On Dangerous Ground Page 18

  “Yeah. That’s what scares me.”

  The soft drift of female laughter had both men glancing toward the far end of the terrace. Sky and Amelia had settled into chairs around a low glass table with red geraniums spilling out of a pot in its center.

  Nathan looked back at Grant, his eyes grim. “Does Sky have any idea about these feelings you’re dealing with?”

  “No, and I don’t intend to tell her.”

  “Because you know you’ll lose her if she finds out?”

  “Because she’s been through enough, dammit,” Grant countered through his teeth.

  “I agree. You just told me she’s finally getting her life back together. Do you think she’d welcome your turning into a vigilante on her behalf?” Nathan asked, his voice as hard as the clap of thunder that split the air. “Do you think she’d want anything to do with you after that?”

  Muttering a crude oath, Grant swung around, his fists clenched at his sides. “Could you really walk away, Nathan? Could you turn your back if some gutter-slime drugged Amelia, raped her, then dumped her in the street when he was done with her? Could you just forget it, knowing he got away without so much as a slap on the hand?”

  Nathan rubbed a hand across his jaw. “I guess I can’t say for sure what I would do unless I was faced with it,” he said finally.

  “Damn right you can’t.”

  “What I do know is that if I did go after the guy, it would be because he hurt someone I love,” Nathan pointed out. “Makes me think it’s a hell of a lot harder for you to accept what happened to Sky because you’re in love with her.”

  “I don’t know….” Furrowing his brow, Grant let his voice trail off. She was the only woman he wanted to be with. The only woman he’d brought home to his family, the only woman he’d considered a future with. He wanted to make her his, protect her, keep her safe for the rest of her life.

  He let out a slow breath. “Damn,” he said quietly.

  Nathan settled a hand on his shoulder. “My advice, bro, is concentrate on those feelings. You’ve got a hell of a lot to gain, and even more to lose.”

  “I like your family,” Sky said as she walked at Grant’s side along the lighted cobblestone path leading to his house. Overhead, the wind swirled, rustling the leaves of the tall oaks that lined the path.

  “You were a hit with them, too.”

  “Amelia is really nice. Nathan’s a lot like you. Well, this is the first time I’ve met him, but that’s the impression I got.” She was babbling. She knew it, yet the way every nerve in her body had knotted made it impossible for her to keep quiet. “And your nephews. They’re real charmers. Both of them.”

  “Hmm.” Grant slid her a look before stepping into the driveway and pausing beside the Porsche. He opened the driver’s door and retrieved the file folder containing the background information on Jason Whitebear, and the overnight bag Sky had packed.

  “Oliver likes the gun you bought him,” she continued when he shut the door. Folding her arms over her breasts, she leaned against the side of the Porsche. “I think he shot everybody about ten times.”

  “At least.” A bolt of lightning split the dark sky, followed by a crack of thunder. Grant glanced up, then gave her a mild look. “It’s okay with me if we stand out here all night and chat, but if we do, we’re going to get wet. And maybe fried by lightning.”

  “You’re right.” She pushed away from the car and turned toward the house. She had the sudden vision of how crazed she must have looked six months ago when she’d dashed, sobbing, out the front door and down the porch steps. Running away because Grant had taken her into his arms.

  Her fingers clenched over her damp palms. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing by opting to spend the night here. So sure she was ready to give herself to Grant. To let him take what she so desperately wanted to offer. Why then, if she was ready, did just walking beside him up the brick steps and onto his front porch put a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach?

  The clay pots holding neatly trimmed shrubs on either side of the front door looked the same as they had on that disastrous night six months ago. The brass door knocker had lost none of its brilliant polish, the wood none of its sheen.

  Nerve-aching frustration had her grinding her teeth. She was tired of being afraid of something that should be wonderful. Tired of living a sterile existence with only test tubes, scientific instruments and co-workers she never let herself get close to. She wanted more. She wanted the life that had been stolen from her. Yet, as she stood in the amber pool of light from the porch lamp, she could feel herself drawing back, felt the stirrings of uncertainty begin again.

