Dirty Secrets by Karen Rose Page A

sexual, nothing hidden, nothing withheld.
    She kissed him back, greedily, ignoring the twinges in her bruised ribs. Threaded her fingers through his short-cropped hair and moved his head this way and that, getting the most she could out of that kiss. Then froze when his fingers on her thighs brushed inward and upward. Butterfly caresses against the part of her that throbbed for him. How could a touch so light rock her body like that?
    It had been a long time.
Too long,
she told herself.
Long enough that your body will get ahead of your brain if you’re not careful.
She remembered the last letter he’d written, the desires he’d spelled out in graphic detail. And she wanted to fulfill each and every one of them. Right this very moment.
But she shouldn’t.
She forced her head to lift and her eyes to open. Found him breathing hard, his eyes nearly black. His fingertips continued to brush against the juncture of her thighs, so softly. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him to stop, but no words came out. She hung there, steeped in the sensations with which he gifted her, her body trembling, her heart racing.
    Then his fingers withdrew and he shifted her away from his pulsing erection, slid her thighs down his legs and gently pressed her hips downward until her feet were steady on the floor once more.
    “I didn’t mean to do that.” His voice cracked, raspy and harsh. “I only meant to kiss you, but I can’t seem to stop myself where you’re concerned.” He attempted a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I guess I have too much want for you built up.”
    Emma licked her lips, tasting him still. “It’s a two-way street, Christopher. But I’m not ready to go to bed with you. Not yet.”
    He was quiet for a minute, then raised a brow. “Did you read my last letter?”
    Heat flooded her cheeks and he chuckled. “You should have put a warning on the envelope,” she said with mock severity. “Rated R or something.”
    He was grinning now. “I did tell you to open it when you were alone.” His hands had returned to the small of her back where they simply rested. “I read your book.”
    She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Did you find your inner child?”
    His lips twitched. “No. But I could hear you on every page. It’s good stuff.”
    “From a man who finds self-help books no help, I take that as a compliment.” She sobered, flattening her palms and running them up his arms to his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Christopher. I’m sorry that Darrell’s gone. The pain of losing someone to an act of purposeful violence is different from any other kind of grief.”
    Christopher’s throat worked. “And Tanya’s still missing. I still can’t believe this is happening.” He’d called the detective working the case as soon as he’d set foot off the plane in Florida. The grad student was nowhere to be found. He cleared his throat. “I have to go pick up Megan from school. Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. You can just relax while I’m gone.”
    He withdrew from her arms, his manner suddenly brisk. But Emma didn’t take offense. It was his way of coping with a situation that had rocked his world. She followed him to the back of the house where he put her suitcase in a modest little room with a double bed. He surveyed the room with a critical eye. “Like I said, not much.” He trailed his finger through a thin layer of dust on the nightstand. “Sorry. We’re not much into housekeeping, Megan and I.”
    “Christopher, after hotel rooms that all look the same, this is perfect.” She brought his face down to her level for a soft peck on the lips. “Go get your daughter. I’ll be fine.” She walked him to the door, gripped by a longing as real as the doorknob she clutched as he drove away. A picture had inserted itself into her imagination, her waving him good-bye every morning from this very door. He’d go to work at the University and she could stay here and write. With the blue