A Wife for a Westmoreland - Brenda Jackson [30]
Serious doubt was etched in her features. “Why, Derringer? Why did you need to see me?”
It should be so easy to use this moment and come clean and say because I know who you are. I know you are the woman to whom I made love in what should have been a weak and crazy moment, but it ended up being the one time I slept with a woman that I remember the most. That no matter what I do or where I go, your scent is right there with me. You are responsible for the lust that rages through my body every time I think of you, whenever I see you. Even now there is a throbbing in my groin that you’re causing and I want more than anything to make love to you again.
“Derringer?”
He realized at that moment that he hadn’t answered her. Instead, he had been standing there and staring at her like a lust-crazed maniac. He slowly crossed the floor, pinning her in when he braced his hands on both sides of her head, and leaned in close to her mouth.
“I really don’t know why I needed to see you tonight,” he whispered huskily against her lips. “I can’t explain it. I just needed to see you, be with you and spend time with you. I enjoyed Saturday night and—”
“Could have fooled me.”
He noticed her voice had barely been audible, but he’d heard that, and he’d heard the hurt in her tone. He hadn’t called her. He should have. He had wanted to. But he had fought the temptation. If only she knew to what degree he had fought it. A part of him knew being here with her now wasn’t good; especially when he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her right now—against the door, on the floor, on her bed, the table, the sofa, every damn place in her house. But even more important was that he knew more about the situation than she did. He had yet to tell her that he knew about her visit to his home that night.
He had spent the last few days going over the video time and time again. It was evident from viewing the footage and seeing how she had merely stuck her head in the door that initially she’d had no intention of staying. Then she had glanced back at the box and decided to put it inside. She must have heard him fall once she was inside, because this week he remembered that part—missing the bed when he’d gotten up to use the bathroom and falling flat on his behind when he was returning to bed. He remembered someone, his Puddin’ Tame, helping him back into bed, and the only thing he remembered after that was making love to a woman.
And the woman he had made love to had been her.
Things were still kind of fuzzy, but he remembered that much now. “I apologize for not calling you this week. I should have,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “You didn’t have to. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should not have given you the impression that you should have called, just now.”
His heart beat hard in his chest. That statement alone showed how different she was from the other women he messed around with. And that difference, among other things, he was convinced, was what had him here with her now.
“I don’t want any apologies from you,” he said, leaning in closer, drawing one of her earlobes between his lips. “This is what I want.” He then brushed his tongue across her lips and when she gave a sharp intake of breath, he did it again. And again.
“Why, Derringer…why me?” she whispered moments before she began trembling against the door.
“Why not you?” he breathed huskily against her lips before bending close to taste them again. Her flavor as well as her scent was getting to him on a level that made him want to push forward instead of drawing back.
Then deciding they had done enough talking for now, he sidled up closer to her and pressed his mouth to hers.
By rights she should send him away, Lucia’s mind screamed over and over again. But it was hard to listen to what her mind was saying when Derringer was causing so much havoc