Authors: Lori Foster
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHAT MYSTERY LADY?” Harris murmured with deliberate lack of concern. At this particular moment, he didn’t care about anyone else, not with Clair in his bed, ready for him, looking sweet and soft and as perfect as a woman could look. Ready to take the next step in binding their relationship, he pulled her hands away, leaned down and licked her tightened nipple.
Her back arched and her breath caught. “You know who I mean,” she panted. Her hands clenched on his shoulders, stinging in force. But still she persisted, saying hesitantly, “I, um, found the name of the guy who leased the place.”
With a long, exaggerated sigh, Harris dropped his forehead to her chest. “I don’t care, Clair.” He cupped her breast, thumbed her now wet nipple. “Can’t you see that I’m busy here?”
Clair tried to hold him back again. “You don’t care?”
She sounded so stunned, Harris grinned. “Honey, if you don’t shut up, how the hell can I make love to you?”
“But you said—” He sucked her nipple into his mouth, drawing on her, teasing with the tip of his tongue.
“Harris.”
Her hips pressed up against his, seeking. He could feel the wild rapping of her heart. In a rough growl, Harris said, “I know I promised slow and easy, but honey, I’m not sure I can manage that this first time.”
“No.” She panted too, sounding every bit as affected. “I don’t want you to.”
Clair wasn’t a weak woman, and the way she gripped him now told Harris that she meant it, that she was as anxious as he felt. Unwilling to cheat her, to rush her too much, he switched to her other nipple at the same time his hand moved down her body, tickling her skin into a fever, over her ribs, her waist, her hip. She had a lush, full bottom, and her skin was silky soft, warm. He trailed his fingers over her sleek runner’s thighs, and smiled at the way she clenched them together.
Knowing how his words would affect her, he said, “Open your thighs for me, Clair. Let me touch you.”
Another moan bubbled up from deep in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling from the anticipation, and slowly parted her legs.
Teasing her a bit, Harris traced around her pubic curls.
“Harris...”
He loved the way she said his name. Cupping her mound, he carefully stroked, opening her, then slid one finger in deep. She was hot, wet, and immediately her hips lifted, deepening his penetration.
Clair gasped—and opened her legs more.
Such an honest response, so typical of Clair. With his free arm, he pulled her closer to his chest, to his heart, while still stroking her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.
“You’re the one who smells good, Clair,” he couldn’t help but tell her. “Sweet and soft. I love how you smell.” To emphasize that, he pressed his nose into her neck. He thought about what Ethan had said, about having a woman coddle him when he got home from a hard day fighting a fire. He wanted that woman to be Clair. He wanted her scent to cloak his body, instead of the scent of smoke. He wanted her to hold him, not any other woman. He wanted to come home to her every day and know that she was his, and only his.
The acknowledgment of his emotions pushed him over the edge. He needed to be inside her, soon. She was gasping, moving rhythmically against his hand, her skin radiating heat. But it wasn’t enough. Harris wanted her pleasure to be a foregone conclusion, because God knew once he got inside her, he wouldn’t last.
“You’ll like this,” he told her, and kissed her breasts again, sucking hard, nipping a little with his teeth.
She gasped, then gasped again when he kissed her ribs, gently bit her soft belly, and settled between her legs.
“Harris?”
“God, you smell good, Clair.” He pressed closer, inhaling the scent of her excitement, her femaleness. Using his thumbs, he parted her, sought her out with his tongue, and then closed his mouth hotly over her.
Her groan was long and satisfying, accompanied by a stiffening of her legs, the spontaneous lifting of her hips, a surge of new warmth. She whimpered, and in a breathless whisper, said, “Oh God.”
Harris pressed himself hard against the mattress, trying to curb the ache her pleasure created. He felt her straining, getting closer and closer, and he worked two fingers into her even as he continued to suckle her clitoris, working her with his tongue—and she came.
Her shout took him by surprise, and thrilled him. He locked one arm around her, holding her still as she shuddered and trembled and cried out. He could feel her squeezing his fingers, feel the surge of wetness and heat. He loved eating Clair, and if he hadn’t wanted her for so long, he could have started all over again.
