Ann Bruce - Excerpt 3 from FALL DEAD

Excerpt 3 from Fall Dead

Nick came awake with a fully alert sensation, but he remained motionless. It was a trick he had learned early in his career in law enforcement. It had come in handy more than once. Having discerned that he was alone in the spare bedroom, he stealthily reached for the automatic he had left in the shoulder holster lying discreetly beneath the bed.

Nick opened his eyes. Through his open door, he could see the thin strip of light coming from beneath Augusta's closed door. She was either still awake or had decided to sleep with the light on. He lay motionless, trying to determine what had woken him. Despite the carpet, he heard soft footsteps on the stairs.

Not making a sound, Nick got up. He had a feeling Augusta hadn't been able to sleep and had left her room to find peace elsewhere. It didn't take much intelligence to figure out why. A quick peek in her empty room confirmed his suspicions.

Without bothering to consider whether or not she would want his presence, Nick made his way downstairs. Following the faint light, he found her in a room just off of the living room. The door was ajar.

"Did I wake you?"

Her soft question didn't surprise him. He could feel her presence everytime he was within ten feet of her. It seemed only fitting that the awareness be mutual.

"I'm a light sleeper."

He stepped further into the room. From the large walnut desk, the leather chair behind it, and the large number of books contained within the room, he assumed it served as her library and office. Unlike the rest of her house, this room felt lived in. While he had been setting her house to rights, Nick had spent the most time in this room. When he had first seen it, it appeared as if the room had suffered the presence of a whirlwind-or a particularly destructive and frustrated housebreaker. He hadn't been able to get to the haphazard piles of books lying before the half-empty bookshelves. At the moment, Augusta was curled up on one corner of the sofa, gazing into the empty fireplace with her back to him. He placed the Glock still in his hand on a corner of the desk before going to her.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't sleep and just lying in my bed in that room wasn't helping. In fact, that room was the reason I couldn't sleep."

"Scared?"

"Yes," she admitted, finally looking up at him where he stood just behind her. Without her glasses to correct her mild astigmatism, he was slightly fuzzy around the edges. But what she could see made her stomach knot. The light from the low, shaded lamp on the end table cast intriguing shadows over the planes of his naked chest, the ridges on equally naked his abdomen. In spite of herself, Augusta felt the first stirrings of desire as she took in the muscular male body covered in nothing but a pair of navy blue Jockey shorts.

"Scoot over."

Without argument, Augusta did as he asked, readily settling back against him when he sat down behind her and drew her back against him with his long arm around her waist. She could feel the semi-aroused state his body was in and stilled, savoring the familiar, answering heat that ignited in the core of her. Dear God, why was she denying them both?

Nick misread her stillness. "Don't worry," he said, an almost indetectable bite in his undertone. "I'm not going to pounce on you. My self-control might be lacking when I'm with you, but it's not nonexistent."

"I wasn't going to mention it."

They sat in silence while Augusta layered her arm on his, oddly comforted by the contrast of his tanned skin against her paleness, his hairy roughness against her smoothness. The warm, heavy weight of his arm made her feel secure.

"Is it what happened in the alley?"

"Yes…and no. It's everything." She sighed and turned her head until her cheek was pressed up against the warm, lightly furred skin of his chest. "A week ago, I was living a sedate, quiet life. I had a job I was satisfied with, a home I felt safe in, and two people who are closer to me than family." Her voice became slightly raw. "And now…now, that job is gone, my home's been broken into, and one of the people I loved was killed and I'm the biggest suspect."

"No, you're not." Even if I have to beat every official over the head with it.

She lifted her head and looked at him, a sardonic smile firmly in place. "Don't lie to me, Nick. I know the NYPD would pounce on me if they had something more than circumstantial evidence. Who knows? Maybe they'll think I staged my own mugging and break-in to throw you guys off my trail."

"Stop it." His voice could've sliced through stone. "You need to put this out of your mind before you lose it. Getting some sleep might be a good start."

She snorted. He got the feeling that she didn't do it often. "Easier said than done. It doesn't matter how tired I am, I'm not going to be tired enough to shut down my mind. Everytime I close my eyes now, I either picture Chad getting thrown from his balcony, a pack of reporters closing in on me, or some maniac smelling like Gio running after me or coming in through my bedroom window." Her chest was heaving, but her voice never rose above a quiet whisper. "It doesn't matter how tired my body is, my mind's going at a hundred miles per hour and my imagination's working overtime to show me what could've happened had I not gotten away from that bastard in the alley."

By the time she finished, tremors ran the length of her body and, despite the robe and the heat emanating from the body at her back, she was chilled.

She heard Nick mutter something under his breath before he took the ice cubes that were her hands between his and began chafing them. It felt as if he was rubbing the delicate bones of her hands together, but Augusta welcomed the warmth. She moved against him, relaxing. But Nick dropped her hands, gripped her pelvis, and stopped her, and Augusta made a small, incoherent sound at the feel of his erection becoming harder and larger. She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nostrils. She needed this. Him. And there was no reason in the world for her to feel guilty. She wasn't using him. No, she was, but it wasn't as if she would be sleeping with him because he was one of the lead investigators in Chad's murder case. Besides, Nick Delaney had made it clear that he wanted her, too.

