Читать книгу Night of the Cougar - Caridad Piñeiro - Страница 7

Chapter Two

Jamie shot a half glance at him as she took notes. So far Galen had been solicitous during their discussion, but then again, she had seen the gleam of male interest in his eyes that had replaced his initial annoyance when the moderator introduced them.

She couldn’t deny that being passably pretty helped with the men she was supposed to cover, but a smile and hint of flirtation were as far as she usually took it. She suspected that was not where it was going to stop with this man, maybe because he was all man. Rock solid, her father would have said, and so far nothing in the interview had led her to believe otherwise.

Not to mention that even as she was doing her job, it had been impossible not to engage in that man-woman dance of attraction. She could feel the anticipation rising with each subtle smile or prolonged gaze.

Satisfied that she had enough for her story, she closed her notebook and faced him full on. “I really appreciate you taking the time to sit with me.”

“It’s the least I could do. I appreciate you mentioning the society in your story.” He was sitting across from her at a very small table near the windows of the inn’s coffee shop. Well, maybe the table wasn’t that small, but the size of him made it seem that way.

He had shoulders as broad as a fullback’s and arms thick with roped muscle. She had no doubt the muscles were hard earned and not the result of any gym. An impressive chest tapered to a lean waist hidden from her view by the table, but she remembered the shape of him from when he had been on stage, talking about his writing, pacing back and forth as he spoke, full of marvelous male energy.

She contained a sigh and offered him a smile. Gesturing to the mountain visible through the windows, she said, “It’s a beautiful spot. I hope the story will help you preserve it.”

He nodded and peeked out the window for only a second before returning his attention to her. His big hands cupped the mug before him. Capable hands. A man’s hands, strong, with a few nicks and scars as a testament to the fact that he used them for things other than writing.

That little tingle of desire grew to a solid buzz as she imagined those hands on her. Touching her.

“I sense you still have something else you want to ask,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he considered her. A cop’s eyes still, she realized, and in reality, her question was about that.

“Why did you leave the NYPD and come up here?”

A slight tremble worked across those competent hands and the smile on his lips died, replaced by a tight, uncompromising slash. His eyes, a green flecked with bits of golden brown, dulled to the color of a sunburned lawn. He jerked a finger in the direction of the tape recorder she had laid on the table.

“Off the record?” His deep voice had a bit of a quaver from the emotion he was containing. Anger in part, she recognized.

Jamie reached over and shut off the recorder. “Off the record,” she confirmed.

After a slow assessment, as if to convince himself that she could be trusted, he nodded and began. “If you did your homework—you know I was shot and my partner killed during a routine investigation.”

“I know.”

He sighed deeply, broadening that amazing chest with the depth of the breath before he looked away, toward the mountain. “We always spent the summers here. My grandparents owned the cheese shop in town. It seemed natural to come here to heal, and not just physically.”

The emotion in his voice made Jamie reach out and lay her hands on his. They were trembling, but not just with remembered pain. She sensed his anger and tried to quiet him with a gentling touch.

“Don’t blame yourself for what happened.”

He wagged his head and the longish strands of his strawberry-blond hair shifted with the motion. “He had kids and a wife. I should have been the first one through the door instead of him, but we always took turns.”

She tried to soothe him with another sweep of her hands along his, which were now wrapped so firmly around the mug that she worried the thick ceramic might shatter. “It wasn’t meant to be your time.”

He whipped his head around then, nailing her with the intensity of his gaze. “Funny thing, time. Do you know how much time the shooter got?”

She racked her brain, trying to remember if any of the newspaper accounts she’d read had mentioned the sentence, but failed to recall. At the shake of her head, he plowed on, possibly even angrier.

“He didn’t. The Feds wanted him to flip on someone. Gave him immunity and a new life in the Witness Protection Program.”

Which explained the birth of Galen’s detective hero Jack Fitzgerald. In Jack’s world, justice was always served, in one way or another, and the assorted criminals always got their asses kicked for good measure.

“I’m sorry for your friend and for what happened, but not for where it led you. I suspect you like this life a lot better.”

Better? Galen considered her statement as he released his death grip on the mug. She slipped her hands into his. They were smooth and slightly cool against his rough palms. Surprisingly, even just that simple touch produced a tangle of emotions within him. Comfort was something he hadn’t experienced in some time, maybe because he hadn’t allowed himself that sentiment. Desire again wove through him and brought a tightening to his groin.

