“Let me up.” Wriggling did her no good unless it was a good thing to feel hard evidence that he’d just lied about being in control.
“Sure. Go right ahead. Get up.” But he wasn’t going to help her. Hell, no, not when he was in some kind of painful heaven with her right where she was.
She went limp. “What was it all about back there in town—going to my car and rooting around for the cell phone so you could throw it at me? Then talking to me like I was the enemy?”
“You’ll argue, but I caused you to have the accident. I upset you out at Homer’s because I behaved like a roughneck. Then I called you and you got more upset until you called me back. Crash. End of story. Except I didn’t throw the cell at you.”
“You have it so wrong. I think my brakes went out. My foot went down and it felt soggy, then there was nothing.” She had the worst timing, but she wanted him badly. “Nothing to do with you.”
He’d relaxed a little. “When’s the last time you had the Beetle checked?” He tugged out a handkerchief to wipe his face, pulled his shirt over his head and ran the cloth around his neck and over his chest. “When did—”
“I don’t remember.” Jilly spread a hand on each of his thighs and he quit moving. All but for the flicker in his jaw—and strong signs of approval against the inside of her thigh.
They watched each other’s faces.
“Gimme a break, cher.”
“Give you a break? But you’re the man who’s in control. The only one we have to worry about is me. I’m a loose cannon.” She raised onto her elbows and splayed a hand on his hot chest. She just happened to catch a flat nipple between two of her fingers—and squeeze.
“Oh, my…” He shut his eyes tightly but it didn’t stop him from feeling what she was doing. He knew what he wanted to do. “That’s it. Up you get before someone comes lookin’ for us.”
He took her by the shoulders and stood, a foot on either side of her knees, to haul her up.
“I didn’t know you were so shy,” Jilly said. A small but important piece of her reserve hadn’t just stretched, or cracked—it had completely blown away. Without giving him time to figure out her intent, she grabbed him by the neck and pulled his face down to hers.
In the breathless second before they kissed, she opened her eyes and saw that his were closed. Jilly moved her hands to the sides of his head and pushed her fingers into his hair.
The kiss was about taking. She took him and he took her and Guy locked his knees. If she could see inside him now, she wouldn’t find ice-cold anything. He should stop this, stop her, but damn it, he’d already tried and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He held her on either side of her ribs, his thumbs just beneath her breasts, and she forced herself against him so hard the thin little sundress wasn’t enough to stop him from feeling her peaked nipples on his chest.
Jilly’s mouth opened wide. It was like drinking him in. She wanted her bare breasts touching him, but even with a dress on, the contact sent hot, mad-making sensation into her nipples. Elsewhere she was wet and throbbing.
He couldn’t think straight. But he couldn’t do this here, not to her and not to himself. Not the first time they made love. “Jilly, no!”
She cupped him and squeezed. “Make me stop.”
He held her shoulders and looked down at her, down the gaping front of the dress at her round breasts, and he paused, dragging in air. Sweat shone on her golden body. Naked, they would slide together.
This was her moment. There wasn’t enough room inside his jeans to allow the zip to move easily, but she was strong. He made a pretty feeble attempt to dissuade her from pulling him free of the jeans and working over him.
“Cher, no, not like this. Aw, hell, it feels so good. You feel so good.”
“I want it this way.”
“If we’re going to be together it ought to be where we can take our time.”
She showed him she’d taken control and didn’t intend to give it up. He’d never been forced—he’d been missing a lot.
“Help me,” he said, and bit down on the soft flesh at the side of her neck. They fell into the grass again. “Stop…don’t stop.”
4
Well, hell, he hadn’t expected Jilly to do what she did, to make love until he never wanted to stop, then rush away refusing to even talk to him.
He had tried to hold her. She’d warned him off with a glare and outstretched palms. So he’d backed off and let her go, and got into his car to drive home. He couldn’t think of anywhere else he could go to find some peace.
Guy swung into the overgrown lane leading to his house.
Get rid of Nat. Figure out what just happened with Jilly—apart from the obvious—and decide how in hell you’re going to fix things.
He should be making her go somewhere quiet and talk to him right now. The longer they waited, the harder it would be for either of them to make any sense.
Unfortunately the lady had made it clear the next call was hers.
He wouldn’t wait very long.
Nat’s Corvette looked out of place in front of Guy’s wood-sided shotgun house. True to type, the building sat lengthwise on the lot, the front of which should have been a gable end, with the entrance leading to a passageway against the left wall and a single window to the right. Inside, four rooms stacked one behind the other opened onto the passage, which ran the length of the house. If you had a mind to shoot from the front door to the back door it was no big deal. Just stand in line with the front door and hold that shotgun steady.
Concrete pilings stood high enough that you could have put a second story under the only one the place had. He’d parked his car down by the gravel road, as was his custom. He preferred to walk quietly up the lane to the house in case someone he didn’t want to see was waiting for him.
He dipped his hat farther over his eyes and ran up the steps to the gallery. A single bentwood rocker, weathered to silver-gray, rested where he could sit, prop his heels on the railing and look at the sky through a dogwood tree.
“Is she all right?” Nat called from inside as soon as Guy touched the screen door. “I called the emergency number to see if she’d been taken somewhere but they said she hadn’t.”
“You did what?” Guy yanked open the screen door and strode into what passed as his living room. “How many times do I have to—”
“I gave a phony name. Get over here.”
“Did you use my phone?”
Stretched out on the couch—a queen-size tweed sofa bed—Nat reached for a can of beer he had set on the brown shag rug. He took his time over a long swallow before he said, “I’m sorry you think I’m a moron. Now, drop it. How’s Jilly?”
He
