His hand covered her mound completely and possessively. With his thumb, he parted the lips of her sex and exposed the tight, responsive kernel of flesh. His fingertips dipped into her creaminess and anointed that tiny nub with the dew of her own desire.
When she moaned her pleasure, he bent his head and kissed her stomach. Removing her panties, he nuzzled the fiery dark curls between her thighs and touched her with his open mouth.
Clumsily, he undid his fly and, taking her hand, pressed it against his erection. He hissed a curse when her fist closed tightly around him. Nudging her thighs apart, he settled himself between them.
The smooth tip of his penis slipped between the folds of her body. He covered her breasts with his hands and lightly ground the raised centers with his palms. He gave a steady, smooth thrust of his hips that should have planted him firmly inside her.
It didn’t.
He readjusted his hips slightly and tried again, encountering the same resistance. Levering himself up, he stared at her with disbelief. “You mean…?”
Her breath was choppy, and her eyes fluttered in an effort to stay focused on him. She was making small yearning noises in her throat. Her hands moved restlessly, searchingly, over his chest and neck and cheeks. Her fingertips glanced his lips.
The utter sexiness of all that and the satiny heat that was gloving him so tightly were his undoing. He applied more pressure and sank into her completely. Her ragged sigh of surprise and discovery was the most erotic sound he’d ever heard. It inflamed him.
“Christ,” he groaned. “Oh, Christ.”
Mating instincts took over and he moved his hips against hers with the ancient compulsion to possess and fill. Sandwiching her head between his hands, he kissed her mouth with rampant carnality. His climax was an avalanche of sensation. It was soul-shuddering. It seemed to go on forever… and it still wasn’t long enough.
Several minutes elapsed before he roused himself enough to disengage. He didn’t want to, but when he gazed down at her, any thoughts of prolonging their coupling fled.
She was lying with her head turned away, one cheek on the pillow. She looked fragile and haunted. Looking down at the faint pulse in her throat, seeing the bruise his kiss had branded there, Reede felt like a rapist. Filled with regret and self-loathing, he worked his fingers free of the snare of her hair.
They both reacted violently to the knock on the door. Alex quickly reached for the rumpled bedspread and pulled it over herself. Reede’s feet landed hard on the floor. He hiked his jeans up over his hips.
“Reede, you in there?”
“Yeah,” he called through the door.
“I, uh, I got Ms. Gaither’s keys here. Remember, you told me to—”
The deputy broke off when Reede opened the door. “I remember.” He extended his hand through the crack and the deputy dropped the keys into them. “Thanks,” he said tersely, and closed the door.
He tossed the keys on the round table in front of the window. The clatter they made when they landed on the wood veneer was as loud as a cymbal’s crash. Reede bent down to retrieve his shirt and jacket, which he’d slung over the side of the bed at some point that escaped his memory now. As he pulled them on, he spoke to Alex over his shoulder.
“I know you’re hating yourself right now, but it might make you feel better to know that I wish it hadn’t happened either.”
She turned her head and gave him a long, searching look. She looked for compassion, tenderness, love. His features remained impassive, his eyes those of a stranger. There was no softness or feeling in his remote gaze. He seemed untouched and untouchable.
Alex swallowed hard, burying her hurt. In retaliation for his aloofness, she said, “Well, we’re even now, Sheriff. You saved my life before I was born.” She paused, then added, huskily, “And I just gave you what you always wanted, but never got, from my mother.”
Reede curled his hands into fists, as though he wanted to strike her. Then, with jerky, disjointed motions, he finished dressing. At the open door, he turned back. “Whatever your reason for doing it, thanks. For a virgin, you were a fairly good fuck.”
Chapter 36
Junior slid into the orange vinyl booth of the Westerner Motel’s coffee shop. His engaging smile collapsed the instant he saw Alex’s face. “Darling, are you sick?”
She smile wanly. “No. Coffee?” she asked, signaling the waitress.
“Please,” he told her distractedly. When the waitress tried to hand him a large, plastic menu, he waved it off. “Just coffee.”
After she had poured him a cup, he leaned across the table and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I was real tickled to hear from you this morning, but something is obviously very wrong. You’re as pale as a sheet.”
“You ought to see me without the sunglasses.” She bobbed them up and down in an attempt at humor that fell flat.
“What’s the matter?”
She leaned back against the bright vinyl and turned her head to gaze through the tinted window. It was bright outside; her sunglasses wouldn’t appear out of place. That about exhausted the merits of this day. “Reede told me about Celina’s attempted abortion.”