Bringing Benjy Home (Security Ops) (23 page)

“That was one of the agents on the phone,” he offered, walking to the dresser. “Not much to report. The Pennings have had no visitors so far, and the beach on their property is private.” His eyebrows rose at her in the mirror when she remained silent. “That’s good news.”

At his reminder, she managed to pull her gaze away from him. She seemed incapable of speech while she was watching the hard muscles move beneath his smooth expanse of shoulders. “Yes.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, it is.”

Masculine satisfaction curled inside him. She was uncomfortable, and he was the source of that discomfort. Despite the times she spent in his arms, she was still naively, innocently, transparent. His near nudity shouldn’t make her nervous; the towel covered more than his trunks had earlier. But she wasn’t experienced enough to take a moment like this in stride. Just as she wasn’t experienced enough to hide her reaction to him.

He turned deliberately away from the mirror, and caught her eyes on him. Sauntering toward her, he said, “Something tells me your mind isn’t on the agent’s phone call.”

“Yes, of course it is,” she stammered.

He stopped only a few inches from her, close enough to inhale the fragrance of her damp hair, to see the hint of moisture collecting above her curved upper lip. “I don’t think so,” he disagreed. Her hair had left damp streamers across her shirt, and he traced one of them where it wandered over her shoulder.

The world narrowed to include only the two of them. He seemed closer, although Jaida wasn’t aware of him moving. His mouth was very close to hers. She could feel his breath brushing her lips, making them tingle.

“I know you well by now,” he said in a husky voice.

The words were spoken so close to her mouth she imagined she could feel his lips forming each syllable. “You think so?” she whispered, entranced by his rapt gaze.

“I know what you’re thinking about. I know what you want.”

His words were evocative, with meaning, and she moved helplessly closer. “Tell me,” she whispered against his lips.

He brushed her mouth with his and then dragged his lips up her jaw, where they paused below the lobe of her ear. “You want . . .”

He breathed the words and then paused. She waited in painful anticipation.

“Dinner,” he completed.

So caught up was she in the spell he had woven, it took her a moment to interpret his meaning. When she did, she pushed at his shoulders and whirled away from him in embarrassment.

He chuckled behind her, and she stilled, her ears straining at the sound. She turned her head slowly and stared, bemused, at the sight.

Trey Garrison was laughing. His hard face was alight with amusement, and his eyes . . . on anyone else she would swear the look in his dark-green gaze was teasing. She felt as though she’d stumbled across something rare and precious. Never would she have expected the sight to fill her with simultaneous desires to laugh and weep. She had a feeling that such moments were all too unusual for him.

She wanted to prolong it, to return it. And so she said lightly, “You know, you’re absolutely right. I am famished. I think I’ll go down to the restaurant. You can meet me there if you want.” She turned and strolled toward the door.

He was behind her before she’d gotten more than a few steps, drawing her back against his chest. “Boy, if that isn’t typical.” His voice was mock aggrieved. “Mention food once and you’re out of here.”

“You shouldn’t have reminded me of how hungry I am.”

“Honey, I’m hungry, too.”

The words were growled in her ear, and suddenly Jaida found herself swept into his arms.

“Very hungry,” he continued. “But I had something a bit more . . . private than the restaurant in mind.”

She pretended to give that some thought. “You mean like room service?”

“Exactly,” he affirmed. “This is my room, and I am a full-service kind of guy.”

He strode rapidly across the room and dropped her on the bed. The next instant he was propped over her, his eyes still crinkled in amusement. Jaida reached out and traced the shallow laugh lines fanning out from his eyes. His playful demeanor was something she knew he rarely indulged in. Somehow she thought that of all the memories she would carry of him, this one would always be the sweetest, and the most painful.

Jaida’s wistful expression had the smile fading from Trey’s lips. Her moods were like quicksilver, always showing on her expressive face. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but knew beyond doubt that her thoughts were bittersweet. He couldn’t help feeling responsible for that. His lips touched hers with a gentleness he would have denied, a yearning he couldn’t put a name to.

