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“Just until morning.”
“We need to talk—”
“All right. But not tonight. Please? It happened twenty years ago, Ledge. A few more hours aren’t going to matter. This chair is already crowded with the two of us. I don’t want anyone else to join us.”
She opened the coverlet, placed her leg over his, and straddled his lap. Sitting on his thighs, she undid the bottom button of his fly, reached in, and began to stroke him.
“God above, Arden.”
He should stop her but knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to ruin this. To stop now would be as unfair to her as it would be to him. That was a bullshit rationalization, and he damn well knew it, but…
He shut off his mind and just rode the waves of pleasure. Her small hand squeezed him, pumped him, mastered him. When she milked from him droplets of semen, his surrender was complete. And so was his damnation.
He lifted her onto him. She lowered herself with agonizing slowness until he was completely sheathed by her snug heat. He kissed her mouth with unforgiving and, as yet, unfulfilled hunger, then released it to rain kisses on her brow, her closed eyelids, her cheekbones.
When she tilted her head back and exposed her throat, he kissed his way down it and across her breasts, before eventually making his way back up. He placed his parted lips against hers, their breaths soughing in unison.
“I’ve lied to you, Arden. So many times. Continually.”
“You’re forgiven,” she sighed, as he began rocking the chair.
He kept the pace languid, but with each gliding arc, he pushed in a little higher, reaching her where he hadn’t before, and when she said his name on a near sob, he gathered her against him until there was no space between them. Nothing existed except her body and his, his hard and insistent, hers soft and inviting, his inside hers, a perfect coupling.
The chair rocked slowly; they spun out of control.
“But tonight I told you the biggest lie of all,” he murmured against her lips.
As she began to come, she gasped, “Confess.”
“This fantasy did involve fucking.”
After a lengthy shower, where hands and mouths were never idle, they returned to the bed and spooned. He put his arm across her and drew her close.
Rubbing his face in her hair, he said, “When I called you Baby, over and over, I know better. That was my cock talking.” He raised his hand to her lips and pressed them open with his thumb. “Who could think straight with you doing that?”
“Did you call me Baby?” She caught the pad of his tongue between her teeth and stroked it with her tongue.
“You don’t remember?”
“I was preoccupied.”
“Then I apologized for nothing?”
“No,” she said, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. She clasped his hand and tucked it with hers between her breasts. “I appreciate your chivalry. You are a hero.”
His euphoria evaporated. Despair replaced it, pressing in on him from all sides. Against the back of her neck, he whispered fervently, “I’m no hero, Arden.” But she hadn’t heard him. Her breathing had become even and peaceful, her body soft and settled against his.
Over her shoulder he stared through the darkness at the two full glasses silhouetted against the rain-streaked window.
Chapter 35
Arden woke up alone.
She and Ledge had turned to each other once more during the night for a brief but hotly passionate bout; during it, they hadn’t exchanged a single word. Language would have been redundant.
Feeling a bit let down because she had wanted to wake up beside him, she got up, showered in the master bathroom, which, in accordance with the man who used it, was large in scale. The materials were natural, masculine, and appealing.
After dressing, she followed the aroma of coffee into the kitchen, where Ledge was seated at the table, steaming mug at hand, the pages of the investigation reports spread out in front of him. His head was down, fingers pushed up into his hair, his forehead resting in his palm.
