Stolen Heat Part 21

He didn't think. Just savored her in his mouth. Ran his hands over her back and around to her waist. Pulled her closer. The position was awkward, so he gripped her hips, lifted her easily, guided her to straddle his lap so he could kiss her deeper yet. Then nearly came when she settled herself on her knees over him and lowered until she was sitting on his throbbing erection.

And ah, h.e.l.l, being with her like this was like coming home. Like leaving the dark and coming into the light. Like finding where you were meant to be.

Neither of them spoke. The heater hummed in the background. Every now and then a car pa.s.sed on the freeway outside. But all he could focus on was the roar in his head that screamed, now, now, now, now, now, now, followed by a tightness in his chest that warned, followed by a tightness in his chest that warned, take it easy. take it easy.

He listened, though it nearly killed him. Moved slowly. His hands slid to the edge of her tee, up under to the bare skin of her abdomen, higher until his knuckles brushed her bra. All the while he kissed her, licked into her mouth and bathed himself in the sweet taste of her on his tongue again.

She was hot, and he was burning. She was soft where he was hard as stone. He broke the kiss long enough to pull the T-shirt over her head and drop it on the floor, nearly groaned at the sight of her practical cotton bra. No bells and whistles, no lace or see-through cups. St.u.r.dy. Practical. Like her.

Her heavy-lidded eyes stayed on his as he worked the bra free. The back hook gave with a soft pop. She drew in a breath, then helped him by wriggling out of the straps. It fell into his hands, landed next to her T-shirt on the floor. He licked his lips in antic.i.p.ation as he cupped her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s, flicked his thumb across her nipple and watched as her eyes slid closed and her head fell back in pleasure.

That roar returned, louder than ever. He kissed her jaw, sc.r.a.ped his teeth along her throat, worked his way south. With one hand supporting her, he lowered her onto her back so her head was near the foot of the mattress, then resumed his foray across her body.

His lips closed over one breast, and he drew lazy circles around her nipple, sucked her deep into his mouth until she writhed beneath him.

"Pete," she whispered.

He loved that needy, s.e.x-charged voice. Loved the way she melted beneath him. Didn't realize how much he'd missed it until right now. He moved to the other nipple and tasted the sweetness of her skin. She reacted by lifting her foot, kicking her heel into the mattress and digging her fingers into his biceps with a death grip until pain shot through his arm. But the moan that came out of her made up for any discomfort he felt, so he kept driving her harder, closer to the edge, greedy for the sound of her pleasure.

"Pete. Oh..."

"More?" He didn't wait for an answer, drew her nipple into his mouth, sc.r.a.ped his teeth over the tip until she groaned long and deep. "Or stop?"

"No. No. Don't stop. Whatever you do...don't stop."

Good thing, because he wasn't sure he could. Even if she begged.

Sliding lower, he kissed his way down her belly. He flipped open the top b.u.t.ton of her jeans with the other hand and brushed his lips over the sensitive skin beneath her waistband.

She moaned again, arched her back in approval. He quickly released the other three b.u.t.tons, then with both hands, pulled the jeans from her hips and slipped them off her legs.

And groaned himself when he saw she was naked beneath her denim.

Her tummy was flat, her hips a gentle flare that fit her shape. Her legs long and lean and athletic. She was everything he remembered and more. Toned and fit and muscular where before she'd been merely slim skin and bones. She worked out now. Hard by the looks of it. A woman's body on the girl he'd loved and lost a lifetime ago.

"Pete?"

Her soft voice pulled at him, and he looked up to find her watching him with confusion and the slightest bit of worry in her dark eyes.

He climbed over her, fueled by some need he didn't want to name, braced his hands on the mattress and lowered to take her mouth again. She cradled his face in her palms and kissed him back. Long and slow and deep.

His hand found her breast again, then lowered to her hip, her thigh, and finally to that sweet, sweet spot between her legs. She opened for him on a sigh, groaned into his mouth as he slid his fingers into her folds and found her burning, slick center.

Oh, she was wet.

Her breath hitched when he rubbed over her tight knot. He circled and swirled, took her higher. When she kicked her head back and moaned, he closed his mouth over her neck and licked the sweet, dewy column of her throat the way he knew she liked until her body tensed and her muscles quivered with her release.

She was quiet. So quiet. But he knew the signs. Knew her body so well. Even after all this time. As she slid down the other side of her climax, he shucked his jeans, reached for his wallet on the nightstand and pulled out a condom, then used his knees to push her thighs wider to make room for him.

Her hand snaked out. "Let me."

It nearly killed him, but he waited. Gritted his teeth as she rolled the latex on, groaned out loud when she wrapped him fully in her hand and stroked up and down his arousal. She found his mouth with hers again as she tugged him closer and lined him up with all her slick, female heat.

Oh, yeah, she was wet. Drenched from her release. And hotter than anything he'd felt before.

"Slow," she whispered against his lips. "Just...slow."

