Faces Of Evil: Traceless Part 23

Fragments of moments shared in that barn flickered, making her too warm. What was he doing here? Sure, it was possible he'd chosen that particular convenience store to patronize, even though the Sack&Go was closer for him. But the way he was parked, at the edge of the lot as far away from the store as possiblea"nowhere near the gas pumps or the entrance or exit to the parking lota"didn't point to a mere shopping stop.

He was watching the inn... watching her.

Before good sense could kick in, she'd unlocked the door and opened it. She stood there, on the sidewalk outside her door, moths fluttering around the exterior light, and stared directly at the truck.

The engine started and the headlights came on. She put her hand up in front of her face to block the glaring lights.

What was he doing now?

What if she'd been wrong? What if it wasn't him?

Her heart fluttered as the truck backed up, moved to the exit, and pulled straight across the street. Instinct shouted at her to go inside and lock the door.

She didn't.

It was him. She sensed it even before the streetlight provided the necessary illumination to verify her conclusion.

He parked the truck several doors down from where she stood. He got out, his gaze immediately colliding with hers, and started toward her. Sounds and sensations from the day before kept getting in the way of her ability to think rationally. Some part of her wanted to back away... but the woman that yearned for more of him refused.

"Get back in your room."

The sharply issued order shattered the distracting memories.

"What're you doing here?" she demanded, just as sharply.

"We'll talk inside."

He stopped right in front of her then, forcing the issue with his big body. She trembled. The white bathrobe suddenly felt too thin... too fragile a s.h.i.+eld around her nakedness.

For three beats she argued with herself as to whether going into her room with him would be a good idea, but then an old saying of her grandmother's came to mind: Too late to close the barn door after the cows were out. It wasn't like he could do anything to Emily that he hadn't already. Or vice versa.

She pivoted and went back inside, her respiration growing labored with no other provocation than seeing him... being near him. He closed and locked the door. When his full attention landed on her once more she trembled yet again. His face was clean shaven. He'd obviously showered and changed somewhere.

"Why are you watching me?"

One corner of that s.e.xy mouth lifted in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Turnabout is fair play. You sure as h.e.l.l got in your share of watching me."

She raked her fingers through her hair and immediately felt self-conscious that it was still damp. "What're you really doing here?" It's late, she didn't add. I can't trust myself alone with you.

"Keith Turner is dead."

Pain arced through her chest. It was still so hard to believe. "I know."

"Until they find out who killed him, I'm not sure you're safe. The fire was one thing, that was about me, but this is different. This is about wiping out the possibilities. Whoever killed him may not be finished yet."

She didn't mention that she'd considered the same thing. Someone intended to end the speculation by getting rid of anyone who might know anything. "Why would you think that?" Might as well have Clint's reasoning.

He stood very still. Different from all those years before, when he'd been so confident and full of charm. She wondered if he'd learned to be very still like that in prison so as not to be noticed. The idea of what he'd endured because of her made her throat ache to say something that would adequately relate the depth of her regret.

"Are you through a.n.a.lyzing me?"

Her gaze snapped to his. Heat rushed up her neck and across her cheeks. "You were going to tell me why you think I might be in danger." No more getting distracted.

"I think maybe Turner knew things he never told. Whatever he knew may have gotten him killed."

"You're speculating," she countered, knowing that her own thoughts had mirrored his and were every bit as speculative.

He nodded. "Yeah. But he was her boyfriend and his alibi was shaky at best."

Emily held up her hands to stop him. "There is no way Keith hurt Heather." She'd gone down that road herself, but hearing anyone say it made it somehow worse.

"You wouldn't believe for a second that he would harm her, yet you were convinced I did."

It wasn't a question.

"I knew Keith," she offered. "I didn't know you." Except in my dreams.

He moved a step closer. Reached out, touched her cheek. She trembled. "Did I do that?"

"Yes." It was nothing. A small abrasion. She'd completely forgotten about it. She had other bruises and sc.r.a.pes from falling out the window during the fire. And from grinding around in the dirt with him... none of which she intended to mention.

"I'm sorry." His hand fell away, regret registered on his face.

"It's no big deal," she argued. "I'm sure I left a few marks on you."

The intensity in his eyes escalated. "Maybe."

She s.h.i.+vered, wished he wouldn't look at her like that. "Why didn't you tell Ray the truth? That I was with you yesterday morning?"

"None of his business." Clint's eyes roamed over her as he spoke, a slow, measuring gaze. Her body heated everywhere his eyes touched.

She licked her lips, her mouth feeling dry and hungry. "I told him I was with you."

His gaze settled back on hers, steady, penetrating. "Why?"

The way he looked at her now made it difficult to breathe. "Because it's the truth." He moved one more step closer. Her difficulty drawing in a breath escalated to impossible. "Because there have been enough secrets and lies in this town."

"I want you to know," he said, his voice surprisingly soft, the sound flooding her with unexpected tenderness, "that I'm clean. Every year for the past four years I've been tested because of... the things that happened. I wouldn't have purposely hurt you for anything."

Honestly, the concept hadn't even crossed her mind. She'd spent so many years not caring if she lived or died, the idea of protecting herself was foreign to her.

"Are you sure about that?" she countered. "The hurting-me part, I mean. I was the key witness who sent you to prison."

His gaze lingered on her mouth a moment or two before lifting back to her eyes. That moment or two was all it took to ignite a slow burn deep in her belly, a yearning that wouldn't be ignored.

"You believed you were right. You were hurting and angry. You were in shock."

"I helped ruin your life." Emotion got stuck in her throat, prodded more of those d.a.m.ned tears to brim against her lashes.

