“No!” Her eyes widened. “I’ve put it behind me. I don’t want it dredged up now. I’ve gone on with my life.”
Rage pumped through Philip with every beat of his heart. Struggling for control, he rose and stalked to the front window and stared out at the rain. “What those men did to you is called sexual assault, Michelle. You were a minor—”
“I know what it’s called, and I know how ugly it was. But I don’t want to relive it.”
He wanted to go to her, touch her, take away her pain, but he was too angry. “It goes against my grain to let something like that go unpunished.”
“It happened ten years ago, Betancourt. I’ve moved on. I’ve put it behind me. Please, let it go.”
He turned to her. The sight of her standing next to the cot with tears streaming down her cheeks and pain in her eyes struck him like a fist in the gut. Suddenly he knew why he was so furious. Why he wanted to take Frank Blanchard apart with his bare hands. Why he hadn’t been able to get Michelle off his mind since the night Armon Landsteiner was murdered.
He was in love with her.
The realization stunned him. Terrified him. For an instant he had to stave off panic. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop staring at her. Couldn’t keep his heart from breaking every time he thought of what she’d gone through.
Something had shifted inside him. Something profound and powerful he didn’t want to confront.
He crossed the room to her. She backed up, but he didn’t stop. He wanted to feel her against him. Need rose up inside him with an urgency that made him feel breathless and dizzy.
“Come here,” he growled.
She halted her backward progression. Her eyes met his, and he saw uncertainty and fear in their soft brown depths. “I want to hold you,” he said, reaching for her. “I need to hold you.”
She stepped into his embrace, trembling and rigid. His arms went around her shoulders. She leaned into him. Soft. Warm. Her scent wrapped around his brain like an intoxicating drug. He’d known it would come to this. The inevitability of it tested his precarious hold on self-control. She’d been under his skin since the night he’d first laid eyes on her. He tried to tell himself he was giving in to long-ignored physical needs—he’d been celibate since his ex-wife had walked out on him over a year ago—but Philip knew better. It had never been like this with Whitney, or any other woman, for that matter. His feelings for Michelle went deeper than the flesh. The two of them had connected on a level that teetered somewhere between spirit and soul.
He wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to handle that part of it. He hadn’t counted on his heart getting involved. Hearts had a way of complicating even the simplest of relationships. He’d been burned too many times to partake in a relationship now.
But he wanted her with a desperation that left him quaking and weak. He had to have her. All of her. Heart, body and soul.
He lowered his mouth to the tender spot just below her ear and kissed her there. “You’ve been hurt,” he whispered. “You trusted that guy and he hurt you.”
“I’m okay. I’ve been okay for a long time.” Tilting her head to one side, she gave him better access to her neck.
He opened his mouth, pressed it against her throat, tasted the sweetness of her flesh. “I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. I’ll never lie to you. You’ve got my word.”
“You’re in no position to make promises. I don’t expect any.”
“I keep my word, Michelle.”
She went fluid in his arms. “You know, Betancourt, despite everything, I’d already figured that out about you.”
Emotion punched through him. Pulling away slightly, he rested his forehead against hers. “I’m tangled up with you. More than you know. More than I want to be.”
“We’re both vulnerable right now.”
“We’ve both got a lot at stake.” His career. Her freedom. Their hearts. He didn’t want to think about that. Not with desire pounding through him like a drum. “We can stop this right now, before things between us get any more…complicated….”
He could barely form a rational thought, let alone speak. He wanted her so badly he was trembling. But the decision of whether to continue had to be hers. She’d been hurt. If they continued, their relationship, their futures, their very lives, would be irrevocably altered.
“I like having your arms around me. Maybe we could just play it by ear,” she whispered.
“We’re playing with fire.”
Cocking her head, she looked at him from beneath her long lashes. “Are you going to burn me, Betancourt?”
In a small corner of his mind, he noticed her pupils were dilated. Her mouth was wet and trembling, her full lips slightly parted. That space between her teeth was visible, and he had the sudden urge to run his tongue over it.
“Never.” Desire roughened his voice.
He was aware of her breasts against his chest. Even through their shirts, the tight beads of her nipples tormented him. Heat pooled in his groin. “There’s more going on between us than either of us is seeing,” he said.
“I usually try to take things at face value.” Her hands went to the front of his shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. “When you put your arms around me, something clicks, and I know everything is going to be okay. Don’t you feel it?”
He caught her hands in his just as his shirt fell open. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know.” Easing her hands from his, she parted his shirt and brushed her fingertips over his nipples.
The rush of blood from his head made him dizzy. “Don’t do that unless you’re prepared for the consequences,” he growled.
“I’ve always believed a person should take responsibility for their actions.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his chest.
Philip groaned, and went down for the count.
Michelle loved him.
The realization shattered her. She felt overjoyed and devastated and panic-stricken at once. The vulnerability she’d opened herself to terrified her even as euphoria spread through her brain and desire hummed through every nerve ending in her body. The world had finally spun off its axis, and she was about to be flung into space.