Her mouth twisted sweetly under his for only a moment, before her lips opened to invite a deeper, more intimate kiss. Gentleness was left behind as the familiar need roiled inside him and his tongue pressed into her mouth to tangle with hers. He pulled her shirt from the waistband of her shorts and his hands swept inside to knead the smooth skin at her waist. The silkiness there was intriguing, and his fingers stroked reflexively.

His tongue flicked at the sensitive roof of her mouth, and she shuddered against him. He could feel desire take a deep, hot hold in the pit of his belly. Her responses fueled his own. He wanted her responses, all of them. He wanted to feel her skin damp and her pulse pounding. He wanted to feel her writhing against him, her hands clenching on his skin. He needed to hear those little cries she made when the passion became too strong to control. He wanted to feel the tension that tightened her limbs before she melted like honey beneath him, around him. He wanted it all—needed it again, needed her again. He wondered if it would be enough this time. He wondered if it would ever be enough.

Her teeth nipped at his lower lip and his mouth crushed against hers, in a deep open-mouthed kiss that held just a hint of desperation. He pushed her top up and cupped her breasts in their lacy confines. His fingers danced against her nipples, coaxing them into taut, sensitive points. Pulling his lips from hers, he moved down and took a nipple in his mouth, dampening her bra. He grazed it with his teeth, and one of those delectable little cries came from her.

He stopped suddenly, pulling away and lifting her with him to strip her of the shirt and bra. Then he pressed her back on the bed. He moved between her legs and rubbed his torso against her soft breasts, savoring the sensations as they flattened against him, the nipples pricking him. She was so exquisitely feminine that she had his hormones screaming at her touch.

Her hands smoothed over his back, their movements a little frantic. The hint of desperation from her fired his own, made him burn a little wilder. He bent to suck strongly from her breast, drawing it deeply into his mouth, tongue batting at the nipple. He was dimly aware of her ragged breathing, of her nails digging into his shoulders.

The snap of her shorts opening and the zipper being drawn down seemed unnaturally loud. He paused in his task to taste the soft skin on her belly, his tongue delving into her navel. He pulled her shorts and panties over her hips, dragging them down her long, silky legs. She cooperated by kicking them off, and Trey took the opportunity to slide further down her body.

He pressed his mouth against the heat of her, at the juncture of her thighs, and a strangled cry escaped her. She was warm and damp against his mouth, and he cupped her bottom when she would have tried to tighten her legs against him, against the unfamiliar caress.

Shock held her rigid for an instant as he nibbled at her most sensitive flesh, teasing the taut bundle of nerves there. Carefully he entered her with his finger, her tight, moist channel clenching immediately around it.

“Trey,” she moaned. He controlled her movements, tilting her hips up toward his mouth. Her hands slid down and tangled in his hair. But she wasn’t pushing him away. Her fingers clenched and pulled him nearer.

He couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to absorb her, absorb himself in her scent and feel and touch. He wanted to have it all, and he wanted it to be enough this time. Enough so he’d never want again, never need again. He pleasured her with exquisite care, his own pleasure climbing at her tortured gasps, the sound of his name on her lips, her body writhing against his mouth.

He heard her repeat his name, a mindless litany as the pressure built in her and abruptly crested. She convulsed against him and he drank her reaction. Her response triggered something in him, something usually kept tamped down and tightly controlled. He slid up her body and entered her with a long, smooth stroke, swallowing her gasp.

He wouldn’t let her relax, wouldn’t allow her body to melt against his in satisfaction. He wanted more. He wanted her to climb the precipice again. He wanted her with him, all the way; wanted her cries in his mouth; needed to be inside her when the shock waves of pleasure exploded again. He wanted it to last forever, for nothing else to matter but he and the woman who held him deep inside her.

