Fated by Allyson Young

area
before choosing between the two closed doors—the exit or the one standing
between her and the only man she’d ever loved. Apparel aside, there was really
only one choice to make. Stopping in front of Reece’s door, she raised her hand
to knock. He was a cop after all, and walking into a police officer’s bedroom
might be met with something far different than she hoped for. And there was
that word again. Hope.
    ****
    He’d heard the faint click of the
door handle, followed by the creak of the wooden panels as they swung on their
hinges. Reece was lying on his bed, having adjusted his game plan. Candace had
been blindsided and overwhelmed by the onslaught of information tonight, and
while he’d been desperate to comfort her, he knew she needed some alone time. As did he. That didn’t mean he was letting her go. Not ever,
if he had anything to say—or do—about it. All his anger toward her had melted
away, although he couldn’t say the same thing about how he felt about her
father. Reece had held his end up and believed in another man’s word of honor.
Candace had done nothing other than be that man’s child.
    The soft pad of bare feet slowed
and stopped in front of his door. His body relaxed, and he was relieved he didn’t
have to chase her down, although tanning her sweet ass would truly be no
hardship. His cock stirred at the thought. He’d been with other women since
Candace, reacting when he thought she’d cut him out of her life, and, always a
dominant lover even as a younger man, he’d sharpened his skills. What he’d
learned about her had considerable appeal, and he looked forward to exploring
their interests together. Because he wasn’t letting her go.
    Vaulting up, he was at the door and
yanking it open, just as Candace brought the knuckles of her hand down. He
caught that little bunched appendage in his own, far larger, hand, and
redirected it to his mouth, pressing a kiss on her wrist. He felt her pulse
kick into a higher gear, and their eyes locked. As in her flat shoes, Candace
barely came up to his shoulder, but any sense she wasn’t his match was debunked
by the flowing curves of her body, the little scrap of material she wore
clinging and accentuating every one. And the scent of her…
    “Darlin’?” He relished the faint shiver that ran through her as he drew her close.
    “I don’t want to talk. I want…”
    He should make her say it, spell
out what she wanted, but he couldn’t be that much of a bastard. Dipping his
head, he met her raised lips and lost his head.
    She tasted fresh and clean, and he
worked one hand through her hair to hold her steady for his kiss. When they
both had to breathe, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, depositing
her near the center, then stood back to imprint the view on his cortex. Candy
belonged there, in his bed, in his life, all the intervening years be damned.
Her hair was a golden flame over the dark pillow cases, and her pale limbs
shone. Only her nightgown no longer fit the picture, and he knelt on the
mattress to slip the narrow straps down and push the fabric to her waist.
    Full, round globes were revealed,
the rosy pink of her nipples a perfect target for both his fingers and mouth,
and as he took one between his lips, cupping the other breast, Candace moaned.
Her hands crept up to sift through his hair, fingernails lightly scratching his
scalp, and spurred him on. Suckling her, tweaking the opposite nipple, he
elongated each one and then gently bit down, enjoying the way she arched into
his touch and moaned louder.
    “You taste like I remember,
darlin’. Your skin smells the same.”
    “You remember?” Mouth still swollen
from their kiss, she peered up at him with desire- hazed eyes.
    “I never forgot, Candace. Even when I never thought to touch you again.”
    “I’m heavier … bigger,” she nearly
whispered.
    “You’re a woman. My
woman.” He knew his possessive assertion might be jumping the gun, but
he wasn’t