Free Hot Contact by Susan Crosby Page A

until she dropped her head back and made a long, low sound. He deepened the kiss as she went wild in his arms.
    Consequences. The word rang and echoed.
    Be damned. It had been so long, and she felt so good, and he needed to forget. So did she.
    He backed her into his bedroom, stopped beside his bed, and looked at her.
    â€œYes,” she whispered, her hands along his face, pulling him back to her. “Yes.”
    Permission in the word but a plea in her voice. Then there were no words between them, only the moment. The feel of her skin as he pulled her clothes away. The heated touch of her hands as she undressed him, explored him in the same way that he did her, in frantic haste but thoroughly. The taste of her, her spicy store-bought scent not masking the exquisite essence that was Arianna. The sounds that filtered from her chest and throat and mouth, wordless yet with so much meaning.
    He’d never seen a more magnificent body, never made love with a woman who so matched him in need and strength. He acknowledged the exhilaration of finding such a rare partner as he urged her onto the bed.
    Then he stopped thinking. She was there, everywhere, all around him, over, under and in him, the contact so hot they were slippery from sweat. Just as he was about to bury himself in her, she rose up, maneuvered him onto his back and climbed onto him, taking control, taking over. He let her…for the moment. How could he not? Her mouth lit fires along his skin, her hair sparked electrical charges so strong he thought he heard thunder. Her passion, her need, rained down on him until he was drowning in it.
    He rolled with her, plunged into her, found a rhythm. Ah, damn, she felt good. Hot and slick and tight. Her stronglegs wrapped around him, her body arched toward him. She cried out, a sound that went on and on and on as he tried to hold back. Sweat poured from him. His teeth ground. His jaw locked. His muscles seized.
    A dazzling display of light and sound burst around him. Then the quiet aftermath when the display was done. Peace. Joy. Pleasure. He couldn’t remember another moment remotely like it.
    He became aware of the world again little by little. Arianna didn’t speak. He felt her stillness as much as he would’ve felt her agitation. He kissed her, but she barely responded. He moved to her side. She didn’t look at him.
    Regret might as well have been written on her forehead.
    Joe knew the moment she wanted to leave. He also knew she wouldn’t want to be questioned about it, so he climbed out of bed and scooped up his clothes, then gathered hers and laid them on the bed.
    He left without saying anything, dressed in the hall and waited for her on the living room sofa.
    She still looked like a poster girl for unbridled sex, he thought, as she came up to him. “I have to go,” she said.
    He nodded. He knew. She picked up the canvas bag containing her father’s file.
    Joe grabbed her wrist. “I’ll help you.”
    â€œHelp me what?”
    â€œFind out the truth about your father. If it’s possible.”
    â€œWhy would you do that?”
    â€œBecause even if you hadn’t gone in search of answers to your questions, I would’ve found your father’s file in the safe on my own. I would’ve felt obligated to know why it was there. What it means. I’ve discovered that I need answers, too, just like you.”
    She pulled her hand free and sat down in a chair across from him. “What kinds of answers?”
    â€œWhat role my father played. Where the gun came from.”
    She straightened. “Are you saying—”
    â€œI’m not saying anything. But there’s a reason why he had the file locked up so that no one would find it but me—and then only on his death, he probably figured, not expecting Alzheimer’s to strike first. I don’t know what the reason is, but whatever it is can’t be good.”
    â€œNo. But how can we