It had been a long time. Too long. After coming up here to heal, he’d shut himself off emotionally, and even physically at first. What few relationships he’d had in the five years since retiring from the NYPD had been mostly situations of friends with benefits and, even then, it had been some time since his last benefit.

As Jamie moved her hand along his, it stirred his imagination. Brought images of those capable hands caressing him, of every curve and valley of her long, lean body plastered against his.

“It’s getting late,” he said, twining his fingers with hers. “Had you planned on staying in the inn tonight?”

She peered out the window at the growing darkness of the winter afternoon and then toward the desk in the lobby. “I guess I should. It’s too late to drive back to New York tonight.”

“I’ve got spare rooms in my lodge. You’re welcome to spend the night.”

A wicked gleam entered those crystal blue eyes, making them sparkle like sun-kissed frost. “I think we both know that if I go with you, I won’t be staying in a spare room.”

He grinned, liking her directness. He had never cared for women who played games, and he wanted to be just as straightforward.

“I don’t normally do this kind of thing, and I suspect you don’t either.”

She nodded and tenderly squeezed his fingers. “I don’t, but instead of worrying about what happens next—”

“Let’s savor the now.”

* * *

The “now” was to happen in an imposing multilevel lodge that seemed as if it had been built into the side of the mountain. It had taken nearly half an hour to reach it from town. They’d driven a paved logging road that arrived at a large stone and iron gate declaring the boundaries of Galen’s property.

“This is beautiful,” Jamie said as he led her through the solid hand-carved wooden doors and into a large room that was clearly a renovation of something quite old. The open living space was filled with comfortable couches and chairs situated around a massive stone fireplace.

“Definitely beautiful,” he murmured, and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Let me get the fire going.”

She wanted to tell him the fire was already going, just from that one guileless touch, but she held back.

He pushed off ahead of her, powerful strides carrying him to the fireplace where he tossed in kindling and wood. By the time she walked over, the tinder had caught and the first fiery crackle shot into the room’s slight chill.

He had ripped off his shearling jacket and tossed it on a chair. While he tinkered with the fire, she walked over and grabbed the jacket, intending to place it on the pegs in a hallway where another coat hung. The jacket held his warmth and his smell. Something piney, reminding her of the forest around them, and totally masculine.

Like the kindling, desire burst into life within her.

She hung his coat and placed hers beside it, rubbing her arms with her hands to ward off the chill, although the fire had really caught and was beginning to throw off some heat.

Galen was on one knee before the fire, tending it. She walked to where he knelt and raked her fingers through the tousled strands of his hair.

“The fire feels good already.”

He grunted a response and rose, once again stirring her with his sheer size. She dropped her hand to his nape, and he shivered.

“Your hand is cold.”

He reached up and grasped it gently, then joined it with her other hand between his palms. “Let me warm you up.” He rubbed her hands briskly, but that was far from how she had envisioned him chasing away the chill.

Still, she liked that he wasn’t rushing to jump her bones. It spoke volumes about the kind of man he was.

That only made her want to jump his bones, right then and there.

Easing her hands from his, she said, “I have a better idea for how you can warm me up.”

Before he could protest, she quickly slipped her hands beneath his black knit sweater. “Way cold,” he murmured again, but chuckled as she worked her hands up his body to cup the thick swell of muscle on his chest.

“But getting warmer,” Jamie teased, and leaned closer. The very obvious ridge of his erection beneath his jeans brushed against her.

“Let me check on that,” Galen replied, easing his hands beneath the thermal fabric of her shirt. She jumped at the chill of his fingers and the sexy roughness of his palms. She liked men who worked with their hands. As he dragged them upward to cup her breasts, they left a trail of heat along her body.

In one smooth move, he undid her bra and yanked her shirt over her head, baring her to his gaze. “So very gorgeous.” He covered her with his hands, stroking the tight nubs of her nipples with his thumbs.

“No fair. I’d like to see also,” she kidded. He bent a bit so she could pull his shirt over his head and then explore the broad plains of his shoulders and chest while he continued to caress her with his hands.

So big, she thought to herself and wondered if his cock would be as impressive, but as he shifted one hand to the small of her back and pressed her close, she had her answer.

She nearly moaned at the size of him against her belly, and between her legs, dampness wet her panties at the thought of all that driving into her. The thought yanked a moan from her and he stilled.

“Did I hurt you?” Concern rang in every word.

“Only if you stop touching me.”