  Grant must have sensed it, too, because before she could draw in the breath to tell him she’d changed her mind, he put a finger under her chin and nudged it up. His mouth lowered, pausing a whisper from hers. “Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want to happen,” he murmured, his voice a warm sweep against her mouth. “You have my word.”

  She watched him through her lashes while her breath quickened. Slowly he shifted his head to nibble along her jawline.

  She closed her eyes on a moan while his mouth feasted on her chin, then slowly worked its magic down the side of her throat. Her legs began to shake; heat slid into her stomach to melt the cold knot that had settled there.

  When he raised his head, the dim light from the porch lamp deepened the hollows in his cheeks, shadowed his gray eyes. Slowly his mouth curved. “You’ve flipped me onto my butt and given me a good kick in the chest. Trust me, Milano, I won’t get out of line tonight.”

  The lightness in his voice had her forcing back the rawness in her nerves long enough for her to return his smile. “If you do, I’ll try not to break too many bones.”

  “Ouch.” He arched a sandy eyebrow. “Maybe we should just play a few games of backgammon and call it a night.”

  “Maybe.” Blowing out a breath, she watched him slide his key into the lock, then push open the front door.

  He reached in, flipped on a switch. “After you.”

  As far as she could tell, nothing about the marble-floored foyer with its subdued lighting had changed, but then the last time she’d crossed it she’d been sobbing. The memory of how badly she’d bungled everything on her first and only other visit to Grant’s home edged a sick feeling into the pit of her stomach. A heartbeat later, she straightened her shoulders. She had changed, she reminded herself. Healed. She had come here tonight to expel the ghosts of her past, not to let them consume her.

  Grant shut the door behind him. The snap of the dead bolt sliding into place hitched her heartbeat up a notch. He set her overnight bag on the floor, then turned and took her hand. “How about a glass of wine?” he asked as he led the way into the living room.

  “Sounds good.” She harbored the vague hope that the wine would settle her nerves.

  The furniture in the spacious room was the same—expensive yet comfortable looking with matching pillows that added inviting splashes of color. A leather recliner with a thick paperback in its seat sat next to a wood side table that held a brass lamp and the TV remote control.

  Grant dropped a light kiss against her hair, then walked across the room and laid the file folder on the huge antique desk with a large window behind it. Outside the window lightning flashed, illuminating the swirling oaks in a ghostly white hue.

  He turned and nodded toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the wine. Maybe put on some music.”

  Sky nodded, remembering how much she had liked this room. The paneling was dark and gleaming, the bookcases full, the ceiling high, the rug beneath her feet thick and luxurious. She remembered watching Grant build a fire in the hunter-green marble fireplace. She had not stayed long enough to enjoy it.

  Too edgy to sit, she walked to the mantel lined with framed pictures. She recognized photos of Nathan and Amelia and their sons. Another frame held a picture of a distinguished man and woman sitting on the sunbaked deck of a yacht
. Grant’s eyes had the same shape as the woman’s.

  While Sky examined the photo, the moan of a sax drifted on the air. She turned, realizing he’d switched on the stereo system.

  With her hands stuffed in the pockets of her long skirt, she moved restlessly around the room, examining oil paintings she suspected were originals.

  “I opened a bottle of red,” Grant said as he came through the door. “I hope it’s okay.” He had pulled the tail of his gray dress shirt out of his slacks and it was wrinkled from having been tucked into his waistband. His sleeves were rolled up on his forearms, and he’d ditched his Italian leather loafers somewhere. He had opened a couple of shirt buttons, revealing tanned skin and a swirl of gold hair at the vee. He looked calm and relaxed.

  How could he look calm and relaxed when she was about to climb out of her skin?

  “Red’s fine.” When she accepted the stemmed glass, his fingers slid against hers, making her stomach somersault. With dryness creeping up her throat, she took a quick sip of wine, barely noticing that it was as smooth as chilled silk on her tongue.

