Up in Flames Page 14

  His words fueled her hope, and she inched closer, so close she could see the fine dark beard stubble on his cheek. Her head swam with the scent of his masculine body as she moved closer.

  “You should probably get some rest,” he said quietly.

  A smile twitched at her lips. “I don’t need to rest.”

  He leaned toward her, feathered a stand of her hair from her check. “What do you need, Rosanna?”

  She wet her lips, reached up and took his hand, then pressed it against the side of her face. “I need you, Bradford. I need you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bradford’s restraint shattered like a twig in the wind.

  He dragged Rosanna into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, his hands winding in her long red hair, the silky strands teasing the sensitive nerve endings of his fingertips. Fingertips that had never touched such softness. Fingertips that ached to trail over her naked body and into her warm, wet flesh. Fingertips that itched to give her pleasure, to make her moan his name as she flew apart in his arms.

  She clung to him, and he deepened the kiss, driving his tongue into her mouth with a frenzy that made his heart pound. She tasted like exotic fruit, sweet and full of passion that burst to life and turned his body into a flaming inferno of need.

  He backed her up, and they ended up against the wall, his body pressed into hers, his sex hardening and begging to be released from its imprisonment. She sank deeper into his arms, stroking his back and the taut muscles between his shoulder blades. Her fingernails dug into his skin through his shirt as he lowered his head and nipped and licked at her ear, the sensitive skin of her neck, then lower.

  She had almost died tonight. A few minutes later, and she might have.

  The thought of losing her triggered another round of frenzied kissing. He thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth, mimicking the way he wanted to pound his body inside hers. She tore at his shirt, and he wrestled free of it and threw it to the floor. Next came her robe, the unveiling of her naked body taking his breath away.

  The gray light from the window painted shadows all across her supple curves, eliciting wicked fantasies of hidden desires.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She trembled beneath him, and he ran a hand over her face, then lower until he cupped her full breasts into his hands. She threw her head back with a ragged sigh, inviting him closer, coaxing him to touch her with her throaty cries.

  He whispered her name, then flicked his tongue down her neck again, and traced a path over the curve of her breasts. She whimpered, and he captured one turgid nipple into his mouth and suckled her, bracing her with one hand as she swayed in his arms.

  Pleasure rocketed through him as he fed on one breast, then the other, driven by the need to extinguish the fire in his body. A fire that she had brought to life, and one that could only be put out by her.

  Need raging through him, he slid his fingers lower, traced them over her flat stomach to the mound of her femininity, then teased the insides of her thighs. She dropped her head forward this time, her hair brushing the side of his face as she planted soft, whispery kisses on his shoulder.

  More kisses, made with low, suckling noises, drove him to tease her legs apart. She eagerly welcomed him, and he thrust two fingers deep in her, loving her with gentle strokes. Then he dropped to his knees and pressed his tongue over her wet nub of desire. Treating it to the same affectionate loving as he had her breasts, he pulled her tighter. Her breasts swayed as she moaned and trembled with excitement.

  Seconds later, she cried out his name and flew apart, her body spasming and filling his mouth with a sweetness that made him want to grovel for more.

  Unable to stand the wait any longer, he swept her up in his arms, and strode to the bedroom. She sighed, reaching for him, her eyes wild with hunger and passion, like a she-devil who had him under her spell.

  His breathing erratic, he ripped off his jeans and socks, shucked his boxers, then grabbed a condom from his pocket. She watched, her face flushed, her arms urging him to hurry as she pulled him down to her.

  He straddled her, wanting to look his fill, to feel her breasts again and her wetness, but she pushed his fingers from her legs as he trailed them over her stomach, then wrapped her fingers around his thick length.

  A guttural sound tore through him, animal-like and primal. Then she wet her lips with her tongue and coached him to her center.

  He slid between her thighs, stroked her with his hardness, felt the blood rushing to his head as he tried to hold back his climax. Taking one last look at the passion in her eyes, he claimed her mouth with his as he thrust inside her.

  Then he heard a soft cry of pain and froze with sudden awareness. He’d thought she looked vulnerable, an angel in disguise, but he’d never dreamed she was a virgin.

  ROSANNA WAS FLOATING somewhere between the clouds, the closest she would ever get to heaven without dying.

  The thought of dying made her reach for Bradford. She wanted him to make her forget, to soothe her fears and give her more pleasure.

  “Rosanna…” He started to pull away, but she clung to him, wrapped her hands around his hips and clenched him between her legs.

  His hard, full length pulsed and throbbed inside her.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” he asked hoarsely.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  She shushed him by pressing a finger over his lips. “I know this is just for tonight. No commitments…” That you couldn’t love me.

  His dark gaze searched hers, troubled for a second, but the passion and hunger remained, so vibrant that she fell more deeply in love with him at that moment.

  God, how could she be in love?

  Her feelings didn’t matter. The only thing that was important was this moment, his body slick and damp with perspiration, hot and hard from wanting her. Filling her with the most exquisite joy she’d ever experienced.

  “Why me?” he asked in a gravelly voice that twisted her insides. It was even headier now because emotions echoed beneath the surface.

