Chapter 12

AN: Yep, a bit more M in these here words. They've got a lot to make up for. Happy New Year, all!

They hadn't been each other's firsts—but they'd been the first who'd mattered.

For Carlton, Karen had been the first woman with whom he'd literally slept—sharing a bed for more than just an hour or two. They'd been crazy lucky that her roommate had a boyfriend with an apartment where she spent the majority of her time that semester, granting them privacy they wouldn't have otherwise enjoyed, since his house was completely out of the question.

Those nights—tangled together on her dorm-issue twin bed, her head resting on his shoulder, an arm or a leg draped possessively over him—had been, in a word, amazing. She was a burrower, his Karen was—always nuzzling, touching, seeking to hold him closer and trying, as she often said, to crawl into him—not that he had any complaints. She was so unbelievably warm, giving off waves of heat he naturally gravitated toward. Sharing a bed with her, surrounded by that all-encompassing warmth, Carlton experienced for the first time the absence of the perpetual chill he'd lived with the majority of his life.

A chill that had returned with a vengeance after he left her.

"You're thinking so hard, you're practically vibrating." The mumbled words were accompanied by one of her patented burrows, her nose nuzzling against his neck as her hand patted his chest before dropping to rest on his hip.

"Sorry."

"S'okay." She laughed softly. "Sleep's for wusses anyway."

Her breath was warm on his neck, making him shiver even as he laughed and gathered her more closely against him, needing her heat. Hell, just needing her. They'd dozed in fits and starts in between bouts of learning each other all over again—their energy barely waning as they'd mapped the terrain of each other's bodies with devastating thoroughness—rediscovering what had brought them so much pleasure in the past while discovering all the new ways they could enjoy each other. And still, Carlton suspected, they'd barely scratched the surface.

Karen at nineteen had been curious and energetic, their sex life a passion-fueled source of endless discovery. As a woman in her forties, though? Carlton felt his gut clench. Karen in her forties was a powerful, sensual lover, direct about communicating what she wanted—both done to her and to do to him—and completely fearless with respect to baring her emotions. With every touch, every shared gaze, every murmured endearment, she communicated how much she wanted him.

How much she loved him.

A smooth thigh inserted itself between his as she arched, her breasts a soft cushion against his side but for the hard points of her nipples. And she thought he was vibrating before?

"So what has you thinking so hard?"

He grinned. "It's not the thinking that's hard right now."

"Carlton," she scolded with a playful nip to the juncture where neck and shoulder met that left him more than a little flushed. Maybe it simply wasn't her heat—maybe it was the heat they generated together.

He shifted to his side, keeping one hand firm at the small of her back. Head comfortably propped on his arm, he lay there and simply enjoyed looking. Dark-blonde hair haloing her beautiful face on the pillow, dark eyes drowsy and luminous against skin flushed with a delicate rose tint that darkened around her full, perfect mouth. It took a second for him to realize that slightly reddened skin had come from him—his heavy beard shadow abrading that soft, sensitive skin during endless kisses that also left that lush mouth swollen and so damned tempting, he couldn't help but lean in and kiss it again.

And again.

Kisses that left her sighing and arching against him, her breasts brushing his chest as her thigh shifted from between his to hook over his hip and draw him even closer.

Nuzzling the skin by her ear, he murmured, "What I was thinking is that you are the warmest person I have ever known in my life."

She went absolutely still and a shiver that had nothing to do with the heat and passion between them shuddered through Carlton.

"Karen?"

"It's nothing." She stroked his arm, but for the first time, it didn't feel right.

"Bullshit."

"Carlton, please—it's stupid."

"Bullshit," he repeated, drawing back to study her face. She was so damned good at hiding what she was thinking, but whatever had rendered her so still, it was obvious, it hurt. Energy surged through him and his palms practically itched to take up arms and slay the hell out of whatever it was that was hurting his Karen.

"Warmer than Barbara?" Her voice was so low, it took a few seconds for the words to penetrate.

He reared back further, his eyebrows feeling as if they were hovering somewhere hear his hairline. "Excuse me?"

She turned her head toward the balcony. The pearl gray of incoming dawn limned her profile with a soft glow and highlighted the sad resignation etched on her features. "It's okay, Carlton, she told me—well, more implied, really—that you and she—"

"She lied."

Angrier than he could remember being in… hell, ever—and that was saying something—he rolled over onto her, ignoring her shocked gasp. Grasping both her wrists, he pinned them up above her head—just in case she had any idea of trying to make a break for it or anything as equally stupid as believing that he would have… could have ever—

"She lied," he repeated. "Jesus, Karen, I could never have slept with your sister. How could you even think—"

She struggled briefly, her eyes shooting dark fire up at him. Good thing he had her pinned—it was entirely possible one of those smooth, strong thighs might have made deliberate—and painful—contact with his groin.

"With what we see every day as part of our jobs, the behavior that drives people to do the things they do, is it so unreasonable to imagine it was possible?"

