He looked down at his fishing rod and tackle box that lay on the dock, unused. He’d brought them out here, intending to try for another walleye, but had ended up standing here, contemplating. Everything.
He thought about what Evie had said about missed opportunities, about Glenn’s paralleling his life to Dana’s. Service, at the exclusion of everything else. Dana’s had been penance for the guilt she felt over her mother’s murder at her stepfather’s hand.
Mine… Megan’s death and the deaths of her entire family. Also at the hand of a stepfather. Funny how he’d never stopped to consider the parallels before. But they’d always been there, plain for anyone to see. If anyone knew the truth.
Which brought him back to Olivia’s big question-who are you? He still wasn’t sure what he’d answer, if she ever got here.
He turned his mind to Lincoln and his phantom helper, who might not even exist.
He hoped Tom was making more progress with the Web site than he had with the phone numbers he’d found on Lincoln’s call log. The only calls that showed up in any of the reverse lookups he’d done were cell phones for Lincoln’s mother and his brother, Truman. The other number Lincoln had called matched nothing. It might be a disposable cell. He’d gone as far as picking up a disposable cell phone of his own on his way up to the cabin, but he’d stopped short of calling the numbers.
If one of them was important, he wouldn’t want to tip them off.
Whoever “they” might be. Because even though he was pretty positive Lincoln had help, David still had to ask why? Why would anyone not crazy want to find me? All I did was catch the damn ball.
A noise caught his ear, faint, but it got louder and his heart began to pound. A car. Either Olivia had just forgotten to call again or someone else had come to search the place. He grabbed his fishing gear and jogged back up to the house, stowing his things on the back porch. He strode through the small living area. He’d set the table again and restored order to Glenn’s desk. The house was ready for Olivia.
But was she ready? Am I?
Hands unsteady, he wrenched open the door, only to find her on his doorstep, her fist poised to knock. Slowly she lowered her fist to her side, her eyes locked to his, and he had to force himself to breathe.
She wore a beige trench coat, cinched tightly around her waist. But peeking out from beneath it he could see the dress from last night. The one she’d worn the first night he’d met her. She wore ridiculously high heeled shoes that made her legs look incredible. He lifted his eyes back to her face, hoping he was reading the right words between the lines, because on her head she wore a fedora, the brim pulled low.
“Can I come in?” she asked. He stepped aside and she entered, her eyes drawn to the table. She looked up, her mouth slightly curved. “Just like last night.”
“I was hoping…” The words trailed away, his thought unfinished. She stood before him, looking good enough to eat and every muscle in his body clenched. He shoved his hands in his pockets lest he reach out and touch. “I’d take your coat,” he said roughly, “but once I touch you, I won’t be able to stop.”
Her eyes heated and he could see her pulse fluttering at the hollow of her throat. She tugged at her belt, then pulled the buttons free, shrugging out of the coat on her own. She laid her coat across the arm of the sofa, carefully placed her hat on top of it, and looked back up at him. Deliberately she extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Olivia Sutherland. It’s nice to meet you.”
His eyes dropped to her hand and he swallowed. Hard. She was offering him the chance to start over. To get it right this time. Slowly he watched his hand take hers, his large and dark, hers small and pale. Nearly fragile. But he knew she was anything but. She was strong and kind and beautiful and he was shaking like a teenager.
“I’m David Hunter.” He leaned closer until he could see every eyelash framing her blue eyes. Until his mouth was a whisper from hers. “And I want you more than I want to breathe.”
“Oh.” It was more an exhale than a word. Her eyes slid closed, her chest barely moving with the shallow breaths she drew, as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. He didn’t know who moved first, and then he didn’t care. Her arms were locked around his neck and his mouth was on hers, savage and bruising, but she met him full force, openmouthed and so damn hot.
His hands were everywhere, her back, her breasts, her round butt that filled his palms like she was made for him. “What do you want?” he managed.
“You.” She punctuated her words with hard kisses. “Now. Please.”
He should stop this. She’d wanted to talk. Needed her answers. But he didn’t think he could stop this if his life depended on it. He lifted her dress, running his hands up her legs and then he groaned when his fingers went from silk to bare skin. She wore real stockings. “Where’s the zipper on this thing?” he rasped, searching her back.
“No zipper.” Her hands were busy on the buttons of his shirt. “Just… take it off.”
He yanked the dress over her head and let it land where it would. And then he stared. Silk and lace covered very little. His eyes dropped to a miniscule thong. Very, very little. He thought his heart might explode. He was sure other parts of him would. He cast his eyes at the sofa, tempted, but she tapped her finger against his mouth.
“You said,” she said in a husky murmur that sent every drop of blood rushing out of his head, “you needed more space for what you wanted to do to me.” She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and brushed his mouth with hers while his hands cruised the skin she’d bared. “For me. In me. No sofa, David.”
He was going to die. “Fine,” he ground out, and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. He took two steps toward the bedroom when his mouth found her breast through the lace and she arched against him, her body lithe and beautiful. He stopped where he stood, sucking hard and making her whimper, loving the sound. He shifted her, claiming the other breast so he could hear it again.
“Hurry,” she urged. “Please. Please.”
It was a desperate chant as he obeyed, laying her on the bed, then ripping the tiny panties down her legs, pushing her shoes off her feet in one motion. Before she could draw another breath his mouth was on her and she moaned, just like he remembered.
She tasted… just like he remembered. And her hands dug into his hair, pulling him closer, just like he remembered. “Please, please.” She was chanting it again, begging for more, begging him to take her there, as if she wasn’t certain he would.
So he sucked and nipped and licked, finally stabbing his tongue deep and her body went taut, her head flung back and a strangled cry ripped from her arched throat as she came with a force that stunned him.
But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop, and she shuddered again, his name on her lips.
He pushed to his knees, staring at her, his body throbbing. “Olivia, look at me.”
She blinked, finally lifting her eyelids. She was beautifully dazed.
He placed his hands on either side of her face, leaning close. “I am thinking of you. Just you. Only you. Olivia.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then her lips curved. “You’re still dressed.”
Her hands reached for him, but he grabbed her wrists, twining his fingers through hers. “If you touch me, I’ll come.”
“I want you to. I need you to.”
“I need to, too, but I want it to last more than thirty seconds. So give me a minute.” He dropped his brow to hers. “I dreamed of your taste. You’re better than I dreamed.”
She twisted up into him. “David, please.”
He let her go, backing up before she could touch him. He peeled the stockings from her legs slowly, one then the other, then stood next to the bed and shrugged out of his shirt. “Take off the bra.”