . bending her over and driving his cock into her tight, warm heat. The fantasy was so realistic that his hand moved desperately.
Why didn’t he get up? Why didn’t he walk into that bathroom and just do it?
But he knew why he didn’t, Thomas realized as he graphically imagined his cock hammering into her soft, giving body while he gently smacked her firm, damp ass. He’d already fucked her like a maniac twice tonight. Held her down on her desk and slaked his monumental thirst; spread her wide here in bed and drilled her until she’d screamed in release.