Fall for You

by Angela Verdenius

“And you told them?”

  Well, truthfully, Scott had been the first but-

  “That idiot!” She’d obviously guessed from his silence. “Bloody Scott!”

  Kirk angled his head slightly. “They caught us at a weak moment, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

  “You moron!” Shoving both hands back on her hips, she blew a lock of hair out of her face.

  Which was cute. He had to fight down the grin.

  “So now what?” she demanded.

  “Is there a ‘now what’?”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “I’m not aware anything is going to happen.”

  “What if Scott goes off half-cocked and ends up in gaol for murdering Hal?”

  “Kitten, if Scott was going to do that, he’d have done it by now. He’s not going to do anything.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Kirk looked steadily at her.

  After several seconds she glanced away, folding her arms beneath her breasts, the flush still in her cheeks. But the anger was seeping from her, the indignation fading.

  “Molly,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  “Come and sit down.”

  “No need.” She shifted a little.

  “Molly.” He held out his hand.

  She eyed his proffered hand out of the corner of her eye. But she didn’t walk away, so that was a good sign. Kirk did what he did best, kept his hand out, not coercing her, simply waiting.

  With a sudden sigh, she looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

  He waggled his fingers.

  “Goldie…”

  That was an even better sign. He smiled slightly up at her and kept his hand out.

  With another sigh, she moved forward, taking his hand.

  Just what he wanted. Kirk manoeuvred her easily, spreading his thighs further and pulling her down to sit on the step just below him between his thighs.

  “Kirk,” she began, startled and stiffening.

  “Settle, kitten.” Picking up the orange juice, he moved his arm over her shoulder and placed it in her hand. “Have a drink.”

  “But-”

  “After that tirade, I’m sure you’re thirsty. Drink.”

  She stared at the glass he held before taking it from him and swallowing a mouthful, obviously decided it was welcome after all and took another. She passed it back into his waiting hand. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He placed the glass back on the veranda.

  Molly still sat stiffly before him, back straight. It didn’t take a genius to see that she was unsure what to do.

  Kirk curved partially over her, resting his forearms on his knees, shifting easily so that his cheek was close to her’s, her shoulders touching his chest. Luckily he was tall enough to do it without contorting himself.

  “I don’t think this is a good position,” Molly muttered.

  The soft skin of her cheek brushed against his. “It’s perfect.” Inhaling her scent, he looked out at the yard. “You’re so tense, just relax. There’s nothing here to hurt you, nothing you have to be guarded against.”

  “There’s you.”

  Talk about being blunt. He grinned. “There is. But I’m not going to hurt you, and you don’t need to be guarded against me.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  Hands clasped in her lap, keeping her body stiff, she looked out at the yard.

  Kirk didn’t push her, just breathed in and out steadily, soaking in the warmth of her body, the scent of her skin, the silkiness of her hair where it tickled along his neck.

  She didn’t struggle, didn’t attempt to pull away. He wouldn’t have stopped her, would never have forced her, and was pleased that she stayed with him. She might not have realised it, but it was a positive sign for their relationship.

  Not that he’d tell her that, she’d run like a wild dingo for the hills.

  “I love it here.” He broke the silence quietly. “My Mum left this place to me when she died.”

  “I’m sorry,” Molly replied immediately. “Was it long ago?”

  “Six years.”

  “What about your Dad?”

  “Dad died when I was thirteen.”

  “You grew up here?” She relaxed slightly.

  “Nope. Grew up in the city.” Kirk watched Henny enthusiastically scratch up some dirt. “When I joined the cops, Mum came back here and bought this place. She was born here and left when she met Dad.”

  “Gully’s Fall is a great place.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He nodded, feeling the slight brush of her silky cheek against his. He barely repressed the urge to settle his lips against her cheek. Patience.

  “So, do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “Only child, I’m afraid. Probably a bit spoiled.”

  “Used to getting your own way? How surprising.”

