Gabriel West Still the One Page 10

  She hadn't seen either the tapes or the book, but Harrison had said they hadn't proved conclusive— that in fact, according to the security tapes and the personnel, no theft had taken place which was why her position was so shaky. The jade was missing, and the fact that they hadn't found any evidence of a hard entry, made it highly likely that it was an inside job.

  Her laptop was gone, but she still had her disk so she could continue compiling her database of possible purchasers of the jade. Richard would lend her a computer until she bought another one.

  She dressed for work, pulling on a loose white blouse and choosing a lime-green skirt that ended midway down her thighs because the shoes that went with the skirt were low and comfortable and she didn't want to risk a flare-up of the back pain. Normally, she wore her hair up for work, but there was no way she was going to be able to bear that, so she left it loose, blow-drying it and brushing it until it swung silkily below her shoulders. The outfit was softer and more feminine than the suits she normally wore, but still crisp enough for Laine's.

  The apartment was still and quiet as she started down the hallway, and for a moment she wondered if West had gone out. A flash of movement caught her eye, and she paused at the door of one of the sunlit bedrooms, which had been converted into a minigym.

  West was working out on a padded bench, wearing dark track pants that rode low around his hips, his back to her as he moved fluidly through a set of crunches; muscles bunched and slid beneath skin that gleamed with sweat and glowed gold in the morning light.

  He had always trained, pushing himself to keep fit and build muscle for the strenuous assault work he'd done with the SAS. His dedication and commitment to his job had always been absolute, the habit of training a daily ritual that had closed her out as effectively as if she'd become invisible.

  The memory on the heels of her vulnerability when he'd kissed her last night made her go cold inside. She could feel herself pulling inward, protecting herself like a turtle retreating into its shell.

  Living with West had been like a crazy roller-coaster ride. When they'd been together she'd been his focus, and the intensity and passion that had flared between them had been overwhelming. He would walk in the door—tired and unkempt—lay his gun case down and shrug out of his pack. His gaze would lock on hers and every brain cell she owned would dissolve into slush. She would walk into his arms, lay her mouth on his and time would stop. More often than not, he'd still smell of gun oil and sweat and jungle, but it didn't matter. She never knew how long he was back for, or when she'd lose him next, and they'd spend most of his leave in bed. Making love with West had been like heat and fire and magic combined, the pleasure so extreme sometimes she'd felt as if she were dying. Sometimes, West had seemed so absorbed in her, so completely lost in lovemaking, she'd fooled herself that he'd felt the same way she had, but he hadn't.

  Despite all of her efforts to forget West, she hadn't succeeded. Like an injury that was too tender to touch, she'd simply covered this particular wound over, and it hadn't healed. Now she felt as if the layers had been peeled away, leaving her exposed, the sense of loss as sharp and fresh as if it had happened yesterday.

  She'd thought before that, when it came to relationships, her loyalty wasn't in question, just her sanity: now she knew it.

  She was still in love with West.

  Chapter 11

  Tyler blinked. For long seconds she couldn't think, couldn't feel. Then grief welled, holding her motionless when she knew she should be moving, and soon—otherwise West would see her. In that moment he sat up and turned in one smooth motion and his gaze locked with hers.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mouth went dry as he flowed to his feet and padded toward her. Without the civilizing barrier of a shirt, and with his dark mane of hair clinging to his damp shoulders, he looked big and male and dangerous, his exotic looks hammered into a tough maturity that made her stomach clench. Her stomach tightened with renewed tension when she realized that he was aroused, which meant that he'd been turned on before he'd realized she was watching him.

  He came to a halt in front of her, heat poured off him, engulfing her. His gaze bored into her, his pupils so dilated they were completely black, and she knew in that instant that his control was almost gone and he didn't like it one little bit.

  He cupped her face with his palms. ''You should have kept walking."

  His head dipped, his mouth closed hungrily over hers, and this time he wasn't playing the gentleman.

  Long seconds later, he lifted his head.