"Yeah." He reached for her, gently cupped her face in his hands, smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. "You did. You needed someone to blame. I won't say it no longer matters, but I'm dealing with it."

"What can I do?"

He dropped his hand back to his side. "You can leave this d.a.m.ned town and put all this behind you."

He couldn't be serious. "And just let it go?"

"If we keep poking at this, somebody else could end up dead," he said on a heavy exhale that spoke volumes about just how weary he was.

Now she understood. He felt responsible for Keith's death. If Clint hadn't come back... "Keith's death wasn't your fault."

"Maybe, maybe not."

She couldn't stand it anymore. Clint stood only inches away. She needed to touch him. Her hand rested against his chest. "You don'ta""

"I should go."

She'd made herself a promisea"to go after what she wanted from now on. Don't let him walk away. She hadn't felt anything real for so long, the memory of how he could make her come alive screamed inside her, begged for more. "You shouldn't be sleeping in that old barn."

"I'll be fine."

Say it! "I don't want you to go."

Hesitation filtered into his eyes. "You sure about that?"

"I want you to... touch me."

Those lips she yearned to taste quirked. "I touched you." He glanced at the cheek he'd caressed.

She gave her head a little shake. "Not like that."

"Emily..." His gaze rested on her face. "It shouldn't have happened that way. Your first time should havea""

'Touch me," she ordered. She didn't want to hear how it should have been. She'd spent her whole adult life wallowing in regret. "Please."

The hesitation in his eyes cleared. "Show me how you want me to do it."

She took his right hand and placed it on her breast. "This is good."

He squeezed. Need keened low in her throat.

"Is that all you want?"

"No." She took his other hand and guided it to the place where her robe parted at the top of her thighs.

His fingers sifted through her pubic hair, stoking the flames already building there.

"Is that all?" His voice was gruff now.

"No."

He drew his hands away and she made a sound of protest, wanted to grab on to him... to make him touch her again.

"Take off your robe and lie down on the bed," he ordered instead of attempting to retreat as she'd feared he would.

She didn't hesitate. The robe hit the floor, revealing her nude body. She sat down on the edge of the mattress, scooted back to lie against the pillows.

He looked at her for a long while. Her heart pounded twice for every second. Then he reached to turn off the lamp.

"I want to see," she challenged.

He didn't argue.

He toed off his sneakers first. Then he peeled the T-s.h.i.+rt free of his body, revealing that muscled chest with all its reminders that he'd spent ten long years in a prison criminals weren't meant to survive. He unfastened his jeans. Her pulse rate altered significantly. The jeans slid down his long legs and he stepped out of them and shucked his socks. No briefs, just him. Ridged abdomen, narrow hips, muscled legs... and that thick s.e.x that hung prominently between them.

The bed s.h.i.+fted with his weight as he lay down beside her. The heat of his body instantly warmed her... or maybe just seeing him this way had already done that. He lay on his side, his head propped in one hand. His well-muscled body exuded a kind of power that had hers humming with excitement already.

"What now?"

She tried to a.n.a.lyze what he was thinking. Impossible. "I don't understand."

"I'm not taking anything else from you, Emily. Whatever happens now is going to be about you taking what you want."

The idea sent power surging through her. She liked that he gave that to her.

She took him at his word and made her own choices. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him. The feel of his body beneath her was incredible. He was hard and pressed firmly between her thighs. She lifted her hips far enough to guide him where she wanted; then she slid down around him. All the way. The sensation of being filled so completely look her breath, set her on fire. He groaned savagely, his hands fisted in the pillow under his head.

She rode him until her body collapsed, sated, against his chest. His own climax had left him panting and damp with sweat. She loved the feel and smell of his clean sweat. Loved that she could make him come like that, with such intensity. He stroked her back while the rhythm of his heart lulled her toward absolute bliss.

She refused to give in to her body's need for rest. She sat up, grinding her bottom against his loins. "I want you to do what you did before." b.u.t.terflies took flight in her stomach at the memory. With him behind her, he could go deeper... she liked deeper. And she'd waited too long to play games or to pretend a shyness she didn't feel.

He didn't question her request. He rolled her over before he withdrew and sat back on his haunches. His solid erection glistened with their commingled fluids. s.h.i.+vering, she turned onto her stomach and waited for him to take her.

"Lift your hips."

She scooted her knees beneath her, lifting her bottom into the air for his possession.

He moved against her. She moaned deeply, could hardly bear the sensation of his solid length against that part of her. Slowly, as if he wanted to be sure he did this right, he guided himself into her. That last inch or so had her charging toward climax before he'd even started to move. He held still, let her adjust to his size and the new depth. Then he did something different; he pulled her up to his chest and held her close, cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands. She moaned her pleasure, unable to tell him how awesome he was, how full and satisfied he made her feel.

Then he moved. He held her tight against him as he flexed and relaxed his hips in a slow, tightly controlled manner, his thrusts shallow but somehow mind-blowingly intense. He kissed her temple, squeezed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, all the while making those small, firm moves. When she could take it no more she started to wiggle against him... needing more... needing faster. As if he understood exactly what she required, he ushered her forward, until her cheek rested against the pillow. Her entire body pulsed with the pleasure searing through her. She wanted him to make it happen before she lost her mind.

He thrust. Long, deep, hard. Faster. Until she came just as fast and just as hard. Then he slowed it down, trembling with the effort of restraint.

"Please." She wanted to feel him come undone. To feel him lose control.

He resisted... moved slowly, each flex of his hips a deliberate effort in discipline.

"Clint..." The rush of sensations started again, wave after wave, building, building... how could he make her come so many times?