And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop wanting her.
His breath lodged somewhere in his chest as he waited for her reaction to his words. He searched her sky blue eyes as she stood a whisper away.
Finally, she blinked, chewing her lip. “Technically, you don’t have a bed. Just a mattress.”
That definitely wasn’t a “no.” His pulse revved. Temperature spiked.
“Technically, we didn’t always wait to make it to a bed.” Memories of three months of amazing sex filled his mind, and he saw it echo in her eyes. They’d known each other over a year, dated for months before taking their relationship to the next level. An unforgettable level. They’d had sex in his truck, on a blanket under the stars, even locked in a bathroom at a party when they couldn’t wait . . .
Her throat moved in a slow swallow, her fingers twitched against his chest. Caressing. “You’re right about our relationship being full of . . . impulsiveness.”
“Suppose I was trying to win you back to my . . . mattress, not out of impulsiveness”—he paused, squeezing her hand—“but because we had something good. And even if there isn’t a future for us, I can’t seem to let go of the past. What would you say to that?”
He couldn’t deny how important her answer was to him—too much so.
“I would say I’m swayed.” She stepped closer, until her breasts pressed again him, her face tipped up toward his.
He slid an arm around her waist, and she didn’t protest or pull away, so he continued, “What if I moved my hand down your back?”
Sierra slid her hand over his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. “I would sigh.”
“You wouldn’t pull away?” He stroked along her spine, up and down, going farther every time. Higher. Lower.
A soft moan of encouragement ratcheted up the heat.
She arched to skim her lips against his, her breasts beading into tight points he felt right through their clothes. “Find out.”
His body throbbed in reaction. He stroked down her spine with slow deliberation that pulled a sigh from her. He palmed her just above her bottom and brought her flush against him.
“What if I kissed you?”
“What if you stopped asking me questions and just started doing?”
“That’s a very”—he skimmed his mouth along hers—“very good”—he kissed her lightly again—“question.”
He sealed his mouth to hers.
The taste and warmth of her seared through him until he was hard and aching in an instant. Sierra, it was always about Sierra. He’d thought of her the whole time he was overseas. But he didn’t want to think about those months now, or ever, actually.
He intended to live in the moment. And the moment was mighty damn amazing. His hands cupped her bottom, bringing her closer, fitting her curves to him in a way he remembered in vivid detail. Along with the taste of her mingling with the sweet tea she’d sipped at supper. He wanted to savor her after so long waiting and wondering if he would ever have this chance again.
But she pushed him toward the mattress. Not that she could budge him anywhere he didn’t want to go. He didn’t need much encouragement at all. The second the back of his legs bumped the bed, he allowed himself to fall, taking her with him. He hit the thick comforter, her body flush on top of his. A purr of approval breathed from her into him, igniting the heat to a frenzy.
The citrus scent of her was his drug of choice. He breathed deep, molding his hands to her curves and absorbing the feel of her. Hips. Waist. Unforgettable breasts. His mouth watered for a taste.
He tugged her layered tank tops over her head, and in the tangle of arms, she pulled at his T-shirt as well, pitching the wadded-up cotton aside. The sight of her creamy skin in a lacy yellow bra threatened to send him over the edge. Already, one strap drooped down her shoulder, the cup starting to fall away from the swell of her flesh. He arched up to take her in his mouth, tease and dampen the lace. She shuddered in response, so sensitive to the stroke of his tongue as he circled the taut peak. Her fingers fisted against his chest, her breath coming in soft pants while he teased and tasted.
Her head flung back and she urged him on, her hands roving him, stroking him, taking him in her hand and tempting, touch for touch. She tugged at his shorts and shimmied out of her jeans. With a growl, he rolled her onto her back, tucking her under him.
Her eyes were half open and dazed with a passion matched by the flush over her creamy skin. “Please say you have a condom.”
“I do”—thank God—“since the day after we kissed that first time after I got back.”
“You assumed a lot.”