Making herself vulnerable to Betancourt would destroy what little emotional balance she had left. She knew he would hurt her. But with her life careening toward disaster, she didn’t care. She wanted tonight, wanted this precious moment so badly the need brought tears to her eyes.
The timing was wrong, and the situation between them couldn’t have been worse, but Betancourt was definitely the right man. She’d known it from the start, just hadn’t been able to see through the scars left on her heart.
His chest muscles were like steel beneath her palms. She ran her fingertips over the dusting of black hair, then brushed her knuckles against his hardened male nipples. His quick intake of breath told her he was sensitive there, and she felt a surge of feminine power.
Catching her hands in his, he lowered them to her sides. He looked at her, his eyes as black as a bayou night. “You sure about this?”
His mouth was inches from hers, so close she could smell the sweetness of his breath, the faint scent of his aftershave, the essence of male that surrounded him like a dark aura.
“I want this time with you, Betancourt. I don’t want to think about tomorrow, or next week or next month. I don’t want to think of the future at all. Just tonight. Just this once.” Despite her efforts, her breath came shallow and fast.
His hands slipped to the sides of her face. “I’m going to see this mess through till the end, Michelle. I’ll solve the case. I’ll get the truth. You’ve got my word.”
Oh, how she wanted to believe that. With her whole heart and soul she wanted to believe the charges against her would be dropped. That Betancourt would be free to love her. Tonight, when he’d put his arms around her and looked at her with those stormy gray eyes, even the impossible seemed within reach.
His breath wa
rmed her cheek. Anticipation pulsed through her with every beat of her heart.
“Let me kiss you,” he whispered.
She angled her face to his. He swooped down, his mouth claiming hers like a bird of prey. Her knees went weak. He kissed her hungrily, without gentleness, without finesse, letting her taste his frustration and urgency, and she reveled in it. When his tongue slipped between her lips, she opened to him, welcomed him.
His hands fell to the hem of her sweatshirt. In a single motion he tugged it over her head. Michelle shuddered when cold air washed over her bare breasts. Her sensitive nipples puckered impossibly tight. Her heart beat out a maniacal rhythm, the tempo of her blood deafening her.
“My God, you’re beautiful.”
Before she could respond, he reclaimed her mouth, kissing her deeply, possessively. A gasp escaped her when his hands closed over her breasts. He squeezed gently, molding her flesh, trapping her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She arched into him, a moan bubbling up from her throat. Liquid heat speared her center, radiating to the point between her legs where her body clenched uncontrollably.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he whispered her name. Once. Twice. She closed her eyes, felt his hands work the ribbon from her hair. Her breasts swelled, ached with the need to be touched. She wanted his mouth there. Hot and wet against her.
“I wish I could give you silk sheets and music,” he whispered. “You deserve that.”
“Hmm. Johnny Mathis.” She smiled, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She felt like a queen.
“I was thinking more along the lines of Eric Clapton.”
She opened one eye and they smiled stupidly at each other.
A chuckle rumbled out of his chest. “Maybe we could just settle for the sound of the rain.”
“And the fire.”
His fingers combed through her hair. Never taking his eyes from hers, he reached for the button of her jeans. Simultaneously, she worked the shirt from his shoulders and let it fall unnoticed to the floor.
Michelle had never seen such a magnificent chest. She knew he worked out; she’d seen the weights at his house. But even the knowledge that he was fit hadn’t prepared her. His chest was rippled with muscle and covered with a layer of thick black hair that tapered to a flat belly, where low-rise jeans barely concealed the thick ridge of his arousal.
The sight of him brought a swarm of butterflies to her belly. “I’m a little new at this, Betancourt. I mean…I haven’t actually done…this…since…that night….” Her voice trailed off at the stricken look on his face.
His hands froze where he’d worked her jeans down low on her hips. The white lace of her panties was visible. He blinked at her. “You haven’t been with anyone…for ten years?”
The way he’d said it stung—as if she were some kind of anomaly—and Michelle took instant offense. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” She tried to wrench free, but he was too quick and stopped her by tugging her to him.
“Don’t turn away from me now,” he said.
“Don’t treat me like I’m some kind of…freak.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just that…ten years is a long time. I’m surprised…you’ve never been… Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
How was she supposed to answer that? “This is a mutual thing, Betancourt—”
“Don’t be angry.” Raising his hand, he touched her cheek with his fingertips. “You’re beautiful and kind and any man who let you slide through his hands was a blind fool.”
Michelle wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or laugh. Since her disastrous first sexual experience with Frank Blanchard, she hadn’t let herself feel anything for the men she’d known in the course of her career and law school. She’d dated occasionally, but she’d only been trying to do what other young women her age were doing. With Betancourt, all the suppressed emotions and denied physical longings had slowly boiled to the surface, culminating at this moment.
