Read Online The Girl in Blue by Barbara J. Hancock - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara J. Hancock
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the loamy dirt their fallen needles created beneath their boughs. Still, the bite was there, reminding her of something unpleasant she couldn’t quite place.
She was relieved when Creed unlocked the sliding glass door to let her inside. The cottage’s interior scent was much more pleasant. Books and papers, aged leather and cedar blended together with a warm hint of Creed’s scent—ink and whiskey and sandalwood—very male.
Creed didn’t follow her inside right away.
He stood on the deck and looked out at the trees, and possibly at the black sheen of water peeking out here and there.
Trinity wanted to shut the door.
She wanted to shut the chill black waters out and pretend for a little while that they weren’t even there.
Finally, Creed came inside and placed his box on the wide marble counter which separated the kitchen from the den. Trinity looked away from it, trying not to wonder what was inside. She was relieved when he turned to slide the door closed, but not for long. She stepped into the den to face a floor-to-cathedral-ceiling wall of glass windows that did very little to shield them from the night and the lake outside.
There were no blinds or curtains.
Only polished glass with the black night pressing against it, so dark that it seemed impenetrable and thick.
Trinity told herself it would be dawn in a few hours. The sun would rise.
Then Creed came up behind her, his solid body against her back, and the boxes and the night and what might be in them became the least of her concerns.
“I didn’t think you’d come with me,” Creed said into her tangled hair. “I should have offered to drop you at the Stewart’s bed and breakfast, but I was afraid you’d think it was a good idea.”
He slid her coat down her arms and dropped it on the floor. Not even stepping away long enough to hang it up.
It would have been. The best idea. They’d passed it on the way, a pretty and polished Victorian renovated to within a crooked shingle of perfection. She had been afraid he would offer to stop there. As much as she didn’t want to be near High Lake, she did want to be near Creed. Nearer even than this.
She demonstrated her desire by bumping back against him, bringing herself into full contact with him. His hands came back to her arms, to hold her still or hold her in place, she couldn’t be sure.
But he didn’t push her away.
She could feel the swell of his desire pressing close to her bottom, growing hotter and more insistent.
Trinity nudged her hips back again and he groaned. He buried his face in the side of her neck, finding skin with his lips and tongue. Then he lifted his hand to push her hair aside to find more.
The night was still there. The night and the gleam of the lake in the distance. She no longer cared.
He pressed her forward until the leather sofa met the front of her thighs and then her sensual teasing became serious. She allowed him to press her over the back of the couch, its cushiony firmness supporting her, while he moved his erection more intimately against her—teasing, suggesting—making her ache with the need to pull off his trousers.
“I can still taste you. It’s driving me mad,” Creed said and there was an unsteady quality to his voice as if he was ready to break.
He’d given her the fiercest climax of her life and she longed to repeat it. So who was she to judge?
“Show me,” she said again as she had when they’d been at Hillhaven.
Creed moved as if her words had given him permission to snap. He only had to lift her gown to find her wet and ready, already tender from their earlier intimacy.
Trinity held the couch so her knees wouldn’t give out at the rasping sound of his zipper behind her and then his bared heat was pressed against her. She cried out when he easily found his way when he buried himself fully inside. She called his name. He held her, rocking her hips with large, warm hands and he met the movement he directed with powerful thrusts that
She was relieved when Creed unlocked the sliding glass door to let her inside. The cottage’s interior scent was much more pleasant. Books and papers, aged leather and cedar blended together with a warm hint of Creed’s scent—ink and whiskey and sandalwood—very male.
Creed didn’t follow her inside right away.
He stood on the deck and looked out at the trees, and possibly at the black sheen of water peeking out here and there.
Trinity wanted to shut the door.
She wanted to shut the chill black waters out and pretend for a little while that they weren’t even there.
Finally, Creed came inside and placed his box on the wide marble counter which separated the kitchen from the den. Trinity looked away from it, trying not to wonder what was inside. She was relieved when he turned to slide the door closed, but not for long. She stepped into the den to face a floor-to-cathedral-ceiling wall of glass windows that did very little to shield them from the night and the lake outside.
There were no blinds or curtains.
Only polished glass with the black night pressing against it, so dark that it seemed impenetrable and thick.
Trinity told herself it would be dawn in a few hours. The sun would rise.
Then Creed came up behind her, his solid body against her back, and the boxes and the night and what might be in them became the least of her concerns.
“I didn’t think you’d come with me,” Creed said into her tangled hair. “I should have offered to drop you at the Stewart’s bed and breakfast, but I was afraid you’d think it was a good idea.”
He slid her coat down her arms and dropped it on the floor. Not even stepping away long enough to hang it up.
It would have been. The best idea. They’d passed it on the way, a pretty and polished Victorian renovated to within a crooked shingle of perfection. She had been afraid he would offer to stop there. As much as she didn’t want to be near High Lake, she did want to be near Creed. Nearer even than this.
She demonstrated her desire by bumping back against him, bringing herself into full contact with him. His hands came back to her arms, to hold her still or hold her in place, she couldn’t be sure.
But he didn’t push her away.
She could feel the swell of his desire pressing close to her bottom, growing hotter and more insistent.
Trinity nudged her hips back again and he groaned. He buried his face in the side of her neck, finding skin with his lips and tongue. Then he lifted his hand to push her hair aside to find more.
The night was still there. The night and the gleam of the lake in the distance. She no longer cared.
He pressed her forward until the leather sofa met the front of her thighs and then her sensual teasing became serious. She allowed him to press her over the back of the couch, its cushiony firmness supporting her, while he moved his erection more intimately against her—teasing, suggesting—making her ache with the need to pull off his trousers.
“I can still taste you. It’s driving me mad,” Creed said and there was an unsteady quality to his voice as if he was ready to break.
He’d given her the fiercest climax of her life and she longed to repeat it. So who was she to judge?
“Show me,” she said again as she had when they’d been at Hillhaven.
Creed moved as if her words had given him permission to snap. He only had to lift her gown to find her wet and ready, already tender from their earlier intimacy.
Trinity held the couch so her knees wouldn’t give out at the rasping sound of his zipper behind her and then his bared heat was pressed against her. She cried out when he easily found his way when he buried himself fully inside. She called his name. He held her, rocking her hips with large, warm hands and he met the movement he directed with powerful thrusts that
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