Skin Heat (24 page)

She loved it.

“Fuck.” She shuddered when his mouth brushed her clit, but she wasn’t coming. Not yet. Not like that.

At last he heeded the beast voice inside him. Zeke straightened and lifted her up, flattening her back against the wall. He tilted her hips and drove forward. Hot. Tight. Perfect. A shudder rocked him.

By her reaction she’d never done this before; her weak, polished men probably couldn’t manage it. He held her easily, for once glorying in his strength. Zeke thrust hard and fast while she figured out how to roll her hips against him. Her wetness kissed his pelvis with each inward push. Neva clutched his shoulders, her head falling back as pleasure overwhelmed her.

Her contractions drove him over. His whole body tightened and he urged himself into her over and over, trying to imprint himself on her.
Nobody else for you, ever. Only me. Just mine. Love you. Mine.
The words melted into a kaleidoscope of cascading colors and feelings. He wrapped his arms around her while they both trembled. Tingles spilled through him, lighting him up from base of spine to base of skull. He’d never known anything like it.

At last he stumbled from the wall to the bed with her still in his arms. She rolled off him and disposed of the condom. Not romantic, per se, but sticky and somehow more real. She wasn’t afraid to touch him. Not any part of him, and it gave him some hope that maybe she wouldn’t be disgusted when she learned his last secret.

“Wow,” she breathed, snuggling into his side.

He put his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. If he was like other men, he’d tell her nobody else could ever take her place. He’d tell her she made him feel like a million bucks. Maybe he’d find a way to say everything that mattered. Instead he could only lay with her and listen to her breathe.

 

Sunday came all
too soon. Neva knew Zeke wasn’t looking forward to it. Truth be told, neither was she. Her first sign of
how
tense he was about it came when she caught him ironing four hours before they were due at Harper Court. He had a pair of black slacks and he was putting a crease in them with such ferocity she expected the pants to cry uncle.

“You all right?” she asked.

“No.” He pulled a face as he hung the slacks on a rack and moved on to his white dress shirt.

Plain clothes, almost painfully simple. Was he worried he’d look like he was wearing a waiter’s uniform? She’d never seen him in anything but jeans, sweats, or his bare skin. Neva preferred the latter.

“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question.

“Duh.” His smile softened the syllable.

She sighed. “I don’t blame you. My mother gave you reason to worry. But it won’t just be us, if that helps any. My folks don’t know the meaning of
intimate family meal
. There will be people my father wants to cultivate and those trying to get something out of him in turn.”

“Sounds like fun.” His dry tone put a smile on her face.

“I’ll stay close, I promise. I won’t let her at you again. We’ll circulate, minimize your contact with them.”

“Make ’em sound like poison oak.”

Grinning, she answered, “That’s not a bad analogy.”

Some of the tension eased out of him. “Don’t have many ties. Maybe help me pick the best of the lot?”

“My pleasure.”

Yesterday she’d run to her apartment to pick up some more clothes and wound up bringing over a box of other stuff, too, towels and linens mostly. She had a weakness for Egyptian cotton, and there was no point in her expensive sheets going to waste in her hall closet.
It’s just a few things,
she’d told herself
. No problem to move back in a few weeks when the kittens are old enough.
Neva didn’t let herself think about how much she didn’t want to go back; the repairs weren’t finished, and by the look of the equipment sitting around, it would be at least another week.
Thank God.
Since they’d painted the place together, the farmhouse had begun to feel like home. She had to stop herself from planning all the little things she’d do to improve the place or how perfectly some of her pictures would brighten up the walls. There was even a place for her TV armoire in the parlor.

Zeke led the way to the bedroom they now shared. Her stuff was still in the other room but she hadn’t slept there in two days. In the closet he had a meager assortment of ties. She studied them and then chose a black and purple one. Since he was wearing black and white, he could afford a splashier pattern.

“This is the best.”

“Really?” He gave it a dubious glance.

“Trust me.”

