Every Girl's Secret Fantasy

by Robyn Grady

  How would the rest of him taste?

  His hand slid from the back of her neck down her spine, until his thumb found and rubbed that low, sensitive dip. Swept further away, she cupped his jaw and pressed her sensitive breasts against his chest. As the kiss deepened more he eased her back and onto the blanket, tangled in each other’s limbs. His hand trailed down the outside of her smooth leg, then back up, towing material along in its wake.

  Her fingers flexed through his hair, urging him closer as she arched up. Blistering magic raced through her veins. There’d never been a sensation like it—brilliant tingling waves of hundred-proof pleasure sparking to hot pulsing life.

  The iron of his hand scorched a path over her waist, settling on her hip, kneading till his fingers worked their way beneath her dress.

  A low, sure voice hummed at her ear. “I knew you’d feel like this…soft and hot and heavenly.” His velvet tongue tickled a lobe. “I want you, Phoebe…I want you more than ever.”

  Phoebe trembled out a sigh. Oh, Lord, she wanted him too. She’d been consumed by a fire that could never get enough of his fuel. Never enough of his heat and this hunger. When he tasted the hollow at her throat an almost painful longing flooded her. Breathless, she dragged his mouth back up to hers, and as he devoured her again she reached around, prying the shirt from his belt and up over that wide, muscular back.

  Feeling reckless, yet in control, she flipped over until he lay on his back and she lay squarely on top, her thighs pressed over his hips. But when she tossed back the hair hanging in her eyes her gaze caught on a spot a few feet away. On her tree…on its trunk…the etching she’d left there so long ago.

  In a blinding flash she remembered the day she’d carved that heart and the many times she’d touched it those first few years. She thought of her shiny penknife, then of her faded childhood, and how once she’d dreamed of finding not Mr Right Now but Prince Charming—a dedicated family man who would protect her and always be there for her, the way her mother and father had not.

  That was so long ago, but her chest still squeezed thinking of it now, and as a wind from the south blew over her back a familiar frosty cold soaked into her heart. Her stomach muscles gripped, and much of the beautiful warmth Pace had brought out in her was in an instant lost.

  Biting her lip, she rolled away.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, avoiding his gaze. “I can’t do this.”

  At least not here. Not in this town. Not near this tree.

  Pace pushed up onto his elbows. “What’s wrong?”

  Heat was returning—not to her blood but to her cheeks. He would never understand. She should never have brought him here. Now she wished she’d never come back. If it weren’t for Meg, she wouldn’t have.

  His warm hand covered hers. “Phoebe?”

  She drove out a breath and, feeling empty, looked around. “It’s this place.”

  “I thought you liked this spot.”

  “I do. I did.”

  He coughed out a laugh. “I’m confused.”

  Her throat thick, she held her brow, then pushed up to her feet. Of course he was confused. She was being a yo-yo. Whether he understood or not, she owed him an explanation.

  “In a small town,” she began, “scandals die hard, and some folk believe apples don’t fall far from the tree.” When he cocked his head, she made it more clear. “There were people waiting for me to turn out like my mother—to fall pregnant, unmarried, then throw my life away chasing rainbows I’d never catch. The kids I went to school with were fine,” she said, “but some parents didn’t want their girls mixing with my kind.”

  Illegitimate.

  She’d been determined to somehow change the perception people had of her. Change the label she’d inherited but hadn’t earned. At fourteen, when her girlfriends had been watching their weight and experimenting with hair dye and boys, she’d chopped her hair short and hid her developing figure in overalls. Just to prove it to Tyler’s Stream, she hadn’t so much as kissed a boy until she’d moved away.

  She crossed to the tree trunk and pointed out the worn carved heart and her initials.

  “You did that?” he asked.

  Nodding, she leaned back against the trunk. “I know it sounds silly, but I feel as if the little girl I used to be is looking on and she’s disappointed. She wasn’t going to let anyone but the man she’d love for ever kiss her. Fairytale stuff, I know…” She set her jaw and growled. “I wish I’d been born a boy.”

  “Because boys don’t get pregnant? Not every man is like your father, Phoebe.”

  “You, for instance?”

  She cringed at the acid in her tone. This wasn’t Pace’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s…except perhaps her mother’s.

  “Yeah. Right,” he said. “I’m so slick I managed to seduce you the first time we met.”

  She didn’t smile at his joke. Who was he trying to fool? “The night we met there must have been at least a dozen women hanging off your every word. The next time I saw you there were even more. They were like ants on a sugar bowl. You could’ve had your pick.”

  His voice deepened. “But I’m not with any of them. I’m with you.”

  He pushed to his feet and came close. After combing some hair back from her temple, he gently held her cheek. She thought he was going to kiss her again, and she was torn between desperately wanting him to and asking whether he’d listened to anything she’d said.

  And then he did kiss her…tenderly…on her brow.

  “It’s been a big day,” he said. “We’d better head back.”

  The breath left her body as her stomach sank. No one in the world could know her internal tug of war. She wanted to cast away all her doubts and experience everything she and Pace could share together. On the other hand, after today, she understood as she’d never understood before that she didn’t want to give too much of herself—the way her mother had given way too much to that man.

