Читать книгу Carnal Innocence - Julie Miller - Страница 11

SEAN EYED THE NEEDLE of the gas gauge as it teetered into the red zone. The car wasn’t the only thing running on empty.

He’d driven four hours straight, following Interstate 95 north through most of the East Coast megalopolis. But with the dim glow of the endless city lights behind him now, he was starting to drag. Normally, a quick catnap could keep him going around the clock, but until he set foot on Pleasure Cove Island and his cover was in place, he had no intention of taking the time to rest.

But as he pulled into New Haven, Connecticut, he knew he needed to risk a short stop. He needed gas, caffeine and a jog around the car. Maybe even a little of that training time with Caitlin.

If she was up for it.

Right now, however, Caitlin was dozing peacefully, in her sleep mumbling something about a “sir” every now and then. Sean hadn’t fed her dinner yet, either, but she seemed blissfully unconcerned by that fact. She leaned against the car door with his jacket curled up beneath her cheek for a pillow.

As he slowed the vehicle to merge with the smattering of late-night traffic through town, he envied her trusting nature. To her, this mission was all a game. A secret adventure that her father and brothers couldn’t take away from her. She was going into this weekend ready to play, ready to risk.

He was all for the play part, but he’d protect her as best he could from any risk.

He still wondered why this undercover trip was such a big deal to her. Her father and brothers must have some good reason for keeping a tight rein on her. Did she normally take foolish chances? Was she a political zealot? Was she itching to be a bad girl because she was going through some kind of pre-midlife crisis or because some man had done her wrong?

Maybe the answer was more important than he realized. But for now, it was enough that she’d agreed to this adventure. He had the mistress he needed for the weekend, and she had her shot at unrestricted freedom.

Though he was no pro in the relationship department, he was confident that they could make this work. For three days. They could do the James Bond thing she fantasized about, and he could find the information he needed. And if they had a little fun along the way, that would be the icing on his birthday cake.

And if not?

He glanced over at the sleeping Amazon princess and heaved a sigh.

He could stand anything for three days. Even an adventure-seeking schoolmarm who was a little flaky and a whole lot naïve. His gaze traveled over her. And who had legs to die for. And miles of soft, velvety skin that just begged to be touched. All over.

“Damn.” He scratched his chin and concentrated on the road signs leading to a secluded gas station. “Focus,” he warned himself.

Maybe Thomas was right. Sean had neglected his personal life for way too long. His job gave him satisfaction but he also used it as an excuse to avoid any messy entanglements with women.

Caitlin McCormick had messy written all over her. His deprived body wanted her something fierce, yet his self-preservation instincts wondered how he could walk away from this weekend with everybody’s expectations met, his body sated and his conscience intact.

The only decision he could make right now was to pull into the parking lot of the dimly lit convenience store and gas station and park the Porsche in the shadowed space farthest from the door. It was a defensive habit long ingrained after his years with the Bureau, prying into the lives of people who rarely welcomed a federal investigation.

Though he didn’t think he had any reason to be on guard, he nonetheless scoped out the lone attendant and two visible customers inside the store before parking his car beyond their direct line of sight. He could grab five minutes of sleep while Caitlin napped, then gas up the car and buy some drinks and snacks for a midnight meal. Feeling more relaxed after making that plan, Sean killed the lights and engine.

Leaning back, he stretched his legs and closed his eyes. He’d let this weekend play out as it may, and deal with whatever came up.

Caitlin stirred in the seat beside him, drawing his attention. Dealing with the situation that presented itself, he reached out and brushed a lock of soft, kinky hair off her cheek. He stroked his fingers along her jaw and tucked the curls behind her ear.

“Mmm.” She stretched and purred like a cat, and Sean lingered to stroke the skin down her throat and find the vibration of that sexy moan. He marveled at the electric sizzle he felt whenever he touched her. Was this incendiary reaction to the creamy perfection of her skin just a lonely testament to his sorry love life?

Caitlin’s eyes blinked open.

“I’ll go with you,” she murmured.

“Don’t worry about it. We can rest for a few minutes.”

She smiled gratefully and blinked again. “Yes, sir.”

“We don’t need to be so formal. Call me Sean.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Her comment made no sense to him, but he was entranced.

Without any further comment or protest to ward him off, Sean left his fingers resting against her throat. He could imagine this was how she awakened every morning. With dark, drowsy eyes. A come-hither smile. A sleepy tumble of curly hair framing her face. Would she awaken with that same doe-eyed satisfaction in her expression after a night of making love? It was an expression that would make any man feel lucky. Feel potent.

His body lurched in a needy response to her lambent sensuality. He’d like to be that man. He wanted the whole night and the morning after with Caitlin.

Unbuckling his seat belt, he leaned in closer. Fatigue and desire had lowered the protective shield of common sense that normally kept him from making such a tactical error.

But it wasn’t quite midnight yet. He deserved something special for his birthday. And right now, this was the only gift he wanted.

“May I?”

As Caitlin’s eyes drifted shut, Sean pressed his lips to hers. It was a sweet, tender kiss. A taste, really. Her lips were firm and full, with the tempting give of a ripe peach, yet twice as delicious. And when they responded with the same supple energy that made the rest of her body so fascinating to study, he traced his tongue along the seam of her lips and pushed his way inside.

Her lips parted with a breathy sigh, welcoming him. He ran his tongue along the strong arc of her teeth and circled the yielding warmth of the sensitive skin inside. She nipped at his lips with delicate kisses of her own. And as he licked and sucked and tasted, her throat hummed with pleasure. The low-pitched coos entered his brain and traveled like a soft, steady caress down to his groin. Something about those moans—whispers of erotic sound—danced along his nerve endings and triggered an answering sigh deep in the rumbling recesses of his own throat.

They were sex sounds. Mating sounds. More evocative than a cry of rapture. More personal than words. Intimate. Wholly untrained and natural.