Veil of Night Read online

  She drew a deep, shaking breath, savoring the feel of him, then tipped her face back and went up on her toes, meeting him as he lowered his head. As first kisses went, this one was like lightning, bright and hot and explosive. Maybe it was because they both knew where this was heading, knew there was no holding back. The kiss was deep and hungry, tongues tangling, one big hand in her hair, her fingers clasping the back of his strong neck. He bent his knees, wrapped one arm around her butt and the other around her back, and lifted her so her feet came off the ground and her head was more level with his. Automatically her legs parted, coiled around him, and he made a rough sound deep in his throat as his penis pushed hard against the softness between her legs.

  “Where’s your bedroom?” he asked, the words so low and rough-edged they were almost a growl. His hand slid down her spine, thrust inside the loose waistband of her cotton pajama pants, stroked over her butt.

  “Back there,” she said, freeing one hand to indicate where “back there” was. He turned and began striding in that direction even as his rough fingers delved lower, probing, and she gasped the last word. Oh, God. What was he—Oh, God! Her legs tightened around him and she instinctively lifted herself a little, though whether she was trying to escape or giving him easier access, she couldn’t have said. Her breasts rubbed against his shirt, turning her nipples into aching points. What he was doing set off explosions all along her nerve pathways, making her squirm and arch and whimper, and they weren’t even on the bed yet.

  He maneuvered her through the doorway into the bedroom and put one knee on the bed, then took her down to the mattress with her still locked around him, his heavy weight crushing her. She’d left on a lamp, preparatory to going to bed; the mellow light washed over them as she pulled at his shirt; he peeled her tank off over her head, then went for her pants. While he stripped them down her legs his mouth closed hungrily over one nipple, sucking strongly, his tongue rasping around and around the puckered point until she almost couldn’t bear it. She made a raw, wordless sound and her back arched, her hands leaving his garments to clasp each side of his head. The hot smell of his skin surrounded her as surely as his touch did, dragging her down beneath the rising tide of sheer need.

  He fought his way out of his clothes and they were both, finally, naked. She felt as if she’d been waiting forever, as if the feel of his hot bare skin against her was something she’d been craving to the edge of madness. Panting, she clung to him, her hips lifting, searching for the inward thrust that would bring them together.

  “Fuck!”

  With that one explosive word, Eric moved away from her, damn him, and just as she was about to grab his ass and pull him back, she realized that he was reaching for his pants, delving in his pocket and pulling out a few condoms. He tossed a couple of them on the bedside table and tore open the one in his hand. Thank God, she thought weakly, horrified that the basic safety measure hadn’t even occurred to her. At least one of them had a few working brain cells left; she wished she’d been the one, but she was grateful nevertheless. Even though she was on the Pill, a condom was a requirement.

  He pulled her into position under him, spread her legs, braced himself on one arm, and with his other hand guided his penis to her. At last, at last. She was wet, ready, so close to the edge she thought she might come without him even making it inside her, if he didn’t hurry. With one quick short push he had the head in, and she gasped as she discovered maybe she wasn’t quite as ready as she’d thought.

  It had been a while for her, so long that she couldn’t immediately think of the last time; maybe that was why the discomfort was so sharp, why for a moment she wavered on the very edge of pushing him away. But need outweighed any other consideration, a need that had her clinging to him even though a whimper of distress almost escaped. She bit it back, and dug her nails into his shoulder muscles as he pushed deeper, his movements slow now, easing him deeper inside. His penis was hot and thick, so thick her flesh quivered around him. She blew out a breath, tried to relax. When he was seated to the hilt he let his weight down on her and framed her head with both hands, his fingers threaded through her hair. “Okay?” His voice was low, the word a breath across her lips.

  “Give me a minute,” she murmured, turning her head to find his lips again. How could something feel so wonderful and so … upsetting at the same time? She felt as if her flesh was under so much stress she might fly apart, but she didn’t want him to stop.

  He gave her the minute she’d asked for, and more. He kissed her, seducing her even though he was already inside her, courting her with his mouth and stroking hands, enticing her until her inner muscles eased and began to clasp his rigid length, until her breath came in rhythmic gasps and her hips began to move. “Now,” she said in a choked tone, clinging to him and closing her mind to everything else except him.

  For tonight, for now, there was nothing else, just the man and the night, and that was all she needed.

  Chapter Four

  JACLYN SLIPPED OUT OF BED AT FIVE O’CLOCK THE NEXT morning and, bemused, stood there listening to the slight snoring sound Eric was making: not really a snore, but more than just breathing. It sounded almost like a soft growl rumbling, barely audible, in his throat: a subconscious warning to any nearby predators maybe?

  She silently picked up her pajamas, guided by the faint glow of the night-light in the bathroom, and tiptoed out of the room—not just to let him sleep, but because she didn’t want to startle him awake. Last night when she’d let him in she’d been so focused on the feel and smell and taste of him, on satisfying that incredibly strong sexual urge, that she hadn’t noticed anything else. After their second bout of lovemaking, though, she’d gotten up to go to the bathroom and spied the big black pistol lying on the bedside table. How could she have missed that when they were fighting to get each other out of their clothes? She felt as if she’d stepped over a rattlesnake without seeing it, or something like that.

  She was uneasy with guns; she didn’t know anything about them, and didn’t want to learn. Never mind that she was a born-and-bred Southerner; she didn’t go hunting, she went to the theater and shopping, which perhaps was a different kind of hunting but so far hadn’t required any weapon other than a credit card.

  Her father wasn’t an outdoorsman, and neither was her ex-husband. In fact, the closest her ex came to the outdoors was when he went to a football game and actually sat in a stadium, drinking beer and feeling manly even though he didn’t particularly care for football, and did it only because it enhanced his image as a lawyerly good old boy. His saving grace, Jaclyn remembered, was that he’d had a sense of humor about it. Steve wasn’t a bad guy, he just wasn’t the guy for her.

  The fact was, she’d never been around guns, had never slept with a man who came to bed armed. What would happen if she shook him awake? Would he grab for the gun? She didn’t want to find out, so she was extra careful not to make any noise as she eased the bedroom door closed.

  Now what?

  That was a question with as many layers as an onion. The first and most obvious answer was to go to the second bathroom. After relieving herself—and noting that sex was evidently like exercise, that unless you did it regularly an energetic bout made you sore—she put on her pajamas, got a drink of water, and combed her fingers through her hair because her brush was in her bedroom.

  Next up: coffee.

  She put on the coffee, and while it was brewing she stood in the kitchen with a hundred things running through her mind. Thinking about Eric made her uneasy, so she focused on work. She had a lot to do today, which meant she had to get an early start. Getting an early start meant she had to dislodge the cop from her bed and send him on his way so she could get ready. Dislodging him meant she had to wake him up. Waking him up meant she might be taking her life in her hands, depending on how jumpy he was, though probably he didn’t go for his gun first thing. After all, if cops regularly shot the women they slept with, it would be all over the news.