“I do,” he said gravely.

“You can’t know how much I need you there.”

By his expression, he understood what she meant. Zeke nodded. “Only reason I said yes.”

She left him to finish getting ready; he mumbled about needing to shave, and she went to put on her good black dress, the same one she always wore. It wasn’t like one looked so different from another, after all. For once, she left her hair down and put on makeup. As she frosted her lids with shadow, outlined her eyes, and painted her mouth, she knew she wasn’t doing it for her mother’s guests.

Neva wanted Zeke to see her, for once, looking her absolute best, not in baggy scrubs or with her hair caught up in a tail. She wanted him to see the graceful slope of her shoulders and the way the dress nipped in at her waist and hugged her hips. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, but he made her feel so.

His reaction when she came down the stairs was everything she could’ve asked. His breath caught, and his stormy eyes went dark with a need she recognized. In answer, it coiled deep in her stomach. Zeke took a step toward her, and then checked himself. The sweetest tension rose between them, an ache that had never been assuaged. She stood in the parlor, breathless at the ferocity.

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

And that one word meant more than a barrage of orchestrated flattery. Other men might say it more eloquently, but when Zeke said it, she believed him. Neva spun so he could take in the whole picture.

“Are you ready?”

“To strip that dress off you.”

God, he was good for her self-esteem. This guy would
never
choose TV and beer over her. Neva smiled up at him. His dress clothes were a little loose, but fortunately with a belt and judicious tucking, it didn’t matter much. His build showed to advantage anyway, giving him a razor-lean look.

“Later, I promise. You look wonderful. Shall we?”

“No.”

Neva paused, glancing at him over her shoulder, and found him breathlessly close. His hands settled on her hips and he kissed the side of her neck as he worked her skirt up. Each movement constituted a caress, and despite the fact that she was ready to step out the door, a whisper of arousal flickered through her. Other men wouldn’t even think of this; they had plans, someplace to be. But he wanted her too much to consider anything else.
And what a turn on . . .

A shiver ran through her. “Quickly then.”

“Mmm.” He made a noise of assent as he lifted her skirt all the way up.

She was glad, now, that she’d put on stockings instead of hose. He dipped his fingers down the satin front of her panties and stroked her. His hands promised,
I
will
fuck you before we go.
Her pussy slicked in preparation, aching for him. She fell back against his chest, lost in the sweetness of his touch.

Zeke tore off her panties then. He was hell on her wardrobe—and his own—but she found his wildness irresistible. He pushed her forward a few steps, so that she fell across the arm of the couch. Just high enough. And she knew what he intended.

His breath rasped. Then he unzipped his pants. The crinkle of a foil packet reassured her. Quiet sounds, inextricably linked to sex.

“Spread for me.”

She almost came at his white-hot instruction and rose on her tiptoes, quivering from head to toe in anticipation. Zeke sank himself home in one long thrust; a satisfied growl tore free as he pumped into her, rough and hard. Neva tried to support herself on her arms, but they trembled. She couldn’t think, only feel. Her whole body shook at his mastery. The position put extra pressure on her clit, and he struck the sweetest spot. Repeatedly. Pleasure nearly blinded her as he held her still with a hand on her back. She could only squeeze her muscles against him and let her breath come in panting moans. Nothing had
ever
felt like this.

“Can’t do this unless you’re mine,” he growled. “Can’t be in the middle of all those people unless I feel it. Unless I’m sure.” He thrust harder, dragging her hips back against him in primitive demand.

“Say it.”

“Yours. I’m yours.” In speaking the words, she came, long, glorious waves that nearly broke her.

He arched into her and snarled, rocking with quick, almost pained movements. Neva felt his shudders for long moments, and then he pulled out. She moaned in protest. She knew only that he’d left her, but when he returned, he had a damp cloth to clean them up, a spot-bath. Zeke helped her step into a fresh pair of panties, and she would’ve fallen if he hadn’t caught her.

