He rode her as gently as he could considering every muscle in his body strained for release. He felt sweat on his shoulders, felt her uneven breaths on his throat. And he felt Charlie, soft and inquisitive and delicate, despite the impression she liked to give the world.
Sliding one hand beneath her hips, he tilted her pelvis to allow him a deeper penetration, driven to bind their bodies together, to make her a part of him. She cried out, and her inner muscles clamped down on him.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he ground out through his teeth, thrusting harder, faster, his control a distant memory. “Come for me again. I want you with me.”
He felt the spasms in her legs first, then the way her entire body tensed. She caught and held her breath, her eyes squeezed tight, and she climaxed, holding him, whispering his name. Tears seeped past her lashes and as he joined her, his own release strong enough to steal his strength, the truth hit him. He loved her. Damn, how he loved her.
Now the real trouble would begin.
CHAPTER 11
“OH HARRY. That was…indescribable.”
She heard a grunt that could possibly pass for a reply, and grinned. Harry at a loss for words? What a novelty.
Her hands coasted over his slick shoulders and she kissed his throat. He tasted good. He smelled good. She admitted he was good. Her body still tingled pleasantly in very interesting places. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”
The grunt turned into a groan. With obvious effort, Harry raised his head. His light brown eyes were soft and sated and filled with some emotion she didn’t understand.
He touched her hair, her cheek. “Insatiable, are we?”
“A tribute to your skill.”
“Hmm. I suppose I could be convinced—in about an hour.”
She laughed, then pushed at his shoulder. “In that case, you need to move. I have things to do.”
Obediently, Harry rolled to the side, sprawling on his back like a vanquished warrior. When she started to crawl over him, he made a sound of appreciation and pulled her flat to his chest. “Don’t you know lovers are supposed to talk after sex? It’s callous to just use me and then leave the bed without any soft whispering and cuddling.”
Toying with the hair on his chest, she laughed. “Callous, huh? I wouldn’t want to be accused of that. But maybe we can talk later? I need to get going.”
A frown appeared where before he’d been all smiles. “Where is it you think you have to rush off to?”
She tried to get up again, but now he had both hands cupping her bare backside, anchoring her in place. “I told you, I want to go keep an eye on Jill.”
Harry closed his eyes with a soft curse. When he opened them again, she was struck by the cold determination there. “You don’t need to do that.”
“So says a man who doesn’t have a little sister. Look, Harry, I know you said you checked up on Dalton. But how much could you have really found out? There could be all kinds of skeletons in his closet, and until I’m assured—”
“There aren’t.”
“You sound awfully sure of that.” She watched him skeptically, knowing that particular tone and look.
With a sigh, Harry lifted her to the side of the bed and sat up. “We need to talk.”
Charlie scrambled for the sheet and pulled it over her. “And we will. Later.”
Resignation darkened his features as he glanced at her over his shoulder. “I know your father.”
A strange foreboding made her stomach pitch. She pressed a fist to it and said logically, “Of course you do. You brought him here.”
He waved her logic away. “I knew him before that. I’ve known him for years.” He turned to face her, still naked, his powerful shoulders gleaming in the lamplight, his dusty brown hair rumpled. His gaze never wavered from hers but tension emanated off him, pelting her with his resolution. “Dalton Jones has been like a father to me.”
Feeling unsteady and sick, she moved away from him. She needed distance; she needed to be off the bed where they’d just made love. Backing up until she bumped into the dresser, she watched him. Harry never so much as flinched. “I don’t understand.”
“Dalton has looked for you for years, honey. He’s suffered more than any one man ever should.”
“You know him?” That one fact wouldn’t quite penetrate.
Harry stood, too, but when she clutched her sheet tighter, he went still, making no move toward her. “My father was a cold, distant man who barely knew I existed. Dalton stepped in and did all the things for me that a father should do. He supported me in my decisions, and helped me get through my divorce from hell. He encouraged me and—”
“And did all the things for you that he didn’t do for me.” She felt lost, wounded to her soul.
“Not because he didn’t care! He’s spent a small fortune trying to locate you and Jill.”
Not for anything would Charlie let him see how he’d hurt her, how her heart felt ready to break into pieces. She clutched at the sheet and tried to order her thoughts into some decipherable rationale. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Locking his jaw, Harry paced away, giving her a distracting view of his muscled backside. It angered her that even now she was drawn to him, finding him irresistible.
He turned to face her and propped his hands on his hips. “I didn’t know what the hell to do when you asked me to find your father. At the time, I felt my loyalty was to Dalton. It was his responsibility, his pleasure, to get to explain that he hadn’t abandoned you. But you were so hostile about the whole thing, so…detached. You’d sent him that damn letter—”
“You knew about the letter?”
He gave a small nod. “I knew. Dalton told me that very night at the hospital. And he asked me not to tell you the truth yet, because he wanted a chance with you. He thought if I pretended to investigate him, I could give you a few facts that might soften you toward him.”
That word pretend felt like a slap, bringing home just how much of her relationship with Harry was based on lies and manipulations. “So you played along?”
“Honey, I didn’t know what else to do. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was afraid of losing you again.”
“And of course, what he wanted is the only thing that mattered. I mean, you hardly know me really. I’m just…” She stopped in midsentence because she had no idea what she meant to Harry. Obviously not much or he couldn’t have deceived her so easily. Needing something to do before she fell apart, she went to the closet and pulled out a T-shirt.
The bed creaked when Harry sat back down. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I swear I never meant to hurt you.”
She pulled clean jeans from the dresser, fighting off the tears the best she could. “I understand. I don’t like it, of course.” The laugh, sounding close to hysteria, took her by surprise and she quickly suppressed it. “I feel pretty damn foolish, too. I can just imagine how the two of you must have been snickering. Especially after my stupid display tonight.”
“No.”
He started to get up, to come to her, but she warned him off with a bleak look. If he touched her, she’d sit down and cry like a baby, and that was something she hadn’t done in too many years to count. “Don’t even think it, Harry. The pretense is over.”