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.

“What are you studying so intently?”

He raised his head and looked at her. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes drew her toward him. When she was still steps away, he reached for her, pulled her between his legs, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed his face into her middle just below her breasts. Her fingers replaced his in the thick tangle of his hair. She bent her head over his. For a time they just held each other.

When he released her from the hug, he tipped his head back to look into her face. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“How was your night?”

She shrugged, faked a yawned. “It was okay, I guess.”

He smiled, but there was a restraint in his demeanor that she’d sensed the moment she’d entered the room.

“Coffee’s still fresh,” he said.

“I believe I’ll have some. You want more?”

“More of you, yes.”

Her tummy levitated like an untethered balloon.

But his sexy, gravelly tone, his suggestive squint, were short-lived. The reserve, which she couldn’t account for, reappeared. “I don’t know how you take your coffee,” he said. “I’ve got real sugar and milk.”

“That will do.”

“Want breakfast?”

“Not just yet.”

She went over to the counter and filled the coffee mug he had set out for her, then carried it to the fridge and poured a dollop of milk straight from the carton.

As she turned around, she saw through the wide window a car pulling in behind Ledge’s pickup. Instantly she recognized the whir of the motor. She set her full mug of coffee on the counter. “Ledge?”

“Hmm?”

“Rusty’s here.”

He raised his head from the material he’d gone back to reading. “What?”

She nodded toward the window as she walked toward it. Ledge left the table and joined her there. At some point during the night, the rain had stopped, but it had left puddles in the yard. Rusty navigated around them as he made his way to the back door.

She and Ledge looked at each other with wariness, then he went to the door and had it pulled open before Rusty could knock. Arden moved up beside Ledge. It surprised her that he didn’t issue Rusty a challenge, but she supposed his hostile and territorial bearing spoke for him.

Rusty gave them a smirking grin. “Morning, you two.”

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“I want to be invited in, Ledge. Coffee smells good.” Another smirk. “Unless I’m interrupting.”

Ledge didn’t extend any kind of invitation, just stood there, as impassable as a concrete wall.

“Ah, well,” Rusty sighed. “Can’t say as I’m surprised by your lack of manners. No one expects you to have any. Breeding tells, you know.”

“Go. Away.” Ledge made the two words sound all the more menacing by how softly he spoke them. “Don’t ever come to my house again.”