He was merciless. Genevieve couldn’t catch her breath as the orgasmic shudders kept blasting through her body, each wave seemingly just as powerful as the first.
“Stop . . . oh,
God
, Sean,” she pleaded when he turned his head to get a new angle on her clit. He sucked and a fresh shudder of orgasm tore through her. Her actions belied her words. She raised her knees and clutched his head, keeping him firmly between her thighs, wanting to feel him . . .
needing
him to be there with her as she ignited again and again at the white-hot core of her passion.
Then he was crawling toward her as she panted wildly for air. Her heavy eyelids opened wider when she saw that his cock hung down from his body, firm and full. Without saying a word, he arrowed it into her soaking slit.
He gently took her limp arms and pinned her wrists above her head. He began to fuck her with long, thorough strokes as he stared down at her with a rigid expression.
He’d possessed her like this before—on that New Year’s Eve night.
It was like being made love to by a force of nature: awesome, intimidating . . . indescribably beautiful.
She moaned softly, feeling helpless and overwhelmed as she faced her monumental desire. Her pussy was slightly tender from their previous joining, and she still hadn’t fully recovered from thunderous, disorienting orgasm. But with every pass of his cock, Sean coaxed her sensitized nerves, soothed and fired them at once, until the prickle of vague discomfort became the burn of pleasure.
Her eyes rolled back in her head as he took her higher and higher. Her universe narrowed until it only encompassed the bubble of firelight and heat that surrounded them, her swelling pleasure . . . and Sean. Her sensations became a blur, but then sharpened when she heard Sean’s voice.
“I’m never going to let you go again, girl.”
She opened her eyes and saw the snarl of determination on his face as he slammed into her, fast and furious.
“Never,”
he repeated, before every delineated muscle in his body seemed to seize in a paroxysm of pleasure. It was the most awesome sight she’d ever witnessed in her life, all of that restrained energy suddenly exploding forth in one climactic moment. His penis jerked deep inside of her and she cried out at the exquisite sensation of him twitching and straining while he poured himself into her farthest depths.
He fell down over her several seconds later, breathing harshly. He buried his nose in her neck and fought to regain equilibrium. She raked her fingers through the perspiration-dampened hair at his nape, thinking of his fierceness as he’d made love to her.
I’m never going to let you go again, girl.
She shut her eyes and continued to stroke and soothe him. A feeling of great tenderness for him overcame her. Sean embodied male power, but in that climactic moment, he was vulnerable.
How strange, to think that when a man made love—
truly
made love—he showed his greatest strength and greatest weakness at once.
Her eyes blinked open when she registered the thought.
Sean loved her
.
Of course he did. How could she have ever thought otherwise? Genevieve realized in growing wonder as she listened to his soughing breath. She’d seen him having sex with that other woman, but it hadn’t been lovemaking. He hadn’t exposed himself to that female, never let down his guard . . . never let go.
What she’d seen had been nothing like what had just passed between Sean and her. What she’d witnessed happening in the spare bedroom and what Sean and she had just shared here on the living room floor tonight were drastically different. One might as well compare eating to praying.
So strange. It was such an obvious, everyday thing. She’d first learned of the difference between sex and making love as a teenager, but Genevieve realized she’d never really
known
the profundity of the difference until that moment.
The rich scent of their combined arousal perfumed the air when she inhaled deeply.
“Sean?”
His head came up slowly. His tousled hair had fallen onto his forehead, and he still breathed heavily.
“You love me, don’t you?” she whispered, awe spicing her tone.
A strange expression came over his face. He smiled slowly.
“From the first time I saw you, girl.”
Genevieve just stared sightlessly at the ceiling when his head lowered again. He pressed his mouth to her neck. She knew he slept after several minutes when she felt the even cadence of his warm breath against her skin.
Sean’d given his heart to her tonight, and made no secret of it. Could she ever do the same?
Could the stain of Max’s violent murder ever truly disappear?
