by Cat Schield
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You have a funny look on your face.”
“I’m just getting used to all of you.”
“Take your time.” He caressed her thighs with a casualness that belied the tightness around his mouth, but when she started gyrating her hips, he sprang into action.
Before her mind recognized movement, Keaton rolled her beneath him and captured her lips in a sizzling kiss. At the same time he shifted his hips back and thrust slowly into her. The friction was amazing and Lark wrapped her legs around Keaton’s hips as his rhythm built.
As they moved together she noticed that his earlier intensity had been tempered. He made love to her with deliberate concern for her needs. As much as she appreciated his thoughtfulness, she didn’t like that he was holding back. She liked the wildness he aroused in her. It unleashed a sense of freedom missing in her life.
She bit down on his shoulder and dug her fingernails into his back. “Stop being so gentle,” she growled when he stared down at her in confusion. “I’m not going to break. Give me all you’ve got.”
“Fine.” After uttering that single word, he kissed her hard and drove into her powerfully.
Lark grabbed handfuls of his hair and let her tongue duel with his. His need surrounded her, filled all the lonely places she’d gotten so good at ignoring. This was what it felt like to be truly wanted. No one had ever made love to her with such determination.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted when he let her breathe. “More, just like that.”
An orgasm was rushing forward to claim her. Words poured from her. She heard them in her ears but could make no sense of the flow. They seemed to have an effect on Keaton, however, because he began to pound harder into her. Lark pried her eyes open and watched his face, sensing that he was close and wanting to see him come.
As a cry broke from his lips, the first shudders of her own climax claimed her. His body jerked, his lips pulled back in a savage grin. He looked down, caught her gaze with his and held her captive as they exploded together.
* * *
“That was not appropriate,” Keaton muttered, shifting his weight off Lark. His chest rose and fell in exaggerated breaths as he sat up and stared down at her.
She punched him in the shoulder. “The postcoital words every woman wants to hear.”
The hit barely hurt, but it was enough to make her point. She might not expect flowery, romantic phrases, but she wasn’t interested in stark realism either.
“I meant not using protection.”
“I figured, but we’d already covered that issue before it happened. I told you it was not going to be a problem.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, disturbed by what he’d done. “I don’t have unprotected sex.” He was furious with himself for the lapse.
“That’s good to know.” Heedless of her nakedness, she pushed to her feet and snatched her pajamas from the floor. “I don’t either. I’m sorry if I made you do something so out of character.”
She was halfway to her bedroom before he realized she’d misread the target of his irritation. By the time he leaped to his feet to pursue Lark and apologize, she was in the process of shutting her door firmly in his face. Ignoring the blatant “get lost” signal, he knocked.
And knocked again.
“Look,” he called. “We need to talk about what happened.”
The door muffled her voice, but her words were clear. “No, we don’t.”
“What just happened between us caught me off guard and I put my foot in it.”
“You put your entire leg into it.” She sounded closer, but no less annoyed.
“Open the door and I’ll do better.”
“I don’t believe you can.”
“No one has ever made me lose control the way you just did.”
A long pause followed his words. “I’m listening.”
“The reason I didn’t insist on protection was that I couldn’t stop. Never have I done something like that before. I couldn’t bear to have anything come between us. But it was stupid and put you at risk.”
The door cracked open. Lark peered at him through the narrow space. “Never?”
“Not once.”
“You didn’t put me at risk.” She gave him a small smile. “But thanks for your concern.”
And to his astonishment, she shut the door again, leaving him alone in the hallway. He retraced his steps back to the living room and scooped up his discarded pajamas. Well, what had he expected after he’d ruined the moment? A night of cuddling and maybe more lovemaking?
Unsure what their next encounter would bring, Keaton had a hard time falling asleep. Or maybe it was the way he kept reliving the taste of Lark and the feel of her curvaceous body beneath his. He remembered glancing at the clock around five-thirty. The next thing he knew it was seven-fifteen and he was running late.
Lark was in the kitchen, humming an off-key ditty when he emerged from his bedroom. She looked well rested and happy. Her cheeks wore a lovely shade of rose and her eyes danced in merriment as she alternately flipped French toast and tickled Grace.
The smell of bacon and fresh-brewed coffee hit his nose at the same time. His stomach growled in appreciation. The noise was loud enough to alert Lark that he was there. She poured him a cup of coffee and added the perfect amount of creamer. With a sweet-as-peaches smile she extended it to him.
“You look rested,” he remarked over the rim of the mug.
“I conked out the second my head hit the pillow and slept until Grace woke me at quarter to six. That was almost five hours. I feel amazing.”
Keaton considered his own restless night and grimaced. Obviously he’d been the one most impacted by their late night interlude. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“I appreciate you getting up with her last night, but I’m off for the next few days, so you need to get a good night’s sleep tonight.”
So she was going to act as if nothing had happened? It was not how Keaton had imagined the morning going, but far less awkward than if they’d rehashed what had been a colossal mistake. And he wasn’t just talking about their lack of protection. He should never have kissed her or let things get so out of hand that their first time together had been on the living room floor.
