Out of Nowhere, page 22
“The same kind as the one used at the fairground.”
“He’s a confident son of a bitch,” Calder said. “He’s got gall, and he’s good.” His jaw tightened. “But not that good. He’ll mess up. He probably already has. Somebody’s just got to find that incriminating mistake.”
“I’ll keep the TV in my room on in case they break with something.” She made to get up from the bed, but Calder caught her by the hand.
“You’re sleeping here.”
“We’ve been through this.” She tried to wrest her hand free, but he held on.
“That was before. This guy is resourceful. Ruthless. Has balls of brass, and he’s growing more and more sure of himself. Taking greater risks.”
He rolled to his side and made certain the loaded pistol was still on the nightstand where he’d placed it before going to bed. Turning back to Elle, he said, “Hit the lamp. You’re sleeping within my reach.”
At Elle’s insistence, they’d been lying at least two feet apart when they went to sleep. But at some point in the few intervening hours, their legs had become entwined. Her hands were trapped between her chest and his, and her head tucked beneath his chin so closely that she came awake to the warmth of his breath wafting over her face and his fingertips strumming her spine beneath the pajama top on loan from Glenda.
She didn’t miss any aspects of her marriage to Jeff, God knew, but she had missed having a masculine presence around. Absent from her life now was that uniquely male essence that contrasted and complemented her femininity. She realized now how much she’d missed the intimacy of sharing a bed with… manliness.
Everything about this sleeping arrangement with Calder felt so good, she was reluctant to disrupt it. In no hurry to disengage, she moved only her head, drawing it from beneath his chin and tilting it back to look up at him. He was awake, watching her.
He stopped the idle caress of her backbone, pulled his hand out from under the pajama top, and laid his index finger vertically against her lips.
Without any preamble, he said, “I didn’t run out on you because I didn’t like it, Elle. I ran because I liked it too much.”
She pushed his finger off her lips. “Is this a prepared ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech?”
“I prepared a speech, but I doubt it’ll come out the way I want it to.” He paused, scrubbed his tousled hair with his knuckles. “I can’t explain it like a poet would. I don’t think in terms of abstracts and concepts. The work I do is about assets and liabilities, nothing quixotic. My brain deals in facts, figures, practicality. So forgive me if I stop trying to make it pretty and speak bluntly, okay?”
“I’d prefer it.”
“Good.” He hesitated before starting again. “After that warm hug we shared outside the bar, I talked myself into believing that fucking you wouldn’t be an experiment, that you weren’t just a curiosity, an anti-Shauna, a salve for the aftereffects of the shooting, an itch I had a hankering to scratch. That… that my wanting you went deeper than all that. That’s what I told myself.”
“That’s what you told me.”
“That’s what I told you.” He sighed and ruefully shook his head. “But when I was inside you, I realized that all those rationales that I’d so meticulously stacked up were actually self-delusions, denials.”
“Of?”
“Of just how meaningful it would be. What happened between us on your bed actually wasn’t a test drive. I didn’t want to leave, not your body, not your house, not you. And realizing that scared the hell out of me. That’s why I left.”
“On winged feet.”
“Yeah.” He picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “Tonight, when you were out of the room, Glenda said that my wanting to have sex with you was, under the circumstances, weird. I guess if you apply enough psychology to it, it would seem like that.”
“It seems like that to me, Calder.”
“I swear to you that if the Fairground shooting had never happened, and if we’d met at some other time and place, nothing weird about it, I would still have been blown away by you. I would have wanted you. You’ve gotta believe that, Elle.”
“I find it hard to believe. You’ve just admitted that you lied in order to have sex with me.”
“Not lied exactly.”
“Then what? What would you call it, exactly?”
“Justifications that I made work to my advantage.”
“So manipulation.”
“Shit. You’re not going to let me off this hook, are you?”
“No.”
He laid his forearm across his forehead. When he lowered it, he said, “All I can tell you is that last night wasn’t a sign-off. It did mean something, a lot of something, and made me want you even more.”
“Why, Calder? What can I possibly bring to your table?”
“You. You bring you.”
She gave a dry laugh. “Me and my cloud with long eyelashes and an insecure Mr. Sun who lives in fear of becoming a white dwarf? How would that fit in with your facts and figures and practicality?”
He lowered his face closer to hers. “We fit hand in glove, Elle. A very tight glove.”
Although his words and tone caused an involuntary flutter low and deep inside, she angled her head back away from his. “That’s manipulative.”
“Sorry. But it’s also true. Deny it, and you’ll be the liar.”
Frustrated by her own susceptibility to him, she said, “My fantasy fiction aside, I can be practical, too. I don’t think you and I, as a couple, are meant to be.”
He rested his head against the headboard and thought for a moment. “What if we were?”
“What?”
“What if our being a couple was meant to be? What if we had met in another place and time? Zing, bam, sparks fly. We were hot for each other. Couldn’t keep our eyes and hands off each other. In addition to the fanfuckingtastic sex, we liked each other as companions. All systems were a go.
“Then out of nowhere tragedy struck. Someone close to one or both of us died, and our life together was turned upside down. Poof. Would you compound that loss by throwing us away?”
