them.'
Just now, he noted, the mood was surprised, and not a little uneasy. 'The mouth,' he continued, brushing it lightly, retreating just as hers softened. 'The curves and dips of it. Such a lovely face. I don't mind looking at it, even when you're not around.'
'That's an odd thing to-' She trailed off as he brought his mouth back to hers, lingered there.
'Then there's the rest of you.' He skimmed his hands down, a light play of fingers. Then captured her hands before she could tug the sweater off. 'No, let me.' He drew her to her feet, lifting the sweater, inch by inch. 'It gives me pleasure to uncover you, to work my way through the layers to that amazing body of yours. It drives me mad the way you cover it up.'
She might have gaped if she hadn't been so busy just trying to breathe. 'It does?'
'I keep thinking, I know what's under all that.' He loosened the hook of her trousers. 'I've had that under me.' He let the trousers drop, pool at her feet. 'Step out of those, darling,' he murmured, and toyed with the hem of her undershirt.
'I'm built like a twelve-year-old boy.'
'As one who's been a twelve-year-old boy-' He slipped the undershirt over her head, then let his gaze run down her. 'I can promise you that's not the case. Milkmaid's skin and strong shoulders.' He dipped his head, touching his lips to one, then the other. 'And here.' Slowly, he trailed his hands from her waist to cup her breasts. Her breath caught, released, shuddered. 'Soft and firm and sensitive.'
She started to drift along, to cruise on the wonderful slide of his hands. Then gasped, half in shock, half in amusement, when he lifted her, stood her on the little chest.
But the humor that sparked in her eyes went dark when he closed his mouth over her breast, caught her nipple delicately between his teeth. 'Oh, God.'
'I want you to come.' He traced a finger along the edge of cotton that still covered her, and his mouth worked down. 'I want you to call out my name when you do.' And slipped his finger under the cotton, inside her where she was already hot, already wet.
She rocked against him, a jerk of movement while her fingers dug into his shoulders. Pleasure rushed into her so fast it was almost a panic, built so high, so huge, she wondered her body could survive it.
And it was his name she called out.
Was she falling or flying? She felt her legs give way, like a melting of bone, tried to center herself again when she felt him lift her, carry her to the side of the bed.
'The light.'
He laid her on the bed, knelt over her. 'We'll see each other clearly this way. This time.' Watching her, he took off his shirt. 'Do you know how arousing it is to know I can take you up, again and again? That you have that much inside you for me?'
She reached for him, drew him to her. 'I want you inside me.'
'And I want you weak first.' His mouth began to taste, his hands to roam. 'And sobbing my name.'
'You bastard.' The fact that she said it on a moan delighted him. 'Just try to make me.'
He thought it a lovely challenge, and set about meeting it.
His hands were light as faerie wings one moment, hard as iron the next. And each touch was a separate thrill. He had a way about him that she'd never imagined when she'd fantasized about having him for a lover. The men she'd known before him hadn't given her this, or lured her into giving so much back. There was a freedom here, with him. That odd mix of wicked surprise with easy recognition.
And trust. Absolute trust.
She opened herself to him willingly. Perhaps with his skill she'd have been helpless to do otherwise, but she was willing to take all he offered, and to match it.
Even as shocks of sensation lanced through her, she yielded. It was a surrender she'd given to no other.
As if he sensed it, he took her up again, slowly this time, almost torturously, so that her body was a raw, aching mass of nerves.
Her skin was damp and slick. The heat of her all but stopped his heart with need. She moved against him, under him, with a smooth and sinuous female rhythm that made him ache for joining. In the lamplight his eyes were narrowed, focused on her face as he strained against his own need and kept her shuddering on the edge.
Quaking, she sobbed out his name.
He drove himself into her, more violently than he meant to. But she arched up to meet him, accept him, matching the desperate pace that slapped flesh against flesh and had heart thundering against heart. Glorying in it, he lifted her hips, going deeper, pushing them both toward delirium.
'No one but you, Brenna.' The throbbing in his blood was a drumbeat, primitive, constant. 'Say it back to me. Say it back.'
'No one but you.' As she said it, her world exploded.
Swamped with love, he emptied himself into her.
CHAPTER Fifteen
It was her habit to wake early and get on with the business of the day. On the rare occasions when Brenna slept late, it was usually because she'd had more than her fair share to drink the evening past.
So as she'd had nothing but fizzy water the night before, it was a surprise to see the sun was well up when she opened her eyes. The second surprise came on the heels of the first when she noted the only thing keeping her from rolling off the bed was the arm that Shawn had banded around her.
He'd sprawled himself in the middle of the mattress, shoving her to the outer edge. But, she thought, at least he was considerate enough to see that she stayed there and didn't fall on her face.
She tried to shift around, gave him a shove so that she could get free and climb out. But he tightened his grip and pulled her back until she was curved against him in the cozy spoon position.
'You might be the lazy sort who lies in bed half the morning, but I'm not.' She started to wiggle free, and wiggling, discovered the interesting fact that not all of him was asleep. 'Wake up ready, do you?' She said it with a chuckle and pushed at his arms. 'Well, I don't. I want a shower and some coffee.'
His answer was a grunt, but his hand snuck up to cover her breast.
'And just keep your hands to yourself. I don't want any of this fooling around until I've had my coffee.'
He simply parted her legs and proved her a liar. 'Well.' His voice was thick with sleep, but the arm that slid under her was strong enough to hold her in place. 'You can just lie there, then, while I use you.'
Later, when she staggered into the shower, she thought it wouldn't be such a sacrifice to be used in such a way of a morning every now and again.
She turned the water on, keeping it on the cool side, as her skin was still hot and flushed. After stepping into the old claw-foot tub, she tugged the curtain around, then ducked her head under the stingy spray to wet her hair.
It wasn't an easy business with so little water and so much hair, but she had nearly accomplished it when the curtain jingled back. She opened one eye and fixed it on Shawn.
'I don't suppose you can give me much trouble in here so soon after that.'
'Care to wager on it?' he asked as he stepped in with her.
She'd have lost.
Her legs weren't quite steady when she snapped down a towel. 'Keep your distance now,' she warned, wrapping it around her while her hair dripped everywhere.
'I've no more time for you. I've got to get home.'
'I suppose you don't have time for any griddle cakes, then.'
She shoved wet hair out of her eyes. 'You'd be making griddle cakes?'
'I had a mind to, but if you're in such a rush, I'll just scramble an egg for myself.'
He was already dried off and was brushing his teeth, an easy act of intimacy that barely registered. 'I suppose I'm not in such a terrible rush. Have you a spare toothbrush around here?'
'I don't, but I think under the circumstances you can use mine.'