He clenched his jaw tight on the verge of thrusting hard and deep inside her. Electricity raced down his spine. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He pushed slowly until just the head of him was buried inside her and then stopped.

She was tight. So d.a.m.n tight he was afraid he'd hurt her if he moved too fast. Nothing he remembered had ever been like this.

He looked down to find her lids were closed tightly, her lips compressed. He wondered just how long it had been for her.

Quite a while. Years maybe.

If she'd left him for Slade, she hadn't been seeing the guy recently. Hadn't been seeing anyone recently.

And he was a son of a b.i.t.c.h for being thrilled by that knowledge.

"Kat," he whispered. "I don't want to-"

She gripped his a.s.s with her hands when he would have eased back and kissed him again. "No. Don't stop. Please. Don't stop. I need...I need..." She shifted her hips so he slid in another inch, groaned at the friction. "You," she finished on a deep breath.

He dropped his forehead to hers and drew air into his suddenly shaky lungs. When he felt steady, he licked his finger, got it good and wet and slid it between them to find her sweet spot again.

The flick of his finger, the push and pull of his hips soon had her moaning and writhing beneath him. And with one final thrust he was all the way in.

Okay, he'd been wrong. This This was coming home. was coming home.

"Kit-Kat," he whispered against her mouth. He wanted to remember the feel of her clenched around his length. Wanted to memorize each sigh and sound and movement she made so when he was ninety he could look back and remember how he'd felt at this moment.

Whole. Not broken. Not empty. Nothing but complete.

Then she was moving beneath him, and all thought rushed right out of his brain. He matched her thrusts until the little tugs were long strokes and they were both sweaty and breathless from exertion.

He had to grit his teeth to hold off his climax, but the instant he felt her muscles clench around him and her back bow in pleasure, he let go. Erupted deep inside her on a long groan. And in the process let go of six years of emptiness and anger and bitter betrayal.

He just didn't know if it would be enough to get past what had happened between them.

Six years earlier Cairo By the end of the first week, Pete knew he was in trouble.

Shannon had made herself scarce as soon as Pete had arrived in Cairo, staying with Kat's friend Sawil Ramirez two floors up, but it hadn't cut the tension. When Pete wasn't making love to Kat, they were walking on eggsh.e.l.ls around each other.

He hated the strain. Hated the way she was censoring what she said and did around him. He knew she was afraid to talk about anything serious for fear of another eruption like the last time they'd been together.

It nearly killed him, because there were things they needed to get out in the open, but he decided not to push her. Instead, he smiled when she told her silly jokes, held her hand as they played tourist and scoured the Abdeen Palace and the Sharia al-Muski street market, even managed to laugh when they took a belly dancing cla.s.s that made him feel like a complete idiot. But always in the back of his head was the weight of what he needed to tell her and the fear she may not be as thrilled with his plans for the future as he was.

Her dig would be over in three months-at least for her. They'd talked briefly about what she planned to do when her time was up. She'd given up her apartment in Maryland when she'd come to Cairo, so she didn't have one to go back to. After a year away, she wanted to go home to Washington and see her mother for a while, and then she needed to get busy on her dissertation. She could do that anywhere, he knew. She didn't need to be back in Maryland to write. In his head, he'd already worked out the details.

Convincing her to come to Miami, though, was small potatoes compared to what he had to convince her about himself. And after a week, he felt like he was running out of time.

She rolled over in bed and snuggled into him on a sigh, and as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer, he told himself he'd do it today. She'd taken a week off to be with him, and she had to go out to the site this morning to work, but tonight, when she came home, he planned to lay it all out for her. Strip himself bare and hope what she felt for him was strong enough to overlook everything he'd done.

"You smell good," she said in that sleepy, s.e.xy voice of hers he loved hearing.

"You feel good."

She smiled against his neck, slinked on top of him in all her naked glory and pressed her lips against his throat. His blood pulsed. He grew rock hard as the St. Jude medal she always wore fell against his chest. "How good?"

He groaned at the feel of her silky wetness already sliding against his length, placed his hands on her thighs and spread her legs so she could settle herself on his erection. "Like paradise. Let me take you there."

Their lovemaking was slow and sensuous. But reserved. He felt it in the same way he'd felt it for the last seven days. She was holding back, and the urgency to break through her barrier only reinforced what he needed to do tonight.

"I could get used to you being around like this," she mumbled later when she collapsed onto his chest, slick with sweat and breathless.

"Could you?"

She nodded slowly.

"Good. Because I plan on being around. A lot."

She went still. Then pressed her lips against his chest before climbing off and heading for the shower. "What's your plan for the day while I'm gone?"

Pete pushed himself up in the pillows and watched as she brushed her teeth, telling himself her avoidance technique wasn't a bad sign. Not completely. "I thought I'd veg on your couch, rot my mind with Egyptian television and drink what's left of that c.r.a.ppy beer in your refrigerator."