But what he wanted didn’t matter. Already he could feel the prickling at the base of his back, could feel his manhood grow tight and heavy. Blackness was swirling before his eyes and his movements became faster, harder. Their bodies were slippery with perspiration, and they slid against each other, a perfect counterclockwise movement. His hands went to her thighs, drawing them around his hips. She kept them there, tightening them reflexively and drawing him deeper, ever deeper.

She bucked beneath him once more, and then her gentle scream sounded against his mouth. He had one long, heat-filled instant to savor her response, before his body slammed against hers once more and he joined her in the bone-shattering climax.

The hours passed like liquid, the minutes flowing together indeterminately. They dozed a little, woke, made love again and then lay there for a time contentedly. Finally her fabled appetite drove them to dress and go out for dinner. When they returned, it was after midnight. He slipped out of his shirt and shoes, before indulging himself by urging her to the floor, to sit between his outstretched legs. Then he spent long minutes pulling her hairbrush through her pale-blond hair, brushing it until it shimmered in the darkness. She leaned her head back, and it flowed over his bare chest, just like it did in his dreams, like it always would in his dreams. He rose and undressed her slowly, leisurely, and made love to her the same way, with absorbed concentration. They slept entwined, and if his constant touch through the night brought her unbidden glimpses into his past, she didn’t say.

And he found that the prospect of that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should have.

Midmorning the next day, Trey was seriously contemplating the appealing idea of joining Jaida in the shower. His cell’s ring put an end to his plan and an edge to his voice.

“Trey Garrison,” he growled into the receiver.

“Mr. Garrison, this is Detective Reynolds, LAPD.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got Maria Kasem here, and Mr. Garrison, I think she’s ready to tell us what she knows.”

The words had him jackknifing in bed. “What have you got?”

“You were right—she didn’t act alone. And she’s given us the other guy’s name. Tony Franken. You know him?”

“No,” he answered, “I’ve never heard of him.” He hadn’t really thought that he would, and he found his patience rapidly eroding.

“Well, I’ll be running a check on him. Kasem seems to think he did some prison time, so I should be able to get my hands on his sheet. I’ll get a picture, too, and we can run it by your sister. But I haven’t been able to contact her at home. You know where she might be?”

“I know exactly where she is,” Trey told him, his mind racing. “But I don’t want you calling her with this. At least, not yet.” He wanted to be at Lauren’s side when she got this information, and by the time the detective finished gathering the information on Franken, Trey would be.

“I’m going to make arrangements to fly to meet Lauren today,” Trey said. “I’ll call you when I get there, and you can tell me what else you find out. Be prepared to fax a picture, if you get one.”

“Of course,” the detective responded, annoyance coloring his voice. “But why don’t you just tell me where you’ll be? Then I could—”

“I’ll call you, Detective,” Trey interrupted. “Sometime this afternoon. Have the information ready by then.” He hung up the phone, having already dismissed the man from his mind. He was probably being overprotective, but he needed to be with Lauren when she saw the man’s picture. Confronting the person who had snatched Benjy away and stolen a month of his young life was bound to be an emotional moment.

It would be much more if she did recognize the picture.

It was a moment before he was aware of Jaida’s presence in the room. He looked up to see her framed in the bathroom doorway, swathed in a towel. He frowned now in immediate concern. She was very pale, and the hands clutching the towel were shaking. But it was her stillness that alarmed him the most. Other than the trembling in her hands, she was completely, utterly, motionless.

“Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?”

“You have the name of the other kidnapper.”

The way she said it wasn’t a question, and he knew she’d heard much of the conversation. Her voice soothed his earlier concern for her. It was steady, and not weak at all.

“Maria Kasem finally coughed up the identity of the man. I guess when threatened with life in prison, she got lonely at the idea of going solo. She gave us his name, and Reynolds is running a check on him right now.” He hesitated for a second, then looked squarely into her eyes. “I have to go.”