When Kiara started having what she thought were contractions, and everyone started freaking out thinking she was going into labor, Shelby called the doctor who said they were likely Braxton Hicks contractions. Then she went on-line for more information, reassured her friend, got her calmed down, got everyone calmed down including him, even though he’d tried to hide the panic rising inside him at the thought of a woman in labor. Jesus.

Shelby went to work in the mornings, took afternoons off to help her friends, stressed about her work on this damn project and some problems that had come up with it, torn between that and her friends, killing herself trying to be there for both. At least her work was something he could actually help her with, since business process reengineering was his vocation. His area of expertise. They spent a couple of hours one evening going over her work, although she didn’t seem too happy about some of the stuff he told her about inputs and outputs and the technology they were using at Gold Shield. He knew enough about the business from the many conversations he’d had with Andrew that it was easy for him to apply his knowledge to the processes she was looking at.

And over those days he felt himself sliding into something, something sweet and warm, something hot and exhilarating, something he couldn’t name, but it both soothed him and tied him up in knots.

Finally the funeral was over and it looked as if life could go back to normal. Well, sort of normal. And certainly not for Kiara.

Jake took Shelby back to her apartment that evening, and didn’t think twice about going in with her. In her living room, they turned into each other’s arms, seeking comfort, consolation, life.

He pushed the little cardigan she wore off her shoulders and began unbuttoning the silk blouse beneath it. She stood there gazing at him, a small smile on her lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” He concentrated on the small pearl buttons.

“For being here. For being you.” She pushed his hair back off his forehead, let her fingers trail over his cheek and jaw. The tenderness of her gesture made him feel like a fist was squeezing his heart. “Take me to bed.”

Her words inflamed him. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had sex at all the last few days—they had. But tonight felt like an ending.

And a beginning. It felt…significant. Like it meant something.

He parted the sides of her blouse, tugged it out from her skirt, skimmed his fingers over the top curves of her breasts above the lacy bra. It had been a funeral, for Chrissakes, and he’d still been imagining what she had on underneath the tidy little skirt, blouse and cardigan. He tugged the double strand of pearls she wore at her neck, getting all kinds of dirty ideas about that, using the pearls to pull her closer to kiss her mouth.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered. “Wearing nothing but these pearls.”

She moaned and clutched his shoulders.

He pushed off the cardigan, and then the silk blouse fluttered to the floor. Her zipper rasped open and the skirt joined her other clothing, leaving her standing in black high heels, black lace and pearls. Jesus. He took a moment to appreciate her with his eyes, the visual stunning and erotic and lovely.

Twisting the pearls in his hand, he turned and walked toward her bedroom, tugging her along with him. Her soft moan made him twitch hard. In her dim bedroom, he flicked on the small lamp then turned to her, still holding the pearls, making them snug against her throat, and he kissed her.

She’d had a rough day. A rough few days. He wanted to make her feel better. So much better. His tongue slid into her mouth. She tasted sweet, her tongue against his making him hard, and he wanted her. Fire lit up every nerve ending in his body and he lifted his mouth from hers and kissed her bare shoulder, licked her skin, still holding the pearls. Her soft moan inflamed his senses even more.

He managed to flick open the bra at her back and she wriggled out of it with an enticing jiggle of her lush breasts, and still he held her by the pearls as he kissed her throat and licked his way down between those breasts. Her head fell back and he took his time sucking at her tight little nipples, loving the sweetness, the feel of them fitting to his tongue, the soft resilient flesh pressed to his lips.

His other hand slid down her back and slipped into her panties, cupping one smooth cheek. She trembled and he lifted his head. “Take your panties off,” he ordered hoarsely.

Without a pause she pushed them down over her hips and stepped out of them, now wearing heels and pearls. “Oh baby,” he groaned. Reluctantly he released the necklace and lifted her. He carried her to the bed where he laid her down, gently, reverently, as if she were fragile. And he quickly stripped out of his own clothes, too many clothes, the damn suit and tie he’d worn to the funeral.

She toed off her sexy shoes, letting them fall to the rug with a thunk-thunk, and she slipped under the covers. He slid in beside her and moved over her. Her hands reaching for him, her soft murmurs of pleasure, had heat pouring over his body, liquid pleasure running through his veins.

Her body rippled under his hands as she gave herself up to him, and he got lost in it, in the sensation, in the heat, in the unbearable sweetness and erotic pleasure, but also in the emotion of it, swelling inside him, powerful and huge.

They rolled and twisted together, mouths fused in long, endless kisses, hands all over each other, sliding into a hazy, erotic dream. She bit his shoulder softly, licked his skin, made him burn. He worshiped her with his mouth, his tongue, his hands, everywhere, slipped his hand between her legs, found her soft, wet center, and rubbed his thumb over her clit until she vibrated.

He shifted away from her to reach for a condom beside the bed, and her hand on his shoulder stopped him. “No,” she whispered. He met her eyes, huge and shadowed in the dim room. “I don’t want that tonight. I want to feel you inside me—just you.”

He nodded. They’d danced casually around the subject one night, knew they were safe with each other. And he so wanted to be inside her, bare, flesh to flesh, feeling her sweet heat. He fell over her, buried his face in the side of her neck, breathed in the familiar peachy-pear scent of her. He felt something clench in his chest, struggled to breathe, then levered himself up above her.

The pearls lay at her throat, creamy and gleaming softly in the low light. Her lips parted, her eyes gazed up at him, her hands on his chest. Their gazes held for a long moment while heat built and shimmered around them. His heart beat in a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs at the raw emotion on her face, her shining eyes, soft mouth.

He twined his fingers into the pearls once more, made them a snug collar, the gesture utterly dominant, possessive and claiming. And still she held his gaze, submitting to him, surrendering to him, allowing him to claim her and in doing so, completely captivating him and making him hers.

He lifted her thigh, pushed into her body, and as his bare flesh met hers, scalding hot and wet, as she surrounded him and tightened around him, sensation poured over him, and the overwhelming intimacy of it made him feel like he was dying and flying up to heaven, lost, completely lost. He slid in and out of her silky heat as she squeezed around him, her small hands pressed to his chest.

“Jake.”

He gazed down at her, riveted by the sight of her beautiful face, his hand holding the pearls at her throat, her bare shoulders, as he thrust deeper, harder, felt her lift into him. He watched her eyelids drift closed, her mouth open, drank in her hot little whimpers and soft sighs that built to a climax of pleasure, her fingernails digging into his pecs in a sweet bite of pain. He’d never seen anything as beautiful as watching her come, her body tightening, her pussy rippling around him, and it undid him, the surge of sensation and emotion inside him almost unbearable.