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“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “I have bourbon.”
“Thanks. No ice.”
He opened a kitchen cabinet and removed a half-full bottle of bourbon and poured two fingers in everyday glasses. As he handed her a glass, her fingers barely brushed his. It was a light touch, scarcely noticeable, but it sent a thrill through her. It had been a while since they had been together, and she hungered for what was coming.
She took a sip, impressed. “Nice.”
“Glad you like it.” His gaze studied her over the rim of his glass before he downed it in an uncharacteristic show of impatience.
She finished the last of her drink and set the glass down beside his. “You going to give me the grand tour or take me straight to the bedroom?”
He loosened his tie. “Do you want the grand tour?”
“How about a rain check on that?” It surprised her how much her impatience had seeped into her tone.
“Good.”
Vaughan took her by the hand and led her down the central hallway peppered with more pictures of Vaughan and his son.
The bed in the master room was a king with two pillows and a neatly made blue comforter. Twin nightstands had lamps, but the table closest to the door was piled high with books on history, mathematics, and politics. Topping the stack of books was a pair of dark-rimmed glasses.
“There’s a bathroom in there if you need it,” he said.
“Thanks.”
She removed her weapon and holster from her waistband and set them both on a dresser outfitted with a large mirror that caught the bed’s reflection.
She shrugged off her jacket and laid it beside her weapon and kicked off her shoes. As she unbuttoned her blouse, she caught Vaughan’s reflection in the mirror. He had removed his badge and gun but was watching her closely as he unfastened his shirt buttons.
She slid off her shirt and then her pants. When she faced him in just her bra and panties, he was reaching for his belt buckle as his eyes roved over her.
She crossed the room and pushed his hands aside, taking the smooth metal buckle in her fingers. She was careful not to touch him as she studied his face.
“I feel a little like a lab rat,” he said.
“Really?”
“You are always studying my every expression. And I know you’ve analyzed my home.”
“It’s what I do. I study people.” She unhooked the top button of his trousers.
His jaw pulsed. “Do you ever see people as people?”
“It’s easier if I don’t.”
He traced his finger over her bare shoulder. “There’s no emotion, then, when we do this?”
“I like it very much.” She opened his pants but did not slide her hand under the waistband of his shorts.
“You’re using me for sex?” A note of seriousness hummed under the playful tone.
Maybe she was. But after Jeff had died, she had used other men for sex and had never returned for extra helpings as she had with him.
Zoe met his gaze, seeing an intensity she had not noticed before. “Do you want me to stop?”
His silence swarmed around her. “No.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to stop.” She reached for the clasp between her breasts and unhooked her bra. She slid it off and let it fall to the floor.
He cupped her breast and leaned in to kiss her lips. Since the first time he had touched her, she had liked the way he teased her nipples and the sensual way he kissed her. He certainly did not feel like Jeff or even look like him. But he had a way of fanning flames that had died with her husband.
She pressed against him, liking the feel of his erection brushing against her groin, the way his taut abdomen hitched when she teased him, and how breath shuddered over his lips when her teeth gently bit his bottom lip.
They stood, teasing each other, almost testing to see who would be the first to lower to the bed. It had always been her in the past. And each time she had eased down to the mattress and beckoned him forward, that patience of his had shattered.
This time, she found he was taking extra time playing, and when she tried to tug him toward the bed, he resisted. It had been a month since he had been inside her, and she missed the sensations he churned in her body.
She pushed off his pants and underwear, growing impatient with the foreplay. He stepped out, but instead of pulling her toward the bed, he cupped her lace-clad buttocks.
The flirtatious back-and-forth was starting to feel more intimate than she had intended. Prolonged foreplay and kissing had been something she had only shared with Jeff. And since his death, she had avoided emotional attachments, including one with Vaughan.
She stepped back from Vaughan and slid off her panties. His breathing was quick, and she was pleased to know that she was not the only one who was anxious to be in bed. Later, she might analyze why he had this sudden need for them to savor each other. For now, she did not care.
She took him by the hand, and as she climbed onto the mattress, she pulled him with her. She knew what he liked—knew how to make him forget whatever promise he had made to go slow. She cupped her breasts and moistened her lips as her fingers slid down her belly to her sex. Seconds later, he was on top of her, and she maneuvered his erection to her opening.
She felt his urgency as he pressed inside her and sensed his resolve wavering. She smoothed her hand over his buttocks, coaxing him deeper inside of her. He moved in and out of her slowly as her body adjusted to him, and soon he was thrusting harder.
Sexual tension built in her body, and she gave him high marks for the way he had learned the pressure points on her body so quickly.
She closed her eyes, trying to remember what it had felt like when she had been with Jeff. Six years was a lifetime, and the intervening time had stripped away almost every last memory she had cherished.
Now more than ever, she desperately wanted to remember Jeff, but she could not recall a single detail. Later, she would play back his last voicemail message on her phone and recharge the fading recollections.
As if he sensed her mind drifting, Vaughan pushed deeper into her, shooting electricity through her entire system. He brought her focus back to the sensations stirring in her body. She wanted to turn off her brain and shut out the sadness, if only for a little while.
Desire and release roared around her, chasing her closer to the cliff. She wanted to free-fall over the edge. She wanted to feel.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
His deep voice was a distant distraction, and she wanted nothing more than to swat it away like a bug. Her focus needed to remain on the orgasm that promised release. She did not want to acknowledge work, life, grief, or him.
As he slowed his pace, her race to the edge decelerated. She raised her pelvis.
“Open your eyes.”
The way the words were spoken was so clear and concise; she knew if she did not obey, he would stop and rob her of the payoff.
With a sense of resolve, Zoe opened her eyes and discovered he was studying her with an odd mix of desire and annoyance.
“You’re not the only one who reads body language,” he said.
“What does that mean?” Her distant voice echoed with insincerity.
“Who are you with?” he asked.
“You,” she said.
He brushed the stray wisps of hair from her face. “Are you?”
“I don’t see anyone else.”
