Razor's Edge

Page 5

His hand stroked down her spine, then up again. “You okay?”
Rachel gave a jerky nod.
He brushed her sweat-soaked bangs away from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade. “Can you take more?”
She reached behind her to cup the back of his thigh. Feeling the bunching of his jeans, she realized he’d only bothered to push them down just enough to gain the access he needed. The image of how they must look—she, drowsy and naked; he, tautly focused and partially dressed—sparked a renewed flare of desire. “Yes.”
Jack straightened and a heartbeat later she felt the broad, plush head of his cock tuck into the clenching opening of her pussy. He was so hot and hard as steel. The feel of him made her bite her lip while the first slow push had her clawing at the white slipcover.
“Easy.” He restrained her hips with a firm yet gentle grip. “Just relax. You’re nice and soft now. Let it happen.”
He couldn’t know what he was asking of her. As the wide crown breached the tautly stretched entrance to her body, the intense feeling of possession was overwhelming.
“Oh God . . .” she breathed, every nerve ending electrified by the leisurely thrusts with which he worked his cock into her.
If she hadn’t been so languid, Rachel doubted she could have taken him. As it was, the stretching was so acute she swore she could feel every ridge and vein, every beat of his racing pulse. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced. She was grateful to be facing away from him, needing to shield the raw emotion she knew must be visible on her face. She couldn’t scare him away now. Not after this.
Bending his knees, Jack pushed the final few inches inside her. She buried her face in the sofa cushion to muffle her plaintive moan. He was so thick and hard. Every shuddering breath she took made her feel how deep he was.
She felt his tongue slide upward along her back, then a sharp possessive bite at her shoulder.
“Rachel,” he whispered, reaching beneath her to cup her breasts in his large hands. Clutching her to his heaving chest, he began to move. Withdrawing partway, then gliding home. Being far too careful, as if she was breakable. Although she felt as if she might shatter, she didn’t want his restraint. Not when she’d started falling apart the moment he’d touched her.
She threw her hips back at him. “Fuck me. Don’t play with me!”
Jack stilled, which allowed her to feel the fine tremors in his hands and thighs. As deliberate as he seemed, his body betrayed him—he was leashed, but only barely.
As much as she was able, she tightened her inner muscles around the rigid cock throbbing within her.
He cursed and gripped her tighter. “Rachel . . . damn it.”
“Now!”
Hunching over her, he pulled his hips back, then slammed deep. The weight of his heavy sack smacked against her clit, sending fire racing along her skin in a prickling wave.
“Is that what you want?” He flexed inside her, teasing nerve endings she hadn’t known she possessed. “How hard do you want it?”
“Yes—”
He was fucking her before she finished. His hips thrusting and churning, shafting her tender pussy with hard, heavy drives.
She climaxed with his arms wrapped around her, holding her as she sobbed with the pleasure. He groaned as she rippled around him, joining her, jerking violently with every hot thick spurt. His cheek pressed tightly to her temple and the scent of his skin surrounded her, filling her mind along with her name.
As he emptied himself inside her, it was her name he repeated in a jagged litany, spoken in a serrated voice that pushed her over the razor’s edge of infatuation into something far more dangerous.
Somehow, she’d managed to get under his skin. She intended to stay there.
six
Jack tucked one arm behind his head and watched as the ceiling lightened incrementally with the rise of the sun. Rachel lay sleeping on the bed beside him, the white cotton sheet tangled around her torso. Her lips were slightly parted, as if in expectation of a kiss, and he fought the urge to wake her and have her again.
He wasn’t certain what time she needed to get up to prepare for Riley’s party, but it was barely six, so he figured she could sleep for at least another couple hours yet. She needed it. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her breasts were reddened by the scratch of his whiskers. When she’d been curled on her side, he saw the faint indentation of his teeth in her shoulder.
Damn it. She was too tender and soft for him to lose control with her—both emotionally and physically. Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. And he’d made a gross tactical miscalculation. In the light of day, he was no longer willing to be a one-night stand.
She’d been planning on going to bed with him for months . . .
Fuckin’ A. Just thinking about it tore him up.
Yes, Rachel deserved better than him, but he could make some adjustments and sacrifices, he could learn what she needed and give his best shot at delivering. He could show her that he could make love to her slowly, sweetly. Take his time. Let her set the pace. He had no option other than to try; he couldn’t pretend last night never happened. Maybe she’d come into it because of Steve, but he could give her a reason to stick with it.