  “Actually, Mum made me work for everything I got. If I wanted something, I had to pay for some of it and she’d pay for some. The only things I got for nothing were on my birthday and Christmas.”

  “Tough love?”

  “Far from it. Mum made me realise early in life that what you work for you appreciate more. It also made me realise what was worth working for, and what I could do without.”

  Molly was silent for a few seconds before she nodded. “Okay. I get that.”

  When she fell silent, he probed gently, “And you? What of your parents?”

  “Mum and Dad live in Victoria.”

  “A long way away. Do you see them often?”

  “I try for once a year, depends on my work.”

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  Unconsciously, Molly settled back against him a little more, the stiffness slipping from her body. “One sister married with two kids.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Older.”

  “Ah. So you’re the baby.” Enjoying the feel of her relaxing against him, Kirk took her hands and laid them on his thighs, resting his own atop them.

  She didn’t seem to notice. “The big baby.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Karen is as thin as a whip, like my parents. I’m the chubby one.”

  “So you got all the curves.”

  “Chub, yeah.”

  “Curves.”

  “Chubs, curves. Whatever.”

  “Curves,” he stated firmly. “You have curves. Men like curves.”

  “Oh, really?” The irony in her voice wasn’t hard to miss.

  “Real men like curves,” he added.

  “You’re sweet, Goldie, but it’s okay. I know what I am.”

  Turning his head, he studied her. So close, his lips just centimetres from her cheek, he could see every line of her profile from that smooth forehead to her tip-tilted nose, the lush lips and that small, stubborn chin. The warmth from her body seeped into his from where she rested against him, her scent filling him with every breath he took.

  “No,” he said softly, “I don’t think you do know what you are.”

  Those long eyelashes swept down over her eyes before lifting once more, a small frown creasing her forehead. “I don’t need lies. I’m okay with it.”

  “I’m not.”

  She sighed. “Goldie-”

  “You’re the prettiest woman in this town, Molly.”

  She laughed.

  “Seriously.” He slid his hands up her arms slowly, leaning in that little bit to brush his lips against her cheek. “You’re cute and you don’t even know it. You’re fiercely independent, funny, stubborn, and loveable. You make me laugh, make me smile, make me eager to see your face every day.”

  She was so still, almost holding her breath, but she didn’t pull away. Her fingers on his thighs flexed before flattening, her palms rubbing a fraction on the material of his jeans, but he could feel it as though she touched his bare flesh.

  Heat pooled low in his belly.

  Lips still lightly touchin
g her cheek, he moved a little, feeling the silk of her skin, feeling the shiver that went through her.

  But she didn’t pull away.

  “I see your body, Molly, and I see an abundance of curves that just plain does my head in.”

  For a second he thought he’d moved too fast, that she’d reject him and leap up, but then hesitantly, she turned her head to look at him, those beautiful green eyes questioning, a hint of yearning, a touch of uncertainty.

  Jesus, she really didn’t know what she did to him, could actually doubt it. But she wanted it, he could see it, see it in the way she met his gaze, the way she tightened her fingers on his jean-clad thighs. The way she trembled just a little when he rubbed his thumbs along the inner sides of her arms.

  His voice lowered, grew huskier. “I want to take off those pretty little dresses you wear nice and slow, undo one button at a time, slide a zip down, simply push them over those shoulders and let them fall off you. Have you naked.” His mouth slid to the corner of her lush lips, flicked it lightly with his tongue. “Have me naked. Both naked, Molly. You and me. I want all those lush curves pressed against me, I want to explore you, touch you, taste you.” Lifting his head, he looked at her. “Bury myself deep inside you.”

  The flash of answering heat in her eyes wasn’t his imagination, nor was the way she looked at his mouth in turn. Definitely no imagination in the way she lifted her arm, her hand curling around his nape, fingers cool against his suddenly heated skin.

  It didn’t take any persuasion at all. Kirk dipped his head and pressed his lips against her’s.

