Nancy Bush's Nowhere Bundle: Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide & Nowhere Safe - Nancy Bush Rafferty Family

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clenched on his arms, feeling taut, sinewy muscle beneath. Her mind fractured. Too many sensations bombarded her at once: his lips, his hands, his shallow breaths. No, those were her breaths, rapidly growing in tandem with her heartbeats.

      His mouth was hard and soft and warm and his tongue teased at the crease of her lips.

      She wasn’t sure how this had happened. She didn’t want it to stop.

      She opened her mouth to protest and his tongue moved in, taking it as an invitation. The feel of his tongue was warm and slick and the way it filled her mouth did something to her knees. They quivered wildly and she would have sunk down, but his arm was a bar around her back, keeping her lower body hot against his.

      She could feel his arousal. It was all she could think about. She’d put on her jeans and a clean T-shirt but it felt as if there were nothing between them. Her bones had turned to liquid. Her skin felt sensitized. Somewhere in her mind she knew she should resist, but she couldn’t. This was nothing like anything she’d experienced before and she suddenly wanted it. Wanted it. If she died tomorrow, she was going to have this. Now.

      He sensed her capitulation and half-walked her, half-dragged her to the couch. They didn’t say a word to each other. One moment they were kissing and bending toward each other as if they wanted to fuse bodies, the next they were both naked and she was feeling the cushions of the couch meet her bare buttocks and shoulders.

      And then he hesitated. As if second thoughts had finally penetrated the blinding passion that consumed them. “I—don’t—” he began.

      “Shhh . . .” She dragged his mouth down to hers.

      It was all she needed to say. His body pressed against hers, his hands sliding along her sides, one of them caressing her left breast convulsively. Her hips rose of their own accord and his other hand slid between her legs, stroking her in a way that sent her pulse skyrocketing and made her desire flame along her nerves.

      Hurry, she thought. Hurry. If something happened—anything—to interrupt them, she didn’t think she could bear it.

      And then he was poised at the brink of fully taking her and she wanted to yank him forward. Somewhere distantly in her brain she sensed that if things didn’t proceed at breakneck pace they wouldn’t happen. Reason would reassert itself. Auggie would remember she was a crazy, damaged fugitive and would stop himself.

      And she needed this. Maybe it wasn’t love. But it was desire. And she was going to have it.

      “Livvie . . .” he whispered unsteadily.

      “Come on,” she urged, her hands running down the hard muscles of his back.

      That did it. He pushed against her and she felt a joyous thrill slide into her feminine core. Her hips urged him forward and he pushed harder, entering her, wringing a gasp from her lips. He stopped but her hands were urgent, pulling him closer and then he began rhythmically moving, sliding in and out until her mind was mush and she was simply sensation. No body. Nothing. Some other plane of consciousness.

      The pressure built. Her body moved with his as if she’d been meant for him. Maybe she was, she thought half-hysterically. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t understood the joy of Trask and Jo, why she hadn’t felt anything that even vaguely resembled this pleasure.

      Trask . . .

      For a moment she was filled with anguish, but a pulse was beating in her head and her hips were meeting his in a delicious rhythm and before she knew it her hands were raking his back and she was convulsing beneath him, crying out. A moment later he thrust harder, stiffening in his own climax before he collapsed against her, his breath rasping against her ear, his heart galloping against hers.

      Chapter 15

      Liv woke up as if she’d been asleep, though she hadn’t. One moment she was tangled on the couch in Auggie’s arms and legs, the next she was off her astral plane and back into reality with a bang.

      Her first thought was: we didn’t use protection.

      Her second: it’s way down the list of my worries.

      When she stirred, he lifted his arms, managing somehow to prop himself on his elbow and regard her lazily. She watched him push a strand of her honey-brown hair away from her face.

      “I am crazy,” she said seriously.

      “It must be catching.”

      Feeling idiotic, she picked up the scraps of her clothing, eased herself from his embrace, headed into the bathroom and closed the door behind her with a soft thunk that sounded as loud as thunder to her ears.

      She dressed hurriedly. Checked herself in the mirror.

      Good. God.

      She stepped back into the living room to realize he’d put on his boxers and jeans again. He was still shirtless and standing beside the couch.

      They stared at each other. After a moment, she said, “Well.”

      He said, “Wanna go again?”

      “Yes . . . no . . . no . . .”

      He sat back down on the couch. Liv told herself to stay away from him, but she walked over and sank down beside him as if she had no will.

      He laced the fingers of his left hand through those of her right. Her heart was thudding so hard it hurt. He was looking at her, she could tell, but she couldn’t turn toward him.

      “I want to,” he said, his breath fanning her ear. “Tell me you don’t and make me believe it.”

      The heat from his hand was radiating up her arm and through her chest, reaching toward her hammering heart. She was no proof against his slow seduction. If it was a battle, he was going to win. It made no sense to her. She should be running, planning, escaping . . .

      When he stood up again, pulling her with him and leading her to the bedroom, she complied as if the whole thing had been scripted.

      And when he turned her toward him at the side of the bed and his mouth captured hers and her hand was on his chest and she felt the light and fast beat of his own heart, she moved her mouth down to his bare chest and lay a row of kisses down his sternum that had him making a strangled sound.

      A moment later they were both on the bed, their clothes being ripped off with frantic fingers and searching mouths.

      Auggie lay beside Liv on the bed, his naked body spooned up next to hers. He couldn’t tell if she was awake or asleep. He would guess awake, as he was. And probably just as conflicted. But happy. Or, maybe relieved. Or something.

      Damn, but this shouldn’t have happened. Especially as many times as it had.

      Damn, but he wasn’t sorry.

      If he let his brain travel along the recent road of these last moments he could get all stirred up again and he knew that wasn’t a good idea.

      Well, not unless she wanted to again, of course.

      Her eyes were closed. Her lashes lying soft and weblike against her cheek. As if feeling his intense gaze, her lids opened and she turned her hazel eyes to him. They searched the depths of each other’s eyes.

      “What now?” she asked.

      “Grandview,” he told her, and then a bit more reluctantly, “Time to get dressed.”

      September stood beside Gretchen at George’s workstation and listened with only half an ear to his report. He’d met up with Paul de Fore’s parents, who were making burial plans for their son. In the course of his one foray into real fieldwork, he’d learned enough about the de Fores and Paul to convince him that the Zuma massacre had nothing to do with them.

      “They’re relatively sane, hard-working, unimaginative. Neither of ’em has enough passion to break a smile. Their son sounds just like them, from all accounts. More rigid maybe. But whoever shot the shit out of Zuma . .

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