Heaven Can't Wait
Pamela Clare
“Pamela Clare is a fabulous storyteller whose beautifully written, fast-paced tales will leave you breathless with anticipation.”
—USA Today bestselling author Leigh Greenwood
Praise for
Unlawful Contact
“Powerful, sexy, and unforgettable, Unlawful Contact is the kind of story I love to read. Pamela Clare is a dazzling talent.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster
“A spellbinding, gut-wrenching page-turner with a gripping plot. This story is unique and creative with an imperfect hero you can’t help getting sweaty palms over…Pamela Clare is a remarkable storyteller.”
—Fresh Fiction
“This is an exciting fast-paced romantic suspense thriller…Action-packed.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A romantic suspense that has it all: gritty realism, edge-of-your-seat action, dynamic characterizations, surprising plot twists, and a scorching romance between two leads you won’t soon forget.”
—BookLoons
“A gripping and emotional story…An engaging tale that will have readers on the edge of their seats.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A thrilling, captivating suspense novel…It has great characters, a wonderful story line with different connect plots, and a happy ending for a couple that has many obstacles that they must surmount together.”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“Clare’s impressive novel is rife with gripping suspense, secrets masterfully revealed, and characters in readers can become emotionally invested. The sexual tension between the protagonists is deliciously steam the skillful plotting makes this thrilling book one readers won’t be able to close until the final page.”
—Romantic Times (4½ stars)
Hard Evidence
“A page-turner, a pulse-pounding thriller…Whether she is writing her incredible historicals or these g contemporaries, Ms. Clare proves, once again, she is one of the best storytellers today…It is a thriller, it is a treasure, and it is tremendous.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Superb romantic suspense…Fans will appreciate this strong thriller.”
—Midwest Book Review
“I cannot recommend this book highly enough. Pamela Clare’s Hard Evidence is a powerful and, dare I say, flawless book, in my opinion. For those who love a good suspense or even just a good, satisfying read, it’s a ‘don’t miss.’”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“This was a hard-to-put-down book with an exciting story line.”
—MyShelf.com
“Clare adds a realistic edge to her suspenseful writing…[A] tight, gritty thriller…Clare definitely found her niche.”
—Romantic Times
Extreme Exposure
“Investigative reporter turned author Clare brings a gritty realism to this intense and intricate romantic Extreme Exposure is the launch book for a sizzling new suspense series that promises to generate lots of intrigue action, and romance. An author to keep an eye on!”
—Romantic Times
“A gem, Extreme Exposure has all the elements of great romance and is an entertaining summer read.”
—Romance Reviews Today (perfect 10)
“I really loved this book because it was so realistic. The characters were people I would love to know. Obviously, Ms. Clare knows this world and the nuances of investigative reporting. She communicates this in a terrific love story that grabs you and will not let you go. Believe me, I lost some sleep reading this book. I predict that Ms. Clare is an author to watch for the future and readers of romantic suspense are sure to love this excellent, well-written novel, one of the best I’ve read this year.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
…and the previous novels of Pamela Clare
“[Written with] verve…The prose is lush, and the author clearly has a talented way with plot and pacing.”
—The Romance Reader
“Great…A page-turner.”
—USA Today bestselling author Patricia Potter
“Sizzling…Steeped in sensual fantasy, strong characters, and intense emotions.”
—Romantic Times
Berkley Sensation Books by Pamela Clare
EXTREME EXPOSURE
HARD EVIDENCE
UNLAWFUL CONTACT
NAKED EDGE
Anthology
CATCH OF THE DAY
(with Whitney Lyles, Beverly Brandt, and Cathie Linz)
Heaven Can’t Wait
Pamela Clare
B
BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Previously published in the anthology Catch of the Day, published by Berkley Sensation Books.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
HEAVEN CAN’T WAIT
A Berkley Sensation eBook / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation eSpecial edition / March 2010
Copyright © 2006 by Pamela White.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 1-101-21791-X
BERKLEY® SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Contents
Begin Reading
About the Author
“Do you, Lissy Charteris, take me, Will Fraser?” He looked down at her, his dark hair damp with sweat, a half-grin on his face, and nudged the thick, hard tip of his cock inside her.
Lissy could wait no longer. Her legs caught above his shoulders, she lifted her hips, reaching for fulfillment. “Yes! Yes! Oh, now! Yes!”
