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Of her sanity.
Her mouth opened of its own accord, the taste of him familiar and erotic, the scent of him bringing back memory after memory of pleasure. His hands scaled down her ribs as if he knew her, and as he peeled off her clothes, she returned the favor, kissing his exposed skin, feeling the strength of taut, male muscles. Exploring his hard, stro
ng shoulders and the sinewy arms that held her tight.
His mouth touched all those places he’d found years before. Behind her ear, the slope of her neck, the cleft between her breasts. She felt his heat, as white hot as the blood running through her veins.
She reminded herself that she would feel regrets, that nothing so incredible came without pain, but she didn’t care. Her need was too fierce, and she reveled in the pure, potent passion that streamed from his body to hers. His tongue ran rough against her breasts, circling her areolae, teasing and toying with her nipples, then delving lower while her hands threaded in his hair and the scent of him filled her nostrils.
Be careful, Becca…you haven’t told him about the baby. His baby…
Refusing to listen to the voice in her head, she gave in to the pleasure, felt his hot breath against her skin, his hands molding her flesh, his tongue and lips causing quicksilver pulses to run through her blood.
The back of her throat went dry as sand, but inside she was melting, hotter and hotter, her body beginning to writhe, the throb of desire pounding through her brain. She closed her eyes as the first spasm hit, rocking her, and when the second quake followed, she cried out, her fingers curling in the sheets, her body convulsing.
He came to her then, body and soul. His lips found hers and she kissed him with the need of all those years of wanting him, hating herself for her desire, dreaming of him. Hudson…it had always been Hudson, even when she’d married another man and now…now…
She let out a low moan as he entered her, her legs wrapping instinctively over his, his lips and mouth hot and wet. He thrust once, then again, and she cried out as he shifted, lifting her so that she was sitting, facing him, his legs beneath hers as he forced her buttocks tight against him.
“Oh…Oh…God,” she whispered as he moved, faster and faster, and the heat consumed her, perspiration covering her body, need consuming her. She met his rhythm, faster and faster, the room spinning, her arms wrapped around him, her hands on the fluid muscle of his back. She was gasping for breath, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might explode when he stiffened and cried out. Her own body responded, tightening around him, the world shattering in a billion pieces of light.
Only when it was over and they’d collapsed together on the wrinkled sheets, still drawing in ragged, sated breaths, did Hudson say, “Was it good for you?” Then they both laughed.
“Worst sex I’ve ever had in my life. Couldn’t you tell?” she said through shattered breaths.
“Maybe if you weren’t so damned frigid.” Her mouth curved as her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder and his fingers twined in her hair. “Remind me why we waited so long?”
She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. “Too long…” She felt the grin that spread across his lips and asked, “What?”
“We’re not waiting that long ever again,” he said, sliding his body atop hers, blue eyes slow and sensual.
“Good,” she breathed, pushing all thoughts aside except for him.
Chapter Ten
Renee’s eyes narrowed as she pulled into the small coastal town of Deception Bay the following evening. The night before the drive had been stalled by a phone call from Tim, an excruciatingly nasty fight, then a stop to pick up a few groceries at a twenty-four-hour Safeway store, and finally the slow drive through mixed rain and snow on twisting mountain roads. She’d stayed in the cabin all day today just unwinding.
The sensation that she was being followed had hung with her all the way through the Coast Range and south along this winding stretch of Highway 101 that cut into the steep hillsides overlooking the Pacific. She’d had to creep to keep the damned car on the road. All the while she’d kept checking her rearview for the glowing headlights that had loomed behind her like the eyes of some great, feral beast.
“Puh-leeze,” she told herself now as the few streetlights of the small town emerged from the fog. She was still thinking about her fight with Tim. Jesus, he was a piece of work. He somehow thought that he could have an affair with a coworker and expect Renee to (a) understand, and (b) forgive him. Now, he insisted, he didn’t want a divorce, that he’d thought things over and decided it was better for “everyone” if they stayed married.
Like it was that easy.
Renee didn’t figure adultery was something she could get over very quickly though she herself had been tempted to step over that invisible marital line a time or two. But she hadn’t. She’d come close but had stopped short. Not that it mattered now. Tim could rant and rave, remind her that she was “his” until kingdom come. It was over. O-V-E-R, and she’d told him so tonight in no uncertain terms.
He’d been in a rage, and for the first time she’d seen the extent of his temper and had been glad there hadn’t been a gun in the house. Not that she thought he would ever really physically harm her…
Still, he’d lost it. Really lost it. His face, once boyishly handsome, had turned tomato red, and his big hands had clenched into hammy fists. He’d even gone so far as to punch through the entry hall wall. That’s when she’d left. In a hurry. Only pausing to pick up a few essentials in Hillsboro.
Had he followed her?
Decided to have it out again?
He wouldn’t, would he?
She returned to the gravel drive of the small cottage she used on her weekend getaways. Three blocks off the beach and within walking distance of town, the cabin was owned by a friend of her father’s, a man who, since his wife had died, rarely spent any time here. His kids were flung to the winds, one son in Miami, another in Denver, his daughter trying to make it as an actress in LA. No one spent any time at the cabin he’d renovated with his own hands sometime in the early eighties.
Renee nosed her Camry beneath the carport. She hurried through the fog to the porch where the exterior light, always illuminated, had burned out. “Damn it all,” she muttered, fumbling with her keys and the old, rusted lock.