“I’m sure that’s what will happen.” Keaton’s gaze wandered to the spot in the living room where they’d made love the night before. “Lark,” he began, only to have her shake her head vigorously. “We should talk.”
“Do you still want to come with me to Grace’s checkup?” she asked. “It’s at four.”
“Yes.” He watched her closely as she dished up two slices of French toast and piled bacon on the side. The urge to kiss her rose in him so fast he was reaching for her before his conscious mind registered the impulse.
She blocked him with the plate. “Eat up. You have a busy day today. What time is the contractor expecting you at the ranch?”
“Nine.”
“And then you’ve promised to help move the storage files at the town hall.” She shooed him toward a bar stool and went to fill a travel mug with coffee. “How are things going with the cleanup?”
Obviously she was eager to get rid of him. Keaton wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good sign. What had happened between them the night before bothered her more than she let on or she wouldn’t be making such an obvious effort to act as if nothing had happened.
“Most of the big debris has been cleared. I’ll know more when we get under the tarps they stretched over what used to be the records room and start moving the cabinets.”
“I imagine some of those files go back to the 1800s.”
Back to a time before the Holts and Taylors fought over two thousand acres of prime land. Land rich with the water so essential to sustain large herds of cattle through the dry season. Keaton’s gut tightened at the reminder of how much animosity existed between their families. He hadn’t b
een thinking about repercussions when he made love to Lark last night. Or the consequences of letting his feelings for her develop.
She wasn’t her sister. Growing up, Skye had been confident and popular. The apple of her father’s eye, she’d been unafraid of disappointing her parents. She’d loved Jake passionately and turned her back on everyone she cared about to be with him.
Lark wasn’t like that. Brilliant, sensitive and mostly ignored by her parents, she’d been shy and reserved. If their families hadn’t hated each other and his brother hadn’t secretly been seeing her sister, he probably never would’ve noticed her. What a shame that would have been.
Much as Lark wasn’t like Skye, Keaton wasn’t like his brother. Jake could leave Royal and their ranch, knowing that Keaton would stick around to take charge. He doubted that Jake had ever considered whether Keaton wanted to do something else with his life. Or that their parents might desperately miss the younger Holt.
Damn. His brother could be a hardheaded, selfish idiot. When Jake finally showed up in Royal, Keaton might have to take his brother down hard before letting him anywhere near Skye and Grace.
“Keaton?” Lark’s worried voice broke through the haze of irritation that gripped him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.” He rubbed his temple to ease the ache there. “I was just thinking about Jake.”
“About beating him bloody?”
“What?” Her accurate read of his thoughts caught him off guard.
“You looked pretty angry.” And from the look on her face, she’d been worried he was mad at her.
“Sorry. It’s just every time I ask myself why he hasn’t called or shown up, I can’t imagine what could be keeping him away.”
“Hopefully we’ll find out sooner rather than later.”
* * *
Once she’d gotten Keaton out the door, Lark released a gigantic sigh of relief. He’d so obviously wanted to rehash what had happened between them the night before and she wasn’t sure she knew what to say.
Yes, it had been a mistake. A glorious, wonderful, spectacular mistake. One she’d repeat anytime and as often as she could.
Except she probably wouldn’t get the chance.
She closed her eyes and let the memory of his hot kisses and fierce possession wash through her. Nothing in her life came close to those moments he’d made love to her, and she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to go forward.
With Grace’s needs taken care of for the moment and a housekeeper coming in twice a week to cook, clean and do laundry, Lark found herself with a few precious hours of free time. Normally she would pick up a book and get lost among its pages, but her mind was far too restless to concentrate. Instead she carried Grace in her bouncy seat into her bedroom and went to investigate her closet.
One of the nice things about the years she hadn’t lived in Royal was the freedom she’d enjoyed from her mother’s criticism. Vera Taylor had an opinion about everything when it came to a person’s appearance, and her daughters faced the lash of their mother’s judgment the most. The constant badgering to do something about her appearance had turned Lark into an antifashionista.
All through high school, she’d owned several pairs of jeans and a variety of nondescript shirts that she rotated through her closet and the laundry. When it grew cold, she’d add a bulky hooded sweatshirt. In the summer she wore cutoffs and T-shirts. Her resolve to blend in drove her mother absolutely crazy. Vera lived to be complimented and envied for her carefully chosen outfits, flawless skin and perfect hair.
It wasn’t until Lark arrived at college that things changed. Her freshman year roommate was a fashion major and had gently guided Lark to break out of her rut. Without being compared to her beautiful sister all the time, Lark had discovered a sense of confidence. Karen had shown her how wearing jeans with the right top and a cute pair of flats could make her feel pretty, even sexy. By the end of the first semester, she’d added several skirts and even a couple dresses to her wardrobe.
From the very back of her closet, Lark pulled out a garment bag. In it were four dresses that she hadn’t worn since returning to Royal and one she’d never taken the tags off. She considered each one as she arranged them on her bed. Two were casual daytime dresses, something she’d wear to go shopping with friends or grab drinks at happy hour. The third one was a fancy cocktail dress she’d bought her senior year of college to attend a Christmas party at her boyfriend’s law firm. Her gaze came at last to the fourth dress.