An amused gleam in his blue eyes, he withdrew, his thumb drawing lazy circles over her swollen, aching clitoris. “Uh-uh
. You’re supposed to say, ‘I do.’”
She moaned in frustration, clutching fistfuls of linen tablecloth, her body about to combust. “I do! I do! God, I do, Will!”
“That’s better.” His gaze locked with hers, and his big hands seized her hips.
Then with one slow thrust he filled her.
“Oh! Oh, God, Will!” His name was the last coherent word she spoke, her voice unraveling into a long, throaty moan as he pushed himself in and out of her, thick and hard.
It felt so good. It felt better than good. Having him inside her was both bliss and torture.
He groaned. “Damn, Lissy! You drive me insane!”
But she was the one going crazy, the sweet, slippery friction of his thrusts fueling the raw ache inside her, forcing her to the jagged brink.
She would never, could never get enough of him. She wanted to touch him, frantic to feel the rasp of his chest hair, the iron ridges of his muscles, the velvety softness of his skin. But he was just beyond her reach.
He took her ankles in his hands, spread her legs further apart and forced her knees to bend, opening her completely, exposing every bit of her to his view. He was watching—watching where his body slid into hers, hot and slick and demanding.
“Jesus, Lissy, sweetheart!” He drove into her deep and hard and fast, penetrating her to her core.
In a heartbeat, she hovered on the radiant edge of an orgasm, the shimmering ache inside her now a tight, pulsing knot.
“Look at me, Lissy!” he growled. “I want to see your eyes when you come!”
She did as he asked, found herself staring into eyes dark with lust, with hunger, with love.
And then, even as his gaze held hers, it took her—blinding-bright and shattering.
Orgasm surged through every inch of her, a merciless rush of white-hot ecstasy, ripping a cry from her throat, her muscles clenching greedily around him as he kept up a relentless rhythm, prolonging her pleasure with forceful strokes.
Then she saw his pupils dilate with the shock of his own climax, his forehead furrowed as if he were in pain. He groaned, arched his back, his body shuddering with the force of release as he drove himself hard into her once, twice, three times, coming deep inside her.
Lissy had no idea how long she lay there on the dining room table, floating in the musky scent of sex, listening to the sound of their mingled breathing, feeling him pulse inside her. She probably could have stayed that way forever, body and heart and mind utterly satisfied.
She felt him press kisses against her moist skin, paying special tribute to her now ultrasensitive nipples. Then he wrapped her legs around his waist and drew her into a sitting position so that she was pressed against his bare chest, his arms around her, her bottom resting on the edge of the table, his erection still hard enough to stay inside her.
He kissed her hair. “God, woman, I can’t get enough of you!”
She rubbed her cheek against the damp curls on his chest, let her hands explore the smooth muscles of his back. “That’s good to hear, because two weeks from tomorrow you’ll be Mr. Lissy Charteris, and you’ll be stuck with me.”
He chuckled, a warm sound that vibrated deep in his chest, then held her closer, his lips still pressed against her hair. “Please tell me you don’t have any damned shows or gallery openings tonight.”
“Not a one.” She snuggled more closely against him, savored the hard feel of his body against hers. With the demands of her job as fashion editor and his as a sports columnist and football commentator, it was rare for them to have a Friday night at home together.
“Good, because I intend to keep you naked…all…night…long.” He punctuated his words with kisses, then nipped her lower lip.
She nipped him back, then smiled. “So I guess if I’m naked, you’re picking up the takeout, right?”
They’d ordered some Thai from the place down on Colfax—the best Thai restaurant in Denver—but had gotten distracted before either one of them had gone to pick it up. Clothes lay scattered in the hallway beside shoes, briefcases and cell phones.
With a frustrated groan, he withdrew from her, lowered her to her feet. “I guess so. But you have to stay naked—no bathrobe, no towel, nothing but your gorgeous hair and a smile. Got it?”
“Got it.”
She watched him gather up his clothes and dress, enjoying the sight of him naked, his back to her—his broad shoulders, the bulge of his triceps, the powerful V of his back as it tapered to his waist, the tight mounds of his bare ass, the hint of testicles any time he bent over.
There were definite advantages to being the fiancée of a former football star.
