04 A Killing Touch (20 page)

Regret for his words rippled on his tongue. He opened his mouth.

Lana leaned forward and covered his lips with her own. Beats of pleasure pounded. Harder, faster, sharper. The aggression he’d expected was instead caressing brushes of her lips and breath.

Aidan allowed the passion its freedom. His eyes floated closed. He framed her neck with his hands and returned the kiss. Shaking, her hands came to rest on his thighs. The denim’s thickness did nothing to diminish the heat of her touch. A touch that seemed different. Her kiss, too, felt different.

Intoxicating as always, but flavored with a new spice. Almost as if she’d opened a new piece of herself to him.

The idea propelled him closer, had him drawing her between his legs while her nails dug tremulously into his skin. A tiny hum vibrated a path up her throat as her hands grabbed his shirt and eased it up.

Her knuckles grazed him and incited a flurry of goose pimples. His dick jumped and the urge to grind against her was great. He centered his focus on the glide of her skin beneath his palms, the steady rhythm of her pulse against his thumbs. Beat by beat his desire to pleasure her pulsed.

Lana side-stepped twice, turning the stool—and him on it—away from the bar. As she moved from between his legs, dares darkened her eyes, heightened her scent. Home. The captivating essence fluttering around her like a breeze was enough to reel him in every time he thought he’d escape her hook.

Then, damning him deeper, was his inability to think when she got close enough to touch. An inability that only magnified as she stepped back and removed her shirt.

His heart slammed in time with his pulsing cock. Both hungered for freedom and fulfillment.

“Lana?”

Uncertainty halted his words. In one hand weighed the logic of listening to the rules of his profession. In the other was the constant reminder of their differences. She stripped away her pants so she stood in only a matching bra and panties, neither of which were more than tiny silken scraps.

Whatever weighed in his hands, it had no power beneath the crushing desire to have both hands on her body. Still without a word, she slid free of the panties and popped loose the bra before letting it fall to the floor.

His erection strained harder against his zipper.

Two small steps carried Lana back to him. Again she surprised him when without a word she dropped to her knees and pulled off his boots.

“Stand up,” she ordered softly from her knees, “so I can undress you.”

He stood and somehow resisted the urge to bury his hands in her hair. Restraint would vanish at a touch and he’d be begging her to take him deep into the warmth of her mouth. The mere thought had his balls tightening with pain.

One by one the teeth of his zipper released. The tip of a nail scraped his hypersensitive cock, thrilling him that he’d gone commando, then he was stepping from his pants to stand half-nude before Lana.

She canted forward and kissed him. Twice. Once on either side of his saluting dick, moving from one side to the other so only her hair brushed him.

It was a torment.

She was a torment.

A sweet, sweet torment.

Quick and lithe, she stood and tugged his shirt over his head and then nudged him back onto the stool. Her hands rested on his thighs.

“Lana.” Whatever he’d thought to say drifted away on a wave of desire.

She continued to keep her gaze locked with his and every moment that passed within the cocoon she’d created hummed more vibrant. Yet something other than arousal was charging the air. Something more…profound.

Beat by beat her impression on his soul deepened.

With her fingers massaging his thighs, moving closer and closer to his eager dick, and her eyes staring into his, Lana leaned forward. His skin prickled. His body trembled.

Still she stared as she closed the spanning inches with agonizing slowness. They didn’t always race to orgasm when they were together, and she was always open and free with herself. But this was different. The restraint she held herself under—and him by extension—buoyed the awareness of his senses.

Her scent sweetened.

Her touch was more enticing.

Her body glowed as the world around them faded.

Her taste… Her taste taunted.

She kissed him on the neck, just below his ear. It was little more than a quick brush of her lips on his skin, but it shot through him with heat. His balls tightened more. His jaw clenched against the yearning need to haul her onto him and bury himself deep.

She kissed the other side of his neck. Her hair caressed his chest. He dropped his lids, allowing his eyes to close so only the sensation of her touch and smell existed. So they grew richer.

Suddenly she was gone, but before he could open his eyes her body was brushing his. Opening his eyes awarded him the view of Lana hooking a foot on the stool rung so she could swing her other leg up to straddle him. Her breasts bounced in front of him, teased with tiny nudges.

She didn’t immediately settle on his lap. Instead, she stood over him with her thighs rubbing his, her breasts begging for his mouth’s attention, her heat raising his. Losing the internal war for control—hell, he flat out surrendered in defeat—Aidan slicked his tongue across one nipple and then the next.

Lana shrieked and bucked against him. Her wet pussy slid along his cock. His balls tightened more. The urge to grab her hips and ram himself deep rioted in his head, vibrant and volatile.

He fisted the stool’s edge and gritted his back teeth. Lana practiced no restraint.

As she rose up, poised for a plunge he hungered for her to take, her nails bit his shoulders. The pain stung with a pleasure echoing in her heavy gaze. She was edging him to the brink and damn if he wasn’t loving it.

“Lana.”

She shook her head once, but her true power to silence him hid in the glide of her slick lips against his cock. Then she dropped, taking him inside in a plunge that swallowed him deep and obliterated logic.

Using the leverage of her foothold on the stool and her hands on his shoulders, Lana rose and fell, urging him toward the finish line that was closer than he’d realized. Her nipples, tightened to hard points, stroked his chest up then down with each rise and fall of her body.

He ran crime stats in his head, but they did nothing.

Biting nails. Stroking nipples. Tingling spine.

The woman mastered his body, identified and pushed his buttons more intimately with each stroke until tension knotted the muscles lining his vertebra one level at a time. Fanned heat flamed through him, rousing a sweat that began inside. When it finally broke the surface of his skin, it poured out and slickened them both.

