“You know.” Voice breathy, she struggled to get the words out.

  “I don’t have ESP, babe. Tell me.”

  Rafe waited. Nothing. In the silence, he wriggled his fingers inside her and found her G-spot. With an incessant, slow pace, he rubbed. Kerry gasped, arched. The pale skin of her neck and breasts flushed with fresh excitement. Her nipples were now ripe berries, red, succulent. She swelled around his fingers even more, squeezing. Slow pulses rippled with more power. Orgasm was so, so close.

  He stopped. But he was sweating.

  “Rafe! Oh . . .”

  Oh was right. At this rate, he was going to lose his fucking mind. Impatience seized him, and he tamped it down with every ounce of self-control. Damn, he’d set out to conquer her. Instead, she tested him to the limit of his endurance.

  “Touch me,” she cried, despite her heavy breathing and trembling thighs.

  Got her talking. Almost there. “I got my fingers on your nipples. I’m touching you.”

  But he couldn’t resist squeezing the hard peaks of her breasts and raking his tongue through her slit once more, dragging slowly over the hard bud of her clit.

  She gasped. “That. More of that.”

  “This?” He rolled her nipples between his fingers again.

  “No,” she wailed.

  He stopped.

  “Yes, that. But your tongue, too . . .”

  “What about it?” he breathed against her sensitive mound.

  If he wasn’t mistaken, she swelled again, pink flesh turning a definite rosy red. She had to be on the razor’s edge.

  She panted once, twice. “Lick me.”

  Her voice was quieter than her exhalations, but Rafe realized she’d just taken a major step. Why it was important that she verbalize her desires to him, he wasn’t exactly sure. Maybe he wanted her comfortable enough with him to say anything. He wanted her to trust him with what she needed and believe he would give it to her.

  “Lick you here?” He gave her a lazy swipe of his tongue near her knee.

  “No!”

  “You’re going to have to tell me where, babe.” He nipped her thigh with his teeth.

  “Lick me here . . .” With trembling fingers, she reached down and parted the delicate folds of her flesh for him. Rafe’s heart stopped. He’d wanted words, but the temptation she presented . . . Dewy, swollen flesh crying out that he satisfy her ache. Kerry offering herself to him with her own hands. No way he could resist. This was better than his hottest teenage wet dream.

  Arousal tight in his belly, Rafe slid two fingers inside her once more, rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves as he leaned in and tongued her tender clit from side to side in an insistent but unhurried taste.

  She tightened around his fingers again, more. Her thighs trembled, and one hand found its way to his hair and fisted, keeping him close. Not that he had any desire to be anywhere else. He loved the power of giving her an orgasm, but he also loved her enthusiastic appreciation.

  “Oh, Rafe. Ohmigod!” she panted. “It’s big. I can’t—”

  But she could. And as his fingers kept working inside her, he sucked in the hard nub of her clit and gently raked it with his teeth to prove she could take it.

  Powerful contractions gripped his fingers. Her clit seemed to explode on his tongue as she let loose a high-pitched, keening cry and shouted out her climax.

  Rafe helped her ride it all the way to the end. For interminable seconds, the pleasure seemed to roll on. If his mouth hadn’t been so busy, he would have smiled.

  When Kerry quieted and fell limp, he kissed his way up her belly, absently flicking his tongue over a nipple before whispering in her ear, “Damn, I forgot to make you say please.”

  Kerry gave a tired laugh and planted a kiss on his neck. “I’ll try to remember my manners next time.”

  Teasing aside, Rafe edged the hard ridge of his cock against her wet mound. “I need to be inside you, Kerry.”

  “Well, it’s your birthday, and I’m pretty sure I got the gift with that last round. So it’s time for you to tell me what you want. Oh, maybe I should make you beg.”

  He tried to appreciate her humor. Difficult when sweat poured off him and he felt tied up in more knots than ropes on a sailboat. “Babe, I’m begging now.”

  Reaching into the bedside table, Rafe extracted a condom and handed it to her. He looked right in her eyes, deep. “Touch me. But go easy on me. I’m dying here.”

