Ethan asked, “Do they know yet what started it?”
Grant grunted in disgust. “A couple of hikers decided to build a fire. The wind came up and the fire got away from them.”
Lizzie hoped they’d escaped with their lives. “Are they okay?”
“They’re fine—except for the whopping fines they’ll be expected to pay. Insurance will cover our losses. But those hikers may be in for another shock if the insurance company decides to sue.”
“I don’t feel a hell of a lot of sympathy for them,” Ethan said darkly.
“I’m just glad you two are okay,” Grant told them. He asked Lizzie, “How’s your head?”
“I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me.”
“She keeps saying that.” Ethan reached out and put his arm around her. The last time he’d done that in front of Grant, she’d thoroughly disapproved and told Ethan so in no uncertain terms.
But now, well, everything was different.
She leaned in closer to his strength and his warmth and she sent him her most grateful smile. “I’m lucky. You saved me.”
“Hardly.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “You did. You know you did. And can we please go home now?”
He was looking in her eyes and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her—right there in the infirmary, in front of the doctor and Grant Clifton.
But then he only said softy, “Sure, Lizzie. Whatever you want.”
“A bath,” she said, when he pulled the SUV into the garage and the big door rumbled down behind them. “I want a hot bath and I want to soak for about a year. And after that, I want reheated lasagna.”
“You got it,” Ethan said gruffly. And then he reached across the console and put his hand against her cheek. He seemed, since they’d made it through the fire, to need the reassurance of touching her. She completely understood. His touch made her feel better, too. He asked, “How’s your head?”
“Dusty and sore like the rest of me.” She gave him what she hoped was a stern look. “And stop worrying about me.”
Reluctantly, he dropped his hand away.
They went inside, hung their hats and jackets back on the pegs by the door.
He asked, “You need anything?” as she was turning to go to her rooms.
She winced as she put her hand at the small of her back where she was reasonably certain a big bruise was forming. “I’ll keep you posted.”
He hovered close. “I’m kind of afraid to let you go off by yourself. What if you pass out or something?”
It seemed as good an excuse as any to put her hand on him. So she did. She pressed her palm to his cheek, which was getting a little sandpapery with his afternoon beard. “I am not going to pass out. I am not dizzy, nor am I confused. Or disoriented. I have none of the symptoms that might indicate approaching unconsciousness or incipient brain damage. So can we just give that a rest now, you think?”
He grumbled, “Yes, ma’am.” And then he added, “But leave the door open—to the bathroom and the bedroom, will you? I’ll be in the kitchen. And I’ll be able to hear you if you scream.”
She couldn’t stop herself. She kissed him.
It wasn’t a big deal of a kiss. On the contrary, it was no more than a slight brush of her mouth against his. “Ethan.” She breathed his name against his lips.
“What?” He tried to look disapproving. But she thought he mostly just looked so handsome and worried about her and very, very dear.
“If I’m going to pass out in the bathtub, it’s unlikely I would scream first.”
“Right. Exactly. All the more reason you shouldn’t be taking a bath right now anyway.”
She frowned at him, but in a good-natured way. “I’m taking a bath. Get used to it.”
“Can you do me one favor?”
“Depends. What?”
“Give me ten minutes. I’ll grab a quick shower. Then I’ll sit in the kitchen and be ready in case you need me.”
She shook her head. “Apparently, there is no getting through to you.” She took him by those muscular shoulders and turned him around. “Go. Have your shower. Ten minutes. That’s all you get.”
For once, he didn’t argue. He headed for the front foyer and the stairs.
She went to the kitchen, drank a tall glass of iced water and checked her email.
He was back in eight minutes flat, his lean cheeks stubble-free, smelling of soap and aftershave. It was a big improvement over the acrid scent of smoke. “All right,” he growled at her. “Your turn. And don’t you dare pass out and drown.”
She rose from her computer and headed for her rooms before he had a chance to come up with any more objections.
As the tub filled, she got undressed and studied the damage to her poor body in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. She did have a big bruise on her lower back as well as a few cuts and scrapes, and more bruises on her legs and arms.
But in a week or two, she would be good as new. She wasn’t complaining. She’d been bucked off her horse and knocked unconscious. And then she’d ridden through a tunnel of fire. Considering the circumstances, she was in pretty good condition.
She sank into the warm, scented water with a happy sigh and for a while she just drifted, resting her head on a towel, letting the water soak the aches and pains away, smiling happily to herself. And thinking about Ethan.
Ethan. Waiting in the kitchen, worried to distraction that she might not be all right.
Ethan. The best friend she’d ever had.
Ethan. Who had saved her.
And whom she loved.
It all seemed so simple and straightforward really. She wanted Ethan.
And he was trying so hard to do the right thing. But he wanted her, too.
They had eleven days left together in this house. Eleven days they could spend denying the power of this amazing, who-knew-this-could-happen attraction between them.
Or eleven days where they could have it all.
It didn’t seem such a difficult choice when she looked at it that way.