“Of course not.” When she heard her own response, she began to backtrack. “It’s not the same.”
“It’s the same except that we met after the tragedy, not before. That damn bullet is always going to be there, Elle. We can’t change that. What we can do is decide the amount of control it has over the rest of our lives. I want you. If last night was any indication, you want me.”
He stroked her cheek, low, near the ultra-sensitive corner of her lips. “A tragic circumstance brought us together. Will you let it be the one and only thing that keeps us apart?”
“That sounded prepared.”
“It was,” he said, smiling with chagrin. “It was going to be my summation. But that’s what it boils down to, Elle.”
She had to admit that it was a strong argument, but she resented how easily he’d snared her. “I’ll have to give it some serious thought.”
“That’s fair.”
“There’s a lot to think about.”
“I realize that. I’ve thought about it for two months. You’ve had two days.”
“So I’ll need time.”
“Granted.”
“And I won’t be rushed.”
“No pressure.”
“When I compare my lifestyle with yours—”
“We’ll create our lifestyle.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Another irreparable heartbreak.”
“I understand why you would be, but you don’t have to be.”
“The timing of this is the worst possible.”
“It is, yes.”
“What if—”
“Elle,” he interrupted quietly. “A free piece of advice. When the other party is saying yes to everything, stop negotiating.” He palmed her jaw and aligned his lips with hers. “Otherwise, the other party might detect a weakening of your position.”
Then he was kissing her, his tongue sleek and searching, and she was lost and she knew it. Paradoxically, she reveled in her misguidedness.
One intoxicating kiss evolved into another without any separation of their mouths. With a hand on the small of her back, he pulled her more securely against him and wedged his knee between her thighs. She slid her hand past his rib cage and down the yummy trail.
Then, with a start, she yanked her hand back. “Where’s your underwear?”
“On the floor, I think,” he mumbled as he sought her mouth again.
“This whole time, you haven’t been wearing underwear?”
“It’s been pure hell.” He reached beneath the covers, found her hand, and molded it around his penis. “Till now.”
They stroked together; then he withdrew his hand and gave her free will. When she whispered, “I want to see,” he bicycled his legs to push off the covers.
Lord, he was gorgeous. Each muscle was long and toned, skin tightly stretched over his lean frame, a perfect dusting of body hair that changed texture and narrowed into the satiny stripe that bisected his lower torso and pointed toward his sex. Not that it needed anything to call attention to it.
It was hot-blooded and hungry. A bead of semen clung to its straining tip. She swiped it onto the pad of her thumb, lifted it to her mouth, sucked it off.
Calder watched with eyes that grew dark and intense. He growled, “I think you’re writing the wrong kind of books.”
After she suggestively pulled her thumb from her mouth, he sealed it with another passionate kiss. Then, breathing hard, he said, “I want to see, too,” and began unbuttoning the pajama top. It was so large for her, it was easy to shrug off and leave crumpled beneath her.
Eyes fixed on her breasts, he started on the pajama bottoms. The loose elastic band made it easy for him to work them over her hips and down her legs. He whipped them off, and they went sailing.
Then, becoming unrushed, his hand lightly and slowly skimmed her leg up from her knee all the way to the top of her thigh. He rested his warm palm on her mound.
Just that, no more, before continuing the path upward. He drew a lazy circle around her navel with the minuscule hole on the rim of it. His eyes met hers with an unspoken question.
“A girls’ weekend trip to New Orleans got a little wild. At the time, it seemed like a good idea.”
“It was a good idea,” he said, giving her a wicked smile. “It was a fabulous idea. I love the idea. What was it?”
“A diamond stud. Well, zirconium.”
“You still have it?”
“I had to take it out when I got pregnant.”
“Hmm.”
He touched the tiny hole with the tip of his tongue, then continued his exploration. His hand moved up to her breast, which he cupped and lifted as he bent his head and claimed it with his mouth. He drew it in deep and tugged strongly. His tongue was deft against her nipple, by turns flirty and then fervent.
Elle’s back arched in an appeal for more. His fingers had readied her other breast, and while applying the same sensual treatment, he slid his hand down the center of her body to the vee of her thighs. Again, he rested his hand there, his palm radiating heat as he lightly ground it against her.
When his fingers tapered to slide into her cleft, she sighed and parted her legs. He lifted his head from her breast and turned to watch as he slipped his fingers into her. He monitored each stroke as though wanting to get it just right and make the most of each caress.
Sometimes his fingertips tarried just at the entrance, moving only slightly, leaving her in breathless anticipation. Sometimes they withdrew completely and waited for an imploring whimper from her before penetrating again.
She became tightly wound by pleasurable sensations and began to rock her hips against the heel of his hand. He brought his gaze back to her face, giving her a lusty look as his fingers continued to caress from the inside while his thumb played over and around the spot that most craved his touch.
“I’m gonna kiss you here,” he whispered in a darkly seductive voice. His thumb pressed and spiraled, and her body jerked with the onset of an orgasm that she fought to withhold. “But not until I have a lot of time. Which isn’t now.”
