Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)
He nodded, hung up the phone, rose from the bed, and started toward her. Jaimie took one look at his face and shook her head.
“You can’t.”
“Play with fire,” he said softly, “you run the risk of getting burned.”
“Big talk.”
His grin was smug and potently masculine.
“Big something,” he said. She laughed. He waggled his eyebrows. “Come and find out.”
He held out his arms. She gave an exaggerated sigh and went into them. He gathered her close, his hands under her robe.
“Oh my,” she said, and they both laughed, but then their laughter died and she said his name and he drew her to him, his arms like steel bands around her. She made a sound that whispered of pleasure and need and belonging, and he felt it go straight through him.
“Baby,” he said softly, and he closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair.
He hadn’t been joking. He could have made love to her again, but this—holding her to him, feeling the beat of her heart against his, was what he wanted.
What had just happened in her bed had been wonderful, but so was this. The laughter. The teasing. This sweet, shared silence.
Being intimate with a woman didn’t always have to be about sex.
He supposed he’d always known that, in theory. He’d worked with guys who’d seemed, what? More complete, for lack of a better way to put it, after finding the right woman. Good for them, he’d have said if anybody had asked, but liking women, enjoying their company didn’t mean he wanted more than that.
Why would he?
He lived his own life. Came and went as he pleased. Did as he pleased. If he liked a woman, he could be with her for a month. Two months. No ties. No expectations. Just good times, good sex.
Great sex. That was even better. And it was great, with Jaimie. It was more. It was wanting to hold her afterward, the way he had a little while ago. Her head on his shoulder, his arm curved around her, her leg over his.
And that feeling. Of, OK, completion. Not only physical completion. Something more. Something that happened when he took her to bed…
Jesus Christ!
He had never taken the camera out of her bedroom. It had been recording everything, everything! Him undressing her. Caressing her. Her touching him. Her riding him, her head thrown back.
He’d never intended to record anything even close to moments like that. Not as part of a surveillance. The images were safe; they were broadcast to his cell phone, but if Jaimie ever found that camera, if he ever had to tell he had placed it…
It was going to be tough enough to explain that Caleb had sent him to her.
He didn’t want to imagine how it would be to explain that he’d produced a triple-X-rated movie.
Jaimie sighed and stirred in his arms.
“If I’m going to take that shower,” she said softly, “I have to do it soon.” She leaned back in his arms. “How long until the pizza gets here?
Zach cleared his throat. “The kid said half an hour.”
“Mmm.”
He knew what that “mmm” meant. And he wanted the same thing.
No.
The camera. Cameras. One in here, one in the kitchen.
“Zacharias?”