The fingers curved around her hips flexed. A muscle within her clenched in response, bringing an end to her justification.

His name was barely more than a breath. "Nick…"

"Don't." His voice sounded strained.

"But…"

"Just give me a minute." The words were barely more than a low growl.

Since he wouldn't let her speak, she did the next best thing. Or perhaps it was the best thing. Actions spoke louder than words, after all. She twisted her hands until she was holding his and brought it up to cover her breast beneath the terry cloth robe. She was completely naked underneath.

She could feel his body go even more rigid, giving it about the same flexibility as steel. Her breath remained locked in her throat. Then his fingers moved, squeezed. Her head fell back against his shoulder and her deep sigh of relief was swallowed by the mouth that instantly covered hers.

Nick knew this wasn't what he wanted. No. Correction: This was what he wanted, but not the way he wanted it. He wanted her to come to him because she wanted him, not the boneless exhaustion and mindlessness he could give her so she could rest and sleep-dreamlessly.

However, when it came to Augusta Kincaid Langan, he was a desperate man. He would take her any way he could get her, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. And in the light of day, if she regretted what happened, he would remind her that she had been the initiator. But for now…for now he would give her what she needed and take what she could give him and run with it.

Nick alternately rubbed and plumped her small breast with his rough palm, enjoying the softness of her flesh, the velvety smoothness, the pebble hardness of her budded nipple. He flicked his thumbnail over it. She whimpered into his mouth and dug her short nails into his wrist; his erection twitched and strained against his boxers.

Christ, he thought. She was so damned responsive. To me, he added to himself. To me.

The tip of her eager tongue touched his lips and he couldn't think any more. Nick opened his mouth and sucked her tongue inside. He curled his around hers, rubbed hers, dueled with hers. Then it simply wasn't enough. He had to taste her. He had to find out if it was as good as he remembered, as hot as he fantasized.

Augusta knew the moment the control shifted. His kiss forced her head heavily back against the curve of his shoulder, which seemed to have been made just for her head. Her tongue retreated as his advanced. She forgot to breathe when his thrashed wildly inside her mouth, seeking to touch every square millimetre of her warm, wet mouth.

She released his wrist to tangle her fingers in his hair, pulling his head down more, wanting to deepen the kiss. But she had to break the mouth to mouth contact to breathlessly gasp his name when a large male palm cupped her sex through her robe. Wet heat flooded that small area at the apex of her legs. She arched her body into his hands, not quite sure what was driving her more insane: the hand fondling her sensitive breasts, or the one roughly massaging her sex.

She tipped her head back, arching her throat in unconscious invitation. Nick pressed warm, damp lips to the throbbing pulse in the pale column until her body fell back against his. He nipped his way down her throat, across to her round shoulder, back to that sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. Her fingers tightened painfully in his hair.

Her body felt fluid, and, yet, she was all hot and tight inside. And it wasn't enough.

She abandoned his hair to fumble with the tie of her robe. But it took her a few seconds too long so Nick brushed her hands aside and made short work of the knot. He pushed the robe open.

The air that caressed her naked front didn't cool Augusta one degree. How could it when fire trailed in the wake of the hands that swept her from her shoulders to the ultrasoft skin of her upper thighs? When those same hands lightly skimmed her sex along the way? Those same hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging in hard enough that she knew she would find bruises there in the morning. He parted her lower limbs, exposing the swelled sex covered with clipped, dark, springy hair.

Augusta whimpered. But he still wouldn't touch her where she needed him the most. Frustration swirled through her, making her pant. The sound was loud in the otherwise quiet room. And that sound ceased when Nick covered her open mouth with his. She readily responded, using her tongue to taste and explore him as he did her not too long ago.

However, it wasn't nearly enough to distract her. She grabbed his wrists, intending to bring his hands to her hot centre, where she was weeping for the stroke of his fingers. But with a twist of his wrists, he captured her hands in his, easily restraining her when she struggled against his hold. He wanted her needier.

"Nick," she moaned pleadingly against his mouth, half-lidded eyes glittering with want.

He smiled ferally. She was so damn hot. She made him so damn hot. He wanted her so badly, his balls were beginning to hurt, they were so hard. He wanted to shove her down, free himself, and come inside her from behind, feel her slick tightness around him, hear her moan as he moved in and out. He wanted to stay inside her till she begged him never to leave her, and then he would pump towards the release that would shatter them both.

He cupped her slim hips and thrust up against her buttocks. She moaned. He rubbed the hard length of his erection roughly against her. And she lost the air she needed to make any sounds. More than bringing them both to orgasm, he wanted to imprint himself on her body, her mind, her soul. After this night, he wanted Chad Langan and all the others lovers in her past to be nothing more than distant memories. Hell, he didn't want to give them even that much.

