“A mama bear.”
“Hmmm.” Alvarez thought of the other calls she’d received earlier in the day. “Lotta them around.”
Pescoli brooded. Held her hair off her neck to try to cool down. Glared out the window but didn’t see any of the buildings as they passed. “Bianca was up there at Reservoir Point with the rest of them.”
“Teenagers aren’t known for using the brains God gave them. I’m not worried about Bianca. We’ll get this over ASAP.”
Pescoli gazed through the bug-streaked windshield and let her wild mass of curls fall back around her face.
CHAPTER 11
This was dangerous.
Marjory Tufts peered through the blinds of the French doors. She checked the long drive, but the asphalt cutting along the side of the manicured lawn was empty and, aside from some hummingbirds flitting around the shrubbery and the neighbor’s black cat stalking birds splashing in the fountain, there were no signs of life.
The motor home was parked in its slot, the end of the boat trailer visible in the extra garage, and everything else was buttoned up tight.
They were alone.
She smiled. Felt naughty, even a little dirty.
Someone could come by, of course, but the gardener had been here early, fixing the sprinkler system and mowing the grass. No one else was scheduled to come by, but . . . one never knew.
“Come here,” he called from the bed, and she turned to spy him on the mussed covers, the smell of sex still lingering, his tall body naked and tanned, legs wound between the sheets, his eyes following her every move. He was handsome, she thought, and muscular, the veins beneath his skin bulging a little when he flexed, the outline of his muscles visible. She loved running the tips of her fingers over the washboard of his abdomen or the sinewy strength of his back and shoulders.
She, too, was wearing nothing, and at the abject lust in his eyes, she felt her nipples tighten and a warmth invade her most private of parts.
While she still felt a little bruised from his more than enthusiastic penetration, she felt a thrill go through her. Yes, she could be ready again, and to show him just how interested she was, she arched an eyebrow, took her thumb and stuck it in her mouth, then slowly trailed it down to her breasts.
She caught her reflection in the mirror over the bureau, saw that the tip of her tongue was visible between her teeth, and felt sexier than she ever had in her life.
“We don’t have much time,” she said, still planted by the shaded doors.
“I’m quick.” A cocky smile, a quick flash of white against his tanned skin. “When I want to be.”
“And do you . . . want to be?”
“Slow would be better, but . . .” His voice was low and sexy, and she still felt the rash of whisker burns all over her body from where he’d run his face against her abdomen, breasts, and the inside of her thighs.
At that thought, she began to pulse inside.
“It’s dangerous.”
His gaze wandered hungrily up her body. “Just the way you like it.”
She started for the bed. “You think you know me,” she whispered as he grabbed her hand and she tumbled onto the length of him. But he was right, and maybe the risk of getting caught, the knowledge that they were breaking so many vows, the pure indecency of having sex with another man in her marriage bed, maybe that’s what made it so delightful, so damned hot.
Because she was on fire again. As his hands and tongue poked and prodded, licked and caressed, and his teeth nibbled at her nipples, causing just the tiniest bit of pain, she wanted him. Again and again and again. Wanted to feel him on top of her, mounting her, taking her, making her feel as if she were the most primal and sexy woman in the world.
And he did. Over and over again.
Until she heard the sound of the garage door lifting on the floor below and they both froze.
“Get out of here,” she whispered, suddenly panicked.
“Is it—?”
“Yes!” she hissed. “Now, leave!”