Mr Perfect (28 page)

She heard herself cry out, but the sound was distant. Every cell in her body focused on the thick shaft pounding back and forth inside her, his rhythm hard and fast, and she climaxed the same way. Sensation exploded in her, and she bucked against him, screaming, her hips jerking and her entire body shuddering. The rest of the world spun completely away.

He came a second later, driving into her with almost brutal force. She thudded against the wall with each deep thrust, her weight sliding down and forcing him even deeper, so deep that she stiffened convulsively and climaxed again. Afterward, he rested heavily against her, his skin damp with sweat and rain. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving as he sucked in air. The house was dark and silent except for the rain drumming on the roof and the gasping sounds of their overtaxed lungs. The wall was cool against her back, but uncomfortably hard. Jaine tried to think of something clever to say, but her mind refused to work. This was too serious, too damn important, for quips. So she closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his shoulder while her galloping heartbeat slowly began to calm and her loins relaxed around his shaft. He muttered something unintelligible and tightened his grip on her, holding her with one arm around her back and the other under her bottom as he stepped out of his jeans and unsteadily walked to the bedroom. He was still inside her, her body anchored to his, as he lowered them to the bed and settled on top of her.

The room was dark and cool, the bed wide. He stripped off her silk shirt and unzipped her bra, tossing both garments to the floor. Now they were both totally naked, his chest hair rasping her nipples as he began to move again. His rhythm this time was slower but no less powerful as each thrust took him in to the hilt.

To her surprise, the fever began to build again. She had thought she was too exhausted to be aroused again, but she found out differently. She hooked her legs around his and ground her pelvis up to meet each thrust, clinging to him, pulling him even deeper into her, and when she came, the paroxysm was even stronger than the others. He made a guttural sound, climaxing while she still shuddered beneath him.

A long time later, when pulses had slowed, sweat had dried, and muscles had become halfway responsive again, he levered himself off her and rolled onto his back, one arm draped over his eyes. "Shit," he said under his breath. Because the room was so quiet, she heard him. A tiny flare of temper made her eyes narrow. She still felt like a limp, overcooked noodle, so a tiny flare was all she could manage. "Gee, that's romantic," she said sarcastically. The man hadn't been able to keep his hands off her for a week, and now that they had finally made love, "shit" was the best comment he could make, as if the whole experience had been a mistake?

He lifted the arm covering his eyes and turned his head to glare at her. "I knew you were trouble the first time I saw you."

"What do you mean, trouble?" She sat up, glaring back at him. "I am not trouble! I'm a very nice person except when I have to deal with jerks!"

"You're the worst kind of trouble," he snapped. "You're marrying trouble."

Considering three men had already found better things to do than marry her, that wasn't the most tactful comment he could have made. It was especially hurtful coming from a man who had just given her three explosive orgasms. She snatched up the pillow and whacked him on the head with it, then bolted out of bed. "I can take care of that problem for you," she said, fuming as she searched the dark bedroom for her bra and shirt. Damn it, where was the light switch? "Since I'm so much trouble, I'll stay on my side of the driveway and you can stay the hell on your side of the driveway!" She was shouting by the time she was finished. There – that white blur might be her bra. She swooped down on it and picked it up, but it was a sock. A smelly sock. She threw it at him. He swatted it aside and lunged out of bed, reaching for her. "What did you do with my damn clothes!" she bellowed at him, evading his outstretched hand and storming around the room in the dark. "And where's the damn light switch?"

"Would you settle down!" he said, sounding suspiciously as if he were snorting with laughter.

He was laughing at her. Tears stung her eyes. "Hell, no, I won't settle down!" she shouted, and swung toward the door. "You can keep the damn clothes, I'll walk home naked before I stay here with you another minute, you insensitive jerk – "

A hard-muscled arm locked around her waist and sent her airborne. She shrieked, arms flailing; then she bounced on the bed and the air left her lungs with a "whoof." She had time to suck in just a little air before Sam landed on her, his heavy weight flattening her and forcing another exhalation. He was laughing as he subdued her with ridiculous ease; in five seconds flat she couldn't wiggle anything.

To her astonishment and rage, she discovered he had another erection; it throbbed against her closed thighs. If he thought she would open her legs for him again after – He shifted, expertly pressed with his knee, and her legs opened anyway. Another shift and he slid smoothly inside her, and she wanted to scream because he felt so good and she loved him and he was a jerk. Her lousy luck with men was still holding.

She burst into tears.

"Ah, babe, don't cry," he said soothingly, moving gently inside her.

"I will if I want to," she sobbed as she clung to him. "I love you, Jaine Bright. Will you marry me?"

"No way in hell!"

"You have to. You owe me your next paycheck for all the cussing you've done tonight. You won't have to pay up if we get married."

"There's no rule like that."

"I just made one." He framed her head with his big hands and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away the tears.

"You said shit."

"What else is a man supposed to say when he sees his glorious bachelor days coming to a swift and ignominious end?"

"You've been married before."

"Yeah, but that didn't count. I was too young to know what I was doing. I thought fucking was the same as loving." She wished he would be still. How could he carry on a conversation while doing what he was doing to her? No – she wished he would shut up, and keep doing exactly what he was doing, except maybe a little faster. And a little harder.

He kissed her temple, her jaw, the almost-dent in her chin. "I always heard that sex was different with a woman you loved, but I didn't believe it. Sex was sex. Then I got inside you and it was like sticking my cock in an electrical outlet."

"Oh. Was that what all that shaking and yelling was about?" She sniffled, but she was paying attention. "Smart-ass. Yeah, that's what it was about, not that I was the only one doing some shaking and yelling. It was different. Hotter. Stronger. And when it was over, I wanted to do it all over again."