Genevieve lay awake, forcing the shadows into the corners of her consciousness.
For a few precious moments, she just basked in the wonder of what Sean had been telling her ever since he’d stepped into the bathroom tonight.
She awoke sometime later, alone. The fire was still the only source of light in the living room. She glanced down at her body and saw that Sean had covered her in another blanket.
The sound of a pot rattling on the stove made her blink and sit up. She went to the guest bathroom, washed, and put on a short green satin nightgown. A minute later, she stood at the threshold of the kitchen and watched Sean while he stirred the contents of a boiling pan. She caught the scent of roasted tomatoes and spices. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since the late breakfast she’d made for them.
She took a moment to appreciate the vision of a sex-rumpled, gorgeous man wearing nothing but a partially fastened pair of jeans cooking dinner for her.
“Barefoot and slaving over a hot stove. That’s how I like my men,” she murmured, affecting his Southern drawl.
His eyes sparkled when he glanced over at her. He tossed down the spoon he’d been using and came toward her. He landed a kiss on her mouth before he encircled her in his arms and lifted her off her feet.
“Your ol’ stomach did what I couldn’t do, huh? Woke you up?”
She hooked her hands behind his head and giggled. Yeah,
giggled.
Genevieve hadn’t giggled in years.
“We’ve all got our priorities,” she murmured before she kissed him on the mouth playfully.
And then once she captured his flavor on her tongue . . . not so playfully.
His blue eyes gleamed by the time she lifted her head.
“Keep that up, and I know what my priority’s gonna be . . . and it won’t be spaghetti.”
Despite liking that hard, focused expression that overcame his face, her stomach growled again, louder this time. Sean’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. He set her down on her feet.
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint. Spaghetti over sex.”
She chuckled and followed him into the kitchen, inspecting all the pans, cutting boards, bowls, spoons, and knives. She could barely see a square inch of bare counter.
“All this mess just to make spaghetti?” she asked.
“Heck no,” he drawled, giving her a mock insulted look. He walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door, and pointed inside. “I made you some muffuletta. The flavors all soak up real good if it sits overnight.”
“Why are there books inside the refrigerator?” Genevieve asked, staring at the stack of three thick books on top of the Saran-wrapped loaf of round, seeded bread.
Sean stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “You’ve had muff before. We got it at that deli on Taylor Street once, remember?”
“Yeah, it’s some kind of yummy sandwich, if I recall. But that still doesn’t explain why there are books in the refrigerator.”
“Well, ya gotta
press
it, don’t ya, girl?” He rolled his eyes as he flung the refrigerator door shut, clearly bewildered by her Yankee ignorance. He uncorked a wine bottle and filled a glass.
“Now you just take your wine and go on. I’ll bring your dinner out to you. This kitchen’s too small for two cooks. ’Sides . . . seeing you in that itty-bitty nightgown is just making me want to rip it off you, and the pasta’ll go limp while I’ve you pinned down to the kitchen floor.”
“Limp pasta. Can’t have that,” she said over her shoulder.
Sean swatted her rear. Her eyes popped wide.
“Go on now . . . ’fore you get a real one,” Sean murmured, the sparkle in his blue eyes turning into a hard glitter.
Genevieve got out of there quick enough, wondering why in the hell the cracking sound of Sean’s hand on her ass and the tingling sensation on her butt had caused heat to course through her genitals.
Genevieve set her nearly empty bowl of spaghetti with marinara and freshly grated Parmesan on the coffee table. She snagged her glass of wine with her fingers and watched Sean while he continued to eat with gusto.
He noticed the small smile on her face. “What? It’s not too surprising I worked up a good appetite, is it? After all that great sex?”
“Not at all. I was ravenous.”
“Good,”
he said pointedly before he ate another forkful. “I’m looking forward to making you starved all over again.”
She chuckled and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Look,” she said softly.
They watched the snow falling outside.
