“You all go have fun, Ike,” she told him. “If we have any questions, we’ll call.”
He seemed satisfied, and she disconnected, feeling as if everything about the camp was finally falling into place.
“Well, here we are,” Michael said when he finally wheeled off the main road down the dirt path leading to the camp. “Raphael and Philip did a nice job on the sign.”
Jillian wasn’t sure what pleased her more—the sign or the fact that Michael noticed. “A far cry from the one that’s been there all these years. They copied the logo from the Web site. Decided the camp needed a more professional image.”
“They’re an interesting bunch.”
“That’s for sure. Talented and hardworking. Ike’s really happy with them, and that’s a huge load off my mind. Now if I can just keep them happy so they stay.”
Michael cast a sidelong glance. “Worried?”
She shrugged. “Widow Serafine is a long way from home. I just wonder if she’ll be content here after her family is done rebuilding from the hurricane.”
“Raphael, Philip and Marie-Louise are her family, too, and they obviously weren’t happy in the bayou.”
“I know. But they’re all so young yet. They could decide to go to school or get married—”
“They can do all that and still work here. They want to work together, remember? The camp seems a good fit.”
“Fingers crossed.” And toes, too. She needed the Baptistes to help Ike handle the camp. She didn’t want to place any more camp stress between her and Michael, not when they still hadn’t come to any sort of real resolution yet.
But she had the weekend ahead to circle around to reality. After she seduced him senseless, she’d force them to address the issues. And she felt positive they’d tackle them head-on.
After all, Michael’s fantasy weekend proved he was slowly making peace about the camp, didn’t it?
He drove straight to the owners’cabin, where she found that someone—the Baptistes, she presumed—had planted bright impatiens in all the beds up front.
“That was so thoughtful,” she said, delighted.
Michael smiled. “Especially because I never thought of that when we were coming up with ways to make this place habitable.”
Jillian had known Michael would have spoken to Widow Serafine to make the arrangements for the weekend, but the very thought that he’d been so involved with the details of making their stay pleasant and comfortable came as another surprise.
She usually took care of the details.
“I’m sure it will be fine, Michael. A little rustic maybe…and we can always renovate someday if we want.”
When he didn’t reply, Jillian let the matter drop. She wasn’t going to push, not yet. Not until she’d debuted a few of her sexy new outfits and had the man on his knees.
“We made it,” he said, wheeling the SUV into a spot in front of the porch.
She reached for the house keys on the console between them, but he grabbed them first.
“Allow me.” He opened the door and got out. “Hang on. I’ll get yours.”
She waited, liking that she was being treated to Michael’s full gentleman mode. She accepted his hand to get out of the car, but no sooner did she stand than he leaned over and caught her against him. He swung her up into his arms.
“Michael!” She laughed, tossing her arms around his neck to hang on. “You’re going to hurt your back.”
“I’m fit now, or haven’t you noticed?”
His butt was looking even better than it had in high school, and she couldn’t wait to get him naked to prove it. “Couldn’t miss it.”
That seemed to please him. “Besides, I don’t want you to be disappointed that I didn’t pick you up on a motorcycle.”
“I liked how you looked in leather, but I don’t think I’d have enjoyed that trip on the back of a motorcycle.”
“And where would we have put the garment bags?”
“There is that.” She chuckled, plucking the keys from his hand to unlock the front door, not entirely trusting that he wouldn’t drop her no matter how tight his butt was.
Then Michael turned sideways to scoot inside.
“Ohmigosh,” she gasped. “This place looks so—”
“Refreshed?”
“You had Widow Serafine do all this?”
“Actually I asked Raphael to see what he could do. You mentioned remodeling before. He checked the place over and told me what needed to be done. Looks like he and Philip can handle mostly everything. Said we’d only need to hire out some of the electrical and plumbing jobs because of the permits.”
“Wow.” Jillian wasn’t sure what to make of this, but her heart started to pound a little harder. “Sounds like you’ve been talking to Raphael quite a bit.”
“Yeah, I wanted to make sure that he and Philip checked to see if everything was working properly. Can’t have a fantasy weekend without decent plumbing. But I asked Widow Serafine and Marie-Louise to spruce the place up. Make sure things were clean and whatnot.”
New upholstery covers in shades of pine and gold concealed Bernice and Carl’s worn-in furniture. There were new rugs on the plank floors, which had been waxed to a high gloss, and wood-slat blinds on the windows. The dining-room table not only had a lace cloth but an arrangement of colorful wildflowers.
“Mission accomplished,” she said. “I’m seeing all sorts of possibilities. We can make this place great. I’ll bet that knocking out a wall or two will rework the floor plan—”
“No reality, Jilly. We’re all about fantasy right now, remember. That’s the rule.” Michael let her down, sliding her full length against him, all warm and hard and reminiscent of the tension that had been building this week.
“Still determined to see how long we can hold out?” She snuggled up against him suggestively. “I obviously haven’t been trying hard enough if you still want to play by the rules when we have the camp to ourselves.”
