breasts hitting him right at his solar plexus, her hips brushing the rising result of being so close.
She hummed along to the music, stroking her hands over his back, as if she knew that drove him crazy, taking him to the place he wanted to go, but was afraid to say aloud.
The song ended but still they swayed, their footfalls barely rising as they shuffled over the worn boards.
“My feet are cold,” she murmured into his shoulder.
He raised his head from where he’d been contemplating the delicateness of her ear. “We should go.”
“No,” she breathed. “I don’t want this to end. Not yet. It’s not midnight.”
He laughed. “Fine, but let’s go back. We can sit in my truck and I’ll put the heater on your toes.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather have cold toes. It’s too perfect here.”
He pulled her down, crossing his legs and settling her into his lap. She curled into him and he wrapped his arms around her. “I was right. You’re stubborn.”
Her laugh was light, but she didn’t respond to his comment. Just tucked her cold toes beneath the hem of her too-long jeans and settled against him. He could feel the beat of her heart, the rise of her breath, and was struck at how absolutely strange this moment was.
Who was this man cradling a woman he’d met an hour ago on an old rickety pier in the cool Louisiana night in a place he neither knew nor intended to find?
Not the man most would recognize as the unyielding Abram Dufrene.
She linked her arms behind his head and looked up at him. “Kiss me again?”
Why had he gone so long with his lips away from hers? Really. Should she have to ask?
He lowered his head and gave her what she asked for.
And did it so well, it left them both breathless.
“You are a good kisser,” she breathed, dotting small kisses on the scruff of his jaw. Each tiny brush of her lips inflamed him.
“Not bad yourself,” he muttered, running his hands down her back to her hip, stroking the curve through the denim. He really wanted to see her breasts. They were likely works of art, rounded, pink-tipped with angel kisses, so he started kissing his way down her neck, knowing his thoughts were absurdly poetic. This was what the night had created in him.
Louise’s head fell back, spreading her golden hair across his thigh. He groaned his approval as he reached her collarbone and tugged the fabric of her shirt aside to reveal a serviceable white bra.
It made him smile.
This woman, as lovely as she was, appreciated comfort. He didn’t need the allure of lace, not when what lay beneath was much more valuable. He tugged the strap, but nothing popped free. He tugged again. Same result.
“Here,” she said, wiggling and reaching behind her back. One grunt and the bra fell loose.
“Thanks,” he said, returning to his pillaging. He slid the neck of the blouse aside and was rewarded with a perfect plump pink-tipped breast. He wasted no time laying claim to it, and noted self-satisfactorily her hiss of pleasure when he closed his mouth over her hard nipple.
For a moment, he simply nuzzled her, sucking her into his mouth while stroking her into a fever. She unfurled her long legs, turned and wrapped them around his waist, allowing her bottom to cradle his erection, giving sweet friction to them both. He groaned and lifted his head from her breast and looked down at her cradled in his arms, cold toes forgotten, eyes closed, breathing like she’d finished a wind sprint.
“We can’t do this,” he said, sinking his head down to rest at the top of her breast.
She jerked, opened her eyes and struggled to lift her head. “Why not?”
“We’re strangers.”
“So?”
He shook his head. He knew most men wouldn’t have stopped, but something prodded him. His upbringing. His common sense. The fact he didn’t have a condom.
“So you’re okay with just one night?” He tried to sound playful. Most women wanted dinner, movies, talk of swapping keys before a willingness to fade away into a memory. He’d never in all his thirty-one years had a one-night stand. Not even in college. “No woman wants that.”
“This woman does.”
* * *
AND SHE MEANT IT.
She’d gone far too long without having the real deal. It was beyond time to uncork the champagne of her sexuality. In fact she was approaching epic spinsterhood. She needed to get laid and what better way to do that than with a handsome, sexy, no-strings-attached stranger?
He wouldn’t meet her eyes at the grocery store and then turn away.
He wouldn’t show up on her doorstep with flowers and a DVD she had no interest in watching.
He wouldn’t marry one of her friends and cause her to have one of those I-know-what-your-husband-looks-like-naked moments.
It was perfect.
A gift from fate. For one night only.
“I’m serious. I don’t expect anything other than this little magic moment.” She licked her lips as insurance. The romance books beside her bed seemed to indicate that licking her lips would inflame a man beyond reason.
He shook his head. “This is crazy.”
“You don’t want me?” She knew he did. Could feel the evidence against her bottom. She glanced down, caught the time in the glow of the waxing moon. 11:13 p.m. She had less than an hour. Okay, she had more than an hour, but for the sake of the whole magic fate thing, she’d rather it be tonight. On her birthday. With him.
“Of course I want you,” he said. “Too much.”
“Then shut up and kiss me,” she said, hooking his neck and bringing him down so she could kiss him.
His lips met hers and her pulse went wild.
This was what she’d been missing, not counting that time with Bud Hargon when he’d prematurely ejaculated before getting the job done or the time when she’d layered her bed with rose petals and had just gotten naked with Cole Lanier when Waylon had come in with a busted lip, wailing like a banshee.
Until tonight, Louise Boyd had been a virgin.
But she wasn’t missing another opportunity for deflowering.
“I don’t have a condom, Louise,” Abram said, nibbling her lower lip. “But we can please each other in other ways.”
She shook her head. “No, I want the real deal. The whole shebang. That’s what I need. That’s what it’s gotta be.”
He stilled. “You make it