Unable to resist touching her a moment longer, Aidan grabbed Lana’s hips in what he hoped wasn’t a bruising hold. If it was… Well, he couldn’t say seeing his mark on her would be upsetting. To him anyway.

As soon as he gave in to the desire to touch he lost control of his restraint. He lost the ability to let Lana set the pace.

She rose.

He groaned.

She fell.

He held her prisoner against him, rolling his hips so his cock massaged her inner walls.

Her head dropped back and a moan escaped. Those slick inner walls, swollen tight with arousal, convulsed in rolling tremors that grew bigger and bigger until his dick was wrapped in a heated blanket of orgasm. Hers. His.

Release broke free of its prison in a streaming rush. His mind blanked with the blindness of passion, but a beat later clarity snapped into place with the soft glide of satin skin, subtle curves and butterfly kisses settling against him. Sliding into him.

Lana.

Aidan gathered her close and carried her to the bedroom with every intention of making love to her again. The smart move would be to tuck her in and leave. He’d stopped being smart with Lana long ago.

They were not the ideal pair. She was a danger to his profession. She deserved better than him. Someone less bitter, less driven by the job. Damn if he’d be walking away.

Hours later, with the night silent beyond her walls and the blush of passion cooled, Aidan tightened his arms around her waist and hugged her. She hummed and settled closer, tucking her head beneath his chin, apparently as unwilling as he to break the friendly silence they’d shared all night. He knew, though, that something had to be said. And after hours of thinking, of having the newscast with her front and center replaying in his head, he also knew what it needed to be.

His gut constricted with the settled truth. He’d been unfair and had to make it right. He’d always hated the taste of an apology.

“I’m sorry.” The words sounded rough and hushed after not having spoken for hours, but they weren’t as uncomfortable as he’d expected. They were liberating in the lightness they provided.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated before she could say anything. “I should have realized sooner you’re not like other journalists. I should have accepted your word.”

Close enough to feel her heartbeat steadily, Aidan waited for her “I told you so”. She didn’t shift or look up to see his face. Her heart didn’t beat faster or slower. She was so calm and in control he wasn’t sure his words carried any more impact than if he’d been saying hello to a stranger on a street. He didn’t like her nonchalance.

“When did it occur to you?”

“During the newscast. After, actually.”

Pausing, sure she’d respond with some smartass remark, he was surprised when she didn’t. He didn’t even feel a flicker of her brow moving against his chest. She was better at the not talking than he’d thought she’d be. It was becoming unsettling.

“You were very careful with your words.” Not surprising when he thought about it. She only flew off the rails with him. When he baited her.

“You didn’t give them your name.”

Again she didn’t move, which made him wonder if anything he said could minimize the upset he’d caused her over the last months. Some of his contempt had been cast out in fun, because he knew it irritated her, but the majority… He’d just been a close-minded ass. That he wanted to take back his behavior, to earn her forgiveness, was another suggestion of how deep she’d wormed her way into him.

“Was it uncomfortable for you to be on camera? Or were you simply saving the juicy story bits for yourself?” The last question was one of those with a whiptail lash that stung as the last syllable crossed his lips. It had been unplanned, and unlike every observation of respect it earned a reaction.

Lana rolled away with tension stiffening her shoulders and arms as she grabbed a nearby robe.

“Lana.”
Shit.

She belted the robe and turned. Slowly. On the ball of her foot. A warning drilled into the back of his brain. Buzzed.

“I didn’t mean that.”
Shit. Shit.

Passion had fled from her gaze, leaving only the dull sheen of an unreadable mask. If she’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop during her silence she clearly considered that last question the shoe.

More buzzing.

“It just slipped.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The curse was a constant scream in his head.

And now the desperation skittering around in his heart leaked into his tone. It made him feel like a child making excuses to his mom. When Lana fought back, when she allowed his words to rile her, he could almost read her mind. He knew what she was going to say so well he could deflect or incite the coming argument. Now… Now he saw nothing but smooth face muscles and emotionless eyes.

Louder buzzing.

Feeling remarkably exposed and vulnerable, Aidan slipped from the bed, pulling the sheet free to cover himself. “I wish you would say something.”

She stepped forward, notching her chin a bit higher as she did. “Go. Answer. Your. Phone.”

Shit.
The screaming was silenced by the defeat of rejection. He’d lost his chance.

Without another word, or an acknowledgment to anything he’d said, Lana pivoted on her toes and glided into the bathroom. The gentle click of the latch boomed like a gun in Aidan’s ear. The buzzing of his phone pierced his conscience as the peace he’d found with Lana in the last several hours vanished.

The soft snick of the latch snapped Lana’s control as effectively as lightning striking a tree. Heaviness filled her chest. Tears filled her throat.

Each time Aidan had spoken, praising her, happiness had buoyed inside. She’d felt herself lighten as she saw his dawning admiration for her. She’d thrilled at the idea that he’d begun seeing her differently than other reporters. That he’d stopped viewing her the same way he did Rose.

Or were you simply saving the juicy story bits for yourself?

Not only had the words themselves carried doubt, but so had his tone. He hadn’t believed what he had been saying and it didn’t matter if it was because he couldn’t or wouldn’t. It only mattered that he was still judging her based on the behavior of others.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, stinging with their persistence, and though it would feel good to release the pain and anger and unrequited love in a watery rush, she refused to give Aidan the power to make her cry. He’d see the proof of tears and hold it over her. It would be one more weakness in his opinion.