“Grady, you’re crazy,” she chided, laughing. “Put me down.”
“Not until I can put you down on that big, old bed,” he said, and headed for the house.
As if she weighed nothing, he climbed the stairs eagerly, two at a time. Her twinkling eyes met his. “If I didn’t know better, Grady Blackhawk, I’d think you were as anxious as a bridegroom on his wedding night.”
His step almost faltered at the image, but he managed a grin. The idea wasn’t nearly as repugnant as it should have been. He’d never given much thought to marriage or happily-ever-after, but if ever a woman could turn his thoughts in that direction, it was surely Karen.
Inside the guest bedroom, where late-afternoon sun had cast a pale glow across everything, he gently deposited her on top of the colorful old patchwork quilt.
“Not being all that familiar with wedding nights,” he said, studying her closely, “I can’t say for certain, but you seem to me to have the radiant glow of a bride yourself.”
“That’s how I feel,” she admitted in a whisper. Her eyes swam with unshed tears. “Oh, Grady, how did this happen? I never expected it, not in a million years.”
“I didn’t either,” he told her candidly. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?”
“No,” she said fervently. “How could I, when I feel so incredibly alive?”
“Oh, darlin’, just you wait,” he said as he stripped off his boots and shirt, then joined her on the bed.
He cradled her in his arms, giving both of them time to adjust, time to prepare for the step they were taking. He knew that despite all her brave declarations, Karen was still harboring doubts. How could she not? She had loved her husband, a man who had considered Grady his enemy, even if that thinking had been the irrational bitterness of a boy carried over into adulthood. Grady understood all of that, which made the fact that Karen was with him all the more precious.
He stroked her cheek, rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, felt the heat begin to rise in her…and in him. Her soft moan was too much, an invitation for the kiss he’d been deliberately postponing.
When his mouth settled over hers, tasting, savoring, coaxing, she responded with more abandon than she ever had before, her lips parting, her tongue sweeping across his lips. She moved restlessly beside him, an invitation for more adventurous exploration.
Beneath the wool of her sweater, her skin was hot and soft as silk. Inch by tempting inch, he slid the sweater higher, pressing kisses in its wake until she trembled. Impatient now, she ripped the sweater over her head and tossed it aside, but when she would have unclasped her bra, Grady stopped her.
“Not just yet,” he said, his gaze feasting on the swell of breasts concealed by plain white no-nonsense cotton. Somehow that image seemed to epitomize Karen, a devastating mix of fiery sensuality and practicality.
He ran a finger along the edge of the fabric, where pale skin burned beneath his touch. He skimmed a caress across her nipple, which thrust against the soft fabric. When he could stand it no longer, he bent and drew that hard, tight bud into his mouth, feeling the shudder that washed over her.
“You’re torturing me, you know that, don’t you?” she whispered on a gasp.
“Am I?” He was delighted by the admission.
“You needn’t sound so pleased with yourself,” she grumbled, then reached for the snap on his jeans. She had it open and the zipper down before he could prevent it.
And then she was touching him, adding to the pulsing heat of his arousal, sending him closer to the edge than he wanted to be.
“Clever woman,” he said, shifting out of her reach. “But not just yet. We have places to go and things to try before we get to that point.”
“Oh, really?” She seemed intrigued with that. “Tell me.”
He shook his head. “I’ll show you.”
He resumed the concentrated attention to her breasts, finally taking off the bra and circling each tight peak with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth. Her hips bucked as he took her closer and closer to release just with that slow, suckling assault on her senses.
Satisfied that he’d distracted her, he slid off her shoes and jeans, then began working his way up a silky calf and rounded thigh with kisses meant to tease and torment. She was writhing when he slipped his fingers beneath her panties and found her slick and ready. One wicked caress, then two, and she was coming apart, her eyes wide with surprise as waves of pleasure washed over her.
“Not fair,” she accused when she finally caught her breath.
“Oh, darlin’, it’s not over. We’re just getting started.”
To prove it, he shucked his jeans and jockey shorts, retrieved a condom from his wallet, then started once again to coax her toward a whole new peak.
This time he allowed her clever, wicked hands to roam where she wished until at last, knowing his restraint was at the breaking point, he poised above her parted legs. Their gazes locked, he slowly entered her, withdrew, then thrust deeper into that welcoming heat.
With each thrust, her hips rose to meet him, as her flushed skin turned slick with sweat. When he pressed a kiss to the pulse at the base of her throat, it was thundering, as was his.
Her name was on his lips when the explosion tore through him, his shudders setting off hers, rippling through both of them for what seemed an eternity, until at last they faded into quiet, exhausted satisfaction.
He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, holding her as if she were the most precious, fragile gift he’d ever been given, though he knew she would never, ever appreciate being considered anything but strong. This…everything about her…was amazing.
And then he felt a drop of moisture fall from her face onto his. One quick glance told the story: These weren’t happy tears. Though she quickly, impatiently tried