  “Because I wanted you,” she admitted with a sultry smile.

  A slow grin tugged at his lips although his eyes still held worry, and doubt, reservations she refused to dwell on.

  “Please…” She leaned up, teased his nipple with her finger, then her tongue, then dipped it lower, as she ground her hips against his.

  He growled, then lowered his head and kissed her again as he thrust the rest of the way inside her. His thick, hard sex filled her, and she spread her legs wider, lifting her hips so he could bury himself more deeply in her.

  Heat fired her cry of excitement, a riveting, soul-shattering primal lust that made her arch again and push against him. Her movements triggered his own, and they began to rock together, thrusting harder, deeper, faster, until the mind-numbing tingles that rippled along her nerves erupted into a hotbed of euphoria.

  She spasmed and shivered against him as he thrust into her again, then he gripped her hips with his big hands and drove himself so far into her that he moaned as his body began to spill its release. She fell into a vortex of joy, a beautiful place of pure erotic sensations where she wanted to remain, lost forever in the mindless pleasure.

  BRADFORD FELT completely humbled by the fact that Rosanna had given herself to him.

  But why? He’d been suspicious of her, distrustful, had practically called her crazy.

  Yet he’d wanted her anyway. He still did.

  He buried his head against her neck, inhaled her essence and wanted to believe in the power of magic and love, but the grayness of doubt fell over him like a curtain closing.

  Maybe he was the insane one.

  He never should have slept with her.

  “Stop thinking,” she said softly. “I needed you tonight. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Nothing about this is simple,” he muttered. Still he didn’t pull away or release her. He was
n’t ready for that.

  He rolled her sideways and cradled her in his arms, pressed her head into the crook of his shoulder and held her as if there might not be a tomorrow.

  If he didn’t find this killer, there wouldn’t be.

  Hopefully, though, the case was solved; he had Whitlock in custody.

  Emboldened by that thought, he relaxed and sighed contentedly. A second later her lips tickled his chest. Her fingers traced a fiery path over his belly. Her whispered sigh told him that she wasn’t ready to fall asleep yet, that she wanted more loving.

  Bradford had never been a noble man. God knew that from the way he’d botched things with his family. He’d had his share of women and never committed.

  And this one would be no different.

  Still, as he lowered his mouth and tasted her again, he knew he had to have her one more time. And then maybe another.

  For lurking in the darkest recesses of his mind, the idea that he might fail her and that the killer would get her, taunted him.

  Fear surged through him, irrational and unwanted, but he channeled the emotion into passion.

  Passion that urged him to take her into the shower, run his soapy hands over her naked slickness. To take her up against the wall with the water cascading over her breasts and his hands and mouth all over.

  Then again in the bed with her on top, her beautiful creamy breasts swaying above him as he flicked his tongue over her nipples. Her glorious mane of hair spilled over his belly as she crawled beneath the sheets and went down under, giving him the best sex of his life.

  The sweetness of their lovemaking on his tongue as he took her with his mouth afterward obliterated any thoughts except that her taste would linger with him forever.

  ROSANNA MUST HAVE drifted asleep because she dreamed of beautiful sunsets and rainbows, that flowers danced around her and that joy scented the air, mingling with the fragrance of rain and wet sand, and the sound of waves lapping gently at the shore. In the dream, she was lying on the beach beneath the sun, cozy and safe, sated beyond imagination, nestled in the arms of the man who loved her, the man who was whispering her name as he kissed her all over.

  She slowly opened her eyes feeling euphoric, but rolled to her side and found the bed empty. Bradford’s musky male scent lingered on the pillow, which was still warm from his head, yet a cold chill slithered through her.

  Where was he?

  Shoving the hair from her face, she slipped from the bed, found her robe and pulled it on, then walked into the den. He was standing in front of the open sliding glass doors with his back to her, his arms by his sides, his hands knotted into fists. Naked, the sliver of light from the outside washed his skin in a golden-bronze color that made her body ache again.

  But she saw his reflection in the glass, and her heart clenched. His mouth was set tight, and a haunted, tortured expression darkened his eyes.

  He regretted their lovemaking. That was obvious.

  Determined to prove that regrets were unnecessary, she moved up behind him, placed a hand on his shoulder. His muscles bunched, stressing the tension in his body.

  She refused to let him push her away tonight. Not yet.

  So she slid her arms around his waist, and leaned her head against his back.

  “Bradford, what are you thinking?”

  A sardonic chuckle split the air like wood cracking beneath the blade of an ax. “That I went way too far tonight.”

  “You only did what I asked,” she whispered. “What I wanted.”

  He dropped his head forward. “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “Shh. Don’t worry. I don’t expect anything from you.”

  “Don’t you get it?” he growled. “You should expect something, a helluva lot more than an empty-hearted guy like me can offer.” His body shuddered in her arms and she stroked her hands over his chest.

  He stilled them with his hands. “You deserve a man who will make promises to you. A man who will take care of you and stay with you.”

  “I’ve been alone all my life, Bradford. I need a lover, not a caretaker.”

