Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)
“Me and my camera will be checking out the parade,” she answered lightly, then eyed him curiously. “Will you be riding in it
?”
“No.” His answer was more abrupt than he meant it to be, but it didn’t seem to be something he could control and still keep a tight rein on all the lusting needs ripping through him.
“This is it.” She angled toward a door, then faced him with a natural grace, idly letting a shoulder rest against the frame. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at the arena.”
Her casual tone was almost indifferent. It acted like a verbal stiff-arm to keep him at a distance. Trey halted, muscles tensing in resistance, knowing that he felt anything but indifference toward her. And he had no intention of hiding his feelings on that score.
“Tomorrow can’t come soon enough as far as I’m concerned,” he stated. “And that isn’t a line. It’s the truth.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, a deep pleasure lighting her eyes. Then it faded to something wistful and tinged with regret. “I’m looking forward to it, too.”
But the response seemed to be the polite kind dictated by good manners—and that was far from satisfactory to Trey.
“I hope you mean that, because I’d like to end this evening the same way we started it.” His gaze never left her face, alert for those subtle signals from a woman that every man recognized.
Instead of averting her eyes or lowering her chin, both indications of a reluctance to repeat the earlier kiss, her glance slid to his mouth, then flashed to his eyes, her head tilting fractionally in an age-old invitation.
Trey didn’t wait for the words. Bracing one hand against the wall near her head, he cupped the other to the side of her neck, tipping her head the rest of the way while he brought his mouth down to the soft line of her lips. He tasted their yielding warmth, but it was the responding pressure of them, seeking and exploring in return, that inflamed him.
Still, he made no move to gather her into his arms, pride insisting that any further contact would be instigated by Sloan. With senses honed razor-fine, he felt that first small sway of her body toward him. Her hands glided onto his rib cage as if to steady her balance.
Their touch broke through the restraint Trey had placed on himself, and he gathered her in, fitting her round shape to his hard contours. He fed on her lips, eating them with a hunger that forced them apart. Inside was her tongue, waiting to eagerly mate with his.
Heat swirled and needs rose. His hands moved over her, alternately caressing and molding her more firmly to him in a vain attempt to absorb her into him. Frustration only increased the demand.
Her hands flattened themselves against his chest in mute resistance. Their pressure had no more than registered when she twisted her head away to break off the kiss.
The glance she lifted to his face was sharp with challenge. “It’s late.” It was no innocent phrase, but a demand to be released, couched to appeal to his nobler side.
At the moment, Trey wasn’t sure he had one. Part of him knew he could change her mind. Yet instinct warned him against pushing Sloan into a decision she wasn’t ready to make.
Stone-hard with need, he had to force his arms to his side. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she echoed quickly and turned to slide the key card in its slot.
Not trusting himself, Trey walked away before he gave in to the urge to push his way through the door after her. Behind him, he heard the soft snick of the door unlatching and blindly lengthened his stride.
Heavy drapes blocked any outside light from invading the motel room, creating an unnatural darkness. Yet Laredo awakened a split second before light spilled into the room from the corridor. A light sleeper from long habit, he had detected the faint scrape made by the releasing door latch.
A quick glance identified the tall, wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped figure as Trey. Never one to pretend to be asleep when he wasn’t, Laredo said, “Better flip on the light. It’s black as pitch in here.”
Trey’s only response was the snap of a light switch. A lamp came on, illuminating a table in the room’s far corner. Without a word, Trey closed the door and turned the dead bolt. Laredo rolled away from the lamplight and slid an idle glance at the digital clock radio on the bedstand. Surprise had him taking a second look at the green glowing numbers.
“It isn’t even one o’clock yet.” There was nothing sleepy about the assessing look Laredo swept over Trey. “You usually don’t stagger in until around three. What’s going on?”
“Just made an early night of it.” Trey swept off his hat and tossed it onto the long, low chest that faced the pair of double beds. Immediately he swung away. “I think I’ll take a shower before I turn in.”
It wasn’t so much his words as the flattened pitch of his voice and the closed-up look to his expression that made Laredo suspect Trey had something heavy on his mind. The younger man disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Within seconds Laredo heard the gush of the shower spray turned on full force.
As the minutes stretched and the water continued to flow, Laredo smiled to himself, certain that there was a woman behind whatever was ailing Trey. A shower was often the only remedy for that kind of trouble.
The water was still running when Laredo finally dozed off.
Laredo woke to the same sound, but with a difference. This time the volume was lower, suggesting it came from the sink faucets, and the bed next to his was a tangle of blanket and sheets, indicating it had been restlessly slept in. Again Laredo glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was a few minutes before six in the morning.
Tossing aside the covers, he swung his legs out of bed. In the bathroom, a faucet squeaked under the turn of a hand, shutting off the water flow. The door opened, and Trey stepped out, his hands busy fastening the buttons on his white shirt.