Abandon - Carla Neggers [81]
She came in waves, feeling her release down to her toes, but he wasn’t finished. She threw her arms over her head and let herself feel nothing but each quick, hard thrust, until he moaned, grunting as he exploded into her.
Finally spent, he rolled onto his back next to her. A stiff breeze blew over them, and she could feel her pulse racing, although her body was relaxed and loose from their lovemaking.
“I hope we didn’t disturb the neighbors,” she said, still a little breathless.
He eased onto his side and smiled at her. “We?”
“I don’t know, Rook. You break all my rules. You’re in law enforcement, you’re a total hard-ass, you’re a city guy—”
“My brothers and I hike all the time.” He traced a finger along her upper arm. “What kind of man do you want?”
She grinned at him. “One who’s handy.”
“After the past hour I’d say I’m pretty damn handy.”
“Touché.”
“Not as humorless as you thought, am I?”
“You’re full of surprises, I’ll say that.” Mackenzie felt a rush of heat, remembering the feel of him inside her. “I meant, do you know how to use a hammer? Can you build things?”
“I’ve done most of the work so far on this place.”
“It’s nice,” she said, her energy suddenly starting to fade. “You’ve done a good job. I like the skylights.”
“There’s more work to do.”
“I’ve never owned my own house. I’ve always rented.” She caught his hand in hers, looked him in the eye. “We were doing fine. A couple of nice dates, enjoying each other’s company. Then you dump me.”
“And you flew to New Hampshire to lick your wounds and got into a knife fight.” He locked his fingers with hers and drew closer to her. “I don’t claim to know what the hell’s going on, but if you’d stayed here last weekend things would have been different.”
She rose up slightly, feeling a tug of pain in her side, a reminder that she wasn’t fully healed. “If I’d stayed, we wouldn’t have a description of Harris’s killer.”
“His likely killer.”
“I know. ‘Be led by facts, not speculation.’” She dropped back onto the pillow. “My brain’s not working anymore. It’s fried.”
He kissed her on the mouth, the nose, the forehead. “Sleep,” he whispered. But she touched his side, ran her fingertips along the muscles of his abdomen, and, impossibly, felt a renewed spark.
“Mac…”
She climbed onto him, felt the heat and hardness of him. It was dark now, and the breeze felt cool on her skin. “I don’t need to think,” she said as he reached for her breasts, cupping them as she rose up, then lowered herself onto him.
They made love slowly, thoroughly, pushing off any doubts and questions for another time.
Twenty-Nine
Jesse shivered in the cold, early morning mountain air and crept across the bare rock to Cal, who hadn’t moved much in the past three hours. They’d made camp amid a cluster of granite boulders well off the main trails in the hills above Bernadette Peacham’s lake house. No tent or sleeping bags, just a couple of emergency blankets that packed up to the size of a deck of cards.
“Morning, Cal.”
Jesse pulled the gag from Cal’s mouth, not that Cal showed any gratitude. He coughed and spat. “You sadistic bastard. I could have died.”
“Died of what?”
“Thirst, choking on my own spit—I could hardly breathe.” He hacked some more, turning red. “Bastard.”
“If you were in danger of dying, I’d have woken up.” Jesse calmly cut the ropes on his captive’s hands and feet. “Give yourself a couple minutes for the circulation to return.”
He’d had three hours sleep himself, max. He’d picked up Cal yesterday after his little tête-à-tête with Mackenzie Stewart and took him out to the airport, stuffing him in his plane and debating whether just to shove him out over the Atlantic. For years to come, people could wonder whatever happened to Calvin Benton, Judge Peacham’s ex-husband.
Instead, Jesse fed and watered the turncoat and flew him up to