“I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“I thought you’d changed yours.”
She took a step toward him. “So, what you meant was…”
He straightened away from the doorjamb and met her in the middle of the hall, letting his desire for her pulse free once more. “What I meant was that you needed to be sure.”
“I’m definitely not sure,” she admitted.
“That’s what I thought.” He swallowed his disappointment, and he told himself he had no right to be annoyed.
In the silence that followed, she lifted her index finger and pushed it tentatively toward his bare chest. Before she could touch him, he snagged her wrist and held it fast. His gaze bore into hers. “I’m not going to let you do this to me again.” He was a man, not a saint. And she’d have to practice her little seduction games somewhere else.
She took a step in, brushing up against him, her eyes going smoky, her lips slightly parted in an invitation that was clear as day. “So, your answer is no?”
He gave his head a little shake. “Maybe you’d better make sure I understand the question.”
She tossed her thick, chestnut-colored hair, tipping her chin to gaze up at him, pressing closer still, and he braced himself to hold them both steady.
“The question, Caleb Terrell, is do you want to make love with me?”
Before he could form a conscious thought, his lips swooped down on hers, kissing her deeply, drinking in her sweet, fresh taste. He bracketed her face with his hands, backing her against the hallway wall, letting his fingertips explore the satin of her skin, the softness of her hair. He kissed her a second time, and a third and a fourth, desperately wishing the moment could last forever.
When he finally forced himself to stop, all but shaking with the effort, he breathed deeply and drew back a few inches, gazing into her eyes. With the pad of his thumb, he smoothed her flushed cheek, drinking in her extraordinary beauty. When he spoke, his voice had dropped to a husky whisper. “The answer, Mandy Jacobs, is yes.”
She smiled. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Her arms twined around his neck. He hugged her close, lifting her from the floor, kissing her deeply, crossing the short distance to his bedroom.
Moonlight filtered through the window, while a glow of light cascaded in from the hallway. Caleb set her gently on her feet. She was wearing a plain, hunter-green T-shirt and soft, faded jeans. She’d discarded her boots, and her sock feet made her seem shorter than normal.
He pulled up from the hem of her T-shirt, slowly peeling it away from her body, popping it over her head to reveal a lacy, mauve bra.
“I love your underwear,” he breathed.
She smiled, and her eyes glowed moss-green in the soft light.
He flicked open the snap of her jeans. “I want to see more of it.” He slipped his hand beneath her waistband, leaning in for a gentle kiss, stroking his thumbs along the smooth softness of her skin. Her abdomen was flat, waist indented, hips gently rounded.
One palm strayed to the mound of her breast, cupping it through her bra, feeling the distinctive pebble beneath the wispy fabric.
She gasped in response, thrusting forward, and he circled the sensitive spot with his fingertip.
He tasted her neck, kissed his way along her shoulder, sliding her bra strap out of the way.
Her palms pressed against his bare chest, smoothing their way down to his belly, as he used his free hand to push down her zipper.
“You’re overdressed.” He tugged down her jeans, slipping them off along with her socks, tossing them all to the floor. Then he stared at her for a long minute, unable to drag his gaze from her perfection.
“You’re making me self-conscious,” she complained.
He reached out, grazing his knuckles over her navel. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”
“I’m a sturdy, little workhorse.”
He grinned. “Not hardly.” He slipped his hand beneath the low waist of her panties. “You’re a sexy, sculpted fantasy come to life.”
She met his gaze, and he could see her skepticism.
“That’s not a line, Mandy.” He toyed with the other bra strap, pushing it off her shoulder, staring at the picture she made, not quite believing it could be real.
With anticipation killing him, he drew her back into his arms, kissing her hot mouth, probing with his tongue, bending her backward. He tugged off the towel, then moved his hands to her bottom, pressing her close, feeling the silk of her panties against his bare skin.
Her hands went to his hairline at the back of his neck, her fingers burrowing their way upward. She kissed him back, deeply and thoroughly, small purrs forming deep in her throat.
He flicked the clasp of her bra, discarding it with the rest of her clothes, covering her bare breast with his palm, groaning at the intense sensation of her spiked nipple and the softness that molded to his fingertip.
“Tell me you have condoms,” she breathed.
“Oh, yeah.” There was no way he was stopping this time.
Her small fingers stroked the length of his chest, over his belly, across his thighs, closer and closer, until he hissed in a breath. “You are definitely killing me now.”
He hooked his thumb in her panties, stripping them down, getting them off at least one ankle before he reveled in her nakedness pressed against his. His mouth zeroed in on her breasts, feasting on one and then the other.
She whispered his name, her hands convulsing against his hair. He lifted her, pressed her back onto the bed and stretched out beside her. He kissed and caressed the length of her body. She dampened his neck, his shoulder, his chest, kissing her way down his abdomen, until he stopped her, pressing her onto her back, moving over her, letting his weight move between her spread legs.
He took a second with the condom.
Their gazes locked, hers a clouded jade, his barely able to focus.
He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, dipping it inside the hot cavern of her mouth. She suckled, swirling her tongue across the sensitive pad.
He kissed her hard, and she arched her back, twisting her hands into the quilt.
“I’m sure,” she gasped, and he arched forward.
The second he was inside her, a roaring need took over his brain. Desire pulsed to every point of his body. His hands roamed her breasts, his lips moved from her mouth, to her shoulder, tasting everything in between.
She was all motion beneath him, her breaths coming in small gasps, her body arching to meet his rhythm, her arms rigid, head tipped back and her eyes closed shut.
He lost track of time, sensation after sensation building within him. He held on as long as he could. But when she cried out his name, and her small body convulsed, he followed her over the edge, oblivion washing over him in waves.
The roaring in his ears slowly subsided. Though his muscles were spent, he braced his elbows, worried that his weight might crush her. But he didn’t want to move, didn’t want to withdraw, didn’t want real life crowding in on paradise.
When worry for her comfort trumped his longing, he moved off. But he bent one knee, laying his leg across her thighs, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the cradle of his body, resting a palm across her warm, smooth belly to keep the connection intact. “You’re amazing,” he whispered huskily in her ear.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Glad to hear it.” He kissed her lobe, thinking he could happily start all over again.
They breathed in sync for a few minutes, and even as reality returned, a strange sense of calm stole over him.
It was odd. This was still his childhood bedroom, still the family ranch. Three oil paintings of quarter horses hung on his wall. The scents of the fields wafted in the window. And the sounds of the animals punctuated the night.
But for some reason it felt softer, the edges didn’t seem so sharp.
“What?” she asked, twisting her head to look at him in the half light.
