Page List


Font:  

Knowing he was going too far, he let his senses take over, nuzzling her neck, tasting her hot skin, pushing the silky fabric away from her body. He ran his tongue along her shoulder and she quivered. He reached around her waist, found the knot holding her robe together and loosened it.

Marla felt his heat. She arched against him, one hand reaching over her head to run her fingers in his hair. He kissed the length of that arm, sending tingles along her nerves, making her forget that she’d promised herself to never fall victim to his raw sexuality, that loving him would only cause her heartache, that making love to him would ruin her life.

The knot gave way.

Satin parted to reveal another layer.

Nick groaned in frustration, then unbuttoned her pajama top. His fingers delved inside and Marla gasped at the warmth of his touch, the sear of his hands on the underside of her breasts. Her skin tingled and she let her head loll to the side offering more of her neck to his greedy lips.

Deep inside she felt an ache, a yearning. The pajama top parted, fell off her shoulders along with her robe, bunched at the small of her back. Nick licked the shell of her ear, coarse hairs on his chest brushed the back of her shoulders as he pulled her hard against him. She pressed her buttocks even closer, felt his erection hard against the cleft between her cheeks.

“Ooh,” she moaned, rubbing against him as his hands kneaded her breasts, his thumbs scraping her nipples, his breathing rapid and hot. Sweat sheened her skin. Her blood pulsed faster, ran hot as tallow.

“Marla, oh, God, Marla . . . I don’t . . . want to . . .” He was moving against her, the fly of his jeans hard as it slid along the satin of her pajama bottoms. She couldn’t help responding, pushing closer to him as he ground against her. Part of her knew she was making the biggest mistake of her life, the other part didn’t care.

You’re married, for God’s sake!

But the marriage was a sham.

You’re a mother!

But I want this man, I feel a connection to him, a need that only he can satisfy.

Don’t confuse lust with love, Marla. Think!

One of his hands lowered, slid over the smooth satin, brushed past her belly button slowly until his strong hand cupped her mound, and his fingers curled between her legs, holding her firmly against him, making her feel his need, his heat, causing her to quiver with want. Through the fabric he touched, rubbed, probed, stoking a fire that was already white hot. Her skin was on fire, the ache inside her pounding.

Her knees weakened as his lips caressed the curve of her jaw. She closed her eyes, threw her head back, let him kiss her shoulders and thr

oat as he kept up his rhythm. Her heart beat was an unsteady tattoo, her breath was short, desperate gasps. She wanted him, wanted to turn in his arms, feel his hard flat nipples, touch the muscles straining across his chest. Desperately she needed to experience the bittersweet union of his body joining with hers.

Images of him, naked, sweating, straining above her filled her head. Hard sinewy legs pushed, his muscular back flexed, her fingers dug into his buttocks, he thrust hard . . . long . . . over and over again . . . oh, God . . . she was spinning . . .

“Marla,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. “This is so wrong . . . I . . . we . . . I . . . should . . .”

She couldn’t think . . . couldn’t breathe. She was hot, beads of sweat dotting her brow, running down her spine, moistening her skin. His lips, oh, God, if she could just turn around and kiss him, lower his fly and . . .

Somewhere on the floor above a door creaked open, then clicked shut.

Nick froze.

Marla’s head cleared instantly.

What in the name of God was she doing?

Nick released her as if she were molten. Her robe and pajama top slid to the floor and she snatched them up. “Damn,” he whispered as on silent footsteps he crossed the room putting much needed space between his body and hers. The elevator motor whirred.

Marla slid her arms through pajama top and robe, fumbled with the buttons, then in frustration, yanked the belt tight around her waist. How could she explain herself, her mussed hair, red face, rumpled clothes and the desire she was certain was evident in her eyes? What had she been thinking? Why would she give into such, treacherous, forbidden temptation?

Nick stepped forward grabbed her arm and pulled her into an alcove near the bay window. His eyes, still glassy, found hers and he held a finger to his lips.

Her heart was hammering, her mind whirling. They would be caught and then . . . oh, how could she account for how she felt about Nick to her daughter, to her mother-in-law or . . . or . . . to . . . her husband?

Harlot. Jezebel. Whore. All the archaic condemning terms burned through her brain.

The elevator finally ground to a stop, at the basement garage below. Over the wild beating of her heart, she heard the electronic garage door clunk and open, then the firing of a smooth engine.

“Alex,” Nick whispered against her ear and pulled her to one side of the window where they watched the brake lights of her husband’s car flash bright and reflect in the raindrops. The gate opened and the Jaguar drove through.


Tags: Lisa Jackson The Cahills Mystery