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She rolled her eyes. “You can wait another hour or two until we get home.”
Flaunting a devilish grin, he moved closer. “And what if I can’t?”
“Jonah!” She’d spoken with a hint of exasperation, as if she might refuse him, but they both knew she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. She couldn’t get enough of him. After watching his long lean body cut smoothly through the water, hearing the timbre of his voice as he talked and laughed with her parents and feeling the subtle pull of his attention—an attention that never wavered from her, even when her parents thought he was fully involved in the conversation—she felt the warm, melting sensation that let her know her body was ready for him.
“You don’t really want me to leave, do you?” He ran his lips up her neck and teased the strings of her top out of her hands.
“I’m not sure.”
“Let me help you decide.” His mouth found her breast as his hand slipped confidently and possessively inside her bathing suit bottom.
For another moment, Francesca tried to hang on to her sanity. “What if my parents—”
“They won’t guess a thing. We’ll be very, very quiet.”
Only a second later, he made a liar of himself when he groaned, but she smothered that groan with a kiss that said everything about “take me now” and nothing about “I’m not interested.” Then there was no deciding. As soon as they could get rid of their wet suits, he had her up against the wall with her legs wrapped tightly around his hips.
Francesca remembered how he’d dropped his head back as he made love to her, how his muscles had bunched, how she’d begun to quiver in response. He’d carried her so high that day, given her such complete satisfaction—
The light snapped off as the door slid open, jerking Francesca into the present. Jonah had told her he loved her in that bathroom at her parents’ house. He’d said it just as they’d finished making love, while the goose bumps still stood out on her skin. She’d gotten the impression that loving her scared the hell out of him, and that admitting it was difficult, but he’d acted like it was too true to deny. That was how he’d said it, anyway.
But his love had been a lie. She needed to remember that. Maybe he could carry her to heights of pleasure she’d never experienced with anyone else. But she’d never suffered the same depth of pain with another man, either. When it came to Jonah, the pendulum swung far too wide.
Trying to ignore the way her body ached for him, she rolled over to face the wall as he came into the room. He rummaged through his luggage, then went back into the bathroom, presumably to dress.
Before he could come out again, she found herself imagining another night, the first night they’d ever made love. They’d been dating for several weeks, playing it safe. Then one night he made her a fancy dinner. He bought wine and flowers and attempted to prepare lasagna, but they became so engrossed in conversation out on his deck, so preoccupied with each other, that everything burned. They ended up ordering Chinese takeout, which they’d eaten outside so they could let the house air. After that, she’d tried to say good-night and leave, but he’d kissed her at the door and she’d lost all desire to hold back. They’d made love in the living room, the kitchen and, finally, his bedroom. From that night on, they’d been together almost constantly. It wasn’t until he’d told her he loved her that he started drinking too much and acting strange. It hadn’t gone on long enough that she was seriously worried about it, but…
The bed across from her creaked as he settled into it. She could smell his scent in the room—subtle but unmistakable. Now it grew stronger, making her even more aware of him.
How could she remember only a basic sketch of the other men she’d dated, even Roland, yet recall every detail of Jonah’s body? The soft hair on his muscular chest. The breadth of his shoulders. The width of his hips. The firmness of his buttocks as she gripped them while he moved on top of her. The way his lips brushed hers when he was in a teasing mood, when he was in a tender mood, when he was in a sexually aggressive mood…
There must be something wrong with me, she thought.
Because she still wanted him. Even after everything he’d done.
* * *
Morning came far too soon. Jonah could hear Francesca in the bathroom, getting ready. He knew she’d already showered; the water had gone on earlier. He’d been dozing ever since. But it was nearly eight-thirty, definitely time to get out of bed. Finch and Hunsacker were expecting them by nine. They needed to get a wire on Francesca before she headed over to the salvage yard. Jonah would be listening in with both county investigators a few blocks away; two other cops would park a van out front and pretend to be with the electric company.
Sitting up, he yawned and tried to rub the sleep from his face. He really had to get onto a decent schedule. Grabbing snatches of sleep wasn’t enough.
Fortunately, there was coffee. Francesca had a pot brewing; he could smell it.
“Thanks for making coffee,” he called out to let her know he was up.
“If I pour you a cup, can you wait a few minutes for the bathroom?”
Dropping back onto the bed, he stared up at the ceiling. “Sure, no problem.”
“One cream, two sugars?”
She remembered. “Yeah.”
“Just a sec.”
Soon after that she came out dressed in a pair of linen shorts, matching sandals and a burnt-orange top with fabric flowers clustered around the neck. “How do I look?” she said, handing him a cup of coffee. “Calm, cool and collected? Or can you tell I’m scared?”
As he accepted the cup, he tried to convince himself that she was no prettier than any other woman. But that was a lie he couldn’t sell. “You look fine. Perfectly composed.” He took a sip and sent her a grin. “How do I look? Ready to kick some ass?”