Nick dragged his open mouth across her jaw to her ear. He traced the delicate shell of her ear, nipping the fleshy lobe when she squirmed in his grasp.

"Nick…"

Christ, he could listen to her breath his name like that till he turned seventy. Even then he wouldn't be tired of hearing it.

"Touch yourself, Augusta," he whispered in her ear, his hot breath washing over her skin causing quivers to race down her body. Nick watched intently as he placed her right hand over the trim mound of hair shielding her sex. The sight squeezed the air from his lungs, making his voice hoarse. "Do it for me."

He could feel her hesitation, but he wasn't giving up. He freed her left hand so he could spread open the lips of her sex, revealing the dewy pinkness surrounding the clitoris that was all but throbbing for the release of a rough caress. Nick skimmed it with the slightly callused pad of his large forefinger, barely making contact, but Augusta shuddered as if an electric shock had zipped through her. Nick muffled the rough sound that came from deep within him against a creamy shoulder, letting her feel the edge of his teeth. If at all possible, his erection became even harder, pushed more insistently against her buttocks. Augusta drew in a sharp breath.

"Touch yourself," he instructed raggedly. "I'll guide you."

And this time, when he applied a restrained pressure on her captive hand, she complied.

He made her skirt the stiff bud that seemed to contain all her nerve endings. Just the thought of capturing it between her thumb and finger made heat ripple through her. Suddenly, that was what she wanted to do, what she needed to do. But Nick wasn't ready to let her orgasm.

She allowed him to slide the tips of her forefinger and middle finger along the inner lips. Her sex was wet, Augusta discovered. Very wet; and hot, steaming, almost; and soft and smooth, like satin. Nick guided her around the entrance to her body, taking a savage satisfaction in the way her thighs fell completely open, as if boneless, and the way her head tossed restlessly from side to side on his shoulder. Her need hummed along her body, just like his. It was torture, deliciously so. And every time her bottom wriggled, his cock twitched and his boxers became more damp, fresh sweat popped out on his damp brow, and he had to grit his teeth while he tried to keep himself from coming. He didn't want to come until he was deep inside her, deeper than any other man had ever been.

But, Christ, watching her explore herself, shyly, tentatively, was enough to leave him teetering on the edge.

One taste, he decided, bringing her sex-coated fingers to his lips. The noise of protest she made became strangled when he closed his lips over her fingers.

The breath he released was too harsh to be a sigh. "You taste good," he murmured hoarsely, and Augusta didn't understand why she didn't melt into a puddle of lust before him. Her insides felt like hot, flowing lava. Feeling the roughness of his tongue, the strong, wet suction of his mouth on her fingers, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have his mouth worshipping her breasts, on her navel, buried between her legs.

That nudged her over the edge. The vivid imagination that had stolen her sleep now stole her breath as erotic images and sensations battered her. She didn't need Nick's mouth on her; she only needed to picture it.

Feeling her slender body go rigid in his arms and hearing her small cry fill the room had shudders racking his frame. God, he wanted to feel her inner muscle contractions around his cock, he wanted to feel it squeezing him, grasping him, milking him.

Even though his hands were not quite steady, Nick managed to have her sprawled, on her front and face buried in her arms, along the length of the sofa, shucked his boxers, and lifted her hips slightly off the cushions in mere seconds. He guided himself to the opening of her body, brushed her clitoris. Her body jerked; the sound she made could've been a plea or a curse. Nick couldn't wait any longer; gripping her hips tightly, he surged into her without enough force to shake her body. The fit was snug, but he entered her easily, she was so damp. His choked groan joined her muffled cries. She was tighter than a virgin.

Augusta arched her back, her eyes squeezed tight, her mouth open, but no sound coming out. How could she make any noise when she couldn't draw enough air into her burning lungs? She was buffered on all sides by heat and a pleasure that bordered on painful. Even the droplets of sweat that landed on her back seamed to sear her. She writhed helplessly beneath him, wanting to get away and wanting to get closer. His hardness filled her completely, stretching her like she never thought possible.

Nick slowly pulled out of her body, burning her channel as he did so. Augusta pushed her buttocks up against him when only the head remained enveloped in her heat, whimpering silently, the orgasm she experienced just moments ago forgotten as renewed excitement and need dragged her back into their talons. He rammed back into her; she pushed up to meet him; he withdrew; they repeated the cycle. Once, twice, three times, and she exploded for the second time that night, waves of violent ecstasy crashing over her. One more thrust and his own pleasure peaked with a force equal to hers. He shouted his release as he went as deep inside her as he could and remained there, spewing wet heat inside her belly.

He was careful not to collapse on her. Even in his mentally and physically exhausted state, he was very aware of how small and delicate she was in comparison to him. As if in slow motion, he rolled onto the thick area rug and tugged Augusta off the sofa. He arranged her limp body on his, letting her use his body as a mattress as she had in his bed just the night before. Arms wrapped heavily around her waist, one of her slender legs between both of his hairy ones, he succumbed to dreamless sleep. And so did she.

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