He pulled his hand away, settled himself between her thighs, and groaned her name as he pushed into her in one purposeful glide. He filled her but continued to lean in until they were completely grafted. She contracted around him, and he hissed.
“Please don’t move yet, Elle. If you do, I’ll come, and I don’t want to come until I’ve fucked you, and I don’t want to fuck you until I’ve said this.”
Forearms supporting him, he held her head between his hands. His breath was hot against her face, his eyes glassy with arousal. She could feel his heartbeat against her breasts as well as deep within her.
“I want you. Don’t doubt that. Maybe, in some small part, it does have to do with this.” He tipped his head toward the scars on his left arm. “But even if it does, does it matter? It brought us together. From the moment I looked up and saw you, looked into your eyes, I recognized you. Innately. I knew you immediately, knew that I had to be with you. Like this.”
To illustrate his point, he flexed his hips. She reacted with a corresponding move. He groaned, “Aw, Jesus. I asked you not to move.”
Before it became too late for both of them, he levered himself up and began to thrust.
Chapter 29
Glenda woke up to a ringing sound. She automatically reached for her cell phone before realizing that her doorbell was chiming. She checked the time on her phone. It was a little before six a.m.
Immediately thinking of Elle, she got out of bed and pulled on a robe as she hurriedly went through her house toward the front door. When she reached it, she looked through the panel of glass flanking it.
Looking back at her were Compton and Perkins. Perkins stared, unblinking and expressionless. Compton looked the worse for wear. Her big hair had deflated, and dead leaves were stuck to the mud that caked her sensible shoes.
She said, “Let us in, please, Ms. Foster. We need to talk to you.”
“If it has to do with Elle and last night’s debacle, I already know. I saw it on the news hours ago. Your incompetence knows no bounds, does it? I can only hope and pray that Elle is safe. If she is, it’s no thanks to you and that bunch of East Texas hayseeds you put in charge of guarding her. Although I am deeply sorry that two of them were killed. And that young woman’s husband, of course. Do you think the same person is responsible?”
“The investigations are still too fresh to draw conclusions.”
Asking for more information would be pointless. Compton deflected, and Perkins was a brick wall. But there was only one explanation for their being on her doorstep.
She gave the knot of her robe’s belt an emphatic yank. “If you came here expecting to find Elle, you’ve wasted a trip.”
Perkins finally spoke up. “You were away from your house last night.”
She glared at him through the glass panel. “With tragedies unfolding one right after another, you had nothing better to do than put surveillance on my house?”
As unflappable as a statue, he said, “You weren’t seen leaving, but you returned at two-thirty-four a.m.”
“I’m impressed, Detective. Even I couldn’t have told you what time I got home.”
“Where were you, Ms. Foster?”
“None of your damn business.” Then, thinking about the honey/vinegar adage, she said, “But if you must know, I was out late at a friend’s house. Not Elle. Another friend. A male friend.” She arched her eyebrow, implying Get it?
“I didn’t learn about the shit show at that safe house of yours until I got home and turned on the TV. I immediately started calling Elle’s phone and continued calling for over an hour. She hasn’t picked up or called back, leading me to believe that she doesn’t want to be found just yet, and who could blame her?”
The two on her porch remained unmoved. Compton repeated, “Let us in.”
“And have you stomping through my house in muddy shoes for nothing? I don’t think so. Watch my lips. Elle. Isn’t. Here.”
“If that’s true—”
“It is.”
“—then she could be in even greater danger,” Compton said. “Is she with Calder Hudson?”
Glenda’s breath was momentarily arrested, but she tried not to give that away. “That’s what you said in your interview on TV. So you tell me. Is she? Did they escape together, or was that supposition on your part?”
“How much do you know about him, Ms. Foster?”
“I know his girlfriend has a big mouth. If not for Shauna Calloway, Elle wouldn’t be in danger of her life.”
Compton exchanged a glance with Perkins before coming back to her. “We’re as worried about Elle’s safety as you are, especially in light of Mr. Whitley’s death, which appears to have been a homicide.”
Glenda thought that over. “Between him and Elle, the common denominator is the Fairground shooting.”
“It hasn’t been established yet that these two crimes are related, but even a tangential connection seems likely.” She let that sink in, then said, “I ask again, is your friend with Calder Hudson?”
Glenda looked at them in turn. “Is all this about him?” Neither responded, only maintained their infuriating passivity.
Decision made, Glenda disengaged the alarm, unbolted the door, and opened it. “I’ll make coffee.”
Calder eased himself away from his spooned position with Elle, trying not to wake her. Also trying not to be tempted to wake her. God knew she needed the sleep.
Their trek through the woods had been a mere warm-up for their sexual exertions. In between bouts of ardent coupling, they’d rested while lazily exploring each other. They kissed endlessly.
That cycle of lovemaking had continued until their bodies had demanded a time-out. Heavy eyelids and languid limbs ultimately betrayed them. They’d fallen sleep.
But now, just by watching her in a deep slumber, he became aroused. His body was reawakened to how much pleasure it had derived from hers. What a delightful surprise to discover that her wholesome aspect concealed an incredibly carnal lover.