Too wired to sleep, Jack slipped carefully from the bed and dressed for a run. He hit the beach and tried to clear his head.
He’d never been good with words.
Now he needed to find the right ones to change the rest of his life.
RACHEL woke to the sound of the shower running. She smelled coffee and smiled, relishing the intimacy of sharing her morning with another adult. Rolling to her side, she searched for a clock and found one on the nightstand on Jack’s side of the bed. It was turned away from her, so she crawled over and moved it. Seven forty-five.
Beside the clock was Jack’s badge and billfold. She stared at the silver star, feeling a rush of pride and respect. He was a Shadow Stalker, a member of the U.S. Marshals Service’s elite Special Operations Group. He’d explained the nickname to her once—the Shadow Stalkers unit hunted dangerous fugitives, or “shadows,” and waited in the shadows of federal courthouses during high-profile cases. His job suited him so well that she couldn’t imagine him doing anything else. She certainly would never ask him to give it up, even though the thought of losing him terrified her.
Reaching for the badge, she accidentally knocked the wallet to the floor. It landed on its back and flopped open. Her smiling face stared up at her.
She got out of bed. Bending down, she picked the billfold up. It felt wrong to pry, but she couldn’t resist. Whose image did he carry with him? Who were the important people in his life?
Rachel turned each plastic photo protector slowly, touched to see pictures of Steve and Riley along with ones of her. But when she reached the end and found only one photo that wasn’t of her family—one with several guys in bulletproof vests and sunglasses—she frowned. There were no pictures of parents or siblings, or nieces and nephews. No photos of himself with anyone.
Her heart broke a little. “Jack,” she whispered, wondering if he felt as alone as he suddenly seemed to her.
She’d known that Jack grew up in foster care, but she’d assumed he formed some lasting connections with someone. Anyone. Was it possible he hadn’t?
If she and Riley were all he had, no wonder he was wary and reluctant. It certainly wasn’t from lack of desire.
Standing, she walked to the master bathroom. She gave a cursory knock, then cracked the door open. “Hey.”
“Good morning.”
His voice was warm and purring. The shower was enclosed with frosted glass, affording her just enough of a glimpse of his perfect body to light her up. She could get used to this.
“Coffee’s brewed,” he said. “I picked up some of that sugar-free hazelnut creamer you like.”
Sweatpants and a sweat-stained T-shirt lay piled on the floor. She couldn’t believe he’d exercised after their exertions the night before. She felt like an underachiever. She also felt loved and cared for.
Jack paid attention to her and the things she liked in ways she hadn’t fully appreciated until Steve was gone. The flowers he sent weekly were either calla lilies, stargazer lilies, or tulips—her favorites. How did he know that? Perhaps Steve mentioned it. But her favorite Luzianne chicory coffee, which had to be ordered? Or her favorite hand cream, Japanese Cherry Blossom Shea Cashmere, the smell of which was usually hidden by her perfume? Even Steve, the one person who’d known her better than anyone, couldn’t remember that.
Maybe Jack’s attention to detail was just part of who he was and the job he did. After all, the U.S. Marshals Service was responsible for the Witness Security Program. Maybe the little things he remembered about her were things he’d pick up on anyone, part of the process of wiping a person’s identity and erasing identifying habits. But maybe something more personal was involved. She hoped so, because she’d started falling in love with him over those gifts and how they made her feel. After years of having everything she loved denigrated and belittled by her aunt until she didn’t enjoy anything at all, Jack had taught her to celebrate the things that made her happy.
Smiling at the thought, she bent down and picked up after him, grabbing his clothes and taking them out to the hamper in the bedroom. It wasn’t a task she was particularly fond of usually, but she was beginning to think Jack could use a little looking after. Besides, he’d made the coffee. She was willing to trade quite a bit for the pleasure of waking up to freshly brewed coffee.
“Would you totally gross out,” she asked, returning to the bathroom, “if I use your toothbrush?”
“Go for it.”
Rachel was rinsing her mouth out when Jack turned off the water in the shower. Straightening, she turned and faced him, determined to catch the view. The door slid open. A dripping wet and gorgeously naked Jack appeared, and she gave an appreciative whistle. He was perfectly sculpted from head to toe. And the package in the middle, impressive even while semi-erect, made her hot and needy. She could seriously get used to this.