“Hmm…why’s that?”
“Because, honey-bunch…Alex and Matt aren’t the only ones who could do with a little privacy.”
He laughed softly and let her go. Then he bent down and gathered up his bedroll and tucked it under his arm, smiled at her and held out his hand. Her heart skittered like a teenager’s as she took it. Smiling back at him, she walked beside him into the deepening dusk.
Matt watched his brother go off hand in hand with his wife, and only realized he was smiling when Alex looked over at him and said bluntly, “You know what they’re trying to do, right?”
His grin slipped away. “They’re not exactly being subtle.”
He worked in silence for a moment, once again occupying himself by clearing away the remains of dinner and setting up for breakfast, while questions chased themselves in circles in his mind. He paused, then threw them at her all at once, so he wouldn’t lose his nerve. “Is it so terrible an idea, Alex? Being with me? Do you find me that repulsive?”
Oddly, she didn’t seem surprised he’d asked. She went sort of still for a moment, then shook her head, not looking at him. “What scares me is that I don’t.”
His heart began a slow, heavy thumping he could almost hear. “I’m not sure I know what to say to that.” He paused, and the smile found its way back. “Fact is, you always were a puzzle to me.”
“I’m not that complicated,” she muttered, keeping her face turned away from him.
He gave a wheel a shove, edging closer to her. “Yeah, you are. Plus, you don’t let on how you feel. And I’ve never been much good at reading minds.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he added wryly, “The only time I ever knew how you felt is when I was touching you.”
She threw him an arrogant look he remembered well. “Ha-you only
“Maybe.” But then she shivered. He saw it…
Hugging herself, she glared at him in annoyance and shook her head. He touched the wheels again and brought himself closer, close enough to reach out and take her hand. It felt so familiar to him, and yet…not. It seemed smaller than he remembered. More vulnerable. Maybe because she wasn’t resisting?
He turned her hand over, and with his other hand gently uncurled her fingers to expose her palm. Ran a fingertip over the bumps and ridges of calluses…then the softer, smoother hollow in its center. Her fingers curled involuntarily, and he looked up at her. Her cheeks looked moist and flushed, though her chin still had that defiant tilt.
“Okay,” she demanded in a raspy voice that made a shiver crawl over his own skin, “what am I thinking now, smart-ass?”
“Oh, too easy.” He laughed, and lifted her hand slowly to his mouth. He brushed the warm damp palm with his lips, smiling at her with his eyes as he murmured, “You’re thinking, ‘What is this guy doing? Promising something he can’t deliver?’” He saw and felt her flinch. Laughing, he tightened his hold on her hand to keep her from pulling it away. “Oops, right on the money, huh?” She didn’t reply, and he swiveled his chair just enough and tugged her toward him.
“Wait-what are you doing?” The fear in her voice as he guided her into his lap made his chest clench.
“Relax, darlin’, I just want to show you something.” He moved her hand to his shoulder…watched her eyes while he took her other hand and placed it against his chest. He held his breath and felt his heart thumping against her hand. After a moment he let the breath out and said softly, “There…you see? Muscle and bone. I haven’t changed that much. I still-” He paused, and the pressure in his chest reminded him he’d forgotten to take another breath. He hitched about half of one in and finished it. “I still like to be touched.”
Chapter 7
Her hands were small and strong, the way he remembered. Just as he remembered. They began to move on his shoulders…his chest, stroking him, dipping under the fabric of his T-shirt to touch his skin. And it felt so good he wanted to cry or laugh out loud with sheer joy, because it had been so long since he’d been touched that way.
He felt a compulsion to close his eyes, the better to savor the sensation of her wicked little fingers working magic on his skin, but he didn’t; having lost a good part of one sense, he wanted to make the most of the ones he did have. With all his senses at full alert, he listened to her quickened breathing, inhaled the scent of her hair and breath, touched her hair and then her face, and watched her intently even though he couldn’t really see her eyes in the growing dusk. He watched them anyway, and imagined he saw them darken, first with confusion, then with desire she couldn’t stop or deny.
Her hands slid to his neck and then upward to his head, cradling it between them as her fingers threaded through his hair and rasped against his scalp. Shivers enveloped him. He cupped the side of her face in his hand… then abruptly ripped off his glove and gently stroked her hair back and filled his hand with the silken thickness of her braid. As she dipped her head closer to him, just for a moment the firelight splashed across her face and he saw her eyes were closed, and droplets of moisture in her lashes caught the light like tiny jewels. His heart ached with tenderness, and he murmured her name, but only in his mind.
He didn’t kiss her then. He wasn’t sure why-he wanted to, more than he wanted his next breath. Maybe he wanted it too much, and knew it was something not to be rushed. Whatever the reason, something inside him held back.
He slipped his hands down her back but didn’t use them to compel her closer. Instead, he moved them onto her waist, ignoring her initial gasp of protest as he lifted and turned her, rocked his chair into better alignment, then resettled her astride his lap.
Between his hands her torso felt supple…vibrant. The muscles in her back were as firm as he remembered, and when he let his hands slide downward over her bottom, that was as he remembered, too. On they went, his roving hands, over her hips to her thighs, sleek and bare in the jogging shorts she’d worn that day beneath her wet suit. And her back bowed and her head dipped lower, closer to his, while her breath flowed warm over his lips. And still he didn’t claim her mouth, although he could have with no more than a deepened breath.
Down the length of her thighs, then back up again, his hands stroked slowly, savoring the matte textures of her skin. And now, on their return journey it seemed only natural for his hands to follow the path of least resistance and slip under fabric and elastic to maintain contact with that sweet warmth. He felt her belly quiver and contract at his first touch there, and then she gave a little whimpering cry of surrender and
After that, for Matt, for a time all thought ceased. He knew only
He didn’t even notice-not then-that she was as hungry and heedless as he. It was only unknown minutes later when they broke apart, panting, that he realized his lips were swollen and tingling and tasted of blood, and that her body was arched in a way that brought it into intimate contact with his. That his fingers were nested in her warm, moist places, and that she was rocking in sync with his gentle probing, demanding more.
With silent urgency, she twined her fingers in his hair and pressed her forehead to his while her body writhed against his hand. He turned his head and buried his face in the hollow of her neck, seeking and finding the leaping pulse there, at the same time his fingers were locating its counterpoint deep inside her body.
It came to him that she was making sounds-gasps and whimpers-sounds he’d never heard her make before, even in all the times they’d made love. He wrapped one arm around her and his hand came to cradle her head, and when her body went rigid in his arms and her breath came screaming in a high, thin cry, he held her close against him and rocked her with his own body. He felt her throb around his fingers, and gentled the runaway pulse in her neck with soothing strokes of his tongue, while something inside him leaped and surged in primitive masculine