He groaned, and the sound reverberated through that powerful chest and into her, making her clit swell with need and her vagina clench in anticipation. Dropping one hand down, she cupped him through his jeans, stroking him, urging him to do the same to her. As he opened her jeans and slipped his hand to her center, he sucked in a shaky breath.

“So hot and wet. I want to feel that, Jamie. I want to taste you.”

She nearly came right then and there from his words and the first tentative sweep of his long, thick fingers across her cleft. As it was, her knees nearly buckled, and he steadied her before backing her toward the large leather sofa in front of the fireplace.

Galen eased her onto the surface of the couch and then knelt before her. Not an easy thing to do in his condition. His cock was so hard that not even his normally comfortable jeans were helping. And the sight of her, golden from the flames of the fire, those gorgeous breasts right there…

He undid her jeans. Helped her skim them off so she was lying before him, gloriously naked.

Easing his big body between her legs, he leaned forward and cradled her breasts in his hands, taking his time with her. Wanting to build her pleasure before he took his.

Bending his head, he licked his tongue across the hard tip of one breast while kneading the other. She urged him on with a soft sigh and her hand tangled in his hair. Over and over he bit and sucked and savored her marvelous tits until she was writhing beneath him, clearly needing more.

He needed more also.

Rising, he kept his gaze locked on hers as he yanked down his zipper, freeing the painful pressure against his dick.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she shuddered in anticipation, but he wasn’t quite ready to end their foreplay.

Shucking off his jeans, he knelt before her again and ran his palms up the inside of her thighs to open her to his gaze. With his thumbs, he parted her soft nest of honey-brown curls, revealing the swollen pink nub at her core. Letting his thumbs stroke down her glistening nether lips, he shifted and kissed that nub, yanking a shaky breath from her.

“Galen,” was all she could manage to say, but she parted her thighs further and laid her hands on his shoulders, inviting him to play.

He licked and sucked her clit, loving the taste of her and her ragged cries of pleasure. The bite of her nails into his skin kept him close. She was wet from his mouth and from her arousal as he pushed first one finger and then another into her, preparing her for his penetration. He stroked and spread her until she was shaking beneath him and begging for more with the upward thrust of her hips.

He rose up then, positioning the head of his erection at her entrance. His thumb rode her clit, keeping up the pressure that had her on the edge. His gaze connected with hers, which had deepened to an almost sapphire-blue. With his free hand, he reached up and cradled her cheek. She moved her head, nipped at his thumb before sucking it into her mouth.

God, he nearly came from that lick, but reined himself in enough to slowly push forward into the tight canal of her vagina until he was fully sheathed in her. He held still then, allowing her to acclimate to him. Allowing himself to relish the warm, tight wetness of her.

Jamie held her breath at his complete penetration, unprepared for the feel of so much man inside her. Above her. Around her. There was no getting away from the feel, smell and taste of Galen, she thought, and licked his thumb again, sampling the saltiness of his skin and the taste of her from his earlier caresses.

“You feel…amazing,” he said, rotating his thumb against her clit. Her muscles clenched around him in response, dragging his eyes shut with the sensation of it.

She reached up, skipped her hand from his shoulder down to his chest. She saw it then, just beneath one armpit, the star-shaped scar from the bullet that had nearly taken his life. Covering it with her hand, she whispered, “Never be sorry you’re alive, Galen.”

He tensed at her words and slowly opened his eyes. His pupils had gone nearly black with emotion, and she worried she had pushed too far, but then a tremor worked across his body, almost like a physical release of what he had been feeling.

He finally moved then, drawing back with that magnificent cock before driving forward again, his motions controlled and deliberate.

She accepted each thrust, which sent her rising higher and higher toward a release. She urged him on by roaming her hands all across his body, which seemed to give him great pleasure. Almost as if it had been way too long since he’d been touched. That thought hit her more powerfully than the passion he was rousing.

Grabbing hold of his shoulders, she raised herself up and kissed his temple. Then his cheek. The shell of his ear. Her kisses like benediction—until she reached his mouth.

His lips were firmed into a tight line as he strove to please her. She dropped kiss after kiss along the edges of his mouth until he finally opened to her and accepted the slide of her tongue.

She kissed him over and over, dancing her tongue along his. Rolling her hips to embrace his possession, pushing him even deeper. Pressing her breasts into him to tease the hard wall of his chest.

“God, Jamie. You feel incredible,” he said, but she could sense him holding back.

“Come with me, Galen. Come with me,” she pleaded.

With a groan and a last grind of his hips, he came and took her over the edge with him.