She had told him that she felt like he was safe. And she had. But there had been naivety in that statement.
She hadn’t understood what it would feel like when they were alone. When there was nothing to stop her from reaching out and touching him. Nothing to stop him from touching her.
Like that night in the barn.
But there would be no reason to stop. She wasn’t here for it to stop.
She suddenly wished that there had been spontaneity to this. That maybe the kiss in the kitchen had become more. Instead of all of it becoming this determined decision.
She waited for him to say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he took a step toward her, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and brought his mouth down on hers. She shivered, melted beneath his firm lips. It was different than that kiss in the kitchen. It was different than anything.
In part because it wasn’t blunted by the shock of Logan kissing her. He had kissed her once before, she had come here to be kissed. And then some.
There was an edge to this. Danger.
Even though he held his body apart from hers, the only place they made contact her chin and their mouths, there was an intensity that wound its way through her body.
He tilted his head, taking the kiss deeper, sliding his tongue into her mouth, against hers.
The friction shocked her, sent an arrow of pleasure straight to her center. She gasped, and he took the opportunity to go even deeper, which she hadn’t realized was possible.
Then he took her into his arms.
Wrapped her up completely in him. His heat, his strength. She had the barest impression that it would be different to be near all his strength, all his intensity, when it was wrapped around her, but she hadn’t really understood.
Then he groaned, cupping the back of her head, his other arm hard around her waist like a steel band. Her breasts were crushed flat against his chest, and she could feel his hardness pushing against her stomach. Evidence of his desire for her.
But it was more than that. It wasn’t just the physical signs of how much he wanted her that she felt.
She had always felt his emotions. Always.
The bristling of his disapproval, the hot flash of his anger. She had always been so in tune with him. But she had never noticed this before. Wanting her. Maybe it was because she was blind to things like this. He’d said that she was.
Maybe it was because it was only since he’d kissed her that he wanted her. Maybe he could have wanted any woman the same way. He was a man, so she had to concede that that might be true.
Show up. Be you.
He wanted her. He’d said that. So she had to believe that it mattered. Believe that this intense, white-hot, electric need that she could feel coming off him as sure as she could feel heat radiating from the engine of her truck when it stalled out on the road on a summer day, was for her.
That she was special.
That he wanted her. Her. That she wasn’t just a responsibility that had been foisted on him. But an object of desire.
Of choice.
Suddenly, she realized why he had wanted to know for sure that she wasn’t just using him as a stand-in. She wanted to tell him. Wanted to tell him, but that would require separating from his mouth, and she didn’t want to do that, either. No. She didn’t want to do that. She wanted to kiss him like this because it was a high. An injection of adrenaline that made it impossible to feel nervous. Impossible to feel uncertain.
That was when she found herself being walked backward, taken down to the couch. And he was over her, strong and solid, consuming her like he was starving.
She couldn’t think anymore.
She had turned into liquid heat. And liquid heat couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but feel.
She found her sweater being stripped up over her head, and she forgot to worry about if her bra was plain, or if he might like the look of it.
Because that was when he finally separated from her, and the look in his eyes was one of pure fire. He growled. Really growled, like a feral animal, moving back down to her and kissing her neck, the scrape of his teeth on her skin sending a flash of desire between her thighs.
Teeth.
Oh.
Well, now she knew. And she wanted more.
It hurt. Both his teeth and the way it made her want. And she didn’t understand how hurt could be good. But it was. Right now, it was.
She had thought that they might talk. But they weren’t talking.
She had thought that he might outline what they would do. But he didn’t.
He just kept on kissing her. Kissing her until her mouth felt swollen, until she thought her heart might gallop out of her chest. Until his magic hands dispensed with her bra and she barely even noticed, let alone remembered to be embarrassed.
He sat up for a moment and he shuddered. His big, muscular body that she knew was hard as granite. She didn’t have to be here making out with him to know that. She had watched him tangle with animals that outweighed him by ten times, and he hadn’t shaken. But he did now. Looking at her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice rough, thick, like he was drunk. “Rosie, do you know how pretty you are?”
It was the intensity of those words that shocked her. Almost as much as the content. “I’ve never thought about it,” she said, honest as possible.
“Well, hell,” he said, chuckling. “I think about it all the damn time. How pretty you are. Usually, though, I’m thinking about how pretty you look in your jeans. Can’t wait to see you out of them.”
Her heart was like a whole team of