  But she wasn’t fourteen any more. She was an adult who could look after herself. She should be able to rationalise those feelings. Sort them out and get on with it.

  “I’m sorry—” she began, not really knowing what else to say.

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “Come on. If we hurry, we can get back on the road before sunset.”

  He turned away to repack the hamper.

  Phoebe watched, sick at heart, knowing precisely what he was thinking: that she was a nut. That Steve was right. She was a big fat dud.

  As a young girl she’d wanted to find Prince Charming. When she was a teenager she’d been determined to stay away from men; she didn’t want to know about emotions that might blind her to responsibility and common sense. Later she’d decided she only needed to keep clear of the wrong kind of man—love ’em and leave ’em types like her father. But recently…

  Well, recently there’d been the list.

  Find Mr Right Now. The guy with the magic touch.

  But she was putting too much pressure on herself to make that happen. Perhaps she’d held back too much for too long? Maybe she ought to simply let it go and not dwell too much on being…incomplete?

  She watched Pace, the way he moved with such animalistic grace—so fluid and hypnotic, even while doing something as banal as folding a blanket—and, no matter the demons knocking in her brain, she simply couldn’t accept it. With Pace she knew she’d feel everything a woman was supposed to. The sparks, the fire, the furious euphoric release.

  She wasn’t talking about something as basic as an orgasm. She wanted to know about the genius of two people joining who connected on every intimate level in every intimate way. About a person’s soul reaching a burning pinnacle and being reduced to ashes a heartbeat before it was reborn into something close to profound. An emotion, an experience, that could never be threatened or belittled or taken away even if the relationship wasn’t meant to last for ever. She wanted to know she could feel that whole.

  She couldn’t let th
at go.

  She had something to prove—not to Pace or to Steve or to the Tyler’s Steam prudes of her childhood. What she had to prove she’d prove to herself. And, make no mistake, despite what had just happened, barring nothing, she’d prove it tonight.

  From Phoebe’s front door, Pace searched the endless plain. He coiled some fingers into his mouth and hurled out a long, loud whistle, then, straining to hear, waited for a response.

  Where the hell was that dog?

  After arriving back from their walk fifteen minutes earlier, Phoebe had assured him that Hannie would return soon enough. Then she’d set about unpacking the hamper, insisting he relax and that she’d do it herself.

  She seemed affable enough, but…distracted. He couldn’t blame her. What he’d learned this afternoon changed everything. He’d hoped to stay the night, but that was no longer on the cards. He still wanted her, nothing could change that, but from this point on it was advance in first gear all the way.

  She’d had it tough as a kid. Phoebe didn’t want to end up like her broken-hearted mother and so, if he had it right, she found it difficult to trust—herself or anyone else in that situation—and truly let go.

  But she wanted to. That list at her apartment proved it. Still, nothing was going to happen tonight.

  “I’ll scout around,” he suggested. “Hannie might be lost.”

  Phoebe flung the teatowel over her shoulder. “He’ll be back soon. Take a seat while I finish up.”

  She bent forward from the hips, rearranging the crockery to fit the cups back in. His gaze followed her movements while she worked. As her rear in that white flowing dress tipped one way and then the other the length behind his zipper grew. There wasn’t a man in existence who desired a woman more than he desired her at this moment. What a time to want to play Galahad.

  From the shadowed doorway, he watched as she straightened. After stretching her back like a world-weary cat, she rummaged around in a drawer and found a rubber band. Holding the band between her teeth, she set about finger-combing her long silky hair up into a ponytail.

  Beneath the bodice of the white dress her breasts bobbed as her fingers worked her hair higher and higher. He imagined how rosy the tips would be, how hot and delicious they’d feel and taste beneath his tongue. Between his teeth.

  His erection throbbed and, uncomfortable, he rearranged his feet.

  It was all he could do not to stride over, bring her into his arms, plunder her mouth with his and grip her palm over one very volatile, very hard place. Would she shriek back in horror, or melt like butter on a red-hot stove?

  She stopped, frowned. When she darted a look his way and smiled, that rubber band still in her mouth and arms holding up all that hair, his stomach kicked with want and his gaze slid away.

  Get it together, Davis. She might be the sexiest female on the planet, but he’d vowed to step back. If he couldn’t do that, then he needed to step out.

  Driving down a breath, he hooked a thumb towards the fields outside. “I’m going to find that dog.”

  “No.”

  Already heading out, he pulled up. Having dropped her hair, Phoebe was crossing the room to join him in the doorway. She slipped the rubber band over her wrist and searched a landscape patterned with deepening shades of purple and grey.

  “When he’s out playing,” she said, “Hannie won’t come even when I call. We’ll just have to wait. I’ll put the lights out too, except for the lamp. That should help.”

  “How?”

  “If the lights are on he’ll think there’s still time to run around. Lights out, he’ll race back, afraid to be left behind.”

  Pace rubbed his chin. Oddly enough, it made sense.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Holding you up like this. Especially…” Her gaze edged away. “Especially after what happened this afternoon.”

  An image of him holding her, kissing her passionately under that tree, gripped his imagination, and an even more dangerous heat flooded his veins.