She turned, toothbrush in mouth, and smiled. "Sounds like a full day."

His eyes ran over her naked flesh. "After the way you've worn me out the last few nights, I need the rest."

Her reaction was masked as she turned back to the sink, rinsed and grabbed a towel from the rack. "Then you'd better rest up for tonight. We're having dinner with Shannon and Sawil. And after, I plan on wearing you out all over again."

He said good-bye to her at the door with a long, lingering kiss he hoped she'd think about as much as he knew he would, then watched her leave from the window. When he was alone, he looked around the spa.r.s.e living room she'd called home the past year and wondered if she'd like his house in Miami. He did, but what if she wanted something smaller? Or less modern? s.h.i.t, she was an Egyptologist. She liked old things.

His cell phone chimed in the bedroom, and he moved across the floor with a smile, knowing it was her on the other end of the line. If she was planning on getting him all hot and bothered, two could play at that game.

"My girlfriend would be upset if she knew you were calling me," he said into the phone.

"Then you'd better not tell her," a deeply accented male voice responded.

Pete went on instant alert. Busir. Busir. "I thought I told you I was out." "I thought I told you I was out."

A deep chuckle echoed over the line. "You said that. But I have something that just might interest you."

He should have said no, hung up and turned off his phone. If he had, he could have avoided everything that happened next. But he didn't. Because there was a small part of him-a part he was working hard to bury-that flared with excitement at Busir's words.

He shifted the phone to his other ear and sealed his own fate. "Tell me what you've got."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Dreams woke him. Or memories. He wasn't sure which.

Pete was at Lauren's fancy house on Key Biscayne. Sitting on her back stone patio, beer in hand, staring out at the beach and the open ocean beyond.

His sister was there behind him, on one of her many mini-vacations, as she called them, between photo shoots. She stood just inside the wide patio doors, in the kitchen she never used, on the phone ordering a pizza as he listened to the lap of water, the cry of a gull, the whisper of palms blowing in the warm gentle breeze.

It should have been peaceful, but it wasn't. It should have relaxed him, but it didn't. He'd told Lauren the whole story. Beginning to end. From the moment he'd met Kat at the tomb to that night she'd come home early from work and found him in her apartment packing, with a full box of artifacts at his feet.

The ones he'd purchased from Busir that afternoon. The ones he hadn't known had been from her tomb.

She'd instantly accused him of being involved in the smuggling ring. Hadn't listened to his side of things. Just kicked him out. Ended it all. Right there.

And when he'd realized how badly he'd f.u.c.ked up, he hadn't bothered to fight back.

What else could he have done? Stayed there and listened to her trash him? Watch what she'd felt for him grind to dust in her eyes?

Nope. He couldn't do it. Didn't want to watch that happen.

So he'd left. Flown back to Miami. Come here. Licked his wounds, had a few beers and gotten good and p.i.s.sed. Time did that. Reduced the pain to duplicity. Alcohol helped.

Six months of trying to go straight, down the toilet because of one mistake. One major-a.s.s, f.u.c.k-up-your-life mistake he didn't have a clue how to fix.

Go back and tell her the truth.

He grimaced at Lauren's words. Lifted the third beer-or was it the fourth? Drank long and deep.

Didn't really matter what the count was up to. He was on the road to getting good and wasted tonight anyway. Go back? After everything Kat had said to him, and the way she'd looked at him like he was nothing more than gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe that she couldn't wait to sc.r.a.pe off? Going back would be the equivalent to slicing open a vein and bleeding out all over the floor. Of course, the fact Lauren was right, and that it was the only thing he could could do, only made him want to speed up that whole get-s.h.i.tfaced-drunk-and-forget-the-whole-nightmare process. do, only made him want to speed up that whole get-s.h.i.tfaced-drunk-and-forget-the-whole-nightmare process.

Then his cell rang.

He glanced at the display-unknown number-and considered letting it go to voice mail. He wasn't really sure why he answered. Only knew he regretted it the moment he flipped the phone open.

The rest was a blur. Him rising, his beer bottle hitting the ground, shattering at his feet to spill cold, golden liquid over his shoes. Lauren rushing out of the house to ask what had happened. Slade's voice-of all people-echoing in his head. And a blinding pain right beneath his sternum.

It was the pain that brought his eyes open now. He felt it as sharp and real as he had then. Staring up at the water-stained ceiling, he gasped in a breath and rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest to ease the sting.

And then had a major-a.s.s moment of confusion.

Not Lauren's house. Not the blue sky he'd looked up at when he'd finally opened his eyes on that cold, stone patio after going under like a pansy.

No, now he was in a room. It was dark. A sliver of light formed a crescent shape on the wall straight ahead. A poorly painted beach scene hung at an angle directly in his line of sight.

He lifted his head, eyed the headboard that should have been behind him but was now near his feet. Then remembered the dive motel he'd paid cash for. The shower. The sheets. The bedbugs. The s.e.x.