He might think otherwise. He was trying to do right by her after all. But she had a pretty strong feeling she could bring him around to her point of view.
Still smiling, she sat up and reached for the shampoo.
Ethan was getting a little bit worried.
Lizzie had disappeared into her rooms over an hour ago. He’d already been down that hallway twice, just to make certain that the door was still open, so if she did happen to call for him he would have a chance of hearing her. Both times, he’d caught the faint scent of vanilla and a hint of moisture in the air that seemed to indicate she was doing exactly what she’d told him she would be doing: taking a long, hot bath.
Both times, he’d almost spoken up, demanded a response from her, just to be certain that she was okay. But then he’d chickened out at the last minute. She’d had a rough time of it up on the mountain. It seemed only fair to let her have her damn bath in peace.
Come on, Lizzie. You’re freaking me out here….
He kept picturing her lying at the bottom of the bathtub, staring up through vanilla-scented bathwater with sightless eyes. It was creepy and scary and she’d damn well better get out here within the next five minutes, or he was getting up and marching into the hallway and yelling at her to speak up and let him know that she was all right.
“Ethan.” Lizzie’s voice.
He swiveled his head around and saw her standing in the kitchen doorway. Her skin was all pink and soft-looking. She had a bruise on her right shoulder, two on her left forearm and one on her long, rather muscular left thigh. Her hair was shining, falling to her shoulders and drooping over her eyes, loose and wild. Just the way he liked it.
She wore a bath towel. And apparently nothing else.
Chapter Twelve
“Not fair,” Ethan said in a voice that was more an animal growl than any noise a man might make. “Go put some clothes on.”
She did the opposite o
f what he told her to do, which really didn’t surprise him because she generally did everything but what he told her to do. She left the doorway and came toward him, her bare feet making no sound on the limestone tile of the kitchen floor.
He stood up and faced her. Which was probably a mistake, given that his physical reaction to her standing there in that towel had been instantaneous. Now it was obvious—to him, and to her.
She looked down at the ridge in his jeans and then, with a slow smile, back up into his eyes. And she kept coming. Until she was standing right in front of him and he could smell her—vanilla and a hint of something tart. Lemons, maybe—no. Oranges. Ripe, juicy oranges.
“Lizzie, come on.” He groaned. He couldn’t help it. “Don’t do this to me.”
She didn’t say anything. Only lifted a hand and laid it on his chest. His heart pounded like wild horses set loose on a midnight run. He knew she could feel the pounding.
“Lizzie, don’t…” That was as far as he got.
Because she slid that hand up over his shoulder and clasped the back of his neck. The towel dropped into a puddle at her feet.
He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself. He looked down.
Into heaven.
He saw her pretty breasts with their hard pink nipples. He saw all of her, all of that soft, firm, smooth flesh. And then she did worse.
She pressed herself against him—those warm, amazing curves of hers, touching him all along the front of him. The hardness in his pants got harder.
It hurt to want her that much.
And then she leaned that fraction closer. She kissed him, her soft mouth opening beneath his.
What did she expect? A man could only go so far in trying to do the right thing. After a point, the woman he wanted and was trying desperately to protect from his bad self had to meet him halfway.
Lizzie wasn’t helping him. Lizzie refused to meet him halfway.
Lizzie was blatantly, shamelessly leading him into temptation.
And temptation was just too fine of a place to be.
He gave in.
With a low, angry, frustrated growl, he reached out and hauled her hard against him.
Heaven. Oh, yeah. Lizzie, naked, in his arms. He ran his hungry hands across the silky skin of her long, strong back. He cupped the sweet twin curves of her bottom in his palms.
She gave a little moan into his mouth. He drank that sound. It tasted of her eagerness, of her warmth and her breath. Her sounds were his—she was his. Her body, her mouth, that annoying, too-quick brain of hers, her big heart, her goodness. All the things that were Lizzie.
For now, at least, they were his. She was his.
A bed, he thought. We really need a bed.
Hers was closest. So, still kissing her, still holding on tight, he bent enough to get one arm under her knees. The other, he used to hold her shoulders.
He straightened, lifting her high in his arms. She let out a strangled little squeak of surprise. He smiled against her parted lips.
And then, with a happy little sigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck and went on kissing him. She was no lightweight, his Lizzie, but he knew he could make it down the hall to her bed.
He started walking. She kissed him harder, deeper. He lost track of where he was going and collided with the door frame on the way through. She groaned.
He groaned, too. “Sorry…”
“I’ll live,” she muttered against his mouth. “Keep walking.”
And he did.
At least she’d left her bedroom door wide-open. He carried her through, turning that time, so she went in feetfirst and they could fit without running into anything.
Her bed was waiting, wide and inviting, the covers already turned back. He set her down on the white sheets. She held on. Probably afraid that if she let go of him, he would start telling her why they shouldn’t do this.
She didn’t have to worry. He had no arguments left. He wanted this and she did, too.
So be it.
They were doing it.
Gently, he took her hands and peeled them off his neck.