  Teasing aside, Kerry caressed his length, rubbing her thumb across the sensitive tip where he was already slick with seeping moisture. He hissed in a breath. A happy little smile brought her dimples out to play. Yeah, she liked knowing she affected him. Minx.

  All thought disappeared as she secured the condom over the head of his penis, rolling it down the granite length bulging with veins. Her gaze hardly left his. Rafe drowned in a sea of tempestuous green. Her warm gaze reassured and teased at once. He stared back, unable to look away. Did his own stare display all the crazy feelings he couldn’t put a name to? He didn’t care. What she saw was irrelevant as long as she took him inside her now.

  Once she had the condom in place, she stroked his inner thigh and placed a little kiss on his mouth.

  Rafe gave her no more time for gentle play before he lay down beside her and lifted her over him, until she straddled his hips. They met chest to chest, belly to belly. He devoured her mouth, sinking deep into the sweet recesses, even as he bent his knees, lifted his hips, and slammed home.

  Into his mouth, Kerry gasped. And from underneath, he rode her. Hard. One long, pounding stroke blurred into the next. She met him thrust for thrust, her sweet body welcoming him, closing around him in such perfect wet heat, the sensation had him gritting his teeth against the rush of a pending orgasm.

  Despite feeling on the edge, scraped raw, he wanted more. He wanted to hear her scream again and know she was as out of control as he.

  Gripping her hips, Rafe adjusted beneath her enough to hit her G-spot with his next stroke. She gasped in his ear. With a grim smile, he repeated the process. Yeah, he might be going over the edge and losing his mind shortly, but he damn well wouldn’t go alone. He wasn’t going to be the only one to give up all control.

  One thrust bled into the next, all bound by a white-hot haze of pleasure. Kerry’s nails dug into his shoulders. She met him thrust for thrust as he pumped inside her. There, he felt her tighten, tighten. She began to ripple around him.

  “Come!” he growled.

  Kerry screamed in his ear even as her body began to milk his. His gut tightened into a knot of ecstasy that burst through his body, exploding down his legs, up his chest, to the base of his spine.

  “Yes. Fuck, yes!”

  The orgasm seemed to last forever. Long after he ceased coming, he could feel the ripple of Kerry’s aftershocks. They triggered the pulse of new pleasure within. He sighed, too tired and too content to move.

  “It’s always so intense.” Her shaky voice sounded in his ear. “Another day of this is going to do me in.”

  Him, too. Kerry was making him lose his mind. Or worse . . . was she showing him his heart, then stealing it, all at once?

  By four that afternoon, they were both famished. Kerry heated up frozen burritos and tossed together several cans of fruit to make a dinner no one on Food TV would ever feature. Rafe ate without complaint, then, oddly quiet, settled in with his laptop on the red leather chair in the adjoining den.

  Kerry cleaned up after the meal. Feeling on edge, she watched as Rafe raced through some e-mails. Her gaze caressed his profile, the broad splendor of his golden shirtless torso. Like his lovemaking, he was intense, focused. But he could be gentle. They’d been here at the Love Shack only a few days, but it felt much longer. With every hour, her sense of connection to Rafe grew until it felt bigger than Godzilla. Wondering again how she would cope after he was gone disturbed her. She was as clueless about that as Tiffany was about something like quantum physics. But Rafe was not hers to keep.

  All she could do was enjoy him while she he was here.

  She didn’t dare wonder what, if anything, he felt. Likely not much besides gladness that they had great sex together.

  As Rafe let himself into Standard National’s system through a back door—one he’d created himself—Kerry watched, her relief and warm joy that he was indeed helping Mark somehow bittersweet in the face of the reality of the ticking clock. In a little more than twenty-four hours, Rafe would no longer be in her life.

  Kerry swallowed a pang of anguish that nearly brought her to her knees.

  For now, she had to focus on the fact that she’d kept her end of the bargain; now Rafe was going to keep his.

  This arrangement between them wasn’t about her Disney Princess wishes for the future. She’d always hoped her prince would come someday. Kerry wondered if she’d actually found him, but she pushed the thought aside. This was about Mark. Had to be about Mark.

