“I lied.”
She stiffened, despite the enticing heat of his body that reached out and tried to lull her into submission. “I’m not going to bed with you again.”
His gaze swept their surroundings. “Just for the record, sugar, we’re in the kitchen.” A slow, sensuous grin slid across his handsome face. “And there isn’t a bed in sight.” And then he leaned down and slanted his mouth over hers.
He tasted just as good as she remembered.
Sweet.
Rich.
Reckless.
Yeah, right.
This was Dayne. Responsible, grown-up—safe.
Denial rushed through her as he ate at her, nibbling at her bottom lip, urging her to open up.
Pull away.
She wanted to, but then he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, drawing so hard that she felt the tug between her legs and suddenly she was eighteen all over again, and the only thing she could think of was getting closer.
Her lips parted and his tongue plunged deep to tangle with hers. Where her hands had meant to hold him back, they suddenly changed course, sliding up over the rippled expanse of his chest, his broad shoulders, to curl around the strong column of his neck. Her fingers dove into the silky hair at his nape and held on as heat sizzled through her. His body pressed into hers and he rocked his crotch against her. She felt him, huge and straining beneath his jeans. He rubbed against her and desire knifed through her.
Suddenly a kiss didn’t seem like nearly enough. She needed to get closer. To feel his bare skin against her own.
As if he sensed the need that gripped her, he dropped one hand to her waist. His fingertips played over her rib cage and circled the underside of her breast before flicking her nipple through the fabric of her blouse.
She ached to feel his hands on her bare skin, the rough texture feathering over her flesh, stirring her senses. She wanted his hands on her body, his erection filling her and drenching her senses.
He slid one button free. Then another. And another. Until her blouse fell open. Her heart pounded faster and her ears started to ring as his fingertips went to the clasp of her bra.
“Shit,” he murmured against her lips and she realized that it wasn’t her fierce reaction making her ears ring. It was his cell phone.
“I have to get that. I’m on call with this project—”
“Of course,” she blurted. Because he was Dayne Branson. Conscientious. Responsible. Safe. “I—I really need to get back to the Inn.”
“Wait—” he started, but she’d already ducked past him.
She clutched the edges of her shirt together, and then walked away as fast as her aching feet could carry her.
FORGET UNLEASHING her wild side. She’d gone off the deep end. A straight plunge into full-fledged crazy.
That’s what Dayne told himself as he climbed into his pickup and headed back to the office.
Sure, it sounded nice in theory. But the whole concept was for shit. They could never be just friends. The kiss had proven as much.
He quickly covered the short distance to the two-story building that housed Branson Construction. Margene had packed up hours ago and so the place sat dark and quiet. Dayne unlocked the front door and walked inside, flipping lights as he went. He plopped down behind his desk and booted up his computer. He needed to go over the work orders to make sure he had everything for tomorrow. Cabinets. Bathroom fixtures. Flooring.
The screen came up and Dayne tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him. He succeeded, too. For about five seconds.
Christ, he hadn’t meant to kiss her. Hell, he hadn’t anticipated seeing her at all. He’d been working to finish up today’s list and prepare for tomorrow’s workload. He’d been busy, focused, driving himself physically so that he didn’t have to think about the emotional crap going on his life.
The woman he’d loved, the one he’d planned to eventually marry, had chucked him like a pile of cow manure.
But then that very same woman had walked in and interrupted his work, and just like that, his focus had gone out the window. He’d meant to keep his mouth shut and hang back until she left, but then when she’d looked ready to cry at the sight of her roof—or lack of—he’d had the crazy urge to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay.
That they would be okay.
Desperation had rushed hot and potent through him, and he’d had to step up. To do something. To kiss her and prove to himself that it wasn’t the sex.
That they still had the chemistry. That he still had it.
He’d tasted her initial shock—not because he’d kissed her, but because he’d done it so well—and his pride had prickled.
He’d held back all these years and kept a tight leash on his libido because he’d wanted to help their relationship. To build a solid foundation for a nice little house that wouldn’t crumble during the first hailstorm. He hadn’t meant to morph into a complete dud.
He’d just wanted to avoid wasting twenty years of his life only to have it end because of his damned greedy dick. He hadn’t wanted to end up like his father. Alone. Lonely.
And all because of sex.
Yet here he was. Alone. Lonely.
And all because of sex.
Mediocre sex, a voice reminded him.
His pride burned and he turned from the computer. He hauled open the bottom drawer of his desk and rummaged inside for the small slip of paper that sat stashed behind the petty cash box and several ledger books.
He stared at the document. The edges were worn, the ink faded, but there was no mistaking the words Eviction Notice printed across the top. He’d kept the damned thing as a reminder. To keep himself from screwing up. From losing everything.
It had always served its purpose.
Until now.
He dropped the thing on the corner of his desk and glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. Late by his standards.
Today’s standards.
Once upon a time, he would have just been getting ready to go out. To boot-scoot his way across the Barnyard and have a good time. At one time, the local honky-tonk had been Dayne’s favorite place in the world, second only to the local rodeo arena. It was the last place he wanted to be now.
