Night Smoke Read online

  He pulled her down on the floor in front of the fire. The light from the flames flickered over her skin, danced in her hair. She was golden. Like some exotic treasure a man might spend his life in search of. And for now, for tonight, Ry thought, she was only his.

  He stretched her arms out to the sides, linked his fingers with hers. “You’ll have to wait,” he told her. “Until I’m finished seducing you.”

  “I don’t need to be seduced.” She arched up to him, offering her mouth, her body, herself.

  “Let’s see.”

  He covered her mouth with his, softly, dipping in when her lips trembled open. Under his hands, hers flexed, and gripped hard. How often had he loved her? It hadn’t been long since they’d met, but he couldn’t count the number of times he’d let his body take control, go wild with hers.

  This time, he’d make love to her with his mind.

  “I love your shoulders,” he murmured, taking his mouth from hers for a slow exploration of the curve. “Soft, strong, smooth.”

  With his teeth, he caught the thin strap of her dress, tugged it down until there was nothing between him and flesh. Warmth, her taste, her scent, were all warmth. Absorbing them, he trailed his tongue over her shoulder, along the elegant line of throat, down again until the other strap gave way.

  “And this spot here.” He rubbed his lips just above the silk that curved over her breast. Teasingly, devastatingly, he dampened the skin under the silk with his tongue until her body moved restlessly beneath his. “You should relax and enjoy, Natalie. I’m going to be a while.”

  “I can’t.” The gentle brush of lips, the solid weight of him, were tormenting her. “Kiss me again.”

  “My pleasure.”

  There was a flicker of heat this time, bright and hot, before he banked the fires again. She moaned, straining against him, wanting release, craving the torture. He made the choice for her, kissing her with a focused intensity until her fingers went limp and her rushed breathing slowed and thickened.

  Smoke. She could all but smell it. She was rising up on clouds of it, weightless, helpless, unable to do more than float and sigh when his mouth left hers to trail down again. A gentle nip at the jaw, and then light, slow kisses down her throat, her shoulders.

  His body shifted downward, his hands still covering hers. Inch by inch, he tasted her, nudging the silk down. She felt his hair brush her breast, then his mouth traveling around the curve, nuzzling at the sensitive underside. His tongue slid over her nipple, shooting an ache down to her center. Then he caught the peak between his teeth, making her moan his name, and her body began to throb to a low, primitive beat.

  He wanted her to absorb him, and all the pleasure he could give her. Her eyes were closed, her lips just parted. And much too tempting. He needed to taste them again, and when he did, he let himself sink into the texture, the flavor.

  Time spun out.

  There was power here, in tenderness. He’d never felt it before, not in himself, and certainly not for anyone else. But for her he had a bottomless well of tenderness, of soft, sumptuous kisses, of endless sighs.

  He took his hands from hers to shrug out of his shirt, to feel the thrill of his flesh against her flesh. Sliding smooth, building heat. With a murmur of approval, he slipped his hand through the slit of her skirt, lightly caressing, teasing the edge of some frilly something she wore beneath.

  He flicked open a button, then two, then the third, fascinated by the way the material slid and parted under his hands. Nuzzling along her bared hip, he fought back a sudden, vicious urge to take when her hands brushed, then pressed, at his shoulders.

  More, he promised himself. There was more.

  For his own pleasure, he slipped the silk aside. And found more.

  Beneath she wore a fancy of silk and lace, the same color as the dress that pooled beside them. Strapless, it hugged her breasts, rode high up her hips. Letting out a long breath, he sat back on his heels and toyed with one lacy garter.

  “Natalie.”

  Weak … she was so gloriously weak she could barely open her eyes. When she did, she saw only him, the firelight teasing the red out of his dark hair, his eyes nearly black. She reached out, her arm heavy, nearly boneless. He merely took her hand, and kissed it.

  “I wanted to tell you how happy I am you’re in the lingerie business.”

  Her lips curved. She nearly managed a laugh before, with one quick flick, he detached the first garter. She could only utter a helpless moan.

  “And how beautiful you look.” Flick went the second garter. “Modeling your own products.” With his eyes on hers, he rolled the stocking down thigh and knee and calf.

  Her vision hazed. She could feel him. Oh, God, she could feel him—every brush of fingertip and mouth. Surrender had come gliding through her like a shadow, and had left her completely vulnerable. Whatever he wanted. Anything he wanted, she would give, as long as he never stopped touching her.

