Jennifer Greene - Cupid’s Confederates

“You think I should go,” Elizabeth said distractedly.

“Nope.” Zach stood up, his voice firm. “You just got a headache, whatever. I’ll take care of Aaron. All Bett and I want is for you to be happy, and for all this trauma-”

Zach’s jaw dropped slightly as she stood up and took the step ahead of him, a definite hint of girlish swagger to her hips.

“I’ve never stood up anyone in my life, and I’m not about to start now,” she declared, and turned with a small smile. “Thanks, Zach. I knew I could count on you not to push me.” She turned to descend the stairs.

Zach stared after her. Governments would crumble if they tried to use Elizabeth’s logic. And for one entire evening, he no longer had to try.

Bett shot him a grateful look when the two came through the doorway. She didn’t know what Zach had done or how, but her mother greeted Aaron all relaxed and smiling, taking his arm as he ushered her out of the house. Bett stared through the window at the porch light shedding a yellow glow on the couple as they walked toward Aaron’s car. “Would it be terrible for me to admit I’m perfectly exhausted?” she murmured idly, and turned slightly. “I don’t know what you just did, Zach, but I admit I was close to the end of my rope.” Her eyebrows rose just a little. Zach was going around the living room turning off lights. “What are you doing?”

“Lock the door, would you?”

“Pardon?”

“Lock the door.”

For the first time in the five years they’d lived there, Bett locked the door. “Are we expecting burglars?” she inquired interestedly.

“Is the car gone?”

Bett glanced back at the window. “Yup.”

“Want to switch out the yard light for now?”

She switched out the yard light. Night rushed in in an instant; it was equally black inside and out, a dusty black made of billions of tiny charcoal circles all in motion in front of her eyes. “I’ll bet there’s some point to this,” she suggested wryly.

Zach made some muffled answer from the kitchen, where the last hint of faint light suddenly winked off. Bett stood in the silence for an instant, feeling the craziest little chill crawl up her spine. She could see nothing, hear nothing.

In the darkness, a stranger suddenly reached for her, a man she couldn’t see but only feel. An inexplicable fear made her stiffen…but in that very same moment her senses registered somehow a very handsome man, even if she couldn’t see him in the blackness. He was tall and he smelled like lime and musk and somehow like an autumn wind; his legs were long, the hard muscles pressed against her. As an attacker in the night, Zach was incomparable. His breath mingled with hers just before his mouth closed on hers with unerring skill, the cool taste of peppermint blended with the warmth of his mouth. A delightful crackle of lightning flashed through her bloodstream. Very pure, very potent desire.

“Open,” he murmured roughly.

Her lips obediently parted. His tongue thrust inside, firm and soft and deep. His palm cradled the back of her head to ensure her closeness, her accessibility. Submissive instincts surged through her. They didn’t often play dominant/submissive; they liked things equal, but…there was a time and a place.

“Dinner?” she breathed.

A very nice, practical thought, when her hands were already sliding around his back, clutching at his shoulders as her tongue sought further play with his. Her makeshift stranger had brazen hands. In long, slow, intimate sweeps, he was molding her body to his, pressing the velour to her skin. He really was going to have to let her lips go and allow her to breathe, though, she thought.

He did, momentarily. Quick, scattered kisses were pressed on her cheeks, her closed eyes. “You know what that does to me? Knowing you have nothing on underneath that?”

His mouth locked on hers again. This time he put a modicum of space between them, just enough so his knuckles could brush against her breasts as his fingers pushed down the zipper of the jumpsuit from neck to waist.

This particular jumpsuit had always fit loosely. His palms slid smoothly inside from her neck to the shoulders, pushing the fabric just ahead of his caress, and with very little effort the thing fell in a soft whoosh to the floor. Black was turning to dark gray as her eyes adjusted. She could make out a shadowed form in front of her pulling a sweater over his head. Her fingertips reached for the irresistible warmth of flesh, of smooth, hard contours. Her touch was possessive, and Zach’s breath suddenly roughened next to her throat. Her knees felt oddly double-jointed, something that shouldn’t happen to old married women. Zach was just…an intruder for the moment, an intruder with nothing on but a pair of jeans; his smooth-skinned chest was rock-hard, his heart pulsing beneath her palms.

A rush of excitement flowed through her. A callused palm claimed her breast; then he rolled its tip between his thumb and forefinger. Flickers of intense pleasure vibrated through her body. There was such a hush in that darkness. Just the sound of his breathing and hers. The sound of flesh against flesh. The sound of hearts beating out of control. How had the fuse ignited so fast?

“Zach. We’re in the front hall,” Bett murmured weakly.

Obviously, he didn’t care. Beds were very nice and comfortable; he clearly wasn’t interested.

Was she supposed to be? She’d almost gotten used to being inhibited, to a distracted feeling of hurry before they could be interrupted. There was no one in the house with them. The door was locked. For the first time in far too long, she felt all the promise and richness of privacy.

Silence was golden; the darkness was delicious. Bett flicked open the snap of his jeans. At that instant, however black the room was, she could make out the luminous quality of his eyes. He hadn’t uttered a word of complaint in all these long weeks. He hadn’t made out in any way that he’d found her any different in bed, that he might be unhappy that she had been less than…totally giving. She saw it now. She saw his patience…and his impatience.

She skimmed off his jeans, her palms sliding the fabric down at the same time that she stroked the hard curve of his legs. When his jeans were off, she was kneeling on the floor; Zach knelt down beside her, arranging a very odd mattress of velour and denim and Orlon sweater. The tile still felt cool and hard beneath that as he urged her down, a cool that her body welcomed. Her senses were that much richer because she couldn’t see, but only feel, and taste, and smell, and hear him. That one lost sense heightened all the others.

His palm stroked with sudden softness, stilling the fierce rush of their passion. His fingers threaded through her hair and his soft, liquid eyes sought hers. Bett lowered her lashes and raised up on one elbow, her lips closing first on his mouth, then on his chin, then on his throat. She shifted, slowly, so that her lips could reach the spot right over his heart. Her tongue gently caressed one of his tiny nipples, then the other. They hardened to small points, exactly like her own. Lifting up, she swayed over him, brushing her breasts teasingly against those two hard, dark, tiny points on his chest. Zach’s hands clutched responsively at her hips, urging her back down to him. In the darkness, she smiled, gently pushing aside his hands, her head dipping down again.

She could feel wanting in her toes, her thighs, her chest. And power-sheer feminine power. She brushed her hair out of the way, but nevertheless strands stole down to tickle his abdomen as her lips pressed and lightened and smoothed. There were very few places on his body where his skin was soft, not touched by the sun. They belonged, she’d decided a very long time ago, to her. Zach suddenly sucked in a breath and forgot to let it out again.