Page 8 of Trapped

It flashed into his mind that the time for lying had passed—about that night and about what was happening now. He had to know if she spoke the truth.

Reaching out, he cupped his hands over her shoulders. Her blue eyes went wide as he drew her close, swaying her body against his.

He stopped looking into her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers. Moving slowly, he wrapped his arms around her so that he flattened her breasts against his naked chest.

Too bad she was wearing the uniform shirt. And a bra, he decided. So that the intimate contact was cushioned by fabric.

Still, the pressure went straight from his chest to his groin. He clung to her as a whirlwind of sensations swamped him. The brush of her corn-silk hair against his cheek. The way her body pressed to his. The enveloping honey-spice scent.

Too dizzy to stand on his own, he took a step back, bringing her with him as he braced his hips against the wall. The earth was tilting under his feet. And he fought to anchor himself.

She swayed, her arms reaching up to circle his neck.

As he maneuvered from the center of the room, his mouth never left hers. With his back firmly pressed to the wall, he moved his lips against hers, brushing, sliding, settling. His tongue stroked along the seam, asking her to open for him.

Without hesitation, she did, and he played with the line of her teeth, then dipped farther into her warmth, tasting her, fully, completely.

It wasn’t pure lust that motivated him, although that was certainly part of it. He had been holding his breath, praying that the kiss would tell him what he needed to know—about her and about himself.

And it did—as far as her identity was concerned. Her mouth had the same taste he had remembered on so many lonely nights. Rich and inviting and unique to her.

She made a small sound that zinged along his nerve endings. He needed more, so much more. Tipping his head first one way and then the other, he changed the angle of contact, changed everything that he had thought was true.

He hadn’t believed that Sophia Rhodes could be in this place.

But it was her. Holding her and touching her confirmed that on a very basic level.

One part of his mind was amazed that they had gone from interrogation to intimacy in seconds. But why should he be surprised? He had made love with her on one mind-blowing night, and for ten years, he had wanted more.

Desperate to satisfy his craving for erotic contact with her, he slid one hand down her body, pulling her hips against his erection, sorry now that he had put on his pants.

She moaned, moving against him, telling him she was as frustrated as he was by the layers of clothing that separated his skin from hers.

He was trembling as he slipped a hand between them, cupping one of her breasts, then stroking his fingers across the hardened crest.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, the word going directly into his greedy mouth.

It seemed that time had stood still or reversed itself. They were back in the past together. Only this time he wasn’t leaving in the morning. This time he would keep her captive in his bed for days.

She was his. Totally his. He knew that without a sliver of doubt. When he began to unbutton her shirt, she eased far enough away to give him access. Dipping his head, he buried his face in the valley between her breasts, and she cupped her hands around the back of his head.

Then, all at once, she stiffened. When she pushed against his shoulder, he blinked.

“You don’t want . . .?”

She pressed a finger against his lips. “Someone’s coming.”

His senses had contracted to a narrow focus—the woman in his arms. Now they expanded again. And he heard footsteps coming down the hall.

She looked wildly around. “I’ve got to hide.”

He didn’t question her. The panic in her voice and on her face was enough to tell him she was in grave danger. And it sounded like they had only seconds to get her to safety.

He dragged her across the room. Turning off the light, he threw the covers aside as he pushed her onto the bed, then came down on top of her, lying face down, pulling the covers up before he lay still, pretending that he was the only occupant of the room.

The door opened, and he tried to look like a man who was sleeping.

Cash’s back was to the door, but through slitted eyes, he saw the play of a flashlight on the wall. When it shifted to his body, he felt Sophia stiffen and knew she saw it too.

He tensed, readying himself to leap out of bed and assault whoever had invaded his space.

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