“Look at me,” Wolfe growled.
Sophie opened her eyes to find him staring at her in wonder, in lust, his eyes black with desire as they moved together, his fingers coaxing her over the edge. “Wolfe,” she gasped, moving faster, her body trembling.
“Fuck, Sophie,” he groaned. “You’re so wet.”
She gave him a devilish smile and bent forward to nip at his lips. “You have only yourself to blame.” When she tried to pull away, he put his free hand on the back of her head and held her there, taking the kiss deeper as his thumb continued to massage between her legs.
Moments later, they reached the peak together and went over it, Wolfe’s hands tightening around her hips, her fingers digging into the flesh on his biceps. They were both calling out, moaning each other’s names, their voices mingling in the near darkness.
When it was over, Sophie lay against his massive chest, listening to the thundering of his heart.
“Now it all makes sense,” Wolfe said after a couple of minutes, his voice deep and rumbling.
“What does?” Sophie asked, her voice just a touch shaky as she traced a bead of sweat that had rolled down his neck and over his collarbone.
“Why we’ve bickered so much over the years. It was sexual tension.”
“Sexual tension that came through your column and the pages of my books?”
Wolfe squeezed her ass. “That’s how strong it is.”
Laughing, Sophie popped him on the arm. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
He responded by rolling her over and pinning her under him, his strong thighs against hers, his arousal pressing into her lower stomach. “You know, Miss Hart,” he growled, nipping at her bottom lip, “I’m not sure I care right now.”
She grinned. “Round two?”
“Round two and three and four,” Wolfe murmured, bringing his mouth down to hers.
12
Sophie awoke to the knowledge that she felt exceptionally toasty, cozy and warm in a way she never did in the winter, especially not in Starlit Grove. There was only so much her cabin’s thermostat could do to keep winter’s fingers out of the gaps between the old windowpanes and door jambs. Opening her eyes, she realized the cause of the toastiness in question was the very large, inarguably handsome man draped all over her.
No, not just a handsome man. A very handsome Wolfe. Her heart began to pound.
Very carefully, she slid out from under his muscular arm and leg and grabbed the robe she’d so wantonly discarded a few hours ago. Her ankle throbbed, but Sophie wrapped the robe around herself and walked down the hallway until she was safely ensconced in the bathroom. Putting the lid of the toilet down, she sat and buried her head in her hands, her unruly, sex-rumpled hair falling forward and providing a much-needed veil, even if no one could see her shame in here.
What the hell had she done? Sophie raised her head, got up, and studied herself in the mirror. Her mascara had smeared, her lips were still red and puffy from all the kissing they’d done, and her eyes … well, they were bright. Almost shining. And her cheeks had a certain glow to them. As if, in spite of her brain, her body was committed to enjoying all the orgasms she’d had last night after a seemingly never-ending period of fallowness.
And it wasn’t just the physical pleasure. Sophie remembered thinking last night that Wolfe was different from the person she’d expected him to be. She thought she could make this about taking the first step toward saying yes to love. If he was still hung up on Hannah, well, that was okay. Because she’d been so sure this was going to be about her opening herself up to the universe. Ha.
“Who are you kidding?” she asked her wide-eyed, rosy-cheeked reflection. Already visions of her and Wolfe were dancing in her head. The way he’d held her close, the way he’d murmured how beautiful she was, the way he’d said her name. She wanted all of that and she wanted more of it. Not from anyone else, but from Wolfe in particular. Wolfe, who’d just gotten a very confusing text from his ex, Hannah. Wolfe, who probably had no idea of the depth of her feelings and was looking at this as just one night of carnal bliss.
“Uggghhh.” Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. So much for taking the first step toward love. This was going to turn into another heartbreak instead; she could feel it in the air. Why the hell did she have to develop feelings for Evan Wolfe?
There was a quiet knock on the bathroom door, no more than three feet from where she stood. “Everything okay in there?”
Sophie jerked her head around and stared at the door, her pulse picking up. “Yeah!” she said, her voice all squeaky and odd, even to her ears. “Fine! Great!”
“Really?” She could practically see his (in)famous skeptical eyebrow. “Because it doesn’t sound that way.”
Sighing, Sophie yanked the door open to find Wolfe standing there shirtless in his jeans, one hand up on the door jamb. And yes, the skeptical eyebrow, never one to disappoint, was in place. Her eyes unwittingly caressed his painfully perfect torso before traveling back up to meet his hazel eyes. “I’m fine.” She brushed past him and walked to the kitchen.
He followed. “Mm hmm. I can see that.”
As she bustled around filling the coffee maker with water, ignoring the pain in her puffy ankle (something she’d definitely be paying for later), Wolfe stood by the counter with his arms crossed and watched her.
Finally, not able to take the silent staring anymore, Sophie looked up at him, a coffee filter in her hand. He was taking up almost the entirety of the small cabin kitchen, his chest and shoulders and elbows in her space. She could smell him, cinnamon and cotton and something sleepily, primally male. She tried to keep her breathing shallow. “Move, please. I can’t get to the coffee