  There was the low, steady heat from the fire. It was nothing, nothing, compared to the slow burn he had kindled inside her. As if down a long, velvet-lined tunnel, she could hear the music still. A quiet backdrop to her own trembling breathing. The scent of flowers and candle wax, the taste of him and the wine that lingered on her tongue, all melded together into one stunning intoxication.

  Then he slipped a finger under the lace-edged hem, sliding it slowly toward, and then into, the heat.

  She erupted. Her body quaked and reared. His name burst from her lips, even as the staggering pleasure careened through her system. She was wrapped around him as the power of the climax built in force, then echoed away and left her drained.

  She wanted to tell him she was empty, had to be empty. But he was peeling away the silk and lace, exposing her with those clever fingers, swallowing whatever words she might have spoken with that relentlessly patient mouth.

  “I want to fill you, Natalie.” His hands weren’t as steady as they had been, but he laid her gently back on the carpet so that he could tug off his clothes. “All of you. With all of me.”

  While the blood pounded in his ears, he began a slow journey up her legs, stoking the fires again, waiting, watching, for that moment before she would flash again.

  He felt her body tense, saw the power of what was to come flicker over her face. Even as she cried out, he was inside her.

  It was almost painful to hold himself back. And it was very sweet. Seeing her heavy eyes open, seeing the glaze of pleasure cloud them as he fought to keep from racing for the finish.

  Swamped by a swirl of sensations, all but suffocating in the layers of them, she groped for his hands. When their fingers locked again, her heart was ready to burst. Her eyes stayed open and looked on his as each thrust rocked them, pushed them closer.

  Then she was cartwheeling off the edge, reeling, tumbling free. His mouth came to hers, his lips forming her name as he leapt with her.

  * * *

  Twice on the elevator ride to her office the next morning, Natalie caught herself singing. Both times, she cleared her throat, shifted her briefcase from hand to hand and pretended not to notice the speculative looks of her fellow passengers.

  So what? she thought as the elevator climbed. She felt like singing. She felt like dancing. So what? She was in love.

  And what was wrong with that? she asked herself as the elevator stopped to let off passengers on the thirty-first floor. Everyone was entitled to be in love, to feel as though their feet would never touch the ground again, to know the air had never smelled sweeter, the sun had never shone brighter.

  It was wonderful to be in love. So wonderful, she wondered why she’d never tried it before.

  Because there’d never been Ry before, she thought, and grinned.

  How foolish she’d been to panic when she realized what she felt for Ry. How cowardly and ridiculous to be afraid, even for a moment, of loving.

  If it made a woman vulnerable, comical, if it dazed and baffled her, what was wrong with that? Love should
make you feel giddy and strong and softheaded. She’d just never realized it before.

  Humming to herself, she stepped out of the elevator on her floor and all but waltzed toward her office.

  “Good morning, Ms. Fletcher.” Maureen glanced surreptitiously at her clock. It wasn’t up to her to point out that the boss was late. Even three minutes late was a precedent for Natalie Fletcher.

  “Good morning, Maureen.” She all but sang it, and thrust out a clutch of daffodils.

  “Oh, thank you. They’re lovely.”

  “Everyone should have daffodils this morning. Absolutely everyone.” Natalie shook back her hair, scattering raindrops. “It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?”

  Drizzling and chilly was what it was, but Maureen found herself grinning back. “Absolutely a classic spring morning. You’ve got a conference call scheduled for ten o’clock. Atlanta, Chicago.”

  “I know.”

  “And Ms. Marks was hoping you could fit her in afterward.”

  “Fine.”

  “Oh, and you’re due at the flagship at 11:15, right after your 10:30 with Mr. Hawthorne.”

  “No problem.”

  “You have a lunch with—”

  “I’ll be there,” Natalie called out, and swung into her office.

  For the first time in recent memory, Natalie bypassed the coffeepot. She didn’t need caffeine to pump through her blood. It was already swimming. She hung up her coat, set her briefcase aside, then moved to the office safe behind her favorite abstract print.

  Taking out a pair of disks, she went to her desk to draft a brief memo to Deirdre.

  An hour later, she was elbow-deep in work, making hasty notes as she juggled information and requests from three of her branches on the conference call.

  “I’ll fax authorization for that within the hour,” she promised Atlanta. “Donald, see if you can squeeze out the time to go to the flagship with me—11:15. We can have our meeting on the way.”