"When it comes to this, yes."

"Not with the way you were panting after her."

"I wasn't panting—" Okay, yeah… he sort of had been, but not really. Not the way she thought. "Hell, Karen—you get desperate enough, even light beer starts looking damned appealing."

Now it was her eyebrows that climbed, delicate lines etched across her smooth forehead. "What?"

"Bad analogy." A deep flush crept all the way from his chest up his neck and straight to the tips of his ears. "It'd been a bad year. " A bitter chuckle escaped. "Decade. Lifetime, really." He sighed, the hold on her wrists gentling until he was stroking the soft skin. "Victoria leaving, Spencer poking his nose into every damned part of my life, exposing my relationship with Lucinda, you transferring her out—I'd just had that case where I dealt with my ex-father-in-law and I was even angrier at the world than usual. With the exception of Victoria leaving, it seemed I could lay the blame for most of it at your feet, so if I could annoy you by showing interest in Barbara, then it seemed only fair."

And stupid. And mean-spirited. Even if he'd been convinced she didn't give a crap about him, personally, he'd been damned well aware that showing preference for Barbara would only serve to further fuel their always heated rivalry.

"It was a rat bastard move. With rare exception, pretty much all I was capable of at the time."

She grimaced, but he had the distinct impression it was directed more inward than as a reaction to his self-deprecation. "It was half my fault, warning her against you. If I hadn't, she might not have ever followed through with her idea of asking you out."

"You warned her against me?"

A half-smiled tugged at one corner of her mouth, a tiny crescent appearing that he couldn't help but kiss.

"Yeah," she breathed, her hand caressing his cheek. "I did."

"Why?"

Her smile broadened, the crescent's twin appearing and prompting another kiss. "I told Barb it was because you were too tightly wound and essentially bad news, but truth was, while I may have been convinced I didn't want you, I was damned if she could have you."

Well, hell. Okay, he was a guy. A healthy, red-blooded American male with more than his fair share of ego, even if with respect to women, it hadn't always been so. To know that two sisters, one with whom he'd been in love for more than half his life, had argued over him like he was the prize at the bottom of a box of Cracker Jacks? A good prize—the kind they used to have back before they went all cheap? He allowed himself a brief moment of mental strutting even as he admitted, "Never even a chance. Barely lasted past lunch."

Her sigh left her soft and pliant in his arms. "She knew there was something between us, though."

"No she didn't." Of that, he was absolutely certain.

"She sort of did." One slender shoulder rose. Unable to help himself, he dropped yet another kiss to the soft, creamy slope. "Claimed the reason I was warning her against you was because I wanted you for myself. If she'd only known the extent of it…" She sighed again and her lids lowered, an obvious attempt at shielding her emotions. Her voice betrayed her, however, low and hesitant as she asked, "So you never said anything—"

He emphatically shook his head. "No way, sweetheart. It was pretty clear she had no idea. She would've been crowing within five seconds about her 'victory' over you if she knew. And I knew damned well if she found out, she'd never let you forget it. I may have been an angry rat bastard, but there's nothing that could ever make me betray you—betray us—in that way. Especially to her."

She stared up at him, her gaze dark and filled with unmistakable wonder. "Thank you," she said, her voice husky, and there was something about the simple, sweet purity of those words that left him understanding it went much deeper. That somehow, his confession served as just another way in which he'd proved to her how he much he'd always cared. Even when he would have sworn otherwise.

"You're welcome." Lowering his head, he met her halfway, their mouths touching in an unbearably sweet kiss. But before he could deepen the caress, return to the pleasurable build of desire in which they'd been engaged, he felt her draw back.

"What?"

She pressed her lips together as if deliberating, before releasing a deep breath. "I didn't transfer Lucinda out."

"What?" He pushed himself up to better look down into her face. "Of course you did. You had to."

Karen slowly shook her head, looking like a debauched cream-and-gold angel and while Carlton wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her once again, he also instinctively understood that like her sister, this was another situation that had created tension between them and that needed to be clarified. No more secrets. They'd caused too much damage between them.

"It's a situational call. Mind you, I did have every intention of giving her a new partner or more likely moving her to another division. Transferring her out would have served no one's interests except maybe… well, mine." A smile he could only describe as sheepish briefly crossed her face. "You had already developed her into a very good detective, Carlton—a real asset to the force. So I decided to put the fact that I wanted to rip her eyes out down to irrational pregnancy hormones and made up my mind to act like a professional so no, I wasn't going to transfer her out."

She caressed his shoulders with gentle, soothing strokes. "It just so happened at the time your relationship was… revealed, she'd just been accepted into the U.S. Marshals. She was already planning on leaving." As her dark gaze studied him intently Carlton held himself still, making no effort to hide. "She never told you."

He shook his head. "I assumed you transferred her out because of the affair. She never said a word otherwise."

