Wild in the Moment

“You know,” he said, hearing the frustration in his tone, “it’s about time you owned up to a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Like what it’s all about. Making people think your ex-husband was some kind of jewel. Rich. Famous. Fascinating. But you’re here, Daisy, and you’re struggling to get even some basic security together. I understand about pride. But I don’t get why you’re keeping what happened such a secret. Not from people who care about you.”

He didn’t mean to pry. He figured he’d find out in time. What good did prying ever do? People shared when they were ready. If you pushed them, it never came out the same way. You never found out when they were ready, for one thing. But Daisy…she’d made him think about Hussy. She’d poked. She’d looked at him with those loving, caring, beautiful dark eyes.

She still was. And suddenly she was walking toward him, as well. He thought she intended to leave the bedroom, and he turned sideways to give her room to pass.

Only, when she reached his side, in the shadow of the door, she faced him. “I’ll tell you about Jean-Luc if you want to know,” she said. “But not now. There’s only one thing on my mind right now.”

“And that is…?”

“You, tiger. Just you. Only you.” And she reached up, and lassoed her arms around his neck.

Eight

He wasn’t expecting the kiss, Daisy knew. He was exasperated with her. She knew that, too.

But she didn’t throw her arms around him because she wanted to. For damn sure, she would never have done an eyes-closed, mouth-open kiss-from-the-heart if she’d had any- any-other choice.

“Dais-”

“Shh!” she ordered him and resolved not to let him up for air ever again. Or at least for a while. A long while. She back-walked him down the hall, past the living room and den and bath. She walked, blind, her arms slung around his neck, fingers shivering in his scalp, lips clinging as if she were the glue and he was her only stamp.

Anxiety nipped at her conscience. This was such a bad idea-in principle. After the blizzard, she’d steered clear of Teague for an excellent reason. She knew she was vulnerable to him, and she wasn’t climbing into another relationship that couldn’t work out. If a woman quit trying to climb mountains, then she couldn’t fall off.

But damn Teague. Damn, damn, damn Teague. She kissed him again, harder, softer, deeper, wilder, loosening her arms from his neck so she could pull at his shirt. And once she’d peeled loose his shirt buttons, she yanked off her sweater-although the instant her mouth lifted from his, he tried to say, “Daisy-” again.

“Shh.” She had his bare chest now. She’d uncovered these treasures before. The slope of his shoulders. His upper arms, muscled as hard as sailor’s rope. Patches of chest hair, not soft, but as wiry as his temperament was. And an Adam’s apple that was throbbing, throbbing, for the lick of her tongue.

It was his fault-because of the dog. He’d broken her heart, seeing how much he’d obviously loved his dog. Teague sounded so tough, but she’d seen the collar, the pink-stuffed teddy bear with the eaten-off nose. The pink tennis balls peeking under the couches and chairs in the living room. The ceramic feeding bowl with Hussy engraved on it, clean, sitting on the counter, no food in it but somehow he hadn’t been able to face putting it away yet.

She was so touched, he’d almost made her cry. Made her afraid she might cry. Losing his dog had so clearly devastated him, and all for a mutt.

Obviously she had to kiss him.

And kiss him good.

In fact, as far as Daisy was concerned, she had no choice about making love with him, either.

And making love right.

“Um, Dais-” He didn’t seem to mind her unbuttoning his jeans, but his big callused hands suddenly, softly, framed her face. “I don’t know what pushed your on button-”

“You did.”

“Uh-huh. Well. I’m glad I did. But I could have sworn you said you had to be at the cafe-”

“I do. Later. We might have to hurry.”

“That, um, won’t be a problem. You want speed, trust me, I can give you speed. But-”

“No buts, tiger.” She lifted her head, eyes suddenly stricken. “Unless you don’t want to make love?”

“Trust me. I want this. I want you. Full-time, part-time, fast, slow. Any way you’re willing to do this.” While she had her hands on his jeans zipper, he handily slipped both his hands down her spine, down her back into the waistband of her pants. Somehow he started pushing her pants down at the same time he caressed her fanny, kneading and squeezing. His mouth was leveling hers at the same time.

Daisy intended to protest. She was the one in charge here, not Teague. She was going to remind him about that…in just a minute or two. Her slacks were trying to trip her. She stepped out of them. And while she was attempting to step out of them, Teague took the opportunity to lift her high-high enough to tongue-tease both her nipples, first one, then the other, taking his time…my, the man was strong…before lowering her onto his platform bed. Who knew they’d even made it all the distance to his bedroom?

It was downright impossible to get his jeans off when he was on top of her, but she was highly motivated… groaning under his weight, moaning under his touch, demanding more of both. His bed was another reason she’d felt forced into this drastic behavior choice. His whole house was so pure guy. The wood. The stone. A jar of mustard sat all by its lonesome on its own shelf in the fridge. His chest of drawers had a fork and a hammer and a tower of books and socks. His mattress was harder than concrete.

But then she’d seen that hedonist, floofy, fluffy comforter. And now she could feel it, soft against her naked skin, cushiony so that she felt she were sinking, sinking into a cloud…or maybe that was sinking into Teague. An ardent, wild Teague, who seemed to forget time, place, and the phone ringing somewhere in his house.

The comforter and dog were the only soft spots in Teague she’d found. The only hints that he was lonely. That he had needs. Wants. That he yearned…

And damn, so did she. He’d broken her down. It’s the only way she could think of it. She’d tried so hard to be mean. She’d tried to scare him, by driving his car in a way that had to turn him off. She’d barged in his business with his customer. She hadn’t come clean with him. And still he was good to her. Still, he seemed to want her.

Still, he touched her in ways-deeper, more worrisome ways-than any man ever had.

Those jeans of his-she finally won them. And one of his socks. The shadows in his bedroom seemed darker than smoke, yet there was nothing but searing bright sensations running through her. Greedily she touched, wooed, claimed. Her blood raced hotter and faster because of how fiercely he responded to anything she did. He just kept giving and giving and giving.

She reared her head up, eyes glazed and crazy with wanting. “Teague-I don’t love you,” she whispered urgently.

His mouth was wet from her kisses, his eyes as glazed and dark as her own, yet he responded easily, as if he were expecting the comment. “You think not?”

“All right. Maybe I do. But that’s just about loving you right now. It’s because these moments together are so good, so right. But it doesn’t mean ties or future or permanence or anything like that.”

“I know. You’re leaving town.”

“Yes.”

“As soon as you possibly can.”

“Yes.”

“So this is ideal, isn’t it? Exactly what you want. We can make love and make love and make love. And you can forget me as soon as you’re gone.”

She was about to say yes again, only that wasn’t what she’d said or even meant. She frowned, and then the chance to answer him disappeared. He swooped her around, pinned her beneath him, and in the darkening shadows