  “I’ve got an 11:30 with Marketing,” he told her. “Let me see if I can push it to after lunch.”

  “I’d appreciate it. I’d like tear sheets of all the ads and newspaper articles in Chicago. You can fax copies, but I’d like you to overnight the originals. I’ll be checking in with LA and Dallas this afternoon, and we’ll have a full report for all branches by end of day tomorrow.”

  She sat back, let out a long breath. “Gentlemen, synchronize your watches and alert the troops. Ten a.m., Saturday. Coast to coast.”

  After she closed the conference, Natalie pressed her buzzer. “Maureen, let Deirdre know I’m free for about twenty minutes. Oh, and buzz Melvin for me.”

  “He’s in the field, Ms. Fletcher.”

  “Oh, right.” Annoyed with her lapse, Natalie glanced at her watch, calculated time. “I’ll see if I can catch him at the plant later this afternoon. Leave a memo on his voice mail that I should be by around three.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “After you buzz Deirdre, get me the head of shipping at the new warehouse.”

  “Right away.”

  By the time Deirdre knocked on the door and stepped in, Natalie was tapping at the keys on her desk computer. “Yes, I see that.” Phone tucked at her ear, she gestured Deirdre to a seat. “Put a trace on that shipment. I want it in Atlanta no later than 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.” She nodded, tapped. “Let me know as soon as it’s located. Thanks.”

  She hung up, brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “There’s always a glitch near zero hour.”

  Deirdre’s brow wrinkled. “Bad?”

  “No, just a slight delay on a shipment. Even without it, Atlanta’s well stocked for the opening. But I don’t want them to run low. Coffee?”

  “No, I’ve already burned a hole in my stomach lining, thanks. Or you have.” She aimed a steely look at her boss. “Bonuses.”

  “Bonuses,” Natalie agreed. “I have the percentages I want you to work with right here. Salary ratios, and so forth.” She smiled a little. “I figured you wouldn’t be wondering about how best to murder me if I did the preliminaries.”

  “Wrong.”

  Now Natalie laughed. “Deirdre, do you know why I value you so highly?”

  “Nope.”

  “You have a mind like a calculator. The bonuses were earned, and I also consider them a good investment. Incentive to keep up the pace during the weeks ahead. There’s usually a dip after the initial sales in a new business, both in profit and in labor. I think this will keep that dip from becoming a dive.”

  “That’s all very well in theory,” Deirdre began.

  “Let’s make it reality. And since it’s basically a standard ratio across the board, I’d like you to hand the problem over to your assistant. That way you can concentrate on running the audit.”

  Still smiling, she handed over the disks, and her memo. “A great deal of what you’ll need to run will be parallel with tax preparation. Take whatever time, and however many bodies in Accounting, you feel you’ll need.”

  With a grimace, Deirdre accepted the disk. “You know why I value you so highly, Natalie?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because there’s no budging you, and you give impossible orders with such reasonableness.”

  “It’s a gift,” Natalie agreed. “You might want these hard copies.”

  Deirdre rose, hefting the file. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Anytime.” She glanced up with a smile as Donald poked his head in the door.

  “I’m clear until 12:30,” he told her.

  “Great. We’ll head out now. Take your time,” Natalie repeated to Deirdre as she crossed to the closet for her coat. “As long as I have the first figures on this quarter’s profit and loss, and the totals from each department, by the end of next week.”

  Deirdre rolled her eyes at Donald. “Reasonably impossible.” She set the disks on top of the file. “You’re next,” she warned him.

  “Don’t let her scare you, Donald. She’s just gearing up to pit black ink against red.” Natalie sailed through the door. “Just make sure the black wins.”

  “Quite a mood she’s in,” Donald murmured to Deirdre.

  “She’s flying, all right.” Deirdre stared down at the files. “Let’s hope we can keep it that way.”

  * * *

  “Perfect, isn’t it?” Content after their visit to the store, Natalie stretched out her legs in the back of the car, while her driver threaded through the lunch-hour traffic. “You’d never know there was a fire.”

  “A hell of a job,” Donald agreed. “And the window treatment’s spectacular. The salesclerks are going to be run ragged come Saturday.”

  “I’m counting on it.” She touched a hand to his arm. “A lot of it’s your doing, Donald. We never would have gotten off the ground like this without you, especially after the warehouse.”

