Page 64 of Risk of a Lifetime
She circled her palm around the back of his head, but before she could pull him to her, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. His bare skin craved the feel of her heat. He slid his hand between them and searched for the buttons to set the shirt free. She sat up, her knees soft and tight against his sides, then she undid the rest of the buttons. Slow and sensual, one at a time, until the shirt fell open, stopped only by the fullness of her breasts.
He stroked his fingers across her skin until she arched, flinging her head back while her breaths came in tiny gasps. Pulling him to her, his mouth replaced his fingers. She opened her eyes and smiled, gliding her palms over his chest, his shoulders. He heard his own groan.
She blew her breath against his ear. “Now, JB. Now.”
He shoved the shirt down her arms and off, then rolled her to her back. Covering every spot he knew she liked, he streaked a trail of kisses down her body. His hand caressed her inner thigh, then inched upward. She moaned as her body tensed. He gave her more, more until he felt her release, then clasped her to him as she trembled.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice softened, buffered by emotions only she possessed, and only he could spark.
“Oh, Marcy. I’m never gonna stop.” He walked to the bedroom door, closed and locked it. Then he shoved the chest of drawers in front of the door. The villain wasn’t likely to try to break in during the middle of the day, but, if he did, the lock and chest would give JB a few seconds to grab the gun.
Smart enough to know danger lurked, she didn’t ask any questions. She crawled to the end of the mattress and stood, her arms reaching for him as he walked into their hold. Her hands slid to the top of his jeans and undid the button a moment before she pushed them to the floor.
Her hands caressed the bruise on his side. There was no pain. Her lips kissed the brand on his chest. There was no pain. Her fingers traced the scars on his abdomen. There was no pain. He sighed heavily as he held her against him. Body to body, skin to skin, heat to heat.
Being in her arms felt good. Really, really good.
He was home.
Chapter Twenty-one
Marcy woke to the scent of her well-satisfied husband and cuddled closer against his chest. They’d spent the afternoon in bed, getting to know each other again and again. The clock on the nightstand read 4:00 p.m. “You awake?”
“Yep.” He tilted her face up and tweaked her nose. “I thought you’d be too worn out to wake up anytime soon.”
“I think I need some food.” The cold eggs and biscuits they’d eaten a few hours ago had long since worn off. Her stomach rumbled for more now that her body was happy. Pleasured and happy. “I love you, JB Bradley.”
“And I love you, too, sugar.”
She’d never tire of those words. “How about I make some dinner?”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll just lay here like a man of leisure.” He grinned. “In fact, I’d like my meal served in bed.”
She dressed, tossing his jeans at him. “You’ve been served in bed all day. Now get up and move the chest from in front of the door, so I can get to the kitchen.”
Not bothering with the pants, he jumped up and shoved the chest aside. “Think I’ll take a quick shower. Where’s your gun?”
Oops. He would not like her answer. Even she didn’t like her answer.
“I laid it by the front door when I went to save you.” She scurried out the bedroom door.
His look said he wasn’t happy with that answer. “Where?”
“Under the sofa cushion. Don’t worry. I’m getting it right now.” She pulled the Glock out and checked the load. Years ago, JB had drilled into her mind how to handle a gun. Right now, she was thankful he had. Ever since the sun came up, she’d felt safe. She could see anything headed her way. Night time would be different, and dusk was settling in.
JB glanced around the doorframe. “Don’t go outside.”
“I won’t.” She double-checked closing the curtains in the kitchen and the shutters in the living room before she pulled out the first pan. Her cooking skills in her own home weren’t bad, but here might be a different story.
The sound of JB’s cell phone echoed from the bedroom. Good news? Maybe it meant good news. Maybe she should answer. After all, he was in the shower. The ringing stopped, but no voice mail beep sounded. The sound of running water ended a couple minutes later. His phone rang again, and she walked to the open doorway to the bedroom. He slammed out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips.
“Yeah? Tell me you got him.” The look on JB’s face clenched with tension from the response on the other end. “Then why did you call?”
She heard the sizzle of the hamburger in the skillet and returned to the stove. Straining to hear the conversation, she couldn’t make out anything but a few ‘okay’s before JB closed the bedroom door.
Willing the bedroom door to open, she stirred the meat till it browned. What was wrong? He wouldn’t close the door unless something had happened. After flicking off the stove, she crept to the bedroom door, placed her ear against the wood. Nothing. Had he gone into the bathroom with the phone? Things would really be bad if he went to that extreme to keep her from hearing. She gripped the doorknob and turned—it didn’t turn. She tried again, jiggled the handle. Locked.
A chill chased down her spine. But she mustn’t panic. She leaned against the wall, hands clasped in front of her, eyes focused on the door. She swayed, bumping her hip on the wall to center her thoughts.