She moaned as he broke the never-ending kiss. “Ethan, don’t go…” She tipped her face up to him longingly, offering those soft, tempting lips.
He took her shoulders. “Lizzie. Lizzie, open your eyes.”
With great reluctance, she did. They were so soft right then, her eyes, soft and moss-green. “Don’t you dare turn me down,” she said in a whisper that promised everything and threatened some, too.
He laughed then, low and huskily. “I’m not turning you down.”
“I mean it. This is what I want. This is…” She blinked and blew several strands of hair out of those beautiful eyes. “Uh. What did you say?”
He kissed her, quick and hard. “I said, I’m here. I’m staying. All I’m trying to do right now is take off my clothes.”
Her eyes somehow got brighter. Slowly, she grinned. “You’re serious. You surrender?”
“I do, yes. You win, Lizzie.”
“Well, then.” She blew the hair out of her eyes again. “By all means. Go right ahead and take off your clothes.” She released him and scooted back among the pillows, gathering her long, bare legs up under her chin, looking about as cute as he’d ever seen her.
Plus, she was naked. That definitely added to her considerable appeal. He straightened and started stripping. He had his shirt off, his belt undone, his zipper down in seconds. He kicked off the mocs he liked to wear around the house. All that was left was to shove down his jeans and his boxers and step out of them.
She licked her lips. “Oh, Ethan…”
He started to go down to her, but then he remembered. “We need condoms.”
And just like that, she reached over and pulled open the bedside drawer. “Got ’em,” she said. “Plus, I’m on the pill.”
He should have known. It was so like her, to take care of her own protection. Lizzie was not the kind of woman who left things to chance. Especially not something so important as a new life—or as dangerous as an STD.
Well, all right. That problem solved. He took the box from the drawer, set a couple of packets on the nightstand and then put the box back. She slid the drawer closed.
And then, finally, there was nothing else—no questions unanswered, no necessities unattended to. There was only the two of them.
Him and Lizzie. At last. Naked.
He went down to her, gathered her close in his arms. She sighed as she eagerly accepted his kiss.
She was…a miracle, in his arms. Nothing like the small, fragile women he’d always chosen. There was so much more of her, and all of it womanly and smooth and strong and sweet-smelling.
So good.
She filled his arms.
And his senses.
She rolled him over until she was on top of him and then she kissed him until he hardly knew where he was or how he’d gotten there. He only hoped he would never have to leave.
He rolled them both again, so she was on her back. He cupped her breasts in his hands. They were full and so beautiful. He kissed them. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, teasing it with his tongue, drawing on it deeply, while she wove her fingers in his hair and held him close and lifted her body toward his mouth, offering herself up.
Giving him all of her. Every glorious, long, sturdy inch.
He touched her all over, molding the inward curve of her waist, dipping his index finger into her navel and then his tongue after that. He eased his hand over her lower belly, which was smooth and slightly rounded, begging for his caress.
She lifted her hips to his hand, letting her long, strong thighs fall open. He touched her there, at the womanly heart of her. And she moved against his hand, her hips rocking, her soft mouth sighing. She said his name. She said it more than once.
As if she meant it. As if he was someone so special. The only one for her.
He kissed her. Right there, where it counted. He parted the vanilla-an
d-orange-scented dark gold curls and he put his mouth on her. She was wet and soft and slick and hot. He drank her in. She tasted so sweet. Sweet as heaven.
His Lizzie—and yeah, okay. She wasn’t his. Not really. But that evening, together with her in that way he never had been before, it felt as if she was his.
And he was hers.
And this thing they had, this way of being that was open and true and, yeah, about sex, but also about so much more…
It was like nothing he’d ever known before with any other person. It was so special.
It meant everything to him. More than he knew how to say in words. More than he even really understood.
She reached down and she held his head as he pleasured her, her fingers splayed in his hair. She lifted toward his secret kiss, open, ready, her body rising toward the finish so easily, so freely.
Strange. To think of Lizzie as a lover. His lover.
Strange. But right, too. Just exactly right.
“There,” she whispered. “Oh, Ethan. Just…there…”
And he felt the butterfly wing fluttering against his tongue, felt her as she came, as the finish took her and rippled through her, as she cried his name yet again.
And then again.
He stayed with her. He kissed her through the soft explosions of her climax. He went on kissing her until, with a final long sigh, she lay limp under his touch.
Then he lifted his head enough to rest on her belly. She stroked his hair and traced the shape of his eyebrows, one and then the other.
And then she urged him up her body, one slim, strong arm reaching out to take a packet from the nightstand. She tore it open with her teeth.
He found that unbelievably sexy for no reason he really understood: Lizzie, placing her neat white teeth on the edge of that wrapper, tearing it open.
She eased a hand down between them. And she encircled him.
He almost choked with the thrill of that, of her cool and capable hand surrounding him.
And then she kissed him. She caught his mouth with her soft lips, and below, she was stroking him….
Resisting Mr. Tall, Dark & Texan Page 15