Running Hot

TWENTY-ONE

He awoke with an awareness that she was in the room. He did not have to open his eyes to see her. He knew in some way that he could not explain that he would always be aware of her when she was close. The sense of recognition that had hit him full force when he saw her walking toward him along the airport concourse had become a hundred times more intense when she shivered through her first release in his arms; a thousand times stronger that morning when it seemed to him that their auras had somehow fused for a timeless moment in a bond that would never be severed.

Hell, maybe she was right. Maybe he was a romantic.

“You’re awake,” Grace said. “How do you feel?”

He did open his eyes then and levered himself up on his elbows. She stood near the sliding glass doors. The curtains were drawn open a couple of feet, giving him a view of the bright morning.

He noticed that she was still dressed in the same clothes she had been wearing the night before. There was an air of unnatural alertness about her. He recognized it immediately. He’d experienced the same sensation on more than one occasion after a sleepless night.

“I’m fine.” He surveyed her. “But you look like you never went to bed.”

“You were sleeping very deeply. I thought that, under the circumstances, it might be a good idea if one of us stayed awake.”

He turned away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “In other words, you were afraid that I wouldn’t be able to do my job, that I wouldn’t be able to protect either of us if someone broke in while I was out of it.”

“We’re a team, remember?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. He might be linked to her in some special way, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get pissed off at her.

“For the record,” he said evenly, “I can handle the occasional aftereffects of my job.”

“I’m sure you can. I just thought it would be best to take precautions.”

“I would have awakened if someone had tried to get into the room. Trust me.”

“Do you always wake up this grouchy?” she asked, sounding curious, rather than accusatory.

“No, only on those mornings when I discover that the client I’m supposed to be protecting thinks she has to protect me.”

“I’m not your client. I’m your partner.”

“I’m here to do my job.”

“Last night you did it. For heaven’s sake, this is a stupid argument. Why don’t you go take a shower?”

He thought about that. It was probably a good idea.

“What about you?” he said. “You need some sleep.”

“I rested in the chair. Dozed a bit off and on.”

“You didn’t have to spend the entire night watching over me.”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve gone without a good night’s sleep. I’ll be fine. Now, go take a shower.”

He grabbed the cane and got to his feet. When he looked down he realized that he was still wearing his shirt and trousers. When he looked up he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes were wells of shadows and he needed a shave. Badly. Not a pretty picture.

On top of all that, he was hungry and not just for food. He looked at Grace, trying to gauge the extent of her fatigue.

“You know,” he said, testing the roughness of his morning beard with one hand. “A sensitive guy probably wouldn’t ask a woman who’d had a sleepless night if she might be interested in showering with him.”

Her brows crinkled together in a repressive glare. “You’re right, a sensitive man would certainly not suggest sharing a shower at a moment like this.”

He nodded, resigned. “Yeah, I know. I look a little ragged around the edges right now.”

“For Pete’s sake, it’s got nothing to do with how you look,” she snapped.

“What, then?” he asked, going blank.

“We just had a fight.” She waved her hands. “You were growling at me a moment ago. Now you’re talking about having sex as if nothing happened.”

“You call what we just had a fight?”

“How would you describe it?”

He thought about it. “It was a discussion. Now it’s over and I’m going to take a shower. Just wondered if you’d like to join me, that’s all.”

“It was a fight,” she said.

“You’re blowing it out of proportion. Probably because you’re tense from lack of sleep.”

“It was a fight and I am not tense from lack of sleep.”

“You know, showering together would be a good way to relieve that tension.”

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Before he had time to say another word, Grace picked up one of the small decorative pillows and hurled it at his head.

He batted the pillow aside and started toward her, circling the bed.

“Now, a pillow fight is something I do understand,” he said.

He quickly closed the distance between them. The room was suddenly ablaze with energy.

She took a step back toward the wall. “If you think for one moment that I’m in any kind of mood for sex after our little

discussion, think again.”

“See, that’s the thing about men and sex.” He tossed the cane onto the bed and braced his hands on the wall behind her, caging her between his arms. “Thinking doesn’t usually enter into it.”

“That explains so much.”

“Always glad to be of service.”

He kissed her, a slow, morning kiss; the kind a man gives a woman he knows he has satisfied; the kind that makes it clear he intends to satisfy her again. And be satisfied in return. A claiming kiss.

But she did not respond like a claimed woman. Instead, she kissed him back with the kind of fierce intensity that made it clear she had a claim on him.

“Good,” he said against her mouth. “That’s how it should be.”

She pulled back an inch or so. “How what should be?”

“Forget it. I’ll explain some other time.”

Her mouth softened, her aura shimmered and began to resonate with his. He savored the knowledge that she was linked to him, whether she knew it or not.

Forty-eight hours, that was all the time they’d had together. How could he be so sure that he would think about her, yearn for her, want her for the rest of his life, even if he never saw her again? How the hell did that work?

But there was no time to think about it because Grace was undoing the fastening of his pants. When he felt her fingers on his erection, cupping him, the lazy heat of his arousal flashed into a wildfire. Her hand tightened around him in response.

He opened her shirt and discovered that sometime during the night she must have removed her bra. He was sure she had been wearing one earlier. He covered her breasts with his palms. The feel of her firm small nipples against his bare skin was exciting beyond belief.

He left her shirt hanging loose and reached down to undo her trousers. By the time he got them pushed to her ankles, she was shivering and whispering his name. Most of all she was touching him everywhere. Her hands glided over his thighs and chest and shoulders as though he was some rare and extremely valuable work of art.

“So good,” she said, kissing his shoulder. “It’s so good to be able to touch you like this.”

“I like it that you like touching me.” He captured her face in his hands and raised his head to meet her eyes. “But the thought of you touching anyone else like this would make me crazy.”

“The only man I want to touch right now is you.”

“That’s not quite what I want to hear but we can talk about it some other time.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Doesn’t matter. Not now.”

He grabbed the cane, caught hold of her wrist and led her into the gleaming marble-tiled bathroom. There he got both of them out of the rest of their clothes and into the rain forest of a shower.

He lowered himself onto the built-in seat and eased her down so that she could ride him astride. He made love to her beneath the artificial waterfall until they were both locked together in hot climax.

Whatever else happened between them, he thought, she would not forget him.

Sometime later she stood in front of the steamy mirror, a huge white towel wrapped around her breasts, another around her wet hair. She felt energized. Invigorated. Who needed a full night’s sleep?

Luther was shaving beside her, a towel draped around his waist. She met his eyes in the foggy glass.

“It was a fight,” she said.

He grinned. “We should do that more often.”