“I hoped. Really hoped.” He levered off her and sprinted to the bathroom to get the box of condoms from under the sink. He couldn’t get back to her fast enough. He stepped into the room again just as she dropped her bra to the floor.
His fist tightened around the package, crimping the cardboard box.
A seductive smile spread over her face as she inched her matching yellow lace panties down, down, down, revealing the Shakespeare quote tattooed on her hip.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
And God, how he loved to make her sigh.
He kicked aside his boxers on his way to cover her, throbbing, aching to lose himself inside her again. She took the box from him, tore into a packet and sheathed him with bold deliberation. He settled on top of her, nudging at her core, seconds away from being . . .
Inside her.
The warmth and clamp of her body around him drew him deeper, and he couldn’t deny that this felt like the real homecoming. The one he’d been missing and dreaming about. She was . . . incredible. His.
A fierce hunger gripped him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, bringing him deeper still as she writhed her hips against him as he thrust. Need took hold, urging him to move faster, but then that could also be due to her voice in his ear, her hot breath on his neck.
He ducked his head to capture her mouth, hungry to connect on every level possible. Aching for her. Being with Sierra here tore down walls. Being with her narrowed the world to just the two of them, every nerve on fire to finish hard and fast. Other instincts shouted at him to make this last as long as possible, to draw out the pleasure and the connection because the thought of being without her again was damn near intolerable.
She scraped her fingernails down his back, the sheets rustling, tangling until he kicked aside the comforter. Restraint sent sweat dotting his brow as they moved, flesh against flesh. The ceiling fan overhead and air conditioner didn’t stand a chance competing against the rising fire inside him.
Her heels dug in deeper, her body tensing and clenching around him as she cried out her release. She slid her mouth from his and nipped his shoulder, her body bowing up into him. As much as he wanted to hurtle right into that release with her, he kept his eyes open, taking in every nuance of her orgasm rippling through her. So beautiful.
Only once she sagged back into the pillow, sated, did he allow himself to thrust to his own completion, the power of the release tearing through him after so long without sex—without her.
And the thought of never being with her again had his arms shaking until he collapsed on top of her. He rolled to her side and hauled her close, his face inhaling the citrus fresh scent of her hair so he didn’t have to look in her eyes.
So she wouldn’t see the need for her in his own.
* * *
MAKING LOVE WITH
Mike had been impulsive and probably not wise, but she refused to regret her decision.
They’d been moving toward this since he’d stepped off the plane just over a week ago. This welcome back moment was meant to be between them. Lounging in bed with him in post-sex bliss, while he played the guitar.
After this?
She didn’t know and refused to think about it right now since odds were, deeper thought could wreck the moment. So she just let herself relax into the warm tones of his music. The sex between them had been every bit as combustible as she remembered—and yes, as she feared, because that would make it tougher to resist him.
And she definitely hadn’t been resisting at all when they’d landed on the mattress. Or after when he’d made love to her again with his hands and mouth, bringing her toe-curling release over and over.
Like so many times in the past after they’d been together, Mike plucked out some melody on his guitar, humming softly. She lay on her stomach naked and listened, his voice stroking her senses as tangibly as his touch, even if there were no words. His tunes did all the communicating.
Some songs were familiar, fun hits. Other times he chose the more emotional, saying things in notes or lyrics that he would never talk about. But her favorites? When he made up silly songs if the mood needed lightening.
Right now, he was rhyming and rambling about crummy bachelor food in his refrigerator and how he was nothing but a nachos and bingo Romeo. All the more amusing since she knew he was an excellent cook, far better than her.
His voice stopped, even as his fingers continued in a riff. He narrowed his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
She shrugged, the sheet sliding along her skin. “Just reminiscing. I didn’t expect we would ever be together again this way.”
“Remind me why? Because right now all I can think of is doing it again.” He grinned roguishly, then frowned. “You’re not using this as an intro to leaving.”