  Impatiently, she flipped through magazines and outdated Christmas catalogs, tapping her foot against the hardwood floor. She tried to look busy as he scanned the screen, wrote frantic notes, clicked all over the place, read the police report, and cursed a blue streak.

  After the fifth “What the hell?” in as many minutes, Kerry couldn’t stand it anymore. “What’s wrong? You’re trying to find something to help Mark, right? Is it that bad?”

  “Hang on.” He fended her off with a murmur and the wave of his hand.

  Click. Frown. Click. Frown. Click. Frown.

  “Holy shit!”

  Her feigned nonchalance disappeared faster than the liver and onions special on Senior Day at the diner. “What? Something that will help Mark?”

  “Is Mark’s terminal number 4389?” he asked suddenly.

  Kerry paused. “I don’t know.”

  “Did he ever mention a terminal ID number?”

  “No, but I don’t work there, so even if he told me . . .” She shrugged. “He could have told me how to take apart a manifold and it would have the same effect.”

  With a nod, he conceded that point. “Who might know his terminal ID?”

  “Tiffany, for sure.”

  “Call her. Ask her. I think I see something . . .”

  Excitement bubbling in her belly, Kerry dialed. “Okay.”

  Tiffany didn’t answer. Instead the machine picked up. “This is Mark and Tiffany. We’re gone or busy doing what newlyweds do. Leave a message and we’ll call later. Might be much later.” Beep.

  Surprisingly choked up over hearing her brother’s voice, Kerry hung up. Keeping the resulting tears inside hurt. Her throat constricted. She felt as if a two-ton weight now lay on her chest. Then again, Rafe had her in such a jumble, she’d probably cry at feminine hygiene commercials.

  Worry underscored it all. What if Tiffany didn’t know the answer to Rafe’s question? What if nothing helped and Mark ended up in Leavenworth or some other awful federal destination?

  “No?” Rafe asked.

  “She’s not home.” Kerry sighed. She had to stay focused, positive. Crying wouldn’t help Mark now—even if it would make her feel a whole lot better for ten minutes. “Jason might know.”

  Rafe gritted his teeth. Jaw locked, he looked as happy as someone who’d been told the neighbor’s dog had dug up his yard.

  “Call him.”

  Pretty sure that she’d heard Rafe mutter an unpleasant word that started with an F and rhymed with truck, Kerry winced and called Jason. He answered on the second ring.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart? Do you need me?”

  Rafe’s frown became an oppressive scowl at Jason’s endearment. Kerry resolved to keep things as simple as possible. Sure, people couldn’t shed blood over the phone, but somehow she sensed that wouldn’t keep Rafe from trying.

  “I’m fine. You?”

  “Worried about you.”

  Nice to know she still had friends. A hint of a smile curved her lips. “I need your help. Is Mark’s mainframe terminal number 4389?”

  “His terminal address? No. I’m pretty sure it’s 4119. Why?”

  Rafe held out his hand for the phone. “Let me ask him a few questions.”

  Kerry hesitated. The tension between Jason and Rafe made no sense. Neither had any reason to be jealous. But Rafe in particular acted as if she were one bone and the guys were both mean junkyard dogs.

  Then again, if their growling could in any way help Mark, let them terrorize each other.

  “4119?” Rafe repeated. “Yeah. I see that terminal here. Who does 4389 belong to?”

  “What have you been doing to her?” Jason accused. “She sounds exhausted.”

  Kerry rolled her eyes as the line of Rafe’s jaw tightened even more. “None of your business. I’ll take care of Kerry. You want to help your friend or argue over his sister?”

  “You’re a prick,” Jason snarled.

  “Feeling’s mutual. At least I’ve been up front about what I want from her. How many years have you been lying to her about being just her friend?”

  “Bastard! If you’ve so much as thought about getting her in bed, I’m going to shoot you.”

  “Start loading your gun, hot shot.”

  Her belly did a vicious flip as she grabbed the phone from Rafe. “Stop it! Both of you! I feel like a piece of meat. We’re here to help Mark.”

  “Sorry,” Rafe murmured, managing to look at least somewhat contrite.

