His hands found their way under her knit shirt and splayed out on her back. She wished he’d move them all over her body because they were frying her skin with blistering hot heat, but the only thing that moved was his thumbs. They made lazy, deliberate circles right below her bra line.
If he hadn’t stopped when he did, she would have pulled the shirt off, shucked out of her bra, and stretched her body out on the kitchen table and whined for sex. But it all ended with a gentle kiss to her forehead and one more hug.
“I’m glad you heard from her. I’m sure she’s been worried,” Creed said hoarsely.
His kisses.
Her grandmother’s voice.
She didn’t want to give up either one. Was there a way under heaven she could have both?
Chapter 6
Sage had started with a fistful of snow and patted it firmly until it was big enough to roll, and then she and Creed worked together. It went fast at first, but the last couple of rolls had taken all their combined strength.
“I reckon that’s big enough,” Creed said.
Sage huffed as she leaned against the round ball. “Now what? Even though the next one will be smaller, we won’t be able to lift it up on this one, even if we work together.”
“You start rolling one up and I’ll go get the tractor. If it can lift a bale of hay from the back of a truck, it’ll easily put the next ball up on that one,” Creed said.
Sage picked up a handful of snow and patted it into a ball. She really intended to start rolling but Creed’s wide back was just too tempting. She drew an imaginary bull’s-eye on the back of his coveralls, drew back, and hurled it like a softball. It hit with a loud thud and if he hadn’t grabbed the porch railing, he would have pitched forward into a six-foot drift.
She had another one formed and ready by the time he got his wits about him and turned around. He sidestepped to the right, caught it like an outfielder, and hurled it back at her. She giggled and hid behind the base for the snowman. He hid behind a cedar tree and sunk his glove into the snow. When he peeked around the tree, she got him right in the chest. He threw one and it whizzed past her ear. She reloaded her glove and stood up only to come face-to-face with him.
The grin on his face said that she’d lost the battle. The warmth spreading through her when she looked at his face said she hadn’t lost a damn thing.
He grabbed her around the waist and wrestled her to the ground. From the hips down she was on bare frozen ground. From there up, the snow made a soft mattress. She wasn’t aware of hard, cold, or softness because Creed was suddenly on top of her and his lips made their way to hers.
Cold lips tasted different than warm ones. She’d never realized that before or how they could send such a sensation down her entire body. His tongue slid through her parted lips. She dropped the snowball and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tighter against her.
Damned old coveralls anyway! If they were gone she could feel all those muscles that had taken her down with hardly any effort at all. If he’d make love to her in the snow, she’d gladly die of pneumonia.
He drew back and tried to prop up on his elbows, but they sunk deep into the snow. He sat up and pulled her with him, settling her onto his lap.
“You lose, darlin’.”
She tangled her fingers in his hair and brought his lips back to hers. He wasn’t calling the shots and she hadn’t lost. She was the winner of the whole war. Her hands went from his hair to his neck, down inside the coverall’s collar. She wiggled out of one glove so she could feel bare skin, and she felt him shiver.
“God that feels good,” he said.
“Mmm,” she purred.
“You are something else, Sage Presley.”
His warm breath in her ear traveled down her body like a lightning bolt, creating heat all the way to the deepest reaches. He nibbled on her earlobe and strung light, sweet kisses to her cheeks, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and finally back to her mouth.
So she was something else, was she? What did that mean in cowboy language, anyway? She hoped it meant that he was as besotted as she was. And there was that blasted word again. Besotted. The last time she heard anyone use that was when Aunt Essie was telling the story for the nine millionth time about when she met her husband, Richard.
That nagging common sense voice that she hated reminded her that it would be even harder to watch Creed leave and never look back if they had sex. So when his lips left hers and he nuzzled the inside of her neck, she wiggled free. She almost made it out of his reach, but he got her by an ankle and brought her back down beside him, her cheek in the snow.
He stretched out beside her, kissed her one more time, and then sat up, pulling her into his lap. “It’s my day to win, darlin’. Now I’m going to get the tractor, and if another snowball hits me on the way, I’m going to win a helluva lot more.”
Her brown eyes twinkled. “Oh, yeah!”
“Remember what I said: I always tell the truth.”
“Ever had sex in the snow?”
His neck jerked back with a crack and a wicked grin spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. “What did you say?”
“Ever had sex in the snow?” she repeated.
“You offerin’?”
“I’m askin’.”
He shook his head.