When he turned to face her, his trousers were already up to his hips, so she caught only a glimpse of his wonderful cock. But his chest, with its dark curls and flat brown nipples, was still bare. She let her gaze follow the groove between his pecs down past the ridges of his belly to where it disappeared in a trail of curls beneath the waistband of his pants—and nearly moaned when the white fabric of his shirt ruined her view.
He grinned, revealing his dimples. “Hold that thought. And stay naked.”
Then he grabbed his wallet and keys and was gone.
Lissy quickly picked up her clothes and sorted them into piles headed for the dry cleaner’s or her own washing machine. Then she went into the bathroom, sat on the edge of the tub and began to rinse between her thighs.
How had she gotten so lucky? And it had to be luck—or divine intervention.
She hadn’t liked Will when she’d first met him years ago. They’d been introduced when he first joined the staff of the paper as its new celebrity sports columnist and she was assistant features editor. Instantly repulsed by his hotter-than-hot looks and the knowledge he’d once been a college football hero of some kind, she’d turned up her nose at him, regarding him as a brainless jock with little going for him beyond a perfect body, thick dark hair, gorgeous blue eyes and a devastatingly handsome face.
How wrong she’d been.
She stood, patted between her legs with a fluffy towel, then took up her comb and began to work the tangles from her hair.
It hadn’t been until that Saturday morning she’d gone jogging in City Park and stepped into a sprinkler hole that she’d gotten to know him. She’d wrenched her ankle badly and was sitting on the ground, in pain, calling herself names for not bringing her cell phone, when he’d emerged from a group of little boys who were playing football on the other side of the park.
Dressed in faded jeans that accentuated the perfection of his ass and a black T-shirt that seemed stretched across the muscles of his chest, he’d knelt down, carefully removed her running shoe, and gently peeled her sock away to reveal an ankle that was purple and swelling.
“You don’t need a ride home,” he’d said. “You need a ride to the hospital. If you can wait a few minutes, we’re almost done for the day. Otherwise, I can call a cab.”
Thank God she hadn’t asked him to call a cab.
He’d carried her to his beat-up Chevy pickup—weren’t football stars supposed to drive flashy sports cars?—and driven her to the ER. Then he’d waited with her while the doctor examined her ankle, took X-rays and pronounced it broken.
“I’m so sorry about what happened. Not much you can do to come back from an injury like that,” the doctor had said to Will, seemingly out of the blue. “Can I have your autograph? What did you think of the TV movie version? Made my wife cry. It must have been weird to watch your own life on the screen.”
“I didn’t watch it,” Will had answered, graciously signing his name in black felt marker on the doctor’s blue scrubs.
TV movie version?
Lissy had gone online that night, done a little research and discovered there was much more to Will Fraser than she could possibly have imagined. According to archived newspaper articles, he’d been raised by a single mother who’d worked as a waitress in Aspen, where he’d grown up in poverty amid wealth. He’d excelled both in academics
and in sports in high school and had gotten a full scholarship to the University of Colorado at Boulder, where he’d been their starting wide receiver—which, Lissy’d later learned, had to do with catching the ball.
He’d been on his way to a lucrative professional career, when his knee had been shattered in the second-to-last game of his college career. He’d been in the second of four surgeries when CU had won the Orange Bowl that year. His football career abruptly over, he’d graduated magna cum laude with a degree in history, only to learn that his mother was dying of lung cancer. Though he’d spent every dime he’d earned by selling the rights to his story on the latest medical treatments for her, he buried her less than a year after he’d buried his dreams of playing professional football.
For several years, he’d worked for CU as a receivers coach. Then he’d joined the staff of the Denver Independent, covering football, commentating for the local ABC affiliate and coaching inner-city kids in his free time.
And Lissy had thought him a mindless jock.
On her first day back at work, she’d hobbled over to his desk on her crutches to thank him for his help and had asked him if she could repay him with dinner at his favorite restaurant. He’d accepted, and the two of them had ended up on her floor rutting like wild animals until dawn, as he’d helped her find creative ways of keeping her ankle elevated.
A month later they’d given up on pretense and moved in together.
Eight months after that, he’d proposed, getting down on his bad knee and offering her the most beautiful engagement ring she’d ever seen—a two-carat antique oval diamond set in filigreed white gold. She’d barely been able to speak, but somehow she’d said yes.
She set her comb aside and glanced in the mirror, smoothing her hands over her auburn hair and down her naked body, mostly content with what she saw and even more pleased by the way she felt—warm, languid, sexy.
