Page 64 of Nightfire

Mike blew out a breath against her belly and leaned his head back to look at her face. He’d seen—he’d probably felt—what he did to her. But he didn’t have that smug male look of a man who’d turned a woman on. His face was pulled down in lines that looked almost like pain.

He blew out another breath and rose stiffly, as if his muscles ached. A glance down and Chloe could see why. Mike didn’t have his usual jeans on. He had on tan chinos and she could see him outlined against the light-weight material.

Wow.

“I turn you on.” She couldn’t believe she’d said those words. She almost looked around the bathroom to see if anyone else was there. But there was only Mike—and her.

He winced. “You have no idea, Chloe.”

“Then why—" This was so hard. She wasn’t used to expressing her desires. This would be embarrassing if she didn’t need to know like she needed to breathe. It hadn’t made any sense to her and it still didn’t. All she knew was that his distance these past six months had been so painful, like a sharp barb stuck in her heart.

“Why did you stay away? I mean, you didn’t stay away, you were around, but—” The words stuck in her throat but she had to get them out. No more swallowing what needed to be said. So she looked him straight in the eyes and opened herself up.

What could be the worst thing that could happen? Well, he could rip her to shreds…never mind. Even if he ripped her to shreds, she’d survived worse.

“You kissed me that day, at the Del Coronado. You remember, don’t you?”

Silence. Only the sound of the water hissing as came out of the showerhead, splashing into the bathtub. Mike’s jaw muscles jumped. “Oh yeah, I remember. Until the day I die, Chloe, I’ll remember.”

He sounded so sincere. And yet— “So why Mike? It hurt me so much.” The words came out harsh and raw, against the closed muscles of her throat.

She remembered it so clearly, that day. The magic kiss, as she now thought of it. Something enchanted, golden. Gone. Like a dream, long ago. When Amanda’s work proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mike couldn’t have beaten that poor woman up, Chloe had been waiting with Ellen and Nicole. Both had jumped up to join their husbands, embrace them.

Chloe had jumped up, too, to run to Mike.

And he had taken a step back, eyes shuttered and blank, and broken her heart. Arms that had been outstretched to hold him fell back down to her sides.

He had stood there stiffly, eyes on the ground, thanked her formally, and disappeared. Chloe had stood there, shocked, unable to move.

The others had looked at her, the women with pity in their eyes. Harry had put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, honey, for what you did,” he’d said and she had nodded, unable to speak. Because if she spoke, tears would have burst out of her.

The rest of the evening had been a blur as they sat back down at the table, without Mike, and finished the food. Chloe had long experience with feeling out of place, so she’d choked a little food down, spreading the rest around her plate, counting the seconds until she could say she was tired and would like to go to bed.

Where she cried herself to sleep.

And then Mike showed up the next morning, having called up the condo manager and found her a flat on Harry’s floor. He accompanied her to every furniture store in San Diego, or so it felt, worked alongside the delivery guys bringing in the furniture and, where necessary, assembling it, and had her set up in less than three days. She’d seen him every day since, and he never touched her again.

“Why?” she whispered.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “That’s not important now, Chloe. What’s important is that things have changed. It’s not like that anymore. Here.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

In the shower, he gently placed her injured arm on his shoulder. “There you go. We need to keep it dry.”

Chloe had been washed before, of course. Plenty of times, in the hospital. Hospitals. But never like this.

Mike pumped some minty-smelling soap onto a wash cloth and ran it over every inch of her body, followed by warm water and then his mouth. Long, sensuous strokes of the cloth followed by long sensuous strokes of his tongue. Her neck, her shoulders. The warm cloth went lower, circled her breasts while he watched her so very carefully.

Chloe could see the skin move over her left breast, in time with her heart. Did he understand the effect he was having on her?

She looked up to find him watching her carefully, face tight, eyes like blue fire locked onto hers.

Oh, yeah. He understood.

He bent her slightly over his left arm and with his right washed her belly. Chloe felt unbalanced, in every way there was, unsure of her footing. But Mike had her. She wasn’t going to fall down.

He nuzzled the underside of her left breast, the one that was pounding, lips brushing lightly over her skin while taking light little tastes. A flush went through at each touch of his lips, stroke of his tongue. And then—oh God!—he was suckling her nipple, long, hard pulls of her mouth echoed in her vagina, internal muscles tightening with each tug of his mouth. Her breathing became ragged and if she didn’t have his strong arm holding her up, she’d slide down into the tub, unable to stand.

Her hands slid from his shoulders to his head, holding him as he suckled her. His mouth pulled back, he gave her nipple a last lick which she felt down to her toes, and straightened.