“Oh, you’ve been trying just fine. Trust me.” He stared at her with such a smoldering gaze that her breath caught hard.
“I do, Michael.” She felt that feeling again, that glow of knowing she could bring this man to his knees.
And would.
MICHAEL KNEW he was in trouble the second he tracked down Jillian in the stables. She’d gone off with Ike and Raphael’s instructions to check on the animals while he’d been unpacking their garment bags. He’d asked her to wait, but she’d only laughed and headed out the door. She’d been thinking, though.
Catch me if you can, Michael.
He’d catch her all right, and she’d quickly find out their weekend wasn’t going to be all about fun and games.
Michael had to restore Jillian’s faith in him. Or at least get her to believe he’d recognized the real problem and was committed to fixing it.
She expected fantasy, so he’d begin by pleasuring her until she couldn’t think straight. But he wouldn’t make love to her. Not until he laid all his cards on the table. He intended to prove he was interested in more than just sex and convince her he wanted to share in all the areas of her life.
He’d address her health issues, explain what he knew and ask her to share the rest. He’d ask her to share how she felt about him not being there for her.
Because he hadn’t been. He’d been wrapped up in his own world of contentment and complacency, thinking only about himself and his wants.
This weekend would be a fresh start.
But the instant Michael stepped foot inside the stable, he knew holding off on making love might be a problem.
His problem. And it looked like a big one.
Jillian speared hay into the stalls with a pitchfork, wearing nothing but a sexy shorts set that clung to her curves and left her long legs bare.
Michael stopped in the doorway, suddenly not feeling quite so comical in his cowboy duds. At least he wasn’t the only one in costume. Under any other circumstances he might have laughed at the sight sh
e made, such an odd blend of mouth-wateringly sexy and so totally underdressed for the job, but the blood drained to his crotch so fast he felt dizzy.
Long toned legs that had captivated him the first time he’d ever seen them and had kept his attention ever since.
She looked like sex.
Every time she leaned over for another fork of hay, her clingy short shorts rode up her backside to reveal the tempting curve of her cheeks.
He flipped the brim of his Stetson up for a better view.
Damn, but she was even hotter today than she’d been when they’d first started dating. Her golden-red waves tumbled down her back as she hoisted another forkful, drawing his gaze to the lingerie molding her trim waist and giving enticing peeks of smooth skin whenever she lifted her arms.
When he saw her strolling through the office every day, he never forgot the lush body she kept primly hidden beneath her work uniform. When she ran around the house in various states of undress, he always appreciated the beauty that had guys all through high school and college going ape shit to steal her away. And when she’d dressed to the nines for Jenny Talbot’s wedding, he’d been so proud that she’d been on his arm.
But Jillian was so much more than gorgeous. Did he spend nearly as much time thinking about the woman who handled his life? The strong, brilliant, competent woman who took on running Camp Cavelier in addition to all her other irons in the fire? What about the incredible woman who’d planned a seduction around caring for a stable filled with animals?
How could he overlook the amazing woman she was?
I’ve got to get these horses fed and watered before Michael shows up. He’s been working so hard all week. I don’t know when he’s found time to arrange this fantasy, but I want this weekend off to the right start.
Here was something else that was going to change. Jillian was thinking about his needs and making excuses for his behavior, rationalizing the way he hadn’t been helping her out as he should.
When did he think about her needs? She’d been working as hard as he had this week, likely even harder. She’d been dealing with her doctors, the camp, his practice, and obviously she’d gone shopping to prepare for their weekend.
“Don’t you look sweet enough to eat?” he said.
She spun toward him, glossy hair flying around her face and neck, making her look like a vision.
“Well, hey there, cowboy.” Her bold smile made the blood pulse between his legs.
“So what can I do to help, pretty lady?”
“Just stand there and look yummy. I need to give these guys water then I’ll be all done in here.”
Michael strode inside, feeling cocky as hell in his hand-tooled boots and Stetson. He must have looked cocky, too, because the color rode high on Jillian’s cheeks.
She looked like a woman who knew he thought she looked yummy herself.
Grabbing the hose, he watered the horses, not minding the job one bit. Not when it left him to enjoy Jillian with fresh eyes, and not just how hot she looked in her sexy lingerie.
Jillian started shoveling with a vengeance now, so fast, in fact, that her skin began to glisten with a fine sheen of perspiration. Hairs clung to her temples and cheeks, curling sexily and drawing his thoughts to the way all her slick skin would feel naked against him.
He headed toward the trough. “You look hot, beautiful.”
She shot a gaze back over her shoulder, warm eyes sparkling with her exertion, cheeks flushed and smile wide. “That’s because you look so good.”
Michael liked this awareness between them. She was something feeding horses dressed like a lingerie model, unafraid to get her hands or her sexy outfit dirty.
And Michael liked how she reacted to his awareness.
She flirted back.
Chuckling, he remembered how much he’d once enjoyed flirting with this woman.
So why had they ever stopped?
