intense, in the tension that crackled around him and the heat where his fingers loosely held hers. She could send him away with no more than a shake of her head…or she could pull him inside and close the door.
Sending him away would be the smart choice, of course.
But in all her thirty years no one had ever described her as the smart sister.
Barely breathing, she watched him watch her. He hadn’t taken so much as a step over the threshold, and she knew he wouldn’t unless she gave him an invitation. Did she have the courage to offer that invitation?
Did she have the strength to hold it inside?
She didn’t know how long they stood there—one minute or ten—but the sound of familiar voices in the parking lot below signaled that time had run out. Her sisters, mother and stepfather were back from the party, and while Doris Irene’s room was on the ground floor, Bailey and Kylie were sharing a room down the hall and around the corner.
Send him away or let him stay?
She wanted to do the first. She needed the last.
Tightening her fingers around his, she took a step backward, then another. While her family said their good-nights downstairs, she drew Brady into the room and closed, then locked the door.
As he’d done the first time—what she’d thought would be the last time—he turned off the lights, then pulled her close. She thought of her smart, talented, capable sisters kissing their mother good-night, then coming arm-in-arm up the stairs, far too good and moral to indulge in anything so tawdry as a one- or two-night stand.
Then Brady kissed her as if she mattered, and she stopped thinking.
He aroused her expertly, stroked her, caressed her. Though she wore nothing but a simple satin shift, he took his sweet time removing it, exploring, touching, tormenting every inch of her. When she was naked and weak, when the need for him throbbed throughout her body, he clamped his mouth to hers and kissed her onto the bed before pulling away.
Her entire body was vibrating, thrumming with need. In the inky darkness, she heard his boots hit the floor, followed by the soft whoosh of his shirt falling and the rasp of his zipper. She raised up on one arm, but it was too dark to see. She could hear, though—harsh breathing, strong hands crinkling plastic as he tore open the condom wrapper. She could smell the clean, fresh scent of him as he came nearer, the faint hint of beer, the fainter essence of pure, base lust. She felt the mattress give under his weight, then the warm, satiny skin when she slid her hands to his shoulders.
Just as he’d done the other time, he grasped both of her hands in his, pinned them at her sides, then lowered his head to kiss her. Forgetting that she wanted to protest, she greedily welcomed his tongue, then, with a swallowed gasp, welcomed him into her body—every hot, silky, hard-as-rock inch of him.
For a moment he was content merely to be inside her, and she was content to feel him there again. He didn’t move, but held himself rigid, letting her body adjust to his. She sighed deep in her throat at the pure simple pleasure of it. For this brief time, she felt connected. Wanted. Even needed.
And that was all she wanted—all she’d ever wanted. Tonight the feelings didn’t even have to be real as long as she could believe in them for the moment.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Hallie,” he said, his voice little more than a growl that vibrated all the way through her. Then he began moving, slowly taking long, deep strokes, pulling out, filling her again. At the same time he lowered his head to nuzzle her breast.
She tried to free her hands, but his grip was too strong. “Please,” she began, then caught her breath in a low groan as he sucked hard at her nipple. “I—I want…”
He increased his pace, thrusting into her faster, harder, deeper, and continued to kiss and torment her breasts. She was starting to see stars, quickly building toward a release that just might leave her shattered…then put her back together again. Every time his arousal rubbed against her, every time her body clenched his, every strong pull of his mouth on her nipple….
“Let me…Brady, I want…” To capture this feeling and make it last forever. To grab hold of him and never let go. To scream. Explode. Weep.
The pressure inside her kept building, increasing with every touch, every kiss, every breath. Her muscles were taut, her nerves quivering, her breathing ragged and shallow. He pushed her until she was sure she couldn’t survive, and then he pushed her even farther, until her climax rocketed through her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t control the trembling that claimed her entire body. All she could do was feel and, sweet hell, she was feeling everything. She was drowning in incredible sensations, all hot and sweat-slick and shuddering and satisfied. Oh, yes, incredibly satisfied.
It wasn’t until much, much later, after her second orgasm, when she lay quietly in Brady’s arms, that she remembered what it was, in particular, that she’d wanted—to touch him. To run her hands over his body, to make him hot and achy, to feel his strength, to cradle his hardness in her palms. To tease, play with and arouse him, the way he’d teased, played with and aroused her.
She turned so that she faced him, even though she couldn’t see. “Can I ask you something?”
His breathing was so slow and steady that she thought for a moment he’d fallen asleep. Then he exhaled loudly and asked, “What?”
“Is it everyone or just me that you don’t want touching you?” She felt the tension in his body ratchet up a notch or two before he answered.
“It would be physically impossible to touch more than we are right now.”
That was true. Her head rested on his arm, her breasts were pressed against his chest, her legs tangled with his. But that wasn’t what she meant, and she suspected he knew it. “I’m talking about with my hands. You held my wrists so I couldn’t touch you.”
“Did I?” He asked it as if he hadn’t noticed what he’d done, but she knew better than that. He was too observant, too self-aware, for that to wash.
She stared at him, a shadow among shadows. When he didn’t say anything more, she laid her hand on his ribs. Soft, warm, dark skin—she couldn’t see, but she could visualize—as smooth and silky as her own pampered skin. She slid her palm up a few inches, then down again, then he caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his mouth for a simple, sensual, toe-curling kiss.
Hallie had to catch her breath before she could speak. “See? You don’t like it when I touch you.”
With another heavy sigh, he released her and rolled onto his back, arms and legs open wide. “You want to touch me, go ahead.”
She considered it a moment, then in a pouty voice said, “No.”
“Come on, Hallie,” he coaxed, reaching for her hand and pulling it to his chest.
“No.”
“Okay. Then I’ll touch you.” He raised up and reached for her, then rolled back again, lifting her on top of him. She tried to wriggle away, which caused an immediate and intriguing reaction in him, so with a womanly smile, she did it again.
Since he was being so agreeable, she took him up on his offer and spent some time exploring his body. Having a man in her bed was one of the things she