“I didn’t say I was leaving . . .” She stroked her bare foot up his leg, the bristle of his manly thigh tickling her already tingling senses. In spite of her intentions to keep things low-key, she felt words itching to come out. God, why couldn’t she simply enjoy the moment? Instead, she had to blurt, “I’m just not sure how long we can stay this way before the world and old problems intrude.”
He shifted his hand from the guitar to her ankle, rubbing, then massaging. “Let’s leave the world out there a while longer.”
“How?” She sighed, flexing her foot. “And keep doing that. Please.”
“More than happy to comply.” He pressed his thumb along the arch of her foot. “In about twenty minutes I’ll be up for the ultimate distraction, but for now, let’s talk.”
“About?” Although she would discuss anything if he kept rubbing her feet and she didn’t have to face the outside world worries.
“Okay, you want to talk?” He looked around before meeting her eyes again. “Why did you paint this place the color of a John Deere tractor?”
She gasped, jerking her foot away as she sat up straight with the sheet clutched to her bare chest. “That’s . . . That’s just wrong. The walls are not the color of a tractor. That’s bright green. This is light green, like a peaceful garden.”
“Gardens are bright green . . .” His eyebrows pinched together as he tapped his temple. “They are
verdant
.”
“Verdant?” She giggled, grateful for a light moment when there was so much dark baggage piled up on their doorstep. “Really?”
He tut-tut-tutted. “You wound me. I worked my ass off on vocabulary while we were dating.” His hands went back to the guitar still in his lap and plucked, as he sang, “Crossword puzzles. Online Scrabble. Words with Friends . . .” Shaking his head, laughing, he propped his guitar against the wall. “I even went back and read some of the books I skipped in high school.”
She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on her crossed arms. “You did what?”
He reclined back on the stacked pillows, his shoulders broad and bronzed against white cotton bedding. “I brushed up on books I should have read in school. I had a habit of reading CliffsNotes and online summaries instead.”
“That’s an awesome endeavor, but what brought that on?”
“Making sure I understood your world, and yeah, maybe there was an ego issue over all your education and feeling your dad wanted more for you than a guy like me.”
She sat—stunned. “Mike, I’m, uh, not even sure how to react. You’re an intelligent man, successful in your career. Your strength is in computers, math and being a damn good soldier. My strength is a broad knowledge of some dead poets, which actually isn’t that marketable and makes me question who’s the smarter one right now.”
“Just hedging my bets to make sure you kept feeling that way.” He tugged her back against his chest. “Lime Jell-O green.”
She glanced at his face and knew him well enough to see he was putting an end to serious talk. They were back to nacho Romeo land. Hard to fault him for that when they were alike in that way.
She hugged him harder under the pretense of cuddling closer, taking in the scent of his soap and a hint of sweat as she spent her first night in the apartment she’d thought would be hers. “I think it’s the color of mint ice cream.”
“Okay, I can see that.” His voice vibrated against her ear. “Or if you want to go back to your garden theme, what about celery?”
She glanced up at him, thinking of him playing Words with Friends for her and him feeling her family didn’t approve of him . . . She forced a smile. “Celery colored? Better, but blah, no taste.”
His eyes lit with playful competitiveness. “Avocados? Pistachio pudding?”
“
Much
better.” She angled up to nip his bottom lip, letting desire sweep away more complicated emotions. “You sound hungry.”
“Ahhh . . . Then how about forbidden apples?” His hands roved up into her hair, his arousal stirring unmistakably against her thigh.
Her skin tingled in anticipation. “It hasn’t been twenty minutes.”
“Well, what do you know?” Mike tucked Sierra underneath him, his mouth hovering just over hers. “Time sure flies.”
Ten
L
ACEY HAD STARTED
drinking to help herself fall asleep after the sleep aids the doctor gave her didn’t work.
She’d soon realized it didn’t matter what she took or drank. Her insomnia wasn’t going away even if she took double the dose of the medicine in her hand. So she kept busy into the wee hours of the morning until her body gave out and slept somewhere for a few hours out of pure exhaustion.
Now here she was, still awake with that damn cuckoo clock chiming two in the morning.