He wanted to be with Cheryl Anne.
To be inside of her.
She’d wanted it too. She’d wanted him. But she’d obviously moved on to bigger and better things. Several of them to be exact, if the size of that SEXTOYS.COM box had been any indication.
You’ve been replaced, buddy.
“Like hell,” he growled. If he wanted to get Cheryl Anne back, he needed to show her that there was no substitute for a real man.
A real good man.
He turned toward his computer and pulled up tomorrow’s work schedule. Forget Romancing the Room. It was time to break ground on Project Sex.
Starting right now.
6
DAYNE BRANSON was nowhere in sight.
Cheryl reminded herself that she was thankful for that as she walked around the kitchen and noted the new cabinets and flooring. Even though the stainless-steel appliances had yet to be installed and still sat packaged in the far corner, the room looked a lot more put together than the last time she’d seen it.
Except for the roof, that is.
The overhead opening had been framed with two-by-fours, the edges taped and ready for the new solar window that sat propped against the far wall. She ran her hand over the granite countertop, the surface smooth and clean.
Hard. Cold.
She ditched the thoughts and walked into the living room. The walls had been painted a vibrant pink, so different from the crisp vanilla she’d seen in the latest issue of House & Home. But even so, it was nice. Sort of. The old hardwood floors had been polished to a fine gleam. She headed into the bedroom and saw more of the same. Freshly painted walls and polished floors, but nothing else. No furniture or wall decorations.
The bathroom, however,
had been completely finished.
Shock bolted through her, along with a surge of delight as she stood in the doorway and stared at what had once been her dated powder room. The old tub and shower had been ripped out, along with the sink and countertops. A wall had been knocked out, turning the bathroom from moderate into gigantic. A whirlpool tub filled one corner and a gray marbled vanity occupied the full length of the opposite wall. Mirrored tiles ran from floor-to-ceiling, making the space seem even larger.
Her gaze went to the focal point of the room—a huge, triangular shower area in the far corner. It was one of those walk-in types with no shower door, just a small step down and lots of tile. There were two shower heads on either wall and a fancy swirl knob with a digital temperature read-out on the shiny handle.
Her sandals click-clicked on the tile and the sound bounced off the walls around her as she crossed the room. She stepped down into the shower and trailed a hand along the tiled wall. Her fingers played over the knob and a surge of excitement went through her. A vision pushed into her head and she saw herself standing under the warm stream of water.
One second she was alone, and the next, she saw large, strong hands reaching for her, trailing over her slick flesh. Dayne ducked his head beneath the spray and water sluiced over his deeply tanned skin. His body pressed against hers and—
Water blasted from the shower heads and killed the dangerous thought. She squealed and groped for the handle. Before she could twist, the water stopped and that’s when she realized that the sudden spray hadn’t been caused by the knob.
“What the hell?”
The drip, drip echoed in her head, along with a slow, warm rumble of laughter that slid into her ears and sent electricity skimming along her nerve endings.
She stiffened against the delicious sensation that rushed through her body, shoved the wet hair from her eyes and turned to find Dayne looking every bit as hot as he’d looked in her vision only seconds before. He wasn’t naked, however, and he didn’t look ready to gobble her whole.
Rather, he stood in the bathroom doorway, a grin on his handsome face and a remote control in his hand. Excitement rushed through her and pumped her heart that much faster.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she sputtered, wiping a hand over her face.
He held up the remote and amusement glittered in his aqua eyes. “Making you wet.” The words were ripe with sexual innuendo and her stomach hollowed out.
A feeling she’d had many times where he was concerned. At the same time, there was something different…
She blinked and swept her gaze over him, and suddenly everything crystallized. Gone were his usual polo shirt and crisp Wranglers. His white T-shirt was soft and worn, the black lettering—Cowboys Do It Better—faded from too many washings. Soft, frayed denim jeans cupped his crotch and his strong, sinewy thighs. His boots were brown and comfortable, the toes scuffed from toeing the clutch on his motorcycle—
Wait a second.
He didn’t have a motorcycle. He’d given up the bike just like he’d given up calf-roping and road trips and anything spontaneous. Even so, she couldn’t deny the familiar boots.
Or the hat.
Her gaze shifted to the straw Resistol tipped low on his forehead, the brim worn and curved in the front. Familiar sponsor patches dotted the outside.
Surprise bolted through her, followed by a rush of Oh, no. Because the last thing, the very last thing she needed was to be reminded of the man he’d once been, and what they’d shared that night down by the river.
What they’d yet to share since.
She tried to keep her voice calm and indifferent. “What’s up with you?” she asked as he stepped toward her.
“About eight inches thanks to the view.” His voice was deep and teasing and her heartbeat kicked up a notch.
His gaze zeroed in on her chest and she glanced down to see the transparent material of her pink tank top molded to her modest breasts. Her nipples were perfectly outlined, the tips hard and ripe and throbbing.