  “But you deserve one.” He spun around, took a step away from her. “I’m not the man you think I am, Rosanna. I don’t have an honorable bone in my body. I arrested my own little brother and sent him to jail. That’s the kind of man I am, one who betrays his own family.”

  She swallowed hard, seeing the pain in his eyes, hearing it in his husky voice. “What did your brother do?”

  He closed his eyes, inhaled, obviously struggling internally. “He was an arsonist.”

  His admission shocked her. Then she realized it made perfect sense—he understood this firestarter because his brother had been one.

  “What happened, Bradford?”

  “He started acting out when he was an adolescent. First setting fire to the grass. Some sticks. An old chair. Then an abandoned building. One day, the cat.”

  “Oh God…”

  “His violence was escalating. I researched arsonists and knew he was in trouble. So I squealed on him, and he was sent to a juvenile home.”

  “You were trying to help him,” she said softly.

  “He sure as hell didn’t see it that way. He hated me.”

  “Because he was troubled, and you gave him tough love,” Rosanna said. “You had to teach him.”

  A self-deprecating chuckle rumbled from him. “That’s what I told myself, but he thought I betrayed him. Even my mother tried to cover for him.” He sighed. looking weary. “Then later he went too far. When he got out of juvy, he set fire to my bedroom. I put it out, but I knew he’d lost control. We had a big fight, and that night he burned down the juvenile home where he’d stayed.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  A low sound of agony seeped through his gritted teeth. “Three kids died.”

  “You didn’t betray your brother,” she said softly. “He let you down. He was dangerous, and your mother was obviously living in denial.” She closed the distance between them, cupped his face in her hands. “You are a man of honor, Bradford.” That’s why I love you. “You couldn’t live with yourself if you’d let him kill someone else.”

  His dark gaze swung to hers as if no one else had ever understood his dilemma, how conflicted he’d been, how much he’d hated to lock up his own kid brother.

  But she was right. He loved Johnny, but he couldn’t allow him to hurt another person. The pain and guilt he’d lived with for years eased slightly.

  A second later, he swept her into his arms and kissed her again, his touch hot with raw passion as he took her on the floor. She gave him what he needed, a wild, primal coupling that was frantic and hurried.

  As he pounded himself inside her, and she cried her release, she knew that leaving him would be the hardest thing she would ever have to do.

  But she loved him too much to ask him to give something he couldn’t, so she would let him go in the end.

  BRADFORD’S BODY shook with the force of his release. He’d never get enough of Rosanna. Her soft, giving nature. Her luscious body.

  Her whispered words of trust and acceptance.

  He wanted her again and again, so much that it scared the hell out of him.

  His cell phone trilled, slicing into his staggering thoughts, and he lifted his head from where it rested on her shoulder, aware now that he’d taken her on the braided rug on the floor and that she was still panting from his rough handling.

  God, what had come over him?

  The phone rang again. As much as he wanted to ignore it and cocoon them from the rest of the world, he was a cop; he had to get it. They’d arrested a man earlier for arson and attempted murder, and he had to question him.

  He grabbed the phone and heard Captain Black’s voice. “Whitlock’s lawyer showed up. You want to be here when we question him?”

  Hell, yes, he did. He wanted to kill the man for trying to hurt Rosanna. “I’ll be right there.”

  Lifting himself off of her, he quickly explained ab
out the call. He should take her with him, but she’d be safe here. No one knew he’d brought her to his cabin. And he had the alleged arsonist in custody…

  Besides, he needed some space to get his head on straight. If Whitlock was their guy, he could close the case.

  Then there would be no reason for him and Rosanna to see each other again.

  HE STOOD OUTSIDE Bradford’s house beneath one of the hundred-year-old oak trees in back, his blood heating as he watched Bradford take the woman on the floor.

  So perfect Brad boy had finally tripped over that uncrossable line by bringing a person involved in a case into his own home. Even more interesting, from the looks of it, things had gotten real personal.

  Laughter bubbled in his throat. Brad boy had just raised the stakes. He’d slap him on the back and congratulate him for being human if he didn’t hate him so much.

  Knowing Bradford had slept with the woman would make his revenge taste so much sweeter. He must care about her so he would feel even worse, guiltier, when she died.

  And he should feel guilty, responsible.

  Now Brad boy would suffer.

  Smiling, he watched as Bradford left the house and drove away. Time to make his move.

  He headed toward the sliding glass doors, itching to feel his hands on Rosanna.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rosanna thought she heard the sliding glass door screech open, so she peered through the living room, wondering if Bradford had forgotten something. But the hulking silhouette of another man filled the doorway.

  “Hello, Rosanna.”

  Her mouth went dry, and fear immobilized her at his ominous tone. He sounded familiar, almost like Bradford but different. Colder. Harder.

  She fought panic. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know everything about you.” He took a step toward her, and she held up a warning hand, clutching her robe tightly together.

  “I think you’d better leave.”

  A shake of his head caused his wavy hair to fall across one eye. She knew him—it was Kevin from the research project. “The party’s just beginning, sweetheart.”