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But he’d gotten only halfway to his car before he’d stopped.
Did he really want to leave it like this? Two months ago, no question. Two months ago, he would have been halfway home by now.
If he went back—just sayin’—he risked making a colossal fool of himself.So justleave, you dumb shit.
On the other hand, she’d said it would be a mistake. She hadn’t said she didn’t want to. Hadn’t said,No way in hell; get serious.
With that in mind, he’d turned around, having no idea whether she’d even let him back inside, or what he would say to her if she did.
But the door had been unlocked, and when he’d stepped into her small entry, all he’d had to do was look into her eyes and recognize a desire that matched his own. The instant they’d touched, yearning had given way to urgency.
Her mouth: hot, delicious, receptive, even greedy. Her hands: bold, searching, all over him.
Under her baggy sweatshirt was skin like warm satin. A scanty, lacy, see-through bra. The stuff of wet dreams, but bothersome as hell when trying to get his mouth around her nipple, already raised.
He would have been fine with the couch, the wall, the floor, but, still glued together, they’d somehow stumbled their way into her bedroom.
Clothing had been an aggravation, but she did manage to wiggle out of her leggings and underwear. He’d unbuttoned his shirt but didn’t waste precious time taking it off. Within a second of levering himself above her, he’d gotten his belt unbuckled, his zipper down, his slacks shoved past his hips.
She’d been wet, but tight, and had felt so good when he’d pushed into her that he’d shuddered and said… something. Hadn’t he? Maybe.
He’d pressed into her until he couldn’t press any farther, then began thrusting. He’d braced himself on his hands, arms straight, back arched. Her hands clutching his ass insistently. It had been hard and fast and vigorous, breath-stealing and heart-pounding, and then they came.
Jesus, it had been amazing.
Only when his arms had folded beneath him, and he’d settled on top of her, and had buried his face in her fragrant neck, had nipped her soft skin with his teeth, had heard her sigh his name as she whisked her lips across his cheekbone, had felt her sweet body go languid beneath his weight had he realized that this hadn’t been the strategized, customized, guidebook-step-by-step-until-climax fucking he was accustomed to.
No, he’d been seized by a primal streak of possessiveness and had lost himself to it. His need to claim her, have her, become one with her had been primordial. He had mated.
The Calder Hudson of old had cast off things he no longer liked or had use for. Shoes, neckties, tennis rackets, cars, women. Once they were out of his life, he never thought of them again.
There, feeling Elle’s heartbeat against his, he realized that he’d found something he wanted to keep, something that, on an elemental level, belonged to him and that he couldn’t do without.
And that scared the shit out of him.
In order to prove himself wrong, he—bloody fucking coward that he was—had abandoned her body, her bed, and her house without even a goodbye.
He was jerked back into the present by the ringing of his cell phone. It was almost a welcome reprieve from his self-castigation. But then he looked at the ID. Compton. “Screw that.” Whatever she was calling about, he wasn’t in the mood. Eventually the phone fell silent.
His coffee had turned cold, so he headed toward the kitchen to make another cup. Midway there, his phone began ringing again. “Goddamn it.” He went back for it, snatched it up, and barked an ungracious hello.
“Mr. Hudson, do you recall our conversation of yesterday afternoon?”
No good morning. No nothing. Compton sounded as ill-tempered as he was. “Of course.”
“Do you remember ourdirectivethat you not to speak to anyone about it?”
“Of course.”
“When we saidanyone, we meant it. We did not exclude Shauna Calloway.”
“Neither did I.”
She gave a harrumph of doubt that seemed to come from deep within her heavy bosom. “Pack an overnight bag. A pair of deputies will be waiting outside your building to pick you up in fifteen minutes. Max.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. What’s going on?”
“Like you don’t know.”
