40
CLARICE
Clarice hadn’t really forgotten about the fact that they would be sharing a bed, but it had been shoved to the side in the rush of the meeting and the stress of explaining her binder. She’d felt like a specimen in a microscope under Juliette’s gimlet stare. Only Bruno’s solid, trusting presence had kept her from crumbling into tears. If he believed in her, in the face of her incriminating binder, couldn’t she?
Their suitcases were side-by-side on the bed. The only one bed.
“I’ll—ah—change in the bathroom,” she offered, opening her suitcase to see if Noah had packed her pajamas.
To her chagrin, Noah had probably rummaged through her dresser from the top down, because he’d picked a silky little purple negligee that Clarice had bought on a whim from a sexy catalog and never worn. “Oh,” she said. She could not wear that down a public hallway, and she knew it was too late to bury it beneath her other clothing before Bruno saw it.
“Noah packed me condoms,” Bruno said, sound strangled as he lifted an entire un-opened box from his own suitcase.
“That was nice of him,” Clarice said, trying not to laugh. “And, I mean…” She couldn’t quite look him in the face. “Only one bed.”
“Only one bed,” Bruno echoed.
Clarice moved the frilly purple nighty aside. “I’ll sleep in a T-shirt,” she suggested. “And I could…take the floor?”
“You don’t have to.” When Clarice glanced at him, Bruno was staring at the purple lace like he couldn’t help himself. “I mean, it’s…
“I’m sure the walls are paper thin,” Clarice said desperately, though in truth it was a modern enough house to have decent sound blocking if the contractor had bothered. “And kids, just down the hall. It’s not ideal…”
At that moment, there was a rhythmic squeaking sound from a nearby room that made it obvious that not everyone was worried about thin walls.
“That could be a heater fan?” Bruno suggested, sounding rather strangled. “Old plumbing?”
The muffled guttural sound that followed made it clear that it was not and Clarice could not help herself as she dissolved into helpless giggles. Bruno put a hand over his mouth as his chest—his very nearby, very handsome chest—heaved with smothered chuckles.
Clarice was not sure which of them moved for the other first, but they met at the middle for a kiss, a desperate grope, and their suitcases were knocked aside to the floor with a crash that probably carried through the house.
That distracted them only a moment before they were climbing together onto the only one bed.
They tried to be quiet, undressing gently but urgently, kissing, climbing over each other, hands in hair, on skin,uncovering inch by sweet inch, not always graceful, punctuated with stifled laughter. Their success in staying silent was mixed; the bed squeaked, and Clarice could not quite keep from moaning when he got her naked and laid her down on the commercial quilt covering the bed.
They lingered over kisses and touches, drawing each moment out as long as possible, and Bruno’s hands, frostbit or not, were clever and knowing. Did instinct lead him to exactly the right places to touch, or was it experience?
Clarice didn’t care, she only cared that she was more than ready for this after everything they’d been through over the past few days. Every kiss until now was just a tease, and when they were both stripped and moving together, it was absolutely perfect.
He filled her deliciously, every thrust a tender claim, every touch a ratchet tighter. It took all of Clarice’s willpower to keep from crying out, and she panted at the effort as he slowed to keep the bed from creaking too wildly and she came as if she was made of fireworks on the inside.
He kissed her, a little moan of his own escaping, and then flipped her over so that she could bite into the pillow as he took her from behind, both hands on the wall to keep the bed from crashing into it with every slow stroke.
Clarice was not sure if it would have been as exciting without other people on the other side of the wall. She and Bruno definitely had sparks, but knowing there might be an audience just made it dirtier and more desperate. He bit her neck, just hard enough to sting but not break the flesh, when he came at last, and Clarice gave a final cry of release into the pillow when he did.
He collapsed on top of her and rolled her sideways into his arms and they both panted and gasped.
The cooldown was almost as pleasurable as the act, aware again of other noises in the house as someone used the bathroom and water gargled in the pipes. A distant neighbor’s dog howled in the night, and a car door somewhere slammed. Bruno’s breath in her ear was hot, and he kissed the place he’d bitten her apologetically. “I didn’t mean to,” he said.
“I liked it,” Clarice admitted.
“I likedyou,” Bruno said, dragging a hand up her side to cup a breast. “I liked youa lot.”
“I likeyou,” Clarice giggled breathlessly, turning in his arms to kiss him. “I like youa lot.”
Somehow, the moment turned serious. “Clarice,” he murmured. “I think…”
“You don’t have to say it,” Clarice blurted. It was too soon forI love yous. Even if they had been nearly killed, saved the day care, and were now under house arrest together having hot sex. He had a son to think of, she had half a career. They weren’t in love territory yet. “There’s no rush.”