Hands on her waist, he wore a hard, focused look. “Remember this, while we’re there. Remember it.”

Neva let him guide her out to the car, but it was a minute or two before she stopped trembling enough to start the engine. He seemed incredibly pleased with himself. “Took care of the kittens just before I changed.”

“Excellent. Now we have an excuse for not staying longer than a few hours.”

She briefed him about the sort of guests he could expect to encounter, but his inattention made her stop talking when he lost the thread for the third time.
Damn. He’s really nervous.
Neva took one hand off the wheel and put it on his thigh in reassurance. His muscles tensed.

He closed his eyes and growled, “Don’t distract me, woman.”

How utterly heady. We just . . .
But she heeded him and went back to driving with her hands at ten and two. The countryside sped by, brown trees and damp farmland, until Harper Court appeared around a bend like a fairy-tale manor. Her mother said it aroused envy in the hearts of all who passed by, nestled like a jewel in the gentle rise. The white stone caught the wan afternoon sunlight, gilding the place.

“And here we are.”

They had valet service, so she turned her keys over to the boy in the yellow vest. He raised a brow at her old Honda, but Neva ignored him. It wouldn’t hurt any of the Mercedes or BMWs with its proximity.

Zeke took a deep breath and offered his arm. “Sure this is a good idea?”

“Trust me,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

And things went well at first. He cleaned up well enough that even her mother didn’t seem to recognize him, so she didn’t come over to spread her special brand of tolerance. She introduced him to a senator and a congressman, not local boys; he owned the knack of nodding and looking interested, so that worked in lieu of actual conversation. Most of her mother’s guests had an agenda and a message to espouse.

“So that’s why you want to vote for me, Son,” the politician was saying.

Zeke kept a drink in his right hand and his left hand on her waist, so he didn’t have to touch anyone. He was careful enough about it that she didn’t think anyone else caught it, but she needed to ask him about that. She didn’t think it could be mysophobia—a fear of germs—given the work he did at the clinic, but perhaps haphephobia? Strange that the fear of being touched didn’t apply to her as well, though. So maybe that wasn’t it.

Once everyone arrived, they had a sit-down meal, thirty guests for dinner, which one of the Yanks called lunch, and earned a round of ribbing. Zeke radiated tension beside her. He tried not to show it but he didn’t like having a strange man on his left, and liked even less that she had one on her right. He kept sliding the guy—a businessman from Mississippi—wary looks. She hadn’t realized it would be so hard for him; he chewed his food doggedly and kept his eyes on his plate.

She absorbed some of his tension until her shoulders ached. It was a relief when maids collected the dessert plates, and they were free to move around again. It was time to go talk to her father anyway and see what Ben was talking about with those tests.

“I need a moment with my dad,” she said to Zeke. “Will you be all right?”

Momentary panic flashed in his blue eyes, but he offered a terse nod. “Gonna step outside for some air.”

As she’d known she would, she found her father smoking in his study, drinking with a couple of his cronies. Neva nodded in greeting. “Gentlemen, could I borrow him briefly?”

An assenting chorus came in response—not that anyone ever said no to her, and it was a wonder it hadn’t ruined her character—then the men filed out with their cigars, leaving her alone with Conrad Harper. He looked tired and old, hair thinner, and far grayer. But he still had a powerful presence. He rose and gave her a hug.

“Good to see you, my dear. What can I do for you?”

Had it come to that, then? The only reason she’d possibly seek him out was if she wanted something? In fact, he could make her life easier, if he released her trust fund. But she wouldn’t ask. She had chosen her course.

“Ben told me you went to the hospital.” A question laced the statement, inviting him to explain.

To her surprise, he rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him so vulnerable. He was Conrad Harper, larger than life. “The results came back yesterday.”

“And?”

“I have lung cancer.”

Impossible. He couldn’t have said what she thought he had. That would imply he could die and he couldn’t possibly. He’d be around to order their lives for decades yet. Lillian couldn’t function without him.