When he reared back, she arched and crossed her arms over her body. With her eyes on his face, she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside.
She saw the fresh, wild desire bolt into his eyes, and reveled in it. In her youth, her body had been a curse— some had said her downfall. But now, watching the man she loved look at her for the first time, it filled her with a sense of soaring pride.
'It should be illegal.' His voice was hoarse and thick. 'Looking like you.'
He didn't touch her, not yet. Fascinated, he un-snapped her jeans, drew them down and away. His oath was reverent. Then his hands skimmed up, from ankle to knee, to thigh and hip, over the muscled stomach that quivered unexpectedly.
'You're the most terrifyingly beautiful woman I've ever seen.'
Her smile was slow, confident. She sat up, hooked an arm around his neck and brought his ready mouth to hers. Her murmur was approving as he explored her, inch by slow, delicious inch. She thought he had wonderful hands, firm, and just rough enough. Her eyes fluttered closed, dreamily, when he used his . thumb to torment the tip of her breast.
She could wallow in the lovely feel of flesh sliding on flesh, of the light breeze whispering, the hot blanket beneath. There were owls hooting in the trees, ghosts walking in the air.
Never in her life had she known the magic and the generosity of love. She knew only that she would give him anything here. Whatever he asked. Whatever he wanted.
When he twisted her hair around his fist, pulled her head back, she was prepared for anything. But he only pressed his lips to her shoulder, rubbed them gently over the curve.
And she trembled like a startled doe.
'Surprised?' Darkly pleased, he lifted his head and looked into her confused, clouded eyes. 'You have beautiful shoulders.' This time he laved his tongue over them. One by one. Her breath caught on two indrawn gasps. 'Sensitive shoulders. They look like they should be carved in marble, but they're soft.'
He nipped lightly at her collarbone, and would have sworn it melted. Enthralled with the discovery, he exploited it, lifting her into his lap, so that he cradled her, rather than the ground.
When she was limp. When he knew she was utterly open, he quickly, and with concentrated skill, ripped her ruthlessly to a peak.
She cried out, bucking hard, then pouring into his hand.
Love and pleasure burned through her. Unbearable heat. She turned to him, turned on him, in a wild frenzy of hands and lips. Later, he would think that they had both gone completely mad. But, for the moment, what they did to and for each other was all that made sense.
She made him hiss out her name, and the sound of it sang through her like music. When his heart pounded like thunder under her mouth, she knew it was for her, and only for her. The taste of salty sweat on his skin bewitched her.
He lifted her as though she weighed nothing. She opened, arched, took him deep, so deep that her hands reached out to grip his, from the sheer joy of it. She who cried only when there was no one to see, no one to hear, let the tears fall.
She rocked, matching his rhythm, matching the savage, fearless beat of her own pulse. Endlessly, endlessly, with the stars raining over them and the moonlight slicing through the tender leaves, they took each other.
He was nearly blind from the beauty of her face, electrified from what her body brought to his. He thought he felt something break inside him, around his heart. Then, like some ancient goddess summoning her forces, she lifted her arms high. Gleaming in the Stardust, her body went taut, and tightened around him like a velvet fist, and tore him over the edge.
Chapter Eight
Savannah awoke with a moan and flung her arm over her eyes to shield them from the blast of sunlight. Her body felt as though she'd ridden a wild bronc over rocky ground.
And then she remembered she'd pretty much done just that.
Her lips curved as the night reeled through her mind. She had thought she knew what it was like to want—a home, a life, a man. She'd been certain she'd experienced every kind of hunger—for food, for shelter, for love. But nothing she had felt before matched what had churned through her for Jared MacKade.
There had been men in her life before—some had passed through, some had stirred her blood. But she had never needed one. And that, she realized, was both the risk and the wonder of this.
There would never be another man. He was the first, and he would be the last, to take her heart.
As both mind and body woke, she heard the song of the birds, the far-off yip of Shane's dogs. She felt the strength of the sun beaming through the spring leaves, and the chill of the early breeze. With her eyes still shielded, she stretched lazily, feeling like a cat waiting to be stroked.
'You have a tattoo.'
She made a long, contented sound, flung her arm over her head, and at last opened her eyes.
He was sitting beside her. His hair was tousled from sleep and her hands, his eyes were heavy and focused thoughtfully on an area high on her right thigh. She wondered if there was any other woman in the world lucky enough to wake to such a sight.
'You look good in the morning,' she murmured, reaching out to stroke him. 'Naked and rumpled.'
He wasn't sure how long he'd watched her sleep. But he did know that when he tugged the blanket away from her, to pleasure himself with a long study of her body in the sunlight, he'd discovered the colorful little bird on her thigh.
He simply hadn't been able to get past it.
'You have a tattoo,' he repeated.
'I know that.' With a little laugh, she rose on her elbows. Those dark-chocolate eyes were heavy and touched with humor. 'It's a phoenix,' she explained, amused at the way his brows drew together as he focused on it. 'You know, rising from the ashes. I got it in New Orleans, when I realized I wasn't going to be poor for the rest of my life.'
'A tattoo.'
'Some men think they're sexy.' Of course, she hadn't gotten it for a man, but for herself. A brand, to remind her that she could remake herself, rise above what she had been. 'How about you?'
'I'll have to take it under advisement.'
He couldn't say why he was so fascinated by it. So jarred. What other secrets did she have? What other permanent marks from her past? He looked away from it, into her face, and was shaken all over again. The sleepy smile in her eyes, the curve of those lips.
'How're you feeling?'
'Like I spent the night having wild sex in the woods.' Laughing, she moved to link her arms around his neck. 'I feel wonderful.' Her lips found his and lingered, soft and warm. 'How about you?'
'Exactly the same.'
She hoped so, she hoped he could. She would have lived her life in bliss if he could feel for her even a fraction of what she felt for him.
He gathered her close and held her as no one else had ever held her. As if it mattered.
'I don't suppose we could stay here forever,' she murmured.
'No, but we can come back.' He needed to think, and knew it was impossible as long as he held her. There were responsibilities at the farm that he was neglecting, he reminded himself. 'I have to go.' But he buried his face in her hair, and his arms stayed around her. 'Farms don't take Sundays off.'
'I have to pick up Bryan soon.' But her head nestled into his shoulder, and her arms stayed around him.
'Why don't you bring him over and.. .just bring him over?'
'All right.'
'Savannah.'
'Hmm?'
He caught her hair in his hand, drew her head back. His mouth crushed desperately over hers. 'Just once more,' he murmured as he lowered her to the blanket.