  Tyler drew in a breath and resisted the urge to step into him, wind her arms around his neck and press her mouth to his throat. "Was that supposed to be a threat?"

  His gaze was hot, focused on her, and the pressure of his intent sent a shiver skimming down her spine. "You're better."

  "Pretty much."

  His gaze flickered over her office clothes. "Where are you going?"

  His attitude said, Where do you think you're going?

  "Work."

  "The hell you are," he said mildly.

  She lifted a brow. The blunt pronouncement after all the rocky emotion grounded her with a thump. West had always been a mystery to her, but this she understood. He was male, and he'd decided he was in charge of her. It was familiar territory. "You can't stop me."

  "Put it this way—if you think you're going anywhere without me, think again."

  She took a breath, let it out slowly. In the past two days, West had rescued her, acted as a buffer with the police, organized medication for her and stayed in her apartment so she'd feel secure. She knew he'd been concerned, protective, even proprietorial, but now she realized it was more than that. "You're acting as my bodyguard."

  "I won't see you hurt again. You've been through enough." He bent his head and kissed her again, his mouth lingering, softening into a slow seduction that made her toes curl.

  When he released her mouth, her eyelids slowly lifted. "I wasn't trying to get rid of you."

  His gaze searched hers, abruptly cool and remote, as if looking for a rebuff, then she realized it wasn't remoteness at all, it was loneliness.

  Tyler stared dazedly back at West, riveted by the emotion he wasn't making any effort to hide, and some of the disparate pieces of the puzzle that was Gabriel West clicked into place.

  It registered that he had changed, but in all the years they'd been apart one thing hadn't altered—he had remained married to her.

  In this day and age, maybe the concept bordered on the archaic, but for Tyler, the honor and purity of those vows mattered. She had married for love and she had married for life. Maybe she was naive, but she'd shied away from the thought of West be-

  coming intimate with another woman, and she was fiercely glad he hadn't, that despite everything that had gone wrong, in this way she had held him.

  She might not have fully understood what she'd had in a husband, but now she knew the only thing that mattered was that he was hers, and he had been ever since she'd walked into the nightclub where they'd first met eight years ago.

  His hands settled on the wall either side of her head, he bent and his mouth fastened on hers, pressed her lips apart. His every action was slow and carefully deliberate. He was giving her time to move, time to back out.

  When she didn't move, his breath shuddered against her lips, and his tongue slid into her mouth. Adrenaline pumped, and for long seconds she could barely breathe, barely think, her whole being centered on the slow, measured stroke of West's tongue, the sharp, building ache that quivered and burned through her. Her hands drifted up over his stomach as she lifted into the kiss, opening her mouth more fully. Her palms brushed the tight hard points of his nipples and suddenly she found herself pinned against the wall, his body moulded tightly to hers, the hard ridge of his arousal digging into her belly, sending a raw shock of excitement through her. Her arms wound around his neck, and a shudder rolled through him.

  She felt his hands at her blouse, the im
patient tug as he parted the lapels, the sound of fabric tearing.

  She felt her bra loosen, the faint abrasion as the lace was pushed out of the way, then his hands were on her breasts, and she almost moaned with relief, they felt so tight and achey. He dipped his head and took one nipple in his mouth, drawing her in deeply, and the breath stopped in her throat for long dizzying seconds, her skin flashing hot, then cold as she struggled to cope with the swamping force of the emotions that flooded her. It had been years since she was touched intimately, years since she had felt the barest flicker of arousal, and now she was burning up, her skin so sensitive every nerve ending felt stripped bare. It was all she could do to stay on her feet; her legs so wobbly they felt like noodles.

  His mouth slanted back over hers, hot and hungry as his hands slid beneath her blouse and cupped her naked back, arching her into him so that her breasts flattened against his chest. Abruptly, the burning heat of his skin, the sheer intimacy of what they were doing, sent a bittersweet shiver through her, and tears squeezed from beneath her lids. Her fingers wound in his hair, gripping him tight, and she felt the way his muscles bunched and shuddered at her touch. She wanted to tell him how much she'd missed him, how lonely she'd been—how much she'd missed this— because they'd never been 'closer than when they'd made love.