  A crash of thunder splintered the air; in the next instant, rain hammered the roof, slashed against the windows. The saxophone ached out its tune, then began another, the pure notes reaching to Sky’s soul, putting an answering ache inside her.

  She wanted this man. Wanted him desperately, yet she wasn’t sure she could give herself to him.

  Slipping a hand beneath her hair, she rubbed at the tension at the back of her neck. “I don’t…”

  Sipping his wine, Grant examined her with intense gray eyes over the rim of his glass. “You don’t what, Sky?”

  She looked away. “I thought I could do this.” She shook her head, then brought her gaze back to his. “I don’t know how to do this. Don’t know if I can.”

  Slowly he took her glass, sat it beside his own on a nearby table. He gazed down at her for the length of a heartbeat, then held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

  When she hesitated, he took her hand, linking his fingers with hers. “We’ve danced before.” Bringing her hand to his mouth, he grazed his lips across her knuckles. “At the department’s Christmas party.”

  We danced before, and I didn’t come unglued. Calmed by the thought, she stepped silently into his arms.

  There was no choice now but to feel. His touch nudged her emotions to the surface. The war between need and doubt she’d waged for so long battered her, made her heart tremble, her muscles go weak. A quick flash of panic had her turning her head. He murmured her name, placed a soft, soothing kiss against her temple.

  Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she closed her eyes, rested her cheek against his chest and inhaled the musky scent of him. His shoulder felt hard beneath her hand. His fingers, linked with hers, were warm and strong. She could feel the firm possession of his other hand at her waist. As they had so long ago when they’d first danced, she had the sense that their bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

  The thought quickened her pulse as the soft music drifted on the air. The feel of Grant’s body against hers was so warm, she wanted to sink into him for comfort. But when she found herself doing so, she started to pull back.

  “It’s okay.” His hand slid to the small of her back, easing her closer. “Just relax,” he said, his words barely a murmur.

  As they swayed to the hypnotic weep of the sax, her body’s awareness of his increased. She sensed the hard strength in the arms that held her, the power in the muscular chest against her breasts, the masculine firmness in the thighs that moved against hers.

  His hand journeyed up her spine, slid beneath her hair and closed lightly over the back of her neck. He tilted her head back until her gaze met his. “Still okay?”

  She moved her hand from his shoulder and brushed her fingertips along the side of his neck. His pulse jerked beneath her touch. “Yes.”

  His lips hovered just above hers, his intent gaze locked on her face. She sensed he was focused on her vulnerabilities as if she were a piece of crystal to be handled with care. Her heart rose to her throat. She hadn’t felt valued or treasured in so long that she’d completely forgotten what it was like. Here, then, was a man who made her remember.

  When he used his tongue to trace a lazy line over her lips, her heart dropped from her throat to her toes.

  He captured her bottom lip between his teeth; she closed her eyes and would have sworn the floor tilted beneath her feet. He nibbled, subtly drawing her lip into his mouth to softly suckle. She felt the answering tug deep inside her, felt the soft, wet pulse between her legs come to life. The fingers on the back of her neck stroked her flesh while heat spread throughout her entire body.

  His mouth took hers now, soft and warm, and Sky felt herself getting lost in the light, brushing kisses. Her breasts were tight, achy against the hardness of his chest. Suddenly she wanted the taste of him to be more than a memory, wanted it so much that she rose on tiptoe and deepened the kiss herself, tentatively probing his mouth with her tongue as her fingers slid up into his hair.

  A low groan rose in his throat. She tasted the tang of wine on his lips as his mouth coaxed and enticed. She made a whimpering sound in the back of her throat. Not a sound of protest. Not of pain, but a cry of need, desire. A dizzy desire that took hold of her, wiping away any lingering fear.

  Dozens of nerves jumped to tangle over each other; her knees turned to water, and she murmured his name against his mouth.

  “A bed,” he said, his voice low and husky while he skimmed kisses across her cheek, her jaw. “This first time, we need a bed.”

