the way her head was held high, but tilted just to the side. How beautiful those bare shoulders were. She was like something out of a painting, or a magazine, and he’d never known a woman like her, not for many years. Hesitation rose, but he forced it back.
“You’re perfect,” he heard himself say and immediately felt ridiculous. She turned to him, not saying a word. Her skin was creamy all the way down to that delicious bit of cleavage, and he watched as one sharp, white tooth bit into a bottom lip that shone with a light swipe of color. A black barrette held her hair back in a way he liked and it reminded him of the hairstyles from the sixties that he saw in some of his parents’ old pictures. He was itching to release it and thread his fingers through, messing it around her face.
Surprised by his nonsensical urges, he pulled himself together, then noticed she carried only a small purse.
“Did you bring a coat?” He cleared his throat, wondering why he was suddenly so hoarse.
“No. I didn’t think I’d need one…”
“The desert gets cold at night, Connecticut,” he teased, slipping his own suit coat off.
“Put this over your shoulders on the way to the restaurant. It’s not far from here, and you’ll be more comfortable.” He walked up behind her, sliding the coat over her shoulders, even as she protested.
“No, then you’ll be cold. I can just run upstairs and see if I have something to match…”
He left his hands on her shoulders, his face close to her ear. “I won’t be cold.”
She paused, not saying a word, but the tension strung hot between them, and Brett leaned in just a little closer.
“I like that scent you’re wearing—sweet, but not too much so. Fresh, but sort of musky, too, like new rain.”
He could see the pulse at the base of her neck picking up a quick, steady beat and her voice wavered when she spoke. “It’s a custom scent my parents had made for me years ago. I like it because I can wear it all the time, you know, just every day. It’s not overpowering.”
He smiled, shaking his head incredulously. “Says who?”
Taking a chance, he nuzzled her neck and grazed his lips over her ear. The tremor that shook her wasn’t from fear, unless he was radically misreading the body language between them.
Dinner was becoming less important very quickly. He was hard as a rock, his skin hot, need coursing through him like storm waters rushing over the dry desert floor in a rainstorm. It was quick and unexpected, but he welcomed it. Her response was balm for his masculinity, which had taken a beating today. He squeezed her shoulders slightly, pressed her a little closer so she could feel his arousal and waited for her response. He wouldn’t push, but he could hope.
When she lifted her arm and snaked her hand around his neck, he groaned and slid both hands around her waist, just holding her.
“Are you sure, Lauren?”
She looked up into his face, her gaze holding his, but she said nothing, as if struggling for the right words. He didn’t have them either, but then again he wasn’t big on words. Too many words caused problems, in his view. Touching told him all he needed to know. He ran a thumb over her cheek, examining the freckles that intrigued him so much, trying to reassure her.
“If you say no, it’s no—I mean that. Stop means stop. I’ll listen, okay? If you want to just leave and go to dinner, that’s okay, too,” he continued in a low voice, hoping like hell she wouldn’t turn toward the door.
He wanted her now, on the spot, but he’d let her set the pace if it killed him, and from the powerful need that was throbbing through him, it just might.
“It is pretty warm in here,” she said breathlessly, dropping her purse on the chair, turning and bringing both arms around his neck in such a way as to bring her entire torso in contact with his. Her head fit in underneath his chin as she snuggled against him. Massaging her shoulders, he felt her relax and loosen, all supple heat and subtle curves.
“Lauren,” he spoke her name on a whisper, getting used to the sound, slipping his hands up underneath the silk of her hair. Cradling her head, he lowered his lips to hers, tasting gently at first, inhaling the scent that pleased him down to his bones. When her fingers curled into his shoulders and her short nails bit slightly through his shirt, he growled, capturing her breath in a hard, passionate kiss that she met with a fire equaling his.
His tongue stroked hers in a lazy rhythm, and she stroked him back, opening wider, exploring as much as letting herself be explored. He ran his hands over her back, smoothing them over satin down to the curve of her ass and scrunched the material upward until he could reach what was underneath. When his fingertips discovered the thong and garters, he broke away from her mouth, his breath ragged. “Oh, sweet Jesus, Lauren…”
“You like it?”
“You could say that,” he joked breathlessly, pressing the hard length of his cock against her hip and watching her eyes widen.
His mouth was on hers again, hungry as he found the dress’s zipper and worked it down. Just as he was about to expose all kinds of goodies and take a nice, long look, she put a hand on either one of his arms, stopping him. His progress screeched to a stop, and he froze.
“What’s wrong?”
He’d told her he’d listen, and no meant no, and he stood by that. Real men had control—a lesson he lived by, one that was part of his heritage, just as his Dad had always said. Desert ranching was a tough lifestyle, and to be successful at it meant discipline, and Brett prided himself on his. Even so, every nerve ending in his body—some in particular—protested painfully.
She stepped back, out of his grasp, and he nearly moaned with the loss of the contact. How could he want someone so deeply that he’d only met a few hours ago?
She stood about five feet away, holding up the front of her dress with one hand, gazing at him with carnal intent that held him in a trance.
“Lauren?”
She smiled, and he felt relief swell—it wasn’t the smile of a woman who was calling it quits. Shrugging delicately, she let the dress fall to the floor and his blood turned thick and hot, his erection begging for release as she walked slowly toward him. The image of her standing there in those sexy undergarments would be with him until he died, he was sure of it.
LAUREN HAD NEVER FELT so wild. So incredibly, absolutely free. Sex with Wes had always been pleasant, ranging from tepid to tame. They hadn’t played games or experimented much. In Wes’s view, if it worked, why fix it? Of course, it had only usually worked for him.
Standing before Brett in her sexy lingerie, some inner part of herself was emerging after being buried for years, sleeping and waiting to awaken. It felt good—better than good. It wanted to stretch and explore.
As she stepped closer to the bed, she raked her eyes over Brett, taking in the flush of color above his clenched jaw, the way his big hands fisted into the coverlet. She paid particular attention to the impressive bulge in his pants. She caused that reaction in him, she realized with delight. Being here with him made her feel like she was capable of anything. Her new, no-wimps-allowed self was sexy and adventurous, and that started right here, right now.
He