  Sweet Jesus, those lips were soft, full, moist. So moist. So willing, trembling slightly beneath his gently questing mouth before opening just a little, enough for him to get a taste of the sweetness within, the heat of her breath that spilled into him.

  Not enough. Never enough.

  He deepened the kiss, nudged her lips open more, ready to back off if she suddenly pushed away.

  Molly didn’t. Her lips parted, her hand tightening at his nape as she pushed up into his kiss in a move so decadent it shook him to the core.

  Christ, how had she hidden this heat from any red-blooded man who met her? Her kiss was hot, hungry, almost demanding. Gladly he gave her what she wanted, meeting her hunger with his own, plundering the depths of her mouth, sweeping in to take her essence, her taste bursting upon his tongue, rich and hot.

  Laying one hand on her belly, he traced upward to cup one rounded breast, palming it, curving his hand over the generous mound, the dress material soft under his skin, a slight resistance that was her bra cup.

  In the back of his mind he recognised it, assessed it, knew that such abundant curves would need firm control.

  A soft moan slipped from her, filling his questing mouth, and he rubbed his palm against her breast, rewarded instantly by her arching into his touch.

  God, she was so responsive.

  He wanted more.

  Lifting his head slightly, he looked down into her face. Cheeks flushed, eyes closed, lips swollen from his kiss. His own blood pooled hotly deep in his groin, spreading out in a flush of heat at the sight of her throat arched back, beckoning to him to taste it, to run his lips along the elegant length.

  Placing his lips lightly on her silken cheek, he inhaled deeply. Strawberry from her shampoo, fragrance from her soap, a light floral from her perfume. So pretty, so sweet, so fitting for a woman who dressed so femininely.

  And such a contradiction. Sweetness and heat, an air of innocence and yet secretly desirous. A contradiction that delighted him to his soul.

  Dragging his lips lightly along her cheek, he reached her chin, nipped it lightly, smiled inwardly at the catch in her breath right before she dropped her head back onto his shoulder to allow him access to her throat.

  As he licked the curve of her chin to her throat, he slid his hand to the low cut bodice of her dress, trailing his fingertips along the silken skin before dipping his finger in the valley between her breasts.

  Molly arched slightly, seeking his touch.

  God, was anything more beautiful than a woman who responded to a man’s touch? Anything more desirable than Molly craving his touch?

  Hell, no.

  And he craved her’s just as much, craved the feel of her around him, the hot secrets of her body welcoming him in deep.

  Her pulse beat frantically beneath his mouth and he laved it lightly, scraping his tongue slowly, erotically, against the fragile proof of her growing arousal.

  People might think response was only in the hardening of a nipple, the stiffening of a shaft, the undulation of a body against you, but there were other things, things he enjoyed discovering in a lover - the erratic pulse, the dilation of pupils, the soft moans, the moist heat from a woman’s secrets. All little things that betrayed almost coyly, as sweetly as knowing what turned his lover on, what made them moan, what made their body weep for him.

  Lifting his mouth, he breathed softly on the damp skin, feeling the little shiver than went through her.

  In steady moves, he flicked open the little buttons that ran down the front of her bodice, revealing more of her skin, baring those magnificent breasts to his heated gaze, the heat ratcheting up a notch more when he saw the red silk and black lace that cupped her breasts so lovingly.

  The woman in his arms was amazing. She dressed so femininely, almost sweetly, a touch old-fashioned, yet beneath the innocent, almost girly, dress was a bra that was sin itself. Low cut, framing the mounds firmly, not letting the luscious flesh escape the strict confines, yet it did so in colours that reflected her inner desires, the red hugging, the black lace shielding like a lover’s fingers spread across the redness.

  He wanted what the bra had, intimate contact. Wanted to see, to touch, to caress the lush mounds that beckoned so coyly yet naughtily at him. God, the cups barely covered her nipples, the coyness a tantalizing mixture that had a pulse beating deep in his groin.