  She felt cool air around her thighs and realized her skirt was pushed up around her hips. She felt a tug, and registered the glide of her panties as they slid down her legs. A muscular thigh moved between hers, and she moaned, arching at the rub of hot muscle, the texture of fabric against her sensitive skin. His hands closed on her bottom, and she clung to his shoulders as he lifted her.

  Abruptly, she felt the prod of his sex parting her folds, and shock froze her as his fingers tightened their grip and the pressure between her legs increased as he began penetrating her, until, with a sharp shove, he was inside her.

  For an endless moment, her mind went blank.

  He was inside her already, the penetration deep, unexpected because, while he'd been fully aroused, only seconds had passed since he'd kissed her. She was aroused, but barely damp, all of her nerve endings quivering as she struggled to accommodate him.

  He withdrew and slid into her again, and she arched, shivering at the burning lash of pleasure, the heavy intrusion, a part of her mind still reeling, disoriented. West was still wearing his track pants, and she was still fully clothed, apart from her panties. He hadn't bothered to remove her clothing, or his—there hadn't been time, he'd simply pushed fabric out of the way. Her skirt was still rucked around her waist, and her blouse hung open, damp and clinging to her arms.

  His hands tightened on her bottom, settling her more firmly against the wall, one hand slid up her back and cupped her nape, supporting her as he began to thrust. She wound her legs around his hips, the movement tilting her pelvis so that he seated more firmly inside her, the deeper penetration sending waves of pleasure through her. He dipped and his mouth fastened on hers and heat exploded inside her. She felt weak and dizzy and breathless, the sultry weather squeezing all the air from her lungs, and she wondered that she'd ever thought she could forget this—that she'd ever thought she could live without him.

  West's body was tight against hers, pinning her to the wall. She ran her palms over his slick chest, and his gaze flashed to hers, hot and glittering. His chest expanded and he shoved deeper, and excitement ran through her. This time she lifted to him, shivering at the thick length of him, the deepness of the penetration.

  He bit down on the tender flesh at the apex of her neck and shoulder, and she climaxed, spasming around him, the grip so tight the sensation bordered on pain. She heard his muttered curse, felt his abrupt withdrawal, then he shoved deep again, and she felt the hot pulsing spill deep inside her.

  Long minutes passed while they lay limply against the wall. Her face was buried against his neck. She could feel his breath stirring through her hair. Her clothes were tangled and tight, and where skin touched, they were glued together by heat. She could feel West's heart slamming in his chest, echoing her own unsteady heartbeat. She could feel him hardening inside her.

  The hot, stirring ache started again, and her belly clenched. She lifted her head. His gaze caught on hers, held, and she drew in her breath at the softness there.

  "I could make you pregnant." She considered what it would be like to have West's child growing inside her, and her chest squeezed tight. For years, she'd shelved the whole need to have a child, but now it hit her like a fist. A baby. A child. She felt sensitive and shaky. Maybe because she'd had such a traumatic childhood, ever since she could remember she had wanted children of her own, wanted to cuddle and hold sweet-smelling babies. Logic and practicality didn't come into how she felt, especially with West naked inside her. She wanted a baby. Her gaze lifted to his. "Is that a problem?"

  His chest rose on a sharp intake of air. A dark flush rimmed his cheekbones. "No," he said from between clenched teeth, and he swung her into his arms in one fluid motion. "No problem."

  West carried her through to his Bedroom, not stopping to remove their clothes. The weight of him settled on top of her, and she drew an unsteady breath as he slid slowly into her, the heavy glide deep and slick and deliciously smooth, the penetration deeper than before. This time, the lovemaking was prolonged and deliberate, saturated with the knowledge that he'd come inside her once, and he was going to do so again.

