He sucked, and she felt that tugging, pulling sensation all the way down to her sex. She couldn't stop the whimper of need that slipped from her lips, couldn't hold back the convulsions that started deep inside where Steve filled her, full and throbbing. She moved on him, harder, faster, and came undone as a torrent of exquisite sensation flooded her limbs and sent her careening into an intense and fiery orgasm.
He released a harsh groan of surrender then and gripped her hips, rocking her in time to each frantic upward surge of his thick shaft within her. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as his own body shuddered in and around hers in long, deep, powerful spasms.
When it was over, they melted into each other, their arms and legs entwined, both of them too wiped out to move. Chest to chest, the wild beating of their hearts was all Liz could feel, and in that seemingly endless stretch of time, that profound connection between them was all that mattered to her.
Steve rummaged through Liz's kitchen cupboards for a late-night snack while she'd slipped down the hall to take a quick shower and change into something more comfortable. He'd promised her he'd stick around until she returned, and the truth of the matter was that he didn't want to leave. And because there was nothing left for them to discuss business-wise when they both knew the ball was now in Antonio's court, it made the issue of his staying beyond their midnight tryst a personal one.
He frowned at that realization as he snagged a peanut butter granola bar from the cupboard, but couldn't deny the truth. Beyond the incredible, mind-blowing sex they shared and the way they connected on a physical level, he enjoyed being with Liz as a woman who matched him intellectually, a person he enjoyed spending time with, and an intimate lover he couldn't get enough of. The three facets were intrinsically joined, in a way that fulfilled an emptiness within him he hadn't even known existed until she'd come along and filled that vast solitude with her exuberant presence, her fortitude, and even her moments of vulnerability.
His heart thumped hard in his chest, and he immediately dismissed the notion that popped into his head. He was not falling for Liz. Yes, he enjoyed being with her. Yes, he cared for her. Yes, she was fun and sexy and turned him on like no other woman ever had, but there was no way in hell he was going to fall in love with her.
The mere thought made the granola in his mouth turn to dust, and his palms sweat. He liked his life the way it was, thank you very much, and being a bachelor suited him just fine. After one failed marriage and a sixteen-year-old daughter whom he adored, he'd already done the domestic thing and wasn't in the market for a wife, family, or long-term commitment with any woman.
Yet there was no denying that his feelings for Liz were shifting and changing, in a way that transcended wanting only a temporary fling with her.
"If you're hungry, I can make you a sandwich."
Liz's husky voice yanked him from his thoughts, and he turned his head as she padded barefoot into the small kitchen, a soft smile greeting him. She was wearing a well-worn thermal tank top with matching drawstring pants. Her hair was damp and ruffled around her head, her face scrubbed clean, and her skin pink from her shower. He caught a whiff of her shampoo, and his stomach knotted. He ached to nuzzle her neck, to immerse himself in her sweet, fragrant scent. He wanted to lie down with her on her bed and fall asleep with her cuddled in his arms.
Oh, yeah, he definitely had it bad for her.
"I was just passing time with a snack." He ate the last of the granola bar and washed down the bite with the bottled water he'd filched from the refrigerator. "By the way, I think you have a few messages on your recorder."
Her gaze went to the small machine on the counter next to her phone unit. A digital number flashed, indicating she had two messages waiting for her to pick up.
"Oh, crap." She crossed the kitchen, shaking her head. "I can't believe I didn't check the recorder first thing when I walked in."
"I think you were a little distracted," he teased.
"That's no excuse." Self-condemnation laced her voice, and her eyes glimmered with unmistakable guilt. "What if it's Valerie?"
The vehemence in Liz's tone took Steve by surprise. He understood her desperation to locate her cousin, to be reassured that Valerie was okay. What he didn't understand was Liz's strong sense of responsibility for Valerie's disappearing act, when it was something she couldn't have prevented from happening.
Leaning a hip against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest and opted for a practical approach. "If it's Valerie, then let's hope she tells you where she is, or at the very least lets you know that she's doing fine and is unharmed, and that'll be the end to your worries."
And this case, he thought. Would that then mean the end to them as well? Another startling realization, which came with an equally startling rise of emotion that made his chest tighten.
She turned away without replying and pressed the button on her recorder. The first call was a hang-up. The second one was Liz's aunt, leaving a message for Valerie, and Liz immediately stiffened when she heard Sally Clark's voice drifting through the speaker.
"Hi, Valerie, honey. It's Mom. I'm sure Liz gave you the message that I called earlier this week, but you've probably been busy. She told me that you were out of town for a few days with a friend, and I was hoping to get a hold of you just to see how you've been doing." Sally sighed, the sound rife with disappointment that she'd been unsuccessful in reaching her daughter. "Your father and I are heading down to San Diego for a four-day getaway, so I'll try and get in touch with you next week. We love you and miss you."
The line disconnected, the recorder beeped, and Liz hit the rewind button. With her hands braced on the counter, she hung her head, her shoulders slumped, and blew out a long stream of breath.
Judging by Sally Clark's message, Steve was fairly certain that Liz was keeping a pretty significant secret to herself. "You haven't told your aunt and uncle about Valerie, have you?"
"No." She lifted her gaze to his, the depths of her eyes brimming with a wealth of emotion, the most prominent of which was remorse. "I don't want to involve them unless I absolutely have to."
Not willing to let the discussion drop on such an intriguing note, he asked, "Why not?"
Her chin lifted. "Because my aunt and uncle have had enough disappointment to deal with in the past few years."
Retrieving a brass teakettle from the stove, she filled it with tap water from the sink. Her back was to him, her posture ramrod straight, giving him the distinct impression that she'd deliberately assumed that position to keep him from seeing and analyzing her expression. What she didn't realize, however, was that her tone, edged with self-recriminations, spoke volumes.
"Sounds personal," he said gently, trying to keep things light and easy so she didn't feel threatened by the conversation.
"It's very personal." She set the kettle on one of the burners, flicked on the gas flame, and turned to face him again. "My aunt and uncle have no idea that their daughter makes a living as a phone sex operator, and I'd like to spare them that bit of news if I can."
She spun back around and reached for a mug in the overhead cupboard, and her top skimmed upward, revealing a smooth expanse of soft skin he itched to stroke with his fingers, taste with his tongue. Better yet, he'd love to strip off her top and bury his face in those luscious breasts of hers and take her again, here in the kitchen.
He blocked those sensual thoughts from invading his body and mind and kept his focus on the discussion at hand. "Why do you feel the need to protect Valerie and hold yourself responsible for her actions?"