  “Damage control.” He brushed off her thanks with a shrug. “In six months we’ll barely remember we had damage to control. And the profits will bring a smile even to Deirdre’s face.” He was counting on it.

  “That would be a real coup.”

  “Just drop me off at the next corner,” he told the driver. “The restaurant’s only a couple of doors down.”

  “I appreciate you making time to go with me.”

  “No problem. Seeing the flagship back in shape made my day. It wasn’t pleasant visualizing the office torn up like that. That wonderful antique desk ruined. The replacement’s stunning, by the way.”

  “I had it shipped out from Colorado,” Natalie said absently, as something niggled at her brain. “I had it in storage.”

  “Well, it’s perfect.” He patted her hand as the car swung to the curb.

  She waved him off, then settled back, dissatisfied, when the car merged back into traffic. Then, with a shrug, she gauged the traffic, the distance to her lunch meeting, and decided she had time for one quick phone call.

  Ry himself answered on the third ring. “Arson. Piasecki.”

  “Hi.�
� The pleasure of hearing his voice wiped out everything else. “Your secretary’s out?”

  “Lunch.”

  “And you’re having yours at your desk.”

  He glanced down at the sandwich he had yet to touch. “Yeah. More or less.” He shifted, making his chair squeak. “Where are you?”

  “Looks like Twelfth and Hyatt, heading east, toward the Menagerie.”

  “Ah.” The Menagerie, he thought. High-class. No tuna on wheat for lunch there. He could see her, ordering designer water and a salad with every leaf called a different name. “Look, Legs, about tonight—”

  “I was thinking about that. Maybe you could meet me at the Goose Neck.” She rolled her shoulders. “I have a feeling I’m going to want to unwind.”

  He rubbed a hand over his chin. “I, ah … Come by my place instead. Okay?”

  “Your place?” This was new. She’d stopped wondering why he’d never taken her there.

  “Yeah. About seven, seven thirty.”

  “All right. Do you want me to pick up something for dinner?”

  “No, I’ll take care of it. See you.” He hung up and sat back in his chair. He was going to have to take care of a lot of things.

  * * *

  He picked up Chinese. It was nearly seven when Ry carried the little white cartons up the two flights to his apartment. He took a good look around while he did.

  It wasn’t a dump. Unless, of course, you compared it with Natalie’s glossy building. There was no graffiti on the walls, but the walls were thin. As he climbed the steps, Ry could hear the muted sounds of televisions playing, children squabbling. The steps themselves were worn down in the centers from the passage of countless feet.

  As he turned onto the second floor, he heard a door slam beneath him.

  “All right, all right. I’ll go get the damn beer myself.”

  Lip curled, Ry unlocked his door. Yeah, he thought. It was a real class joint. There was a definite scent of garlic in the hall. Courtesy of his neighbor, he assumed. The woman was always cooking up pots of pasta.

  He let himself in, flicked on the lights and studied the room.

  It was clean. A little dusty, maybe. He barely spent enough time in it to mess it up. It had been nearly three weeks since he’d spent a night there. The sofa that folded out into a bed needed recovering. It wasn’t something he’d noticed before, or would have bothered with. But now the faded blue upholstery annoyed him.

  He walked past it, taking about half a dozen steps into the alcove that served as his kitchen. He got out a beer and popped the top. The walls needed painting, too, he decided, chugging the beer as he looked around. And the bare floors could have used a carpet.

  But it served him well enough, didn’t it? he thought grimly. He didn’t need fancy digs. Just a couple of rooms a short hop from the office. He’d been content here for nearly a decade. That was enough for anyone.

  But it wasn’t enough, couldn’t be enough, for Natalie.

  She didn’t belong here. He knew it. And he’d asked her to come to prove it to both of them.

  The night before had been a revelation to him. That she could make him feel the way she’d made him feel. That she could make him forget, as he’d forgotten, that there was anything or anyone on the planet except the two of them.

  It wasn’t fair to either of them to go on this way. The longer he let it drift, the more he needed her. And the more he needed, the more difficult it would be to let her walk away.

  His divorce hadn’t hurt him. Oh, a couple of twinges, he thought now. Plenty of regrets. But no real pain. Not the deep-rooted, searing kind of pain he was already feeling at the thought of living without Natalie.

  He could keep her. There was a good chance he could keep her. The physical thing between them was outrageously intense. Even if it faded by half, it would