But a little part of her couldn’t help but wonder, what would it be like if Bo wanted to stay at North Beach? With him in her life, she’d do much more than fly, that was certain now.
She’d love.
The thought knocked her back a few breaths, and then the soft knock on her door startled her further. Padding to the door, she frowned. “Dimi?”
“Try again.”
Bo.
Everything within her reacted to that unbearably familiar voice. Everything within her wanted to throw open the door and jump him, but she set her forehead to the door and told herself that she had to give him up at some point, the sooner the better. She’d probably have managed to resist him if he hadn’t knocked again.
Chapter 25
Mel closed her eyes. Resist. She could do it.
She had to do it, because this was much more than a physical want. This was the kind of ache that couldn’t be assuaged with just another quickie, amazing as that quickie would be, and Bo couldn’t, wouldn’t, offer more.
He was leaving.
Damn it, hadn’t she given herself enough disappointments?
He didn’t knock on the front door again, and she breathed a sigh that she told herself was relief, which backed up in her throat when another knock came.
The back door, this time.
She saw him through the glass. Lightning flashed, revealing his face, his eyes, which glittered with a whole host of things she couldn’t begin to guess at.
“Mel.”
She stared at him. Shook her head. She felt too weak, too vulnerable.
“Open up.” He spread his hand on the glass. “Please?”
Ah, hell. It was the please, uttered in that Australian drawl, in that low, husky voice that followed her into her dreams. She pulled open the door, let him slip in, then walked away from him, back through the living room to her large picture window.
Putting her hands on the sill, she stared out into the dark night, extremely aware of the man behind her in the dark, silent. Waiting.
The wood floor creaked beneath his feet as he came close in the charged silence. Around her the awareness heightened, and she drew a shaky breath.
Still, neither of them spoke.
The rain hit, slashing at the windows. Bo came closer still, moving without a sound but she didn’t need to hear him, she felt him, with every fiber of her being.
Go away. Please, go away.
Don’t go.
With her mind and body playing tug-o-war, she felt a little off center. “I can’t do this, Bo.”
“I haven’t asked anything of you.”
His voice came out of the dark. Disembodied.
But not distant. Never distant. She had a feeling she could be in a coma and just hearing that low, whiskey, Aussie voice would bring her out and awake.
And aroused.
Without looking at him, she pressed her forehead to the window. Looking at him would be bad, like looking at an open box of donuts.
Irresistible bad.
Gotta have one bad.
Can’t stop at just one bad.
In fact, if she looked at him and he spoke, the combination would probably cause her to spontaneously combust.
From behind her, he touched her hair.
So close. He was so close she could feel the strength of him, his breath at her temple. “Mel.”
“It’s late,” she whispered, still pressing her forehead to the glass.
“I know. I was in bed, staring at the ceiling.”
“Ah.” She felt the reluctant smile tug at her mouth. “A noble bedtime activity.”
“I can think of a better one.”
Her entire body tingled, reacting in the predictable way as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Is that why you came?”
He touched her again, trailed a finger over her neck, nudging her oversized T-shirt off one shoulder. Simple touch. Complicated feelings. “Bo.”
“I was lying there.”
“Studying the ceiling.”
A huff of breath escaped him. “Yeah. Picturing you here. Devastated from today.”
She craned her neck to look at him now, the low light casting his face in bold relief. “So you drove over here to what, make me undevastated?”
A grimace crossed his face. “It sounded good from flat on my back.”
Flat on his back. She wanted him flat on his back, with her straddling him. She turned back to the window, set her hands on the wood-lined pane and desperately took in the sights.
Ocean pounding the shore.
Sky unleashed.
“Mel.” He set his hands on her shoulders, which he began to knead with such a knowing touch, the first moan escaped before she could stop it. “You’ve got a rock quarry going on here.”
“Yeah. Listen, Bo…I called Matt and asked him to run Sally for more aliases.”
“I’m searching, too.”
Right. Of course.
“Stop thinking, Mel,” he said softly. “At least for tonight.” He had magic hands, talented fingers…both of which she already knew. Beneath them she nearly slid into a pool of boneless putty as he drew out each and every tense muscle in her neck and shoulders and arms, concentrating in silence, until finally she sagged back against him.
His chest brushed her back, his thighs hard and tough to her softer ones. She hadn’t taken a good look at him on purpose, but she could feel his T-shirt against her shoulders, absorbed his soft denim jeans against her bare legs. Because she was weak, very weak, she rocked her bottom, wriggling just a little.
The sound that escaped him managed to perfectly convey his desire, as did the hard bulge she felt pressing into her bottom. She’d told herself they weren’t going to do this, but then his hands slid up her sides and down, gripping her hips when she helplessly arched into him again. Still holding on to the wood for dear life, she murmured his name.
His hand skimmed up her belly, taking the hem of her T-shirt with him, higher, slowly higher, exposing her breasts to the night air, and then to his fingers.
“I dream of this,” he said a little hoarsely. “Just about every night. I wake up hard and aching for you.” He slipped a hand inside her panties, let out a rough sound of pleasure when he found her wet, and slid a finger inside her.
God. She pressed his hand against her, needing more, which he gave by adding another finger. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, the sweet spot right beneath her ear; hot, wet, openmouthed kisses that went in tune with his clever fingers.
She opened her eyes and caught her own reflection in the glass. Hair, wild. Face, hungry. T-shirt shoved up, one breast bared, nipple hard and pouty, the other covered by Bo’s big hand. Her belly rose and fell as if she’d been running. His other hand, between her legs, was still moving, the sight so erotic she almost had to close her eyes but she blinked rapidly, trying to watch, wanting to watch, because she’d never seen herself like this before.
Then she looked up and caught Bo’s reflection. He wasn’t looking in the glass, but at the real thing, his head bent as he took in her body and what he was doing to her. His expression curled her toes. “Bo.”
His thumb flicked over her and she couldn’t help it, she bowed back, body tight and quivery. As she shifted, a breast brushed the cold glass, making her gasp.
He stroked her again.
Her mind shut down, reduced to nothing but sensation. Hot fingers inside her. Cold glass against her breast. Bo’s mouth on her throat, his erect penis pressing into her bottom. “Please,” she managed.
That was all he seemed to need to hear, and in the next moment, he dragged down her panties and opened his jeans.
Something hit the ledge and she looked down. A condom packet.
So they weren’t going to compound their errors.
And then she couldn’t think at all because he’d dipped down a little, his thighs on the outside of hers, and slid inside her with one powerful thrust.
She cried out, and so did he as she pushed back against him for more. Please more. “Bo.” She couldn’t stay still, couldn’t, but when she wriggled, desperate, his hands gripped her hips, his voice low and rough in the dark. “Don’t move. Christ. Don’t move-”