He sucked in his belly sharply as her fingers traced the definition of his obliques. Urgency made them both fumble. They’d been holding back for weeks, desperate to know every part of each other but determined to start their life together in a way that was respectful of her son.
Clint slowed to a halt at the power punch to his heart. Their son.
He smiled. He was a father. The wonders of this day were only just starting.
Romy peered up at him, her high cheeks flushed, her eyes the colour of stacked clouds during an electrical storm. ‘Clint? You better not be changing your mind…’
Not a chance.
He captured her small hands in his and dragged them up between them, away from their dangerous play. It was no effort at all to spin her in his arms, and drag her against his body. The heat now flaring from the bare skin of her back soaked into his chest and his lips found the soft rise of her shoulders.
Romy sagged as she felt his lips press along the arch of her neck. Those magnificent hands gently encouraged the strap of her wedding dress down over one shoulder. Sheer modesty brought her hands up to capture the dress against her breast as the other strap followed.
‘Let me see it, Romy,’ he purred against her ear.
Delight whispered along her sensitised skin. She knew what he meant, what it meant to him. Knew he’d been extraordinarily patient. It was crazy, but there was no other part of her she was more shy about revealing.
‘I want to see my name on your body.’
Clint’s mouth was hot, wet torture as it worked its way over Romy’s shoulder blades, down her spine and then followed the scoop of the fabric to his destination. He knelt behind her, his large hands reaching around to slip the dress completely off and let it fall to her hips, exposing her back and revealing her tattoo.
His lips traced the delicate artwork of the living raptor sealed into the skin of her lower back and her lashes fluttered shut. The scorching, sensual slide of his mouth over what had been her private shame was erotically charged and pangs of desire ricocheted through her. Her body curved like a marble statue, her head fell back and her breathing quickened as Clint explored the giant eagle, feather by excruciating feather.
Discovering his call sign was ‘Wedgetail’ had only confirmed what Romy had already known. They were meant to be together. She tore herself away from the sweet torture, kicked off her heels and scrambled across the enormous bed, sucking in desperate breaths, needing to put a tiny bit of distance between her and the blazing furnace of heat that was all hers.
Their hasty wedding date had been the scandal of the district but already the gossips were bartering something else—the arrest of Justin Long and the exposure of the smuggling ring.
Clint had seen to that. Her wonderful, capable, brilliant hero. Husband. He’d sacrificed his pride and privacy for hers. He’d also spoken convincingly for his brother in the preliminary court case convened a week after Justin’s capture. The ordeal would stay with Clint forever but he’d done what he could to help his wayward brother. Romy loved him all the more for it.
She sank against the king-size bedhead, clutching her slip to her breast and eyeing the mountain of a man she’d married. He rose back to his feet, predatory but exciting. She’d never felt safer with anyone.
He dispatched his footwear and trousers without taking his sights off her. Her heart hammered in her fragile chest. This must be how a gazelle feels right before the lion strikes. Except for her, the slow-motion waiting was a whole different kind of torture. The last time she’d seen his powerful body so revealed had been that day by the dam. Only there were no swimming trunks between them now.
She swallowed hard.
He stood, massive and strong, at the foot of the bed, looking every bit the defender of a nation. A wall of muscle tapered away from the smooth, round shoulders she loved so much—loved to drape herself off, loved to press her lips to, loved to feel under her fingertips. His body was a geometric work of art, all rigid planes and hard, defined edges. About as far from her ample, soft curves as possible.
Vive la différence!
He knelt on the end of the slab of a bed and crawled towards her, his smoky eyes locked onto their target with thrilling intent. Romy’s mouth dried up completely. He stretched out beside her, lying on his belly on the covers, helping her to keep her wandering focus on the chiselled perfection of his face. His tattoo glistened beautifully on his tricep as he reached his hand out to tangle his fingers in the delicate silk of her dress. She touched the half-faded snakes, tracing their outline as he gently tugged the fabric down, away from her skin.
They drank in the sight of each other. The perfect contours of his body reminded Romy of their home, WildSprings. Hills and ridges of muscle, the gully between the curves of his glutes. She longed to explore every inch of that terrain.
She scooted down to lie face-to-face, burning to taste him, drowning in the green whirlpool of his eyes. He tipped onto his side and the energy between them reached out and breached the distance, twisting and tangling fire as though their skin actually touched.
‘I love you.’ Romy wasn’t sure if she’d said it or thought it.
That made-for-kissing mouth started to move, its sounds strained and hoarse. She realised with a pang how hard he was working to keep himself in check.
‘I’m terrified to touch you,’ he growled. ‘Of not being able to hold back.’
Her breath quickened. She reached out to place her hand over his heart. It thundered beneath its flesh casing.
‘Why would you hold back?’
His straining voice matched the rest of him. ‘It’s been…I don’t want to overwhelm you.’
Primitive power surged through her. She felt truly feminine for the first time in her life. She let her raptor spirit break free and locked her gaze on his with a bold promise. ‘I’ll match anything you throw at me. You can’t break me.’
His body responded by tightening impossibly further. His sexy smile sent her pulse thumping. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you never to challenge a member of the Special Forces?’
Suddenly there were no nerves. No reservations. No past. Only this man that she loved and trusted completely. She slid her naked body hard up against his.
‘So far, soldier, you’re all talk. Let’s see a little more action—’
If he was anywhere near as fast on the field as he was in bed, no wonder the military had worked so hard to keep him. In a flash Romy found herself on her back, a ton of rock-hard flesh on top and an acre of feather-down softness beneath.
His smiling mouth took hers.
Oh, this was going to be so worth the wait.
JO LEIGH is from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah in a tiny town with terrible internet connection, being bossed around by a houseful of rescued cats