  His shaft was hard, pressing against the zip of his pants.

  More, he wanted more, needed more. Was going to have more.

  Her fingers twined in several strands of his hair, a gentle tug before she eased off and relaxed against him, still arching, offering herself to him.

  Heat beat low, but the tenderness he felt for her welled up, spilling through him, the utter trust she placed in him at that moment telling him so much more about her.

  He wanted to love her, please her, give her satisfaction.

  Make her scream his name.

  God yes.

  Lowering his head, he fastened his mouth above the pulse beating so frantically in her throat and sucked gently, drawing carefully in a rhythmic motion that had her hand still braced on his jean-clad thigh gripping hard, nails digging in but unable to penetrate the thick fabric.

  To say his shaft hurt was putting it mildly. It ached, pulsed almost angrily against the zipper, demanded release to seek satisfaction, but he ruthlessly ignored it, intent on seeing to her satisfaction first.

  The bra had a front opening, easily unsnapped, the lush mounds of her breasts falling free.

  So bloody beautiful. Heavy, rounded, topped with pink nipples that begged for his mouth. Flicking his thumb across one nipple, he felt it harden, felt it peak, rolled it gently between his fingers.

  Molly gripped his thigh harder with one hand, the hand she had at his nape falling to land on his other thigh, both hands now bracing.

  So responsive, so wanton almost, lying back against him so trustingly and allowing him to kiss and caress her, to discover her secrets.

  There were more secrets, though, secrets that he wanted to learn now.

  His heart pounded low and hard, almost a rhythm that matched the pulse in her throat yet he maintained control, kept rein on his passion, concentrated on the woman in his arms as he explored her.

  Playing his thumb lightly over the nipple begging for his attention, he trailed his other hand down her belly, lingered in the tender join of her hip to her
thigh before smoothing down to her knee, slipping beneath the skirt of her dress to lay flat against her leg before trailing upwards, fingertips scraping lightly along her thigh, shifting higher beneath the sheltering skirt.

  When he neared the apex of her thighs, he could feel the heat.

  And he could feel her grow still.

  Removing his mouth from her throat, he lifted his head back enough to look into her eyes.

  Dark green pools of desire looked back at him, but there was a slight uncertainty, too. Yet she waited, watching him for a reaction on his part.

  It was an odd sensation, yet it brought forward his protective instinct, making him lower his head until his lips barely grazed her’s. “Trust me.” He breathed his words into her mouth. “Trust me, Molly.”

  Then he trailed his fingers up higher, watching her pupils dilate even more until only a thin rim of green edged the blackness. He found her, fingers pressing lightly against the material sheltering her secrets from him, feeling the dampness that was proof of her body readying itself for him.

  God, that was heady, hitting him low, pulling forth a masculine satisfaction that culminated in his blood pooling hotly, hedonistically, low in the pit of his stomach before surging into his thickening shaft.

  When he scraped his nails along the lacy material, pressed lightly against the flesh beneath, she moaned, lashes falling over her eyes, leaning back into him.

  Giving herself to him.

  God, it was almost enough to make him rip off her panties, shove his jeans down, and drag her up to straddle his thighs while he shoved deep inside her.

  But not yet. Not now. First, he had her to see to, to satisfy. And not just because she trusted him but because that’s what he wanted for her. She would always come first.

  Upward he slid his fingers, keeping the pressure of his fingertips light yet firm, rewarded by her shiver, the way her fingers dug into his thighs. Higher, up over her mound, higher to the waistband of her panties and then he edged his fingers beneath it, sliding his hand further down.

  Now he felt the curls protecting her mound against his fingers, the first moistness dampening his fingertips as he slid lower, enjoying the feel of the curls and the growing heat beyond, drawing his touch unerringly.

  Molly’s head pressed back against his shoulder, her cheek against his as he rested his chin on her shoulder and watched the movement of his hand beneath the material that hid it from view.