  “Watch yourself,” Jason advised.

  “Let’s worry about Mark. Do you know who terminal 4389 belongs to?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

  Disappointment plummeted Kerry’s stomach to her toes. “That’s not Smikins’s machine?”

  “No. He’s 4115. At least I think so. But call Tiff. She’s got a complete list of all the terminal IDs since she’s been filling in until he gets a new assistant.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime, sweetheart. You know I’m here for you.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Seriously, be careful with Dawson.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Before he could say anything else, Kerry hung up. Then she glared at Rafe. “What’s with you?”

  His eyes blazed silver sparks as he glared at her, lips thin with anger. “I don’t want him crawling all over you once I’m gone. He’s been lying to you for years about his intentions, and it’s bullshit.”

  Unable to stop herself, Kerry rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Let’s talk about Mark. What’s the deal with this terminal 4389? Did you find something?”

  His annoyed sigh let her know she hadn’t heard the last about Jason, but he let it go for now. “Maybe. Each instance of the thefts took place from a terminal that looks like 4119, but there’s something weird here in the file allocation tables at the kernel level. It looks like someone changed the terminal IDs and buried it deep in code. And that’s not something just anyone can amend. To get into those, you have to have the Admin ID and password or be one hell of a hacker.”

  Was that even English? “Are you saying that someone took this 4389 and did something to the system to make it look like Mark’s terminal when it wasn’t?”

  “Exactly.”

  Hope and skepticism churned in her stomach. “Why didn’t the FBI find it?”

  “Because of where the real thief buried the code. The bank’s mainframe system is built on AS400 hardware with a UNIX platform and—”

  “Don’t do your Spock routine again. Please.”

  Rafe took a deep breath and started again. “UNIX is like a Windows operating system for mainframes. Make sense?” At her nod, he went on. “Like any computer, you put software on it. But the software can’t work unless it’s installed on a computer that already has an operating system in place. The software on the bank’s system is clean. No bugs, viruses, or anomalies. This is where the FBI probably looked because most people would have created some way at the software level to frame Mark. Not this guy.”

  “Maybe this guy did it someplace else because it would be less obvious.”

  “I’m sure. Since the software wasn’t tampered with, then you’d look to the next level: the operating platform. None of the UNIX code looks as if it’s been screwed with either. So you go down a level again, to the very bones of the system. But getting the corrupt code way down where it looks like he put it . . . That takes someone with a lot of knowledge. Or someone with the System Admin’s I-am-mainframe-god password. But even using the System Admin password would leave a trail. At the very least, anyone looking at the records would see them log in and out. But the System Admin password wasn’t used anywhere near the time frame of the first theft. Or the third. It just doesn’t add up.”

  “So this person is a hacker?”

  “On the inside. That’s my guess. Review for me again our short list of suspects. Is Smikins hacker material?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure what his computer proficiency is. He doesn’t seem that smart, but that may just be because I loathe the little toad.”

  Rafe nodded. “We’ll keep him as a maybe. Your sister-in-law?”

  Kerry scoffed. “Tiff hardly knows how to work an ATM without someone talking her through it.”

  “Which could be an act.”

  “Of Oscar proportions?”

  “I’m not ruling her out yet. If she’s guilty, then last thing in the world she wants to do is let anyone know she’s smart enough to pull this off.” Rafe drilled her with a hard stare. “And your little wannabe fuck buddy? Didn’t you say he knew a thing or two about computers and code?”

  “Oh, stop. Even if Jason wanted to sleep with me, which I’m not convinced he does, saying that he’s guilty of framing his best friend seems totally off the wall. I just don’t see it.”

  “Yeah, and if he’s guilty, he’s banking on that.”

  Chapter 9

  Morning came, and with it, reality. Monday. Her bargain with Rafe ended tonight. And surprise, surprise, the thought of him leaving had the same effect on her stomach as receiving notification of an IRS audit—pure, deep dread.

  As soft gray light filtered through the sheers of the Love Shack’s bedroom, Kerry snuggled her back against the warm furnace of Rafe’s chest. He spooned her, one hand on her belly as he breathed deeply and evenly against her neck.