"You did do it all over again."

"That proves it, then. For God's sake, I've already come twice and here I am hard again. That's either a fucking miracle, no pun intended, or it's love." He kissed her mouth, slowly and deeply, using his tongue. "Watching you throw a temper tantrum always gets me hard."

"I don't throw tantrums. Why is it when a man gets mad, he's aaangry, but when a woman gets mad, it's just a tantrum?" She paused, struck by what he'd said. "Always?"

"Always. Like when you knocked over my trash can, then yelled at me and poked me in the chest."

"You were hard?" she asked in astonishment. "As a rock."

She said wonderingly, "Well, son of a b – gun."

"So answer my question."

She opened her mouth to say "yes," but caution made her remind him, "I don't do really well with engagements. Gives the guy too much time to think."

"I'm skipping the engagement part. We're not getting engaged; we'll just get married."

"In that case, yes, I'll marry you." She turned her face into his throat and inhaled the heat and scent of his body, thinking that if the perfumers of the world could bottle whatever it was Sam had, the female population would be in perpetual heat.

He growled in frustration. "Because you love me?" he prompted.

She smiled, her lips moving against his skin. "Crazy, wild, absolutely, insanely in love with you," she affirmed. "We'll get married next week."

"I can't do that!" she said in horror, drawing back to stare up at him as he loomed over her, slowly moving back and forth, back and forth, like seaweed floating on the tide. "Why the hell not?"

"Because my parents won't be back from vacation for… I've lost count of the days. About three weeks, I think."

"Can't they come home early? Where are they, anyway?"

"Touring Europe. And this is Mom's dream vacation, because Dad has Parkinson's, and even though the medication really helps, he's gotten a little worse lately and she was afraid this would be their last chance. He was always too busy before he retired to get away for that length of time, so this is special to both of them, you know?"

"Okay, okay. We'll do it the day after they get home."

"Mom won't even be unpacked!"

"Tough. Since we aren't getting engaged, we can't do the big church wedding thing – "

"Thank God," she said feelingly. She had gone through that experience with number two, the bastard, with all the expense and planning and trouble, only to have him back out at the last minute.

He heaved a sigh of relief, as if he had been afraid she would say she wanted a big wedding. "We'll have everything ready to go. All your parents will have to do is show up."

Jaine had been doing a really good job concentrating on the conversation while he was doing what he was doing, and she was impressed out of her skull that he could keep up his side of the conversation under these circumstances, but her body suddenly reached the point of no return. She gasped, her hips rising convulsively against him.

"We'll talk later!" she said hoarsely, grabbed his butt, and pulled him hard into her.

They didn't talk at all for quite a while.

Jaine stirred, yawning. She would have been content to lie in his arms all night long, but a sudden thought made her bolt upright. "BooBoo!"

Sam made a noise halfway between a grunt and a groan. "What?"

"BooBoo. He must be starving! I can't believe I forgot about him." She scrambled out of bed. "Where's the light switch? And why don't you have any bedside lamps?"

"Beside the door, right side. Why would I need bedside lamps?"

"For reading." She swept her hand along the wall, found the switch, and flipped it up. Bright light flooded the room. Sam shielded his eyes, blinking, then flopped over on his stomach. "I read in the living room."

Her own eyes took a minute to adjust. When they did, her pupils widened at the wreck they had made of the bed. The covers were twisted and hanging off, the pillows were – where were the pillows? – and the bottom sheet was pulled free at one corner and wadded in the middle of the bed. "Holy cow," she said in astonishment, then shook herself and looked around for her clothes.

Sam opened his eyes and propped up on one elbow, his dark eyes both sleepy and intent as he watched her search the room. She found her shirt tangled in the bedcovers. She got down on her knees to peer under the bed for her bra; he scooted closer so he'd have a better view of her backside waving in the air.

"How on earth did it get under the bed?" she fussed, dragging the bra out of its hiding place.

"Crawled," he suggested.

She gave him a quick grin and looked around. "And my pants are…?"

"In the living room."

She went into the living room, turned on a lamp, and was in the process of untangling her pants when Sam wandered in, stark naked and carrying a pair of sneakers. Jaine didn't bother with her bra, but slipped into her panties, then pulled on her shirt and pants. Sam stepped into his jeans and pulled them up, then sat down and put on the sneakers.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Walking you to your door."

She opened her mouth to say that wasn't necessary; then she remembered it was necessary, at least for now. She put on her shoes, stuffed her bra in her purse, then gathered up her shopping bags. Sam slid his pistol out of its holster, holding it in his right hand. "Give me your key and stay behind me," he said.

She dug her key chain out of her purse, selected the house key for him, and handed it over.

The rain had stopped, leaving the night warm and humid. Crickets chirped, and at the end of the street the corner light wore a misty halo. They crossed both driveways and went up the steps to the kitchen door. Sam tucked the pistol in his waistband while he unlocked the door; then he returned the keys to her and drew the pistol once more. He opened the door, reached inside, and flipped on the light switch.

He uttered a vicious curse. Jaine blinked at the destruction illuminated by the overhead light, then she screamed, "BooBoo!" and tried to lunge past Sam.

He blocked her with an out-thrust arm, turning so that his big body barred the entrance. "Go to my house and call nine-one-one," he barked. "Now!"

"But BooBoo – "

"Go!" he yelled, giving her a shove that almost sent her flying off the stoop. Then he wheeled and stepped into the house.

He was a cop; she had to trust him in this. Her teeth chattering, she ran back to his house and into the kitchen, where she knew he had a cordless. Grabbing it up, she punched the talk button, then 911.