  “I want you to know—in case you didn’t…” she smiled almost shyly “…I like the way you kiss.”

  He pressed his back against the jamb and groaned in his throat. She wasn’t making this easy.

  “Thanks,” he said tightly. “Ditto.”

  She looked out, surveying the view again.

  “Someone on the show last week explained a good kiss as ‘the elixir of life’. But a recent report I read for research talks of kisses only in terms of foreplay.”

  He crossed and fastened his arms over his fast-beating heart. Foreplay was such an evocative word—particularly in the state he was in.

  “On one of the first shows we did,” she continued, “a contestant said she believed it all begins and ends with a kiss.” She wound the rubber band off her wrist, set it between her teeth, and filed her fingers up through her hair to finish the job he’d interrupted a moment ago.

  As she gazed out into the coming night, gathering silken hair high on her head, he stood, absorbed in the sight of that rubber band in her mouth…entranced by how lush and wet and inviting her lips looked in the rising moonlight. At some point he realised she was talking—something about her hair sticking to her back while she’d been working in the kitchen—and as her lips moved and unwittingly teased him the band fell from her mouth. Still holding her hair up, she let out a curse. Then, “Could you get that for me, please?”

  He’d hop around on one leg and blow a plastic horn if she asked.

  He hunkered down and spotted the band straight off, but then his gaze locked on her beautiful bare feet, her slim ankles, toned naked calves. The perfumed scent of her skin drifted into his lungs and his chest squeezed. What he wouldn’t give to taste a deliberate line from her inside knee all the way up to her throat.

  The sound of her voice filtered over the top of his head and unlocked his spellbound state.

  “Can you see it?” she asked. “Feel around.”

  His fingers itched to reach out and do just that, but he bunched them tight and clamped shut his eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was deliberately trying to drive him mad.

  “Isn’t that it?” she said. “Near my foot?”

  A set of feminine toes, painted pink, edged out. A breeze blew in at the same time, and as her leg moved, the wind rippled up under her skirt. He caught a flash of creamy thigh and white panties, and at the same time her scent burrowed deeper under his skin, detonating a series of test explosions through his blood.

  Releasing her hair, she hunkered down too. Waves of blond silk spilled over her shoulders while she searched the floor and then broke into a smile. “Here it is, silly.” She pulled the rubber band like a miniature slingshot, flicked his forearm and then laughed.

  He didn’t laugh back. He was too engrossed in that pair of firm breasts that seemed to jut out and whisper, touch me. If he moved a single muscle it would be to gather her up and kiss her senseless.

  Foreplay… Elixir…

  Perspiration broke out on his hairline.

  That mutt had better get back soon, or he’d lose it.

  When she reached out and he felt her fingers lift through his hair every tendon in his body winched tight. Burgeoning doors he’d held closed for too long sprang open and the beast inside reared up. Whether she needed time or not, this was a very self-evident first move. No man could—or should—ignore such an obvious sign.

  But as he leaned towards her she drew away. He saw what she was holding and his gut fell.

  “A leaf,” she said, inspecting the dry brown specimen. “Must’ve blown in on the breeze.” She flicked the leaf. As the wind carried it away she hugged herself, and inadvertently pushed her breasts together. “In fact it’s getting cold. Think I’ll go pull on something to warm up.”

  While Pace shuddered out a barely controlled breath, Phoebe found her feet and navigated the couch. She flicked the switch on a lampstand, then moved to thumb off the kitchen light.

  When she asked, “Do you k
now how to light a fire?” a rush of heat pooled in his loins. Someone in this house sure did.

  She nodded at the fireplace. “There’s wood in the bin. Matches on the mantel.”

  She added, “You’ll need a poker. There’s one there but it’s so heavy I can barely lift it.”

  He swallowed. Join the club.

  Fixated upon the sway of Phoebe’s butt while she ascended the stairs to the loft, Pace managed a Neanderthal grunt as his eyes rocked back and forth. When she’d disappeared from sight he slumped against the jamb. He only hoped she’d find something huge and ugly to wear. A fashion monstrosity that obliterated her figure under a cover of thick, hairy wool.

  He crossed to the hearth. Dropping to one knee, he scrunched paper, shoved it under the wood, and set it alight. Weak blue-orange ribbons licked through the pile, within minutes catching the wood to cast a theatre of flickering shadows across the ceiling and walls.

  Standing, he prodded the crackling logs with the poker, and watched sparks swirl like clouds of busy fireflies. He heaped on another log, then stood back and dusted his hands, somewhat satisfied. A bit of masculine industry and exertion and he felt halfway composed. He could get through this. He just needed to remember that while sex was the only thing on his mind, she’d waved the “proceed with caution” flag. More was the pity.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement…the glittering prisms of Phoebe’s gaze reflecting the fire’s glow. When his eyes adjusted to the light, they fell clean out of his head.

  This couldn’t be.

  Phoebe was relaxed, leaning against the stair railing…

  Naked?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PACE shook his head to jostle his brain, readjusted his vision and looked again.

  No, Phoebe wasn’t naked. Not entirely. Although the only thing separating decency from the barest of facts was a set of sexy black lingerie.