Iris Johansen - Pandora's Daughter

"Oh, shit," he said unevenly, "You remember when I told you that you had to take the first step?"

She nodded.

"I'm willing to renegotiate. Just say the word. Any word. As long as it's not no."

It should be no. She wasn't able to think clearly and logic should rule in a situation this volatile. She should be prudent and control this physical response that was making her weak. Yet all she could think about was the Neal Grady who had been her playmate and mentor that summer on the beach. Playmate and mentor… and the object of a young girl's first passion. He had said he had wanted her for years. How long had she wanted him? Had desire been smothered with memory or had it merely been kept burning low? It seemed impossible that it could ever have been any less than the need she was feeling now.

To hell with it. Reach out and take it. Take him. "Inside," she said shakily. "Now."

"That'll do." He grasped her arm and opened the door. "Oh, will that do. Come on, let's find a bed."

Her arm was tingling, hot, beneath his touch. "Hurry. I don't care about the bed."

"Good." He turned on the light and pushed her back against the front door. His body rubbed slowly against her as he tilted her head back. His lips pressed against the hollow of her throat. "I don't think I could wait anyway." He was unbuttoning her shirt as his tongue licked delicately at her neck. "Hell, my hands are shaking so badly I'm not sure I can get these clothes off you."

"I'll do it." She backed away from him and stripped quickly. "I don't trust you. If you have time to consider, you might come up with some stupid reason why you won't-" She stopped and inhaled sharply as his hand went between her legs. "Or maybe not."

"Good call." He was pulling her down to the floor. "I can't reason at all right now." He took off his shirt and threw it aside. He was astride her and she felt the roughness of the denim of his jeans against her inner thighs. The sensation was vaguely erotic, she thought dazedly. Everything about him was erotic, his scent, his hands between her thighs, his flushed face above her.

"How do you want it?" he asked hoarsely. "Tell me. Anything you want, Megan."

His hands were driving her crazy. She arched upward as she jerked him down to her. "Just do it, dammit. I don't care…"

"I SUPPOSE WE SHOULD FIND THE bedroom." Grady's hands cupped her breasts from behind. "Or a shower." He pulled gently on her nipples. "Or a kitchen."

"Why?" Lord, she still wanted him, she realized in surprise. How many times had they come together in the past few hours? They had made love frantically, endlessly, with almost animal ferocity. "I don't want to move."

"I told you that I didn't want you hurt." He was rubbing her bottom. "And I'll bet you have rug burns on your ass."

"Maybe. Battle wounds."

"Now that the edge is off, I think we can get off this floor." He got up and reached down to take her hand and pull her to her feet. "Come on. The shower first, I think."

"You want to take a shower?"

"No, I want to continue doing what we've been doing in a different location." He was leading her across the living room. "I figure by the time I become guilty enough to call Harley and tell him I'm ready to relieve him that we'll have had time to make love in every room in this house. It's good that it's such a small place or Harley would be out of luck."

Make love. Not screw. Not fuck.

They were just words, she told herself. They didn't mean anything. Yet why did she feel this sudden flow of warmth that had nothing to do with passion?

"What's your view on kitchen tables?" Grady asked.

"Interesting. I don't believe I've ever done it on one."

"Good. I'll have to try to make sure the experience memorable. I wouldn't want you to be disappointed…"

"YOU SHOULD CALL HARLEY," she said as she rolled over in bed. "He'll wonder why he hasn't heard from us."

"He'll make an educated guess. Harley is damn perceptive." He pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "In this case he wouldn't have to be. A blind man could have seen how I felt about you."

"Um-hmm. Lust is pretty difficult to hide."

He chuckled. "That's an understatement. Physically it's damn well impossible for a man." He reached for his phone on the bedside table. "You're certain I can't persuade you to forget about Harley for another hour?" No.

"Thirty minutes?"

"No."

"Fifteen? I promise I'll make it worth your time."

She was sure he would. The last hours had been almost unbearably passionate. Lord, she'd gone crazy. She'd never had an experience this intense. She was tempted even now to roll back on top of him and start again.

"Fifteen?" he whispered.

She reached out and touched his chest. He felt warm and alive, his heart pounding harder beneath her palm. She could do this to him. She could make his muscles clench, his breath quicken. Power. Yet he could do the same thing to her. Together the power and delight could go on and on and on…

Oh, God, she was feeling too much. It was passion and yet not passion. What was happening to her? She thought in panic.

"I don't think so." She sat up and swung her feet to the floor. "Call Harley. He's waited long enough." She jumped up and grabbed the cotton patchwork quilt at the foot of the bed to wrap around her. "I'll jump in the shower."

"Again?" He was smiling. "It's better with company."

"But faster alone." She headed for the bathroom. "I'll see you later."

"Megan." She turned to see him gazing at her with narrowed eyes. "You're running away."

"Perhaps. Or maybe I'm trying to put things in perspective. You said that we needed to resolve the past or it would be with us forever. We've done that, Grady."

"The hell we have. I haven't resolved anything. I just want more." He paused. "And right now forever doesn't sound all that bad."

"Well, it scares the bejesus out of me." She went into the bathroom and closed the door. The next moment she was in the shower stall with the water flowing over her.

Wash away the feel of him, the scent of him. Perhaps then she could think calmly and coolly about what had happened.

Not likely. The moment she thought of Grady, she saw him on the beach with the wind blowing his hair. Or holding her in that hospital waiting room when she'd been told about Phillip's condition. Or naked over her, hard and strong yet shaking with intensity.

It scared her that the sexual memory had come last in order. It should be first after their recent coupling. It was too blasted significant that the gentler, sweeter memories had evidently meant more to her.

Passion was fine. Anything else would weaken her and he had already shown her how ruthless he could be. He was into control and could she keep her physical and mental independence when she felt like melting whenever she was with him? Emotional involvement with Grady could be a disaster.

HE WAS WAITING OUTSIDE THE DOOR as naked as when she'd left him when she opened the bathroom door thirty minutes later. "You locked the door."

"I wanted privacy."

"And you're backing away from me."

She stared him in the eye. "Yes. You're a bit overwhelming. I don't need to have an emotional overload right now. According to that damn Tribunal Report, it's also a Listener characteristic to have intense and volatile emotions. But even if I believed that bull, I don't have to give into them."

"No, you don't." He smiled. "But, on the other hand, you could look upon me as therapy to take the edge off. I'll cheerfully volunteer for the role."

The intensity was gone, but the charisma that had captured all those years ago was in full force. He was standing there, naked, totally at ease and so damn beautiful that she couldn't stop staring at him. With an effort she pulled her gaze away. "I'm not taking volunteers. I won't be distracted, Grady."