But he had wanted her, whether he realized it or not. His feelings for her had made it easy to give up other women. Celibacy was much simpler when he wanted only Clair. But no more. He needed her. Now.
Harris realized his hands were shaking when he sat up and fumbled with the bedside drawer, seeking a condom. Clair didn’t move. But he could hear her uneven, still-labored breathing, and he smiled.
He had the condom on in record time and then he turned, hooked her legs in his elbows, spread her wide—and surged into her.
She arched hard against him, crying out, sinking her nails into his shoulders. “Yeah,” Harris panted, blind with lust and love, shaken with the fury of his feelings for her. “Come for me again, Clair.”
She did, almost too soon, because hearing her moan, feeling her inner muscles grip his cock, forced him to the finish line. She was wet and hot, open to him, letting him in deep, and he lost the battle. He closed his eyes and arched his neck and growled out his release, pumping hard, heaving.
Minutes later, when his heart slowed its frantic beat and he could think coherently again, Harris thought to tell her how he felt, to admit he loved her. He pushed back to see her face, smiled at the sight of her sound asleep, and carefully separated from her.
She mumbled, rolled to her side, and snuggled into his pillow. Harris looked her over again, smiling, but his vision still felt blurry and his heart felt too soft. He removed the condom, turned out the light, and spooned Clair. As he’d already known, she fit him perfectly.
His life, with Clair in it, was good. He hoped like hell she wanted to marry him, because no way would he give her up.
* * *
HARRIS MADE LOVE to her once again in the middle of the night, when she rolled to face him, and somehow her leg ended up over his waist and her breast was right there, close to his mouth—too tempting to resist. Though he was half-asleep and just going with the moment, he remembered to protect her—just barely. In the future, he’d have to keep a box of condoms on top of the nightstand, for easy access. Having Clair around and accessible would sorely test him, not that he’d complain.
The second time was slower, gentler, and they rocked together for a long time, kissing softly, cuddling, until Clair started to moan. The sound of her pleasure seemed to ignite him, and once again, he lost the battle with control.
After that, Harris didn’t wake up again until he felt Clair leaving the bed. He’d seldom slept the whole night with a woman, but having Clair close was comfortable and comforting. As she slipped away, he protested with a groan and tried to pull her back.
She mumbled and swatted at him. “I have to go get ready for work, Harris.”
He got one heavy eyelid open and found the clock. “It’s early yet.”
With plenty of time for some morning hanky-panky.
He glanced up at Clair, and got both eyes opened.
She was naked, with rumpled hair and sleep-soft eyes, but she’d already put on her glasses. She looked like a fetish come to life. His fetish. He wanted her. Again. Always.
But when he tried to reach for her, she laughed and stepped out of reach. “Down boy. I need a long hot shower.”
Harris looked at her soft, sweet belly and murmured, “Shower with me.”
“Oh no, not on your life. I know where that’d end up.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, more awake by the moment.
“Harris, I can’t.”
“Why?”
Her mouth went crooked in a silly grimace. “I’m a little sore.”
Harris shoved into a sitting position. He couldn’t help it; he smiled like a conquering warrior. “I was too energetic?” He tried to look at her face, but her body held all his attention. Clair naked was a surprise. A wonderful surprise. She was so damned sexy...
“It’s just been a long time, that’s all.”
Harris looked at her hips, and frowned in thought. He’d never seen her nude body before, yet it all seemed somehow familiar. “I’ll be more considerate in the future.”
In the future.
He liked saying that.
Clair drew a long, steadying breath. “For the record, you can be as energetic as you want.” And then, with a small smile, she added, “In the future.”
Damn, he loved her. He patted the side of the bed. “We need to talk.”
Worry darkened her eyes and she fretted, looking away from him. “I know.”
Why did the idea of talking make her so solemn? Harris didn’t like it that her smile had disappeared. He much preferred her teasing, so he decided to put off the talk until later. “It’ll wait.” And because he couldn’t be with her and not want her, he agreed to let her head home. “Go get your shower before I forget I’m a gentleman and drag you back into my bed.”