  Thunder crashed as he swept her up into his arms. He continued to kiss her, deep and drugging, as he carried her down the dark hallway into his bedroom.

  Her brain vaguely acknowledged that she’d been in this room before with its sturdy sleigh bed covered in quilted, masculine plaids. Then she’d been afraid. Of herself, of Grant. Now all she felt was thrumming desire and hot need. The knowledge that she could feel again, really feel, made her head spin.

  When he lowered her feet to the floor, she gazed up at him in the rain-washed dimness of the room, his face lit by the watery light seeping through the window. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but she couldn’t get the words past the tightness in her throat. Instead she rose on tiptoe and placed a soft kiss against his throat.

  “Slow,” he groaned softly. “We’re going to take this slow.”

  He eased her down on the bed, his hands firm and sure. He slid off her sandals, then lowered beside her, his mouth seeking hers again, not only to reassure, but to seduce.

  His hand slid beneath her knit top, his fingers skimming up her rib cage, upward to the swell of one breast. Her body shuddered.

  Need, deep and dark, heated her blood. She moved against him, her hands sliding into his hair, her fingers clutching, while she drowned in his kiss.

  When he raised his head, she moaned in protest.

  “Let me look at you, Sky. I’ve thought about having you here with me. Imagined it countless times. I need to look at you.”

  Her lips parted as his fingers brushed through her long hair, letting it feather onto the pillow. His eyes stayed on hers as he slowly unbuttoned her top, spread it open. With deft fingers he unhooked the front clasp on her bra, then nudged it aside. Cool air swept across her breasts, tightening her nipples.

  When she raised a hand to cover herself, he linked his fingers with hers, pressed a kiss against her wrist where her pulse hammered. With her hand still in his, he lowered his mouth to her breast. His tongue circled her nipple, teasing it into a hard, hot peak. Then his lips settled, suckled. A moan rose in her throat. Maybe minutes…or hours later, his mouth trailed a slow, maddening path across her flesh. Her hand flexed desperately under his as he shifted to her other breast.

  He drew her into his mouth, flooding her skin with a delicious warmth; her body arched willingly as he peeled away her blouse and bra.

  His lips grazed the cu
rve and hollow of her shoulder, moved torturously down across her breast, down her rib cage. His fingers slid beneath her waistband; he drew down her skirt and panties together. Inch by slow inch the gauzy fabric whispered down her legs, his lips following its path.

  “You’re beautiful.” In the dim light his face was all she could see, and in his eyes she saw herself.

  Her body was on fire, burning from the inside out. She had not known she could want like this. Had never thought she would again welcome a man’s touch. Now she wanted nothing more than for him to take her where she’d been so afraid to go. Fighting to draw air into her lungs, she no longer heard the storm outside, the poignant moan of the wind. Her body writhing with need, she reached up, fum bled with his shirt buttons, her hands urgent as she shoved the starched fabric down his arms. The weak, rain-washed light seeping through the window played along his shifting, fluid muscles.

  He moved away, long enough to rid himself of the rest of his clothing, then he was beside her again. She savored the feel of his hardness against her thigh as his hand flowed over her like silk, moving between her legs to cup her. Slowly, softly, his fingers slid into her wet folds, moving with intimate strokes to arouse, to madden.

  She turned her head restlessly on the pillow as the flood of sensation began to rise. The air was too thick to breathe. Time spun to a standstill while his fingers moved, caressed. A roaring filled her brain, then pleasure slammed into her, a velvet fist which had her arching up, gasping his name.

  He brought his mouth back to hers, her shuddering breaths mixing with his own as he drove her up again. The ragged explosions of pleasure left her wanting to plead, to beg as wave after wave of sensations battered her. All she could do was float, weightless, while she whispered his name against his damp flesh. And somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind she knew she had left fear far behind.

  He shifted, moving on top of her, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of her head. Vaguely she understood that he was careful not to trap her, that she could free herself from his hold. She didn’t want freedom. Or control. She wanted to give not only her body to this man, this one man, but her soul, as well.