“Wind must have dropped off,” Sean said. Genevieve nodded. The snowflakes once again fell vertically, thick and silent. She took a sip of her wine. A feeling of warmth and contentment weighted her muscles. It was nice, to sit there with Sean, with a fire and full belly and no place to go.
Genevieve should have known it was too perfect to last.
Her spine straightened when she heard the muffled sound of her cell phone ringing. She met Sean’s gaze.
“I guess I should get it. Maybe it’s something about the house . . . or Jim?”
Sean frowned. “Or your boyfriend?”
Genevieve avoided his gaze and sprung up from the carpet. She didn’t know how to respond to Sean’s obvious irritation. Besides, she was shocked that she’d completely forgotten about Jeff’s existence. Sean was right. It may very well be Jeff calling from New York. She didn’t particularly want to take a call from him in front of Sean, but she didn’t want Jeff to worry about her either. She’d promised they’d talk today.
“Hello?” she asked breathlessly, barely getting to her phone fast enough before it sent the caller into voicemail.
“Ms. Bujold? Genevieve Bujold?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“My name’s Richard Ellerson, I’m an officer with the Chicago Police Department. I’m sorry to have to bother you on a night like this, Ms. Bujold.”
“That’s all right. Are you calling about the break-in at my boutique?”
There was a short pause. “No, ma’am. I’m not.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sean set down his bowl, his eyes trained on her. He stood. A minute later she hung up the phone and walked into the living room.
“What was that all about?”
“A storage locker that I rented out years ago—before I even married Max—has been vandalized,” Genevieve murmured, feeling bewildered.
“Who called?” Sean asked sharply.
Genevieve said the Chicago police officer’s name. “The police want me to go over to the storage facility. They want me to identify if anything is missing.”
Sean glanced outside at the heavy snow falling, his brows crinkled in irritation and disbelief. “Are you kidding? They wouldn’t send a patrol car over to your boutique, but they expect you to go out in this because a
storage locker
has been vandalized?”
Genevieve shrugged. She was highly unsettled by the phone call, and she could tell by the intense, worried expression Sean wore he was thinking about the strangeness of the fire, the boutique break-in . . . and now a storage locker vandalism. She remembered the way he’d looked at her this afternoon in her studio.
Genny . . . is there anything you’re not telling me? Anything I should know?
She inhaled, shoving the intrusive thought out of her brain.
“I said I’d come. Officer Ellerson seemed to think it was important for some reason. It’s only about six blocks west of here, on Jackson Boulevard,” Genevieve said briskly, trying to rid herself of the idea that Sean had been considering her with suspicion when he’d asked those questions earlier today, and quite possibly was doing it again right this second.
“Okay. I’m going, too. But first, give me your cell phone.” When she returned with her phone, he took it from her and pressed the menu, looking for her most recent call. “Why don’t you go and get ready?”
Genevieve nodded, even though she was mystified by his intentions. She lingered long enough to hear him identify himself as Genevieve Bujold’s friend, and ask Officer Ellerson for his badge number. She stood near the hallway when he hit the disconnect button and started dialing again.
“Sean . . . what are you doing?” she asked when he began to dial another number.
“Just checking to make sure this guy Ellerson is who he says he is,” he muttered grimly.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
G
enevieve looked at him suspiciously as they rode the elevator down to the Sauren-Kennedy Solutions parking garage.
“I thought you said earlier today that if we tried to take out our cars, they’d just get stuck in the snow,” she said.
“I did. But that was before the city had a chance to plow and salt all the streets.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed stare. Sean grimaced. “
Okay
, so what if I was trying to talk you out of going to your store this afternoon? I was right to try to discourage you. We froze our asses off walking to Oak Street and back.”
“You lied to me on purpose,” Genevieve accused. The elevator doors dinged open. She stalked across the concrete floor, the brisk clicking of her boot heels letting Sean know she was annoyed.