She’d bought it on Karen’s recommendation because her roommate insisted that every woman needed an LBD in her closet. This particular little black dress showed off Lark’s curves to great advantage. The wrap design drew attention to her hourglass shape and left her arms bare. Lark had never worn the dress because she felt so blatantly sexy in it, and that was significantly outside her comfort zone.
Lark stripped off her jeans and sweater and slipped the dress over her head. Before she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she fetched her one pair of heels. Basic black pumps that pushed her height over the six-foot mark. A pair of gold earrings completed the outfit. Gathering a deep breath, Lark regarded herself in her full-length mirror and gasped.
She looked amazing.
And not unlike herself, something she’d discovered the last time she’d tried on the dress. That had been four years ago, before she’d moved back to Royal. Returning to her hometown had caused Lark to regress into what had been comfortable and familiar. Once again she was that wallflower who worked hard and received little notice. She spent quiet nights at home reading or decorating cakes. Once in a while she went out with her coworkers, but she was never the girl men wanted to flirt with.
Now, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she craved someone’s attention. Longed to see a man’s eyes to light up when he spotted her. For him to be a little tongue-tied when she smiled his way.
And she wanted that man to be Keaton Holt.
* * *
Keaton arrived home much later than he intended. He glanced at Lark’s closed bedroom door before checking on Grace. The infant was sleeping peacefully in her crib. It was about half an hour before her four o’clock wellness visit.
Work at the town hall wasn’t going well. The delicate process of unearthing over a century of the town’s records had suffered yet another setback.
After a quick, hot shower Keaton put on a pair of khaki slacks, a striped shirt and a navy sweater. With the restaurants on the west side of town destroyed by the tornado, they had only the Royal Diner or Claire’s to choose from. As much as he enjoyed the diner’s fifties décor and terrific food, the place was a hotbed of local gossip. If he and Lark showed up there with Grace, they would be mobbed with questions and the focus of far too much speculation. Better that they dined at Claire’s, which boasted a more refined ambience and an upscale menu.
Lark must have decided the same thing, because she was wearing a black trench coat and heels. His eyes were immediately drawn to her bare calves. She had great legs. Long. Toned. He loved riding his hands up their smooth length, relishing the power of her muscles as she wrapped her thighs around his hips.
Desire pulsed through him, a languid, sensual tug on his hormones. Until they’d made love, he’d been mostly preoccupied by her perfect, luscious breasts. Now he was having trouble deciding which turned him on the most.
“Ready?” Lark questioned, picking up Grace’s carrier and giving him a strange look. She’d dusted her eyelids with gray shadow and darkened her lashes with mascara, making her green eyes stand out. A soft pink gloss covered her lips, drawing his attention there next. “Grace’s appointment is in ten minutes,” she prompted, her voice edged with smoke.
There was something different about her today and it wasn’t just the stylish trench or the makeup she’d applied. She wore confidence like a favorite accessory. He had a hard time keeping his thoughts from straying to what dinner might lead to.
“Here, let me take that.” He re
lieved her of the carrier and gestured her ahead of him out the door.
Since Grace hadn’t left the house since they brought her home from the hospital, her car seat was still in Keaton’s truck. He settled her carrier into it and made sure everything was secure while Lark clambered into the passenger seat.
“Where to?” he asked, backing slowly down the driveway.
“The medical building just south of the hospital.”
They rode in silence the ten minutes it took to navigate the short distance. Keaton kept his eyes on the road in front of them, but his attention was half on Lark. He was accustomed to her unadorned beauty, appreciated her naturalness, but the bombshell seated beside him was whipping up his appetite.
Once they were inside the lobby, they looked up the doctor’s office on the wall directory and made their way there. “So, I was thinking Claire’s for dinner,” he said as they stepped off the elevator on the third floor. “We run a better chance of an uninterrupted meal.”
“That sounds nice.”
Her quiet reply nagged at him. She didn’t seem withdrawn or angry with him, but the camaraderie they’d enjoyed these last ten days was missing. And he didn’t like it one bit. He’d come to relish their particular blend of arguing and amity. Most days she kept him guessing and when she wasn’t stimulating him intellectually, she was inspiring his baser urges.
“I thought since it’s where Jake and Skye had their last official date in Royal,” he said, holding the clinic’s door open for her, “that it should be the place where we have our first.”
She halted halfway to the receptionist’s desk and gave him a blank stare. “Our first...?”
“Date.”
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked brightly.
“We have an appointment with Dr.—”
“Reedy,” Lark supplied, her gaze not leaving Keaton’s face.
“For our niece, Grace Holt-Taylor.”
“If you can fill out this paperwork.” The receptionist pushed a clipboard and a pen across the desk toward them. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”
Keaton sat beside Grace’s carrier and watched Lark fill out the baby’s pertinent details. As he waited for her to finish, he was bemused at the anxiety that tightened his chest. She’d been caught off guard when he described their dinner as a date, but she didn’t protest the notion. Did that mean she was willing to give things between them a shot?