Slowly he drew himself upward and his hands twined in the wanton curls framing her face. His moist skin slid seductively over hers. “I’ll keep you to that promise,” he said, his voice rough and his blue eyes dark with passion. “Make love to me.”
As she stared into his eyes, she reached forward, her arms tightening around his muscular torso. The warm mat of hair on his chest crushed her breasts as he rolled over her and his knees gently prodded her legs apart. “I want every morning to be like this one,” he said as he lowered himself over her. His lips once again touched hers and she felt the warm invasion of his tongue just as he pushed against her and began the slow rhythmic dance of love.
Closing her eyes, Tory held him tightly, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back and shoulders as he moved over her in ever more rapid strokes. Her heart was thudding wildly in her rib cage. The warmth within her expanded around him and her breathing came in short gasps as Trask pushed her to the brink of ecstasy time and time again before the rippling tide of sweet fulfillment rushed over her and she felt his answering surrender.
Sweat dampened her curls as the warmth of afterglow caressed her. With Trask’s strong arms wrapped around her, Tory felt there was nothing that they couldn’t do, as long as they did it together.
She snuggled closer to him and Trask kissed her hair. “I meant it, you know,” he insisted, his voice low. “About never letting you go.”
“Good, because I’m going to hold you to it.”
Silently they watched as the pale gray light of dawn faded with the rising sun. Clear blue sky replaced the early-morning haze.
Tory looked at the clock and groaned. “I’ve got to get up, senator. Rex usually gets here between six-thirty and seven.”
“Why don’t you call him and tell him to take the day off?”
Laughing at the absurdity of his request, she wiggled out of his arms. “It’s easier to get a straight answer out of a politician than it is to get Rex to take a day off,” she said teasingly.
“You’re feeling particularly wicked this morning aren’t you?” But he was forced to chuckle.
“And what about you? Are you going to take the day off and forget about going to visit Linn Benton and George Henderson in the pen?”
His voice became stern. “Not on your life.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Concern clouded her eyes as she rolled off the bed and reached for the robe draped over a bedpost at the foot of the bed. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they were behind what happened to you last night.”
Tenderly rubbing his jaw, Trask shook his head. “They’re in prison, remember?”
“Yeah, but Linn Benton’s got more than his share of friends.” She shivered involuntarily and cinched the belt of her robe more tightly around her waist.
“So do I.”
“I don’t think friends in Washington count. They can’t help you here,” she thought aloud. Mentally shaking herself, she then tried to rise above the worries that had been with her ever since Trask had forced himself back in her life with his damned anonymous letter.
As she stared at the man she loved, she had to smile. His brown hair was tousled, his naked body was only partially hidden by the navy-blue sheet and patchwork quilt and his seductive blue eyes were still filled with passion. “I’ll go throw your clothes in the dryer.”
“Don’t bother. I already did. They’re probably dry by now.”
“You mean that you went creeping around this house this morning with only a towel around you?”
“I wasn’t creeping. And the only people here are you and Keith.” His grin widened and amusement sparked in his eyes. “Besides I know where the utility room is. Believe it or not, I have done my own laundry on occasion.”
“Hmph. I suppose you have.” With a shake of her head, Tory went downstairs and into the kitchen. After starting the coffee, she walked into the adjoining utility room and removed Trask’s clothes from the dryer. As he had predicted, the jeans and shirt were warm and dry. She draped them over her arm, climbed the stairs and returned to her room.
Trask was still lying on the four-poster, his head propped up with both pillows, a bemused grin making his bold features appear boyishly captivating. Tory’s heart beat more quickly just at the sight of him.
“There you go, senator,” she said, tossing the clothes to him.
“Can’t I persuade you to come back to bed?”
“Not this morning. I’m a working woman, remember?”
“Excuses, excuses,” he mumbled, but reached for his clothes. She sat on the edge of the bed while he pulled on his jeans and slipped his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.
“So tell me,” she suggested, eyeing his bruised ribs and the cut on his chin. “Have you got any theories about who decided to use you as a punching bag?”
He looked up from buttoning his shirt. “A few.”