Kill and Tell cs-1 Read online

  "When I thought about it, everything seemed so… orchestrated. Planned." She gave him an angry look of her own. "You were already wearing a condom while we were dancing!"

  "And kept it on the whole time we were dancing, too, by God, which should tell you something about how turned on I was." He stood and removed his jacket, tossing it aside. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt, his movements jerky, his nostrils flaring with anger. "I was trying to be considerate . I didn't think you'd appreciate having to worry about a pregnancy or disease at the beginning of our relationship." Karen watched him, her eyes big, her mouth dry. She didn't say, "What are you doing?" which would be stupid because it was obvious what he was doing. She didn't say, "What relationship?" because she didn't want to inquire too closely in case she had heard wrong. She wanted to say she did appreciate his consideration in wearing a condom, but she didn't say that, either.

  She just watched him, her heart pounding, her nipples tightening. Greedily, she took in his sleek, strongly muscled shoulders and nice, broad, hairy chest. Clothed, he looked broad-shouldered and trim; naked, he was more muscular, with a flat, ridged stomach and a line of downy hair running down the center of it straight to his groin. She thought of following that line with her tongue and taking him in her mouth; his entire body would go rigid, and he would give that wonderful, deep, gut-wrenching groan. She wanted him. Oh, God, she wanted him now and forever.

  He dropped his shirt to the floor and kicked out of his shoes, then peeled off his socks. "I can't believe you were mad about the rubber," he muttered, glancing up at her, and for a moment his gaze was so

  blazing hot she felt scorched.

  She reached out and touched his stomach, feeling his hot, smooth skin and the hard pad of muscle underneath. "It wasn't the condom, it was that everything felt so deliberate , as if you were following a plan."

  "I was," he said bluntly. "I'd been working for three days to get you in bed, and I was afraid stopping to put on a condom would give you a chance to think twice about what we were doing and back out. So I put the condom on first."

  "And kept it on, too, by God," she teased him, smiling. Her fingers trailed down his belly to the waistband of his pants, following the line of silky hair.

  His eyes were brilliant as he looked down at her. "Take off your clothes." The words were low and rough, almost a whisper.

  Her heart pounded harder. She stood and began removing her clothes, her breath rushing in and out in excitement. She felt the clenching of desire deep inside, the twin yielding and demand of utter need. She dropped her blouse to the floor, then unfastened her skirt and stepped out of it. His gaze was locked on her breasts as she undipped the front clasp of her bra and let it fall, and she noticed his breath was coming faster, too.

  Critically, he eyed her ribcage as he dropped his pants, trousers and underwear going down in one smooth movement. Her ribs were marked with bluish splotches, and his hands clenched into fists before he deliberately relaxed them, reaching out to touch the bruises. "Are you too sore for this?"

  "No," she said softly, eyeing his thick erection and appreciating his concern even more because it was obvious he was urgently aroused. But then, so was she. She removed her panties and sat down on the bed.

  Instantly he was there, a strong arm wrapped around her, supporting her as he eased her down and in the same fluid motion mounted her. Lying between her legs, he carefully propped his weight on one elbow and fondled her breasts with his free hand, lightly rubbing her nipples until they were throbbing. Her own hands were on his chest, stroking, delivering pleasure. His erection nudged between her folds, but he didn't enter her.

  "I'm not wearing a condom now," he said, kissing her.

  "I know." Karen wrapped her arms around his neck as ancient instincts surged to the fore. Their gazes locked, his fierce and bright, hers soft and darkly mysterious, yielding. She didn't make this decision lightly; she knew full well what she was doing. "I don't want you to," she murmured, arching her hips a little. She wanted all of him, now. She wanted his seed, the possibility of his child. She felt unbearably aroused, though he had scarcely touched her.

  "We're taking a risk." His voice was thick. His mouth moved down her neck.

  "Yes. Please." She arched again, desperate, hungry, aching. He pushed into her, hard and urgent, as if he couldn't hold back a moment longer. The head of his penis was already slick and eased his penetration. She cried out as satisfaction replaced desperation, pleasure replaced pain.

  He groaned, and sweat beaded on his forehead, dampened his close-cropped black hair. "Have mercy," he whispered. "I haven't done this since I was a teenager." She clung to his shoulders, her hips rising eagerly to meet his restrained thrusts, enveloping every inch and trying to hold him. "Making love? I know better." Speaking was an effort when everything in her was concentrating on the tightening spiral of desire. She was almost there, trembling on the edge, hanging on a point of pleasure so sharp it was exquisite, wonderful pain.

  "Not wearing a rubber." He shuddered at the tight internal clasp of her. Suddenly, he gripped her shoulders and began thrusting hard, fast, deeper with every stroke. "I can't wait," he said tightly. He didn't need to. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she arched, crying out in the intense grip of orgasm. He made a rough, helpless sound and began coming, spurting into her, milked dry by the rhythmic pulse of her climax.

  He hung over her for a few moments, his head down, his arms trembling as he supported himself rather than letting his weight down onto her. Karen managed to stroke his shoulder with one hand, but even that small effort exhausted her, and her arm fell to the bed. Finally, he eased out of her and collapsed on the bed beside her, breathing hard, his eyes closed.

  Drowsily, she turned on her side and nestled against him, sighing at the pleasure that was quite apart from the sharp need of sex. Tears prickled her closed eyelids as she tried to contain a happiness so acute she ached with it.

  He groaned. The sound was that of an unconscious man struggling toward awareness, and it startled her into laughing.

  A smile tugged at his lips, and he rolled onto his side to face her, sliding his arm under her neck and draping his other arm over her hips to anchor her close. "You need to laugh more often." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Every time I see your solemn brown eyes, it's like being kicked in the gut."

  "I laugh," she protested sleepily.

  "Not enough. And before your fertile imagination comes up with any more off-base scenarios about what just happened here, we are deeply involved in a serious relationship. Is that clear?"

  "Clear," she whispered, barely able to get the word out over the pressure in her chest. She felt shaky inside, as if she might crumble. She loved him so much it actually hurt, but it felt good at the same time.

  "If you get pregnant, we get married. I refuse to let a child of mine grow up illegitimate. I don't care how many actresses do it or whether or not a woman really needs a man around now to help her raise their children."

  "You're damn right we'll get married," she said with sharp force. "The odds are I didn't get pregnant this time, but if you don't plan to stay around, we'd better decide on a method of birth control and stick to it. I don't want a broken marriage." Knowing what being abandoned by her father had been like for both her mother and herself, she was determined her own children would never know that pain if she could possibly help it.

  He caught her hand and carried it to his lips, being careful not to hurt her raw palms. She snuggled

  against him, unable to decide which she wanted to do most: turn cartwheels or sleep. She didn't do either, because she'd never been a head-in-the-sand type of person, and reality at present was a bit dicey.

  "It all comes back to here," she murmured, unable to hold the thoughts at bay any longer. "To Dad. His murder is at the center of it, because otherwise why would I be targeted? But I don't know anything about what he was doing. I hadn't seen or talked to him in years."

  "What about your mother?