Holding her gaze, he adjusted the nozzle from the hose to a gentle stream. When she turned around to spear the pitchfork into the bale, he moved in to let the water pour down her back.
“Michael!” Jillian went rigid and dropped the pitchfork, but the damage was already done.
Water drenched her filmy lingerie until it clung to her like dew, rendering it practically see-through. He raised the hose so the stream sluiced down her front, molding her firm breasts in an erotic display, her nipples becoming rosy blushes of color and tight tips through the sheer fabric.
“Michael, I’m all wet.”
“At least it’s water and not baby snakes.”
She made a strangled sound, but he didn’t give her a chance to protest. Dropping the hose inside the trough, he slid his hands around her. “I love the feel of you wet and naked.”
“I’m not naked.”
He smiled at her breathlessness and helped himself to a handful of her full breasts veiled in wet silk. He pulled her back against him. “You will be, sugar.”
That made her laugh. “I’m getting you all wet. And my grossly expensive sandals are soaked.”
He ground his crotch against her so she wouldn’t miss the effect she was having on him. “I’m not worried about your sandals. I’ll buy you a new pair.”
Problem solved then. Until he sees what they cost.
Michael made a mental note not to look at the price tag and fondled his warm handfuls, loving the feel of her.
She let her eyes flutter shut and relaxed against him. “Mmm. That feels so good.”
Sounded like a request to him, so Michael indulged her, kneading her soft skin, exploring the curves, amazed that such simple touches could evoke such pleasurable responses—from both of them.
He pinched her nipples, rewarded when she arched up into his touch, making him feel the way he always did when he pleasured her.
Right.
She exhaled a sigh that echoed through the stable, making a horse whinny as if the poor guy had noticed the action taking place right outside his stall. She lifted her arms and draped them around his neck, making the skimpy top ride up her smooth stomach and treating him to even better access.
God, he loved this woman.
He didn’t want any more distance between them, and he’d do whatever it damn well took to bridge the distance he’d created between them already. He hated the thought of her facing doctors and health issues alone. He hated her feeling as if she was all alone dealing with the responsibility of the camp.
But she had been, and he felt ashamed at his inattentiveness, his total self-absorption.
But behavior was changeable, and he refused to waste another second of their time together, not one instant when they could be exploring new interests—both hers and his. He wanted to live a real life with her, explore reality and fantasy.
If Jillian wanted him in leather, then, hell, he’d wear leather. If seeing him in cowboy boots and a Stetson turned her on, then he’d play her cowboy both in and out of bed.
She was his fantasy woman in her skimpy wet outfit.
And he was the only man for her. Always had been. And a lifetime together didn’t seem like long enough. Not nearly long enough when she rocked her hips back and forth, riding the bulge in his pants.
I know what you’re trying to do here, cowboy, and if you think you’re going to distract me, think again.
Those were fighting words, so Michael dragged his hands down to her waist, pulled her impossibly closer until her cheeks parted around the bulging erection trapped inside his jeans.
She gave a soft moan as he braced his legs apart and tucked her close against his body so he could reach the mound of her sex that these wet short shorts didn’t come close to hiding.
Distracting her.
Rocking her hips in sexy rhythm, she kneaded his erection to aching fullness. He wanted nothing more than to pop his fly open and make love to her right here in the hay.
But he was a man on a mission, and that mission was all about pleasuring Jillian.
Her bottoms were so short
that all he had to do was nudge aside the fabric to find everything he wanted to touch. With one hand, he separated her moist skin. With the other, he began all the moves that soon had her quivering in his arms, those full-bodied shivers that made him smile.
Oh…my…goodness. And he expects me to stand?
Michael appreciated the warning. Bracing his legs wider, he supported her when she went boneless against him, riding his hand with smooth strokes, her breasts rising and falling temptingly on her shallow breaths.
She was amazing in her passion. Generous. Eager. He’d always loved that about her. She was an adventurous lover, as accommodating in bed as she was out of bed.
And Michael made the vow right then and there that he would never again take her for granted. He wouldn’t waste another chance to show her how very much he loved her, how much he wanted her….
And he wanted her with a need he could barely contain. He rocked his own hips in time to match her strokes, his own pleasure mounting, until the only thing keeping him in check was the pain of the seam biting brutally into his crotch.
Michael didn’t complain. He just rested his cheek on the top of her head and inhaled her familiar scent, fresh and feminine and somehow earthy like the outdoors. He let the pain control the ache, surging and receding. He touched and caressed his beautiful wife until she trembled against him, and the sounds of her shallow breathing echoed through the twilight.
Michael reacted instinctively. He knew this woman, sensed her responses almost before she responded. He touched her in places that made her shiver, made her move against him to knead her orgasm into breaking.
And when his own ache became too much, when he had to distract himself by touching her, he caught her arms and wheeled her around, crowded her back against the stall door.
Then he lowered his face and kissed his name from her lips, speared his tongue inside her mouth, explored her soft sighs and longing moans. He shared his own need by pressing up against her, dragging his hands over every wet delicious inch of her.
If You Could Read My Mind Page 17