Deadly Contact. Lara Lacombe

      “And I’m probably a little rusty,” she finished, gripping his shoulders with a moan as he found a sweet spot.

      He pulled away to look down at her, a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. “Would you believe it’s been a while for me, too?”

      Her gaze traveled over his strong jaw, broad shoulders and trim waist. “No,” she drawled. “I have a hard time believing that.”

      A flush rose on his cheeks and he flung himself down next to her, lying on his back with his head pillowed on his hands. “It’s true,” he said, looking up at her, sincerity in his eyes and voice. “I haven’t slept with anyone in about a year.”

      “Really? You look like a guy who would have no trouble finding a willing lady.” She lay down next to him and propped her head on one hand, facing him.

      “Not so much,” he replied. “Besides, I’ve been so crazy with work, I just haven’t really had time for a relationship.”

      “I can understand that,” she said, and he laughed.

      “I know you can,” he said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re just as big of a workaholic as I am.”

      “Guilty as charged.”

      He reached for her, and she moved willingly until they were pressed flush together. “I’m off duty now,” he whispered, using his teeth to slide her bra strap off her shoulder.

      She gasped, her fingers moving to his hair. “So am I,” she said, ending on a moan when his hand found her breast.

      “What a coincidence,” he said, rolling her onto her back and rising over her. “Now, no more talking, Doctor.”

      She reached up to his shirt, making quick work of the buttons and pushing it off him. The feel of his bare chest against hers sent sparks of tingling warmth shooting through her limbs, and she fumbled to get her bra off, wanting nothing between them.

      He stood for a moment to shuck off his pants, and she took the opportunity to wiggle out of hers. She reached for him as he came back, but he gently moved her hands above her head. “It’s my turn now. You can have a go later.”

      “Promise?” she whispered as his hands and mouth did delightfully wicked things to her body.

      He made a sound of assent, not bothering to pause in his ministrations. He worked his way back up to her mouth, ending with a smacking kiss. “Yes. Just lie back and enjoy yourself.”

      She did.

      * * *

      The tree branches outside James’s bedroom window cast moving shadows across the ceiling in the pale gray light of approaching dawn. Kelly watched them flicker and move in the wind, swaying back and forth in a hypnotizing dance that was oddly soothing.

      She wasn’t sure how long she’d been awake—long enough for the sky to fade from inky-black to smoky-pearl—but James slept soundly by her side. His breathing was deep and rhythmic as he slept the sleep of the satisfied, and she smiled knowing she’d been a part of that.

      Last night had been wonderful. James was a considerate and skilled lover, and her skin still tingled in remembrance of his touches. She turned her head to look at him; his outline was fuzzy in the dim light. He slept on his stomach, arms stretched out, his face relaxed and so beautiful. Despite her presence in his bed, he’d had no problem dropping off to sleep. She envied him that, his trust in her, his surrender in her presence. She had been like that once, too, until Gary had changed everything.

      No, she thought firmly. I will not let him ruin this moment for me.

      Too late, though. As usual, the thought of her ex-boyfriend made her heart beat a little faster, and her stomach tightened. She focused on her breathing in an effort to keep from drowning in panic. In...out...over and over, she counted her inhalations until the fluttering in her chest subsided and she felt somewhat normal again.

      James stirred, turning and stretching out a hand in her direction. She moved away carefully, not wanting his touch right now but not wanting to wake him, either. His hand landed on the mattress next to her and curled gently before relaxing again. His skin was dark against the pale sheets, the color of it warming as the light improved.

      Such beautiful hands, she mused, tracing the long, graceful fingers with her eyes. Strong and capable but still elegant, with dark hair trailing from his forearm to dust across the back. Would they ever fist in anger or be used to hurt? She didn’t think so, but she’d been wrong before.

      Gary’s hands were much different. Wide-palmed with thick, blunt-ended fingers, she’d always thought his hands were the ultimate example of practicality. Still, they had brought her pleasure, at least at first. Eventually, sex with Gary had become more like a race to the finish, a contest she had rarely won. He’d never put her pleasure before his own, never watched her fall apart with warm, focused eyes and a smile of male satisfaction. Never held her close and stroked her gently, whispering dark, seductive words in her ear as she came back down to earth.

      She knew now that Gary had never truly cared about her. He had been her first, though, and she’d been too naive and unsure to really stand up for herself. You control your orgasms, babe, not me, he’d pointed out. I can’t make you come—only you can do that. Maybe he was right. After all, hadn’t she read the headlines of women’s magazines in the grocery store checkout line? Take Charge of Your Sex Life! Lose Your Inhibitions and Take Back Your Pleasure! There had to be some truth to that. She just needed to work harder, that was all.

      Still, she couldn’t deny there was a little voice inside her head that said, This isn’t how it should be.

      She’d tried to rationalize that voice away, with varying degrees of success. Passionate, no-holds-barred love affairs made for great movies, but how often did that happen in real life? Never, as far as she could tell. So she convinced herself that things were all right, that real adult relationships weren’t perfect and this was about as good as it was going to get.

      But then the abuse started.

      He’d never left visible bruises—he was too smart for that. No, he preferred to target her elsewhere. A pinch here, a sharp poke there. It had begun slowly, small events that could be explained away. I’m so sorry, baby. I just don’t know my own strength, he’d say after a particularly forceful slap on her bottom. Or You’re just too sensitive. Maybe you should see your doctor, make sure you don’t have a clotting problem or something after she’d pointed out the bruise left behind from one of his pinches. He always had an excuse at the ready, always turned it back around on her. He was so convincing that she had started to think the problem was her, not him.

      After months of these “love taps,” he’d graduated to outright hitting. The first time, he’d slapped her face during an argument over holiday plans. The shock of it had kept her frozen in place, and he’d taken advantage of it by pulling her close. I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry, he’d soothed, running a hand down her back. I’m just really stressed at work, and I don’t know what came over me. It won’t happen again.

      It had escalated quickly. A few weeks later, Gary had come home drunk and randy. Exhausted, she’d begged off, which had sent him into a rage. Two broken ribs and multiple bruises later, she’d gotten a restraining order and cut him completely out of her life.

      That had been almost a year ago. For the first several months, she’d looked over her shoulder constantly, always expecting Gary to turn up and hurt her again. It was only after meeting James that she’d begun to relax a little. He was a strong, calm presence, and he made her feel secure. He’d offered friendship, with no pressure or expectation of something more.

      Until now.

      The shadows on the ceiling blurred as she blinked back tears. She couldn’t do this. Sleeping with James had been a mistake. He would want more from her than she could give now that they had taken this step. She wasn’t ready for that—given her history with men, she didn’t think she was capable of having a normal