The next thing she knew, she was being swept off her feet into his arms. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to show you what it means for a man to make love to you.” He stared down at her, his eyes dark and glazed with something deeper than passion. “A man who cares for you. A man who admires and respects you as a human being.”
She told herself she didn’t expect him to confess his undying love for her. Denied that the anticipation of hearing those three words sent her heart into a free fall. Even so, a small part of her that still believed in happily-ever-after winced when the words didn’t come.
“A man who thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“I’m not beautiful. I’ve got a space between my front teeth.”
“You’ve got the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen. I have erotic dreams about your mouth.” He lowered her to the cot in a sitting position. Kneeling on the floor in front of her, he eased himself between her knees. “Your mouth drives me half-crazy with the need to kiss you.”
Leaning forward, he kissed her slowly and deeply, then trailed kisses down her neck to the valley between her breasts. Michelle closed her eyes and drank in the sensations, the warm wetness of his mouth against her flesh, the cool air against her breasts. His tongue flicked over her nipple. The pleasure was so intense, so unexpected and erotic that she cried out. She arched, offering him full access. He suckled greedily, first one then the other, using his tongue and playful nips of his teeth. Exquisite sensation assaulted her. Her body clenched, relaxed. Need coiled inside her, and she knew there was no turning back.
Vaguely, she was aware of him tugging her jeans down her hips. She toed off her shoes, kicked once, and her jeans landed on the floor.
“You look really good in lace.”
She opened her eyes to find him standing next to the cot, staring down at her appreciatively. He’d removed his jeans and was in the process of tugging down his boxers. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t speak. Her breath froze in her chest at the sight of him. She’d never seen a man up close and personal, not like this. The size of him startled her, sent a pang of lust through her belly.
Kneeling before her, he took her face between his hands and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “You’re shaking.” He kissed her nose, her brow, her temple, each kiss more gentle than the first, and more loving than she’d ever imagined a man like Betancourt could be. “Are you okay with this?”
“I’m terrified, Betancourt, but if you stop now I’m going to have to kill you.”
One side of his mouth hiked into a grin. “I’m really glad you said that.” He kissed her again, using his tongue. His hands skimmed down her sides, over the outside curves of her breasts, to the waistband of her panties.
“Raise up, honey, so I can take these off you.”
She was still sitting on the cot and had to raise up slightly for him to work her panties down. He never stopped making love to her mouth, and she was lost to everything else. She kissed him back, putting everything she had into the intimate contact. The sensations coursing through her brought her body to new life, heightening every sense to painful sensitivity.
Grasping her hips, Philip pulled her to the edge of the cot. “Look at me. I want to see you when I touch you.”
Michelle met his gaze, found him staring at her with an intensity that sent her heart knocking against her ribs. She wasn’t sure when her breathing had become labored, but she couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs.
“Open your legs for me.”
The anticipation was almost too much. Emotion tangled with physical sensation until she thought she would explode. He hadn’t even touched her yet, and already her control teetered on the edge of a steeply sloped precipice.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he parted her curls with his fingers, drew her apart, then gently stroked her most private area. The contact was like an electric current. Hot. Shocking. A tremor ripped through her, gripped her, shook her. She closed her eyes against the intensity. White
light exploded behind her lids. A mewling sound escaped her as he stroked her more firmly, going deep. Shock waves built inside her, powerful and high. Her body convulsed. Once. Twice. She cried out his name, knowing this was somehow the most profound moment of her life. She loved this man. Wanted him no matter what the emotional cost.
“Make love to me, Betancourt. Please. Now.” Her voice trembled with emotion as she lay back on the cot.
His jaw was set, his eyes dark with passion as he eased his body over hers. She stretched out and opened to him. She felt cold air against her heat, her heart hammering beneath her breast. Bracing his arms on either side of her, he leaned down and kissed her fiercely.
“It’s never been like this for me,” he said. “Never.”
“I love you, Betancourt.”
She felt him stiffen, then her mind went blank as he entered her. An instant of pain, then intense pleasure hit her as the length of him stretched her, filled her, until she thought she would die with the ecstasy of full, unrestrained penetration.
He moved inside her, setting a long, slow rhythm that scrambled her senses and sent her emotions tumbling. Her body reacted instinctively, and she met him stroke for stroke. The waves built inside her until she was mindless with pleasure. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Sweat slicked her body, but did nothing to cool the fire burning in her center. He pushed her higher, faster, moving her as no other human being ever had, taking her to heights no other man had ever matched, or ever would again. She responded in kind with everything she had in her heart, everything her body had to offer. She laid herself open, her body, her heart, her very soul, matching his strength with her own.
Completion crashed down on her, shattering the last of the control she’d held on to so fiercely. She writhed beneath him, taking him deeper, calling out his name, knowing in her heart she would never feel this way again.
He shuddered inside her, a low growl sounding in his throat and culminating with her name on his lips.
The intensity brought tears to her eyes. They streamed down her cheeks unnoticed as her spasms went on and on, shaking her with their power until she lay boneless and weak beneath him.