"There's a lot of discretion and non-disclosure involved with the Marshals. Your assumption made it easier for her." Her hands continued stroking, an obvious hint of urgency in her touch as if trying to keep him anchored to her. She didn't have to worry. He had no desire to go anywhere.

"Probably." With a sigh he eased himself down, blanketing her body with his, knowing she'd accept his weight. Without thinking he said, "You're the only one who's never left me."

"I never will, baby."

As her arms wrapped around him, he felt as if iron bands too-long wrapped around his chest were loosening, allowing him to breathe. She'd never leave. And he believed her.

They lay there as the full light of morning slowly flooded the room, awash in brilliant sunshine and endless blue skies. Carlton breathed deep of the two of them, knowing he'd never get enough, while Karen"s slender fingers stroked through his hair in a hypnotic rhythm.

"You are aware, right, if you ever leave me again, I will hunt you down like a dog?"

A chill rushed through him, not at the thought of being hunted down, which he'd richly deserve if he was ever so idiotic, but at the thought of ever making such a mistake again.

He lifted himself far enough to meet her gaze. "I may be an anti-social rat bastard, I may be capable of committing exceptionally stupid acts, I may be neurotic as hell, and I definitely say the wrong thing ninety percent of the time, but I'm not so stupid as to make that mistake twice."

She smiled, her face lighting up in such a way it put the glorious morning to shame. "Good." Both warm hands rose to frame his face and draw it down to hers. Mouth against his, tongue teasing his lips, she repeated, "Good." Amidst a series of devastatingly gentle kisses she said it again and again—Good… so good… so, so good, Carlton…—her tone changing with each kiss, each caress, as he deepened the kisses, his hands wandering across every inch of skin he could reach. Stretching to tease the sensitive backs of her knees, up along her thighs and over the gentle swell of her hips to rest briefly in the curve of her waist, the tips of his fingers tracing the distinctive texture of the skin there.

The night before, she'd been self-conscious as he'd done nothing but look his fill, taking in all the changes twenty-five years had wrought. The most obvious of those, of course, were the changes brought about by pregnancy—the added fullness to her breasts and the faint, vertical scars scattered across her abdomen. Battle scars, she'd called them with an embarrassed laugh. He couldn't disagree—he'd been there. He'd watched, terrified, as she fought harder than anyone he'd ever seen fight, to bring the source of those marks into the world.

She meant it as a joke. He didn't.

Besides, he didn't see them as scars so much as brush strokes—delicate and silvery and adding to the lush landscape of her body. Even cloaked by the safety of the night and the strength of their love, he'd nevertheless blushed fiercely as he'd whispered his confession, afraid she'd laugh or God forbid, be offended, but she'd shocked him by crying. Just shedding a tear or two as she'd thrown herself over him and proceeded to tell him—in exquisite detail—everything she loved about his body, making him blush all over again. Then he'd flushed with a different heat altogether as she'd shown him—in exquisite detail—everything she loved.

His turn. Again.

Sliding down her body, he briefly nuzzled her breasts, teasing each nipple to a hard point as she sighed and arched into his touch. Replacing his mouth with his hands, he lowered his head to her abdomen where he proceeded to reverently trace every single one of those marks with his tongue, groaning against her skin. Karen was simply a feast he'd never tire of—sweet and smooth, a hint of salt emerging as a sheen of sweat glazed her skin, earthy and pure and everything he'd ever wanted.

Soon, however, even that wasn't enough—for either of them—as her fingers sank into his hair and she gently pushed. Unwilling to deny her—or himself, for that matter—Carlton complied, his mouth trailing from the delicate jut of one hipbone to the shadowy cleft between her thighs. A deeper more primal groan escaped him as he worked her over, tasted her, marveled at how obvious her want for him was. The more intent his ministrations, the more she cried and writhed beneath him until he growled and held her firm, one hand at her hip, the other secure on her stomach, masculine pride rising at the feel of her muscles twitching and fluttering beneath his touch.

She was so close to completely losing control—this strong, tough woman who so rarely lost control—and it was at his hands. And his mouth. And his—

Surging up her body, he sank into her, muffling her shocked cry of pleasure with his kiss, wet and hot with her. He drove his tongue into her mouth in the same ruthless rhythm with which he drove his body into hers, his breath trapped in his chest at the powerful grab of her muscles around him as her orgasm overtook her. Throwing his head back, he fought to hold his climax back, reluctant to bring this intensely erotic encounter to an end, even with the sure knowledge that this moment would be but one of many.

"More—"

He stared down at her, hair tumbled around her flushed face, her eyes wide and glowing with a dark intent—his debauched angel, demanding, "More—" as her fingernails trailed fire down his back to his ass where she grabbed on and pulled him to her. Her pelvis ground against his in hard circles as she threw her head back, another climax shuddering through her, even as she cried in a hoarse voice, "More—" and finally, he understood.

Rearing back onto his knees, he tugged her upright and held her impossibly tight and close as he gave her everything she wanted—everything he had.