“If you peel that shirt off, we can make it nine,” he added, closing the distance between them.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She tried to cross her arms over her chest, but he reached out, one strong hand closing over her forearm.
“Don’t.” His smile faded and his eyes grew brighter. “I want to look at you.”
“I don’t…” she started, but suddenly, she couldn’t seem to find any words. She swallowed and tried to ignore the heat of his fingertips that sank into her flesh, warming her chilled body from the inside out.
“You feel soft. And slick.” His gaze darkened. “Do you remember the first time I touched you? You were wet like this.”
The images rushed at her and just like that, she was standing on the river bank, the moonlight spilling down around her.
“And naked.”
“I’m not naked now,” she managed.
“Not yet.” He reached for her and her heart pounded with uncontrollable excitement.
His hand went to the shower knob. The water sprayed from all angles, instantly warm and stirring as it rushed over her upper body.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“This, darlin’, is the best idea I’ve had in a long time.” The water doused him, too, trailing in rivers over his head and down the handsome planes of his face, his corded neck, to soak his clothes. His T-shirt clung to his body, outlining the hard surface of his chest and his dark nipples. She swallowed against the sudden urge to dip her head and suckle him through the material.
As if he’d read her mind, he dropped his attention to her breasts. Before she could open her mouth to protest, he pulled her up against him.
His arms encircled her. His hands spanned her waist, then cupped her buttocks to pull her flush against his erection. He lifted her, urging her legs up on either side of him.
He slid her up the hard ridge of his groin until he was eye-level with her chest. Hot breath puffed against one throbbing nipple, then his tongue flicked out. Heat licked the tip of the sensitive peak and a burst of electricity sizzled to her brain. She grasped at his shoulders, holding on as he sucked her through the transparent material.
He drew on her and her legs quivered. The pressure of his mouth increased, his tongue stroking her, his lips suckling. Each pull on her nipple sent an echoing thrum between her legs. She clutched at his shoulders, wanting more.
He held her steady, his large hands scorching her through the denim of her jeans, nestling her crotch against his belly. Then he moved her, brushing her sex up and down the muscled ridges of his abdomen before he let her slide all the way to her feet. Her legs trembled as he pulled the jeans off her. Her lacy thong followed. Rough fingertips brushed here and there and her heart pounded that much faster. He urged her back against the smooth marble tile and dropped to his knees in front of her.
Before she knew what was happening, he dipped his head and placed a kiss on the sensitive crease where leg met thigh, and her body temperature went through the roof. Her memories stirred and she felt the cool grass at her back, the moon hanging full and bright overhead, the young man between her legs.
They were all grown up now, she tried to remind herself. But he felt so good and it had been so long. Too long.
He parted her legs, fingertips sliding over the soft skin of her thighs, up and around until his large hands cupped her buttocks. He drew her to him, lifting one of her legs and hooking it up over his shoulder. He rasped her clitoris with his thumb, just a casual flick, but it felt more like a lightning bolt. Her body zapped to awareness, her head fell back and her back arched.
He stroked her, sliding his rough fingers over the slick folds before plunging one deep inside her. The pleasure almost shattered her, and she fought to drag air into her lungs. He stroked and explored until she writhed and whimpered and then his lips replaced his hands.
He’d put his mouth on her many times over the years, but none had ever rivaled that first time
down by the river.
Until now.
There was none of his usual tight restraint. No subtle kisses and careful nibbles. At the same time, there was just something about him…
He was still holding back. Still thinking.
She braced her hands on his shoulders to push him away, but then he sucked her clit into his mouth and her knees went weak. She clutched at his head. Her fingers threaded through the dark silk of his hair, holding him closer, urging him on all the while her mind screamed for him to stop.
For her to stop.
She was the culprit here. Weak. Gullible. She’d careened down this path many times before and the end result was always the same. Disappointment with a great big fat D. She knew that.
But it had been ten years. Ten long years spent wanting and fantasizing and hoping for a repeat of their first night together.
She spread her legs wider and held him closer.
He tasted and savored, his tongue stroking, plunging, driving her mindless until she came apart in his arms. Her orgasm was hot and fierce, slamming over her and sucking her down for a long, breathless moment.
When she finally managed to float back to reality, he stood in front of her, staring at her. Her heart drummed and her body ached and she longed for him to press her up against the wall and start kissing her. Wildly. Passionately.
No holding back. No second thoughts. Nothing but the two of them, feeling and touching and working each other into a frenzy.
His gaze gleamed hot and bright with passion, but he didn’t act on it. Rather, he stared at her, into her, as if searching for something.
“So?” he finally said.
“So…?” She licked her lips again.
“Tell me that wasn’t great.” The words held a hint of challenge and she knew then and there that while he’d acted out of character, he hadn’t been merely acting. He’d planned everything tonight. “That it was stale.”
“It wasn’t.” She licked her lips again and fought for her voice. “It was…” She swallowed. “It was nice.” Just as the surprise registered in his gaze, she eased from in front of him and bent to retrieve her sopping tank top.
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