sudden tears. She would not fall in love with Rafe Pascotto. Not . She balled her fists.
“You want romantic,” she repeated. On top of the hottest sex she’d ever had in her life.
“Yeah. I want to look into your eyes when I come. To hold you in my arms and kiss you.” A corner of his mouth hitched up. “On the mouth.”
Make a joke. Push him away . Lots of people got to have romance in their lives, but not her. She’d sold her soul to the devil years ago, and the bastard had come back to claim it. She knew he’d trample over Rafe to get to her.
She pushed out a smile. “I liked the hot sex. Why mess with what’s working?”
He got an intense look in his eyes, like he saw beyond her bullshit to the best of who she could be. “Because I want more.” He spread open her thighs and pushed into her.
She clenched around him at the suddenness of his thrust, her arms automatically circling his shoulders, pulling him down to her.
He thrust into her again, and she groaned. He smiled a cocky smile and kissed her. “And so do you,” he whispered into her mouth.
And then, as if his control slipped, he pounded into her, and she hung on, meeting each thrust, not sure if he was taking them to heaven or hell. But at least they were going together.
***
In the first light of day, he knew before he opened his eyes that Bridget had left. The bedroom they’d spent the night in felt empty. He’d tried not to fall asleep, knowing the minute he did, she’d slip away from him again. He groaned and rolled over on his stomach, thinking of how incredible it would have been to wake up beside her and take up where they’d left off last night.
Christ, he had it bad. How could he have let that happen? He was falling in love with a woman he knew next to nothing about, and who, he strongly suspected, had done something terribly wrong at some point of her life. Bridget O’Neill was a strong woman, but someone had her on the run, and it wasn’t just the FBI. The agency’s involvement only raised more questions. Why were they so interested in her? He didn’t think the gems that had gone missing from the show were that valuable, and yet the FBI had tapped his phone. They needed some kind of order or something from a judge to tap a phone, didn’t they? Which meant they had a damned good reason to suspect Bridget was guilty. Guilty of what was the million-dollar question.
He sat up on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed a shower and some coffee to kick-start his brain, because it was time he started using it instead of just reacting to what was going on.
And he needed to clean up the bedroom. The room smelled like sex. He grinned. No, it smelled like the best sex of his life. He wanted Bridget back. With him. Where she belonged.
Chapter Six
An hour later, Rafe hailed a cab and gave the address of the downtown jail where Bridget’s brother, Darcy, was being held. He didn’t know much about the justice system, but having been previously incarcerated in the downtown jail himself, he thought of it as a temporary holding place. Darcy had already been found guilty of theft. Why hadn’t they shipped him to the proper prison? He doubted Gage would tell him if he asked, but he added it to his list of questions anyway.
In the back of the cab, Rafe mentally ticked off his to-do list. He’d left Honey’s place relatively clean, although he knew Izzy, the cleaning lady, would come in to clean the condo in a day or two. But there was a possibility the FBI would pick up his trail after his visit to the jail, and he didn’t want to risk Honey returning unexpectedly to discover too much of a mess. A couple of dirty glasses, okay. But the bedroom?
He hardened, remembering last night.
He’d also searched everywhere for a note from Bridget. Not a love note, although he wouldn’t have minded one. He’d been hoping—expecting—she’d tell him where the gems she’d hidden in his apartment were. If the
“You want romantic,” she repeated. On top of the hottest sex she’d ever had in her life.
“Yeah. I want to look into your eyes when I come. To hold you in my arms and kiss you.” A corner of his mouth hitched up. “On the mouth.”
Make a joke. Push him away . Lots of people got to have romance in their lives, but not her. She’d sold her soul to the devil years ago, and the bastard had come back to claim it. She knew he’d trample over Rafe to get to her.
She pushed out a smile. “I liked the hot sex. Why mess with what’s working?”
He got an intense look in his eyes, like he saw beyond her bullshit to the best of who she could be. “Because I want more.” He spread open her thighs and pushed into her.
She clenched around him at the suddenness of his thrust, her arms automatically circling his shoulders, pulling him down to her.
He thrust into her again, and she groaned. He smiled a cocky smile and kissed her. “And so do you,” he whispered into her mouth.
And then, as if his control slipped, he pounded into her, and she hung on, meeting each thrust, not sure if he was taking them to heaven or hell. But at least they were going together.
***
In the first light of day, he knew before he opened his eyes that Bridget had left. The bedroom they’d spent the night in felt empty. He’d tried not to fall asleep, knowing the minute he did, she’d slip away from him again. He groaned and rolled over on his stomach, thinking of how incredible it would have been to wake up beside her and take up where they’d left off last night.
Christ, he had it bad. How could he have let that happen? He was falling in love with a woman he knew next to nothing about, and who, he strongly suspected, had done something terribly wrong at some point of her life. Bridget O’Neill was a strong woman, but someone had her on the run, and it wasn’t just the FBI. The agency’s involvement only raised more questions. Why were they so interested in her? He didn’t think the gems that had gone missing from the show were that valuable, and yet the FBI had tapped his phone. They needed some kind of order or something from a judge to tap a phone, didn’t they? Which meant they had a damned good reason to suspect Bridget was guilty. Guilty of what was the million-dollar question.
He sat up on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed a shower and some coffee to kick-start his brain, because it was time he started using it instead of just reacting to what was going on.
And he needed to clean up the bedroom. The room smelled like sex. He grinned. No, it smelled like the best sex of his life. He wanted Bridget back. With him. Where she belonged.
Chapter Six
An hour later, Rafe hailed a cab and gave the address of the downtown jail where Bridget’s brother, Darcy, was being held. He didn’t know much about the justice system, but having been previously incarcerated in the downtown jail himself, he thought of it as a temporary holding place. Darcy had already been found guilty of theft. Why hadn’t they shipped him to the proper prison? He doubted Gage would tell him if he asked, but he added it to his list of questions anyway.
In the back of the cab, Rafe mentally ticked off his to-do list. He’d left Honey’s place relatively clean, although he knew Izzy, the cleaning lady, would come in to clean the condo in a day or two. But there was a possibility the FBI would pick up his trail after his visit to the jail, and he didn’t want to risk Honey returning unexpectedly to discover too much of a mess. A couple of dirty glasses, okay. But the bedroom?
He hardened, remembering last night.
He’d also searched everywhere for a note from Bridget. Not a love note, although he wouldn’t have minded one. He’d been hoping—expecting—she’d tell him where the gems she’d hidden in his apartment were. If the
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