emotion. She jerked her head up, and her eyes met his, filled with raw, palpable desire.
God, how well he knew her.
“I’m in a jet flying at thirty thousand feet,” Tate joked but it fell flat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You know what I mean,” Linc growled. “I need all of you, all your hopes and fears. Give them to me, just for the next few hours. Give me you, all of you.”
She wasn’t strong enough to withstand his silent plea for something real, something life affirming, so she gave up the fight. Straddling his lap, she placed tiny butterfly kisses along his jaw, up and over his cheekbone, onto his temple. She rested her forehead against his and looked into his smoky eyes. “Is it wrong to want you, knowing that she is—”
Linc tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Us enjoying each other isn’t going to change what she is going through. Do you want me, honey?”
Tate sighed, her breath sweet on his lips. “I do. So much.” She had to work to keep her words of love from passing her lips. He didn’t need that from her; he just needed to lose himself in her. And she loved him enough to give him exactly what he needed.
Linc pushed his hips up so that his erection pushed into her. “Then let me make you mine.” He closed his eyes as if he were facing a wave of pain. Or pleasure. “I need this, we need this. Here. Now.”
“The pilots?” Tate asked, sending an anxious glance at the closed door.
“The do-not-disturb light is on. They’ll leave us alone.” Linc pulled up her jersey to stroke her sides, his fingers on her ribs just below her breasts. “You feel amazing.”
Tate dropped her mouth on his, and their hot, frenzied kiss went on and on, two mouths desperate to mate. Tate pulled his sweater and shirt up his chest, desperate to get her hands on Linc’s skin, and they broke their kiss for him to pull the garments over his head. Linc, impatient and demanding, helped her peel her sweater off and then held her away from him to look down at her sheer bra that did nothing to conceal her pointed nipples.
“You are so damn sexy,” Linc muttered, bending his head to suck her through the lace. She held the back of his head and arched up into him, lost in his touch, in how incredibly feminine and powerful he made her feel. This was the ultimate aphrodisiac, she thought, having an incredibly sexy man want you with every fiber of his being.
This was what being alive felt like.
Without warning, Linc banded a strong arm around her back and lifted her up, surging to his feet as he did so. Letting her stand, his hands went to the band of her jeans, flipping open the button and pulling down the zipper.
“Take your bra off,” he commanded and Tate did as he asked. When her torso was free of the lace, she dragged her breasts across his chest, enjoying the rough hair, the sinewy muscle underneath his skin.
“I want you.” She panted, reaching down to palm his erection now throbbing beneath her touch. Linc groaned, pushed her panties and jeans down her hips and steadied her as she kicked off her ballet flats and stepped out of her jeans. Linc pulled her to him, making sure that her most sensitive parts were intimately connected with his fabric-covered erection.
“Get naked,” Tate breathed after pulling her mouth off his to speak.
“Shh, baby, slow it down,” Linc told her. “We have a couple of hours.”
Tate shook her head, and, holding his head in her hands so that he had to look at her, she spoke. “Now.”
Breaking their contact, Linc pulled off his socks and shoes, stepped out of his pants and groaned when her hand encircled his long, steel-hard length. He felt amazing, all harnessed power. Linc muttered something about a condom and pushed her hand away to slap his against a small cupboard above his head. Ducking his hand inside, he pulled out a strip of foil packets.
Tate grabbed the foil packet from him, tore it open and pulled out the latex sheath. Rolling it onto Linc—accompanied by his grateful groans—she pressed her lips into his chest, holding him with both hands. She didn’t like how much she loved making love to him, how much she loved him.
She wished he could love her back, that he could heal her fears, convince her that he’d never hurt her, that he’d never leave her. That there was some way for them to be together.
Linc’s hand stilled between her legs. “Tate, honey? You okay?”
Tate flashed him a smile. “I’m grand, why?”
“You tensed and you had a strange look on your face.”
Yeah, that’s my how-the-hell-am-I-going-to-survive-loving-you face. Tate forced a smile and moved against his hand. She linked her arms around his neck, and when he boosted her up his body, she buried her face in his neck. “Make love to me, Linc.”
“That would be my absolute pleasure,” he growled, pulling her down to the settee, where he stretched out on top of her, her legs opening to allow him inside. He surged inside her and he filled up every hollow, dark, shadowed part of her. He was her brownstone just off Park Avenue, big and bold and so damn permanent. He was the soil she could imagine planting her roots in, the home she never thought she needed. He was her soft place to fall. He was, Tate thought as he pulled her closer and closer to oblivion, her everything.
In the administrator’s office in the hospice just north of Austin, Linc managed the introductions and guided Tate to one of the visitors’ chairs, watching Kari’s doctor as she moved to sit behind her large, paper-strewn desk.
Linc took the chair next to Tate and flicked a glance at her worried face. Her mouth, the amazing mouth he’d kissed with ferocious abandon earlier, was pulled tight, and her body was taut with tension. Dammit, Kari, sick or not, why couldn’t you have just had a conversation like a normal person?
Why did everything have to be a drama?
Linc listened with half an ear as Dr. Mitchell made small talk with Tate, asking about her childhood with Kari and inquiring about Ellie.
Drama, Kari excelled at it. And that was the difference between the sisters; Tate was a straight shooter, someone who looked at life the way it was and not how she wanted it to be. Was she perfect? No, but he didn’t expect her to be. She carried more emotional baggage than she did real luggage. She was wary and insecure but she wasn’t flighty, selfish or dramatic, and he...
He loved her.
Linc gripped the arms of his chair and stared down at the carpet below his feet. He’d never expected this, not with Tate, but, yeah, he loved her and it felt nothing like he’d expected it to. He’d thought that if he ever fell in love again the feeling would be accompanied by angels singing or African drums. That he’d feel swamped, drowning under the rush of emotion, but he felt none of that. It just felt right.
It felt as if his soul had found its warm spot to curl up in, like he’d found a safe place to shelter from the storm outside. He felt as if he had another source of strength to draw upon, an alternate source of wisdom that was now accessible to him.
This love he felt, this