  This time when she climaxed it was hot and slow and sweet, and when he came inside her, he held her tight against him, pulsing deep into her womb, the moment bathed in heat and curiously suspended as they drifted into sleep.

  She woke by slow increments. Her eyes flickered open. The room was stifling, the day's heat building, pressing in on her so that even breathing was an effort. Big purplish clouds obscured the sun, making the light yellowish and murky, and signaling the onset of another heavy downpour. The bedroom clock said it was late afternoon, but even the knowledge of how much time had passed while she'd lain twined with West wasn't enough to rouse her.

  West was sprawled asleep beside her, his arm heavy across her waist. Where they touched, the heat they generated sealed their skin together, but she felt sleepily content and unwilling to move.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Warm, damp air drifted into the room, laced with the scent of ozone, and it began to rain outside, a slow heavy pattering that seemed to increase the steamy heat.

  West stirred beside her. His hand moved across her belly, his palm hot and callused against her sensitive skin, and her heart thumped in her chest.

  He could make her pregnant, and the thought both elated and alarmed her. She was twenty-eight, and she had only ever fallen in love once, and she now knew herself well enough to know that this was it— this was her man. The thought should have panicked her, but she felt oddly serene. She hadn't set out to have unprotected sex, but it was done now.

  She turned her head on the pillow to find West watching her, his eyes sleepily intent.

  He climbed off the bed and eased his track pants off, then began systematically removing her clothes. When he was finished, he lay sprawled beside her, basking in the heat like a large relaxed cat. One lean finger traced the line of her cheek, and then he began to play with her hair.

  Sleepy as she was, she could feel herself responding to his lazy touch. His thumb stroked over her jaw. A delicate shiver ran through her, and she turned into his arms, wrapped her arms around his broad back and buried her face in his neck, breathing in his warm, heady scent.

  She'd meant to go to work, to get an alarm put in, and instead she was lying naked with West, and they were spending the day in bed making a baby. After the years apart and the painful process of their marriage breakup, she should have been panicking—at the very least questioning her decision—but oddly, she felt more settled than she had felt in years.

  She ran her fingers down the deep groove of his spine, enjoying the sleek maleness of dense muscle and smooth skin, the slow build
ing anticipation as she lifted her mouth to his.

  His face was half in shadow, half out of it. "Again?" This time when he slid inside her, she felt exquisitely tight and sensitive, every nerve ending tingling and almost preternaturally alive. She could feel herself sinking, drowning, the intensity building slow and sweet and piercing, until, when her body locked tight and he poured himself into her, she had the strangest idea that they dissolved together.

  The next time Tyler woke, the long afternoon twilight had darkened into early night, with the rain still falling in solid sheets, and the air temperature cooling. West turned on lights, fed the cats, made a pasta dish that they ate in record time, then he pulled her into the shower with him. When the water went cold, they toweled dry and slipped back into bed, although it wasn't late.

  For an indeterminate period they simply lay entwined, listening to the rain and dozing, neither inclined to move more than was necessary.

  West's hands moved lazily over her, his touch slow, exploratory, building a slow, restless tension that kept her from sliding into sleep. Tyler started her own exploration, sliding her hand down over the ridged line of his lean belly to his genitals. She cupped him, feeling his instant response as he stirred in her grip. Like the rest of his body, this part of him was beautifully made, the shaft long and thick, his testicles heavy.

  She smoothed her palm over West's chest, dipped her head into the shadowy curve of his neck and shoulder. On impulse she opened her mouth over the taut curve of muscle. He tasted male, faintly salty, and utterly delicious.

  His sleepy gaze sharpened. "You bit me."

  "You didn't like it?"

  For an answer he drew her hand to his mouth and bit down on the soft pad of flesh beneath her thumb. A raw shudder went through her.

  His mouth curved in a slow, easy grin, riveting her attention as he lay back on the bed and propped his arms behind his head, watching her. "You're so dominant. You get on top."