Devious - Lisa Jackson [161]
Heart in her throat, she closed her mind to the images of a dying nun, her throat rimmed in blood as she lay over a bed of glinting metal, the blood dripping onto her tattered gown, her face blurred beneath the veil.
“Psssst!”
“Leave me alone!” she cried to the rising wind. She saw the signs for the freeway and stepped on the gas to leave New Orleans and Cruz Montoya behind forever.
CHAPTER 46
So I slept with my husband, Valerie thought. So what?
No big deal, right?
Then why did it feel massive? As if Val’s life had shifted on its axis?
Oh, for the love of God, she was starting to sound like some starry-eyed heroine in a chick flick. Stop it, she told herself, and rolled over.
Slade was lying on his stomach, arms folded under his squashed pillow, his head twisted in her direction. The sheets were tangled and bunched over his buttocks. He slept soundly, snoring softly, his face relaxed, his tanned skin in contrast to the white sheets. A shock of hair fell over his eyes, and dark lashes rested against his cheeks. Her heart filled at the sight of him as it had so long ago. She stared at the width of his shoulders and the slope of his spine, all taut muscles covered with smooth, golden skin.
Why had she been resisting him so long?
What was wrong with falling in love with her own husband?
Especially one she felt now had been vindicated, falsely accused by yours truly.
With a sleepy groan, he rolled onto his back, his entire torso exposed, his erection evident.
“Gettin’ an eyeful?” he asked in a voice rough with slumber.
“You’re awake?” she said, and couldn’t help the heat that washed up the back of her neck.
His smile slowly stretched from one side of his beard-darkened jaw to the other. “Like what you see?”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He rolled off the bed and, as stark naked as she, wrapped his arms around her and pressed his mouth to hers.
“Oh, for the love of—”
Still kissing her, he walked her backward into the small bathroom, reached into the shower, and before it warmed, pushed her through the tiny opening and under the bracing spray. She squealed, with him laughing, and as the water temperature heated, so did she, her blood pounding as his hand moved across her slick skin. Using a bar of soap, he washed her, kissed her, and pinned her against the tiles where he lifted her onto his thick erection, sliding her easily onto him as the water cascaded over them.
She blinked against the spray and gasped at the depth of his penetration, the breath squeezed from her lungs, her breasts flattened and soapy.
“Oh . . . oh . . . oh, God, Slade,” she cried as the first wave of orgasm crashed over her. Convulsing, sputtering, feeling spasm after spasm of release, she clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck, legs surrounding his hips as he thrust upward, his breathing as rapid as her own, her back sliding against the wet tile. Melting inside, she dug her fingers into his shoulders.
Again he plunged deep into her.
And again.
And again.
Until she closed her eyes and let out a deep-throated sound she didn’t recognize as her own voice.
“Oh, God,” he ground out, then shuddered a release, his head thrown back, the cords of his neck distended as he came inside her, stiffening, every muscle in his body contracting.
For several seconds the water washed over them, and slowly their breathing slowed. She was eye level with him, staring deep into his smokey gaze, watching drops drizzle from his hair and off the tip of his nose.
“You’re incredible,” he said, and she laughed.
“Uh, you did all the work.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
“I told you that aw-shucks, country-boy charm doesn’t work with me.”
He laughed then, still holding her, still inside her. “No? God, I’d love to see what happens when something does work. I might just have a heart attack!”
“I hope not. Think of all the fun we’d be missing.” She kissed him soundly on the mouth then, the shower still spraying them, then disentangled herself and grabbed a towel. “What a difference a few days make.” She was thinking