Possession (Fallen Angels #5)(93)
Author: J.R. Ward

Kind of like a postcard, and yeah, he could have called this. Cait struck him as the sort of person who’d have a tidy home.

He nearly kept going.

Gripping the steering wheel, he thought … this was wrong. Not his larger purpose, no. But this part of it, the part with her.

Cursing, he glared out at the road ahead of him. “Goddamn it.”

Man, this inner conflict bullshit was not part of the plan. This hesitation, this sense that he was doing a nasty on the way to getting back at G.B. should not be his problem.

Collateral damage happened. And she was an adult, capable of making her own decisions—and it wasn’t like he’d coerced her into the sex. Far from it.

“Shit.”

Forcing his hand forward, he turned off the engine and got out because he didn’t know what else to do with himself. The instant he faced the house, however, a surge went through him and clarified things, reminding him that there was another dimension in play in all this.

God, the sex.

He hadn’t expected it to get so out of control. When he’d seen her behind that café, he’d felt the attraction—then at the club, he’d followed through on it. But he’d assumed those hard-core orgasms had been because of the satisfaction to be had in taking something G.B. wanted. At the boathouse last night, however, he’d begun to think there was more to it than that.

And now, as he walked up and pushed the doorbell, he was sure of it.

He wanted to see her naked this time; take her on something soft like a bed so he didn’t have to worry about bruising her; do her from behind and then with her straddling him.

The extent to which he needed the sex was a warning—

The door opened—and oh, shit, there she was. And for a split second, the impact of her in that loose navy blue dress flushed his brain, his senses overriding his thought processes entirely.

“Hi,” she said roughly.

As her hand went up and fiddled with the collar, she seemed off.

Frowning, he looked behind her, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the house. Maybe that was the problem?

“You okay with this?” he asked. “We can go somewhere public if you’d rather.”

After all, she’d only met him a matter of days ago—

“No. I want you here. As long as you … you know, you’re all right with it?”

In lieu of an answer, he stepped forward, took hold of her, and kissed the breath out of her. He just wanted to have her against him, and only intended for a quick reconnect—but of course, once he got his hands on her, that went right out the window. With her br**sts against his chest, and her mouth under his, his body got hungry.

Starved, was more like it.

Fucking hell, her lips were so soft against his, and the way she yielded to him, her spine arching into him, made him want to lay her out right on the floor and—

Duke pulled away and shut the door so they didn’t give her neighbors a show. And as he paused to stare down at her, the fact that she was breathing hard and looking up at him as if he were already naked in her eyes?

Just where he wanted her.

“Hi,” he drawled, brushing back some of her blond hair. “Miss me?”

The smile on her face made his sternum ache. “Yes, I did.”

“I smell dinner?”

“Lasagna. Just homemade—I didn’t know whether you would …” As she let that fade, she put her hand on his face, shaking her head. “God, every time I see you…”

“What.”

“I just forget what you look like. Until you’re in front of me.”

“Good or bad.”

For a moment, her expression changed as if she were taken somewhere else in her head. But then she shook things and seemed to refocus. “Good, very good.”

Duke did some touching of his own, running his fingertips down her neck. “Do you think we’ll make it through dinner this time?”

Man, he was amazing, Cait thought as she absorbed the sight and feel of her lover. To think her memories seemed vivid? They so didn’t compare to the real thing.

Wait, he’d asked her a question, hadn’t he.

Something about making it to dinner?

“I don’t know,” she said slowly as erotic flashbacks made her feel dizzy. Still, talking like civilized people for half an hour was probably a good short-term goal. Then they could … “Ah, let me show you around—not that there’s much to show.”

That awkwardness, the discordant, off-kilter stuff that she’d felt at the diner after the boathouse hookup, came back—and made her wonder about having him to her home.

He was, after all, still a stranger, technically.

Too late now, though.

Before she got a chance to lead any kind of tour, Duke glanced over her head with a remote expression. “Nice place. But I like the looks of its owner even more.”

“You haven’t seen anything.” She flushed. “I mean, of my home.”

He shrugged. “This place could be the Taj Mahal and I’d think the same thing.”

She pivoted away so the blush that hit her face wasn’t quite so obvious. At least the sexual connection was still alive and well between them. “So … this is the living room.”

She stopped the narration there or she was liable to point out such exotic features as the couch, the TV, the lamp on the side table … the frickin’ rug.

“And I work in here.”

Moving onward to the porch, she pulled a Vanna White, turning in a circle and feeling like an idiot. But at least she didn’t have to apologize for the shape things were in. She’d spent the last two hours cleaning everything from floor to attic—although that had been more because she was nervous than any sort of mess.

“Great light in here,” he murmured, putting his hands in his pockets and wandering over to the display of pages on the tables.

As he inspected each drawing, Cait crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight back and forth. The sight of this tall, broad man in black clothes standing over her work made her feel like she was in a funhouse, everything going wonky on her. He was not at all like Thom … or G.B. No, he was latent power and raw sex, a bonfire upright in a pair of black combat boots.

She wanted him.

Holy hell, she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him again.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing without touching.

She walked over, smoothing her loose skirt and feeling her panty hose ride up. She’d worn a bra tonight—because she’d wanted him to take it off her with his teeth—but the reality was, she wished she didn’t have any makeup on, and was in sweats.