“I’ll...see you later?”
Did she have doubts about his intentions? Was that why she looked so burdened? He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “You’d have one hell of a time getting rid of me.”
Her grin returned, filling him with warmth. “Soon?”
Sooner than she expected, most likely. He’d head to her office first to remove Dane and Alec from the case. Mystery women no longer interested him.
“Absolutely.” But she’d hesitated too long. Harris left the bed to stand in front of her, pulled her close so he could feel her skin against him, and kissed her.
He’d meant it to be a perfunctory goodbye kiss, but her mouth was soft and warm and she smelled so good, he went a little out of control. Only the worry of causing her more discomfort kept him from making love to her again. Against her lips, he whispered, “Damn woman, I can only take so much provocation and you naked is pretty darn provoking. You better go now while I’m still willing to let you.”
Laughing, Clair snatched up her shorts and T-shirt and pulled them on. Harris watched, enjoying the easy familiarity. If he had his way—and he would—he’d be able to watch her dress every morning from now on.
Because he was ready to jump in the shower too, Harris didn’t bother to dress when he walked her to his front door. “After today, I’ll be off for a week. Will you stay with me?”
“For the whole week?”
Forever. But he’d get to that later. For now, he just wanted the immediate future confirmed. “Yeah. With me, in my apartment.” And in a lower, suggestive voice, he added, “In my bed.”
She went a little breathless on him, nodding in mute agreement. But two seconds later, she frowned. “I will—if you want me to.”
“I want you to.” But she didn’t look quite convinced. Was she afraid he’d get sidetracked with the woman in the photos again? Not a chance. Harris wanted to tell her that he loved her and only her, but it’d be better to show her first. He could wait until he saw her at her work, when she’d witness him tearing up the photos.
Anticipating her reaction, Harris kissed her one last time, then gently urged her out the door. As soon as she left, he went to his window to keep watch. Moments after she entered her building, her lights came on, and right after that, he saw her wave. He smiled and dropped his curtain.
Soon she’d be living with him, and he wouldn’t need to watch her go safely into her own place.
In less than an hour Harris had showered and was at her office. He’d pulled into the parking lot in time to see Dane and Alec entering the front doors. They had their wives with them. Both were blondes, both were attractive.
Well hell,
Harris thought. The presence of wives would make it difficult to discuss photos of a naked woman. He could have put it off till the women left, but he wanted everything taken care of before Clair arrived.
They were all in Dane’s inner office when Harris got there. He went in, lighthearted and eager to get things underway. Maybe he’d even ask Clair to marry him after he tore up the pictures. He grinned, envisioning how that’d play out, what she might say.
Harris raised his fist to tap on the door frame, announcing himself. Almost at the same time, one of the women said, “Dane Carter! Why in the world do you have naked pictures of Clair on the wall?”
Naked pictures of
Clair?
Harris raised a brow, confused, mentally scoffing.
Dane choked. “It’s not.”
And the other woman said, “Well, of course it is.” And then with some confusion, “You didn’t know?”
Together, Dane and Alec barked,
“No.”
“How could you not know?” one of them asked. “It looks like her.”
“It’s her shape,” the other added. “Her long legs, her posture, her—”
The woman continued, but Harris wasn’t listening. He shook his head in denial, even as the pieces began to click painfully into place. His heart pounded and his head throbbed.
The mystery woman wore no jewelry—because Clair didn’t wear any. The mystery woman had longer hair—because Clair had recently cut hers.
The mystery woman had a lush derriere—
just like Clair’s.
He remembered Clair’s near hysterical reaction to seeing the photos enlarged, how she’d hidden her head on the desk when he and Dane discussed the mystery woman’s posterior.
And he remembered those notes, so full of emotion and love, which meant the woman had to know him, and
not
from afar.
The wives had seen what he hadn’t. Until now.
Dane’s office was eerily silent as Harris stepped inside. Numb, a little unsteady on his feet, he barked, “Get them down. Now.”
Alec, not one to take orders, was already doing just that. He moved faster than Harris could have, given his present state of mind.