She sank against him, one hand raised as if she still intended to go for the cake. But Sawyer didn’t care. Frosting made the kiss sweet and messy, and he ate it off her lips, licking, fisting her hair to press her closer as she dug the nails of her free hand into his back, making a little sound in her throat.
A pleased sound.
A moan that nearly killed him.
Everything spun around Sawyer’s mind, blinding him as they lost their balance, his back hitting the counter when she slanted her entire length against him, standing on her tiptoes, sucking at his lips to get the last of the frosting on him.
Then she was tearing at the buttons on his shirt with one hand, ripping it open. A cool breeze from her air conditioner nipped at his skin, but her body was heated, sending flames wherever she melded to him.
When she broke away from the kiss, both of them were desperate for air.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” she said. “Icing on the cake...or on one of us?”
He ran a finger down her nose, getting the frosting off it and enjoying the treat.
After he wiped the icing off his nose, too, he said, “This doesn’t quite make my appetite go away.”
A naughty smile lit over her lips, and she ducked around him, succeeding in snatching a fistful of cake and smearing it over his chest.
“My appetite’s just starting,” she said.
And damn it all if she didn’t press her lips against his chest, nibbling at him and the cake, crumbs falling to the floor as he leaned back against the counter.
He’d never gotten a better birthday gift, he thought, reaching for the hem of her dress.
But he hadn’t unwrapped all of it yet.
Chapter Eight
The next thing Laurel knew, Sawyer had reached for the bottom of her dress and was yanking it up and over her head, tossing it to the side and leaving her in only that bodysuit.
He paused, slowing things down, his hands on her waist. He was gripping her, but not hard.
Just enough to send shivers through her.
“Dammit, Laurel,” he said, almost sounding strangled.
Then he scooped her into a kiss again, the taste of sugar from the cake lingering in her mouth, mixing with the essence of him.
She swayed into him, just as weak as he always made her.
Yet this was the only way she would allow herself to lose strength when it came to Sawyer. She would give herself up to fun—fun just like this.
But not anything else.
He started to walk her backward, toward her bedroom, but when they didn’t get anywhere—not when the kissing was keeping them so unfocused—he picked her up.
Wrapping her legs around his hips, she wiggled against him.
“I’m not gonna get you anywhere if you’re doing that,” he said.
But she didn’t stop teasing him. Streams of heat were shooting up and through her, and she couldn’t stop if she wanted to.
They made it to her room, though, and when they got to her bed, he gently laid her down, resting one hand on her stomach.
A million brutal beats gathered there, as if drawn to the shape of his hand. She ached more than she ever had for him, and that ache was reaching up, like a split of lightning, tearing her apart and grasping for her heart.
But it never quite got there. She wouldn’t let it.
Still, there was a whole lot else she would let happen.
As Sawyer mapped the lines of her waist, traveling his hands up until he cupped her breasts, she leaned her head back, groaning.
And when he traced the undersides of her breasts through the sheer bodysuit material, she strained against his hands, feeling her nipples tightening.
What made her even more passionate was the thought that he couldn’t see everything about her body yet—the appliqués on the suit were covering her nipples. Same with down below, where there was another game of peekaboo going on with similar floral designs.
“As nice as this lingerie is,” he said, “I want it off.”
“You’ll have to earn the privilege.” Saucy. He brought it out in her.
A sinful grin spread over his mouth. “And how do I earn it?”
He didn’t wait for her to parry, instead slipping his thumbs up, over her nipples, circling them. Need drilled between her legs, and she bit her lip.
He said, “I like the idea of doing this slowly, watching your face, because you know what?” He leaned in close, his words bathing her ear. “I have your number tonight.”
It sounded as if he’d gotten too far into her psyche—as if he knew more about her than anyone ever had. The notion sent her heart into a jolting shock.
No one would ever get to her.
Never again.
But her logic faded as he reached around to the back of the bodysuit, unzipping it. She closed her eyes, unable to resist—at least this.
“As I recollect,” he said, “Madame Luna told me my number is thirteen. I’m gonna make a prediction here myself. I’m gonna say that’s your number, too.”
What was he talking about?
He peeled down the top of the bodysuit to expose just one breast and got onto the bed, his weight making the mattress dip. Then he bent to take her nipple into his mouth.
He laved it, sucked on it, and she squirmed beneath him. She was about to pop, but she didn’t know exactly where. It felt as if a hundred explosions were competing to be the first to break inside her.
After he came up for air, he smiled at her. “That was one kiss.”
“You’ll have to do a lot more earning.”
“I’m working on it.”
She already knew where kiss number two would be. And as he drew down the other side of the bodysuit to reveal her other breast, she turned her head aside, restless and needful.
He paid as much attention to this breast as the first, and when he was done, dragging down her bodysuit until it bunched around her hips, she had no clue where number three would be.
Surprising her, he turned her over, coasting his hands up her bare back, then down.
Just as she started to hold her breath, he gave her a third number, nipping the skin at the small of her back.
She gasped, arching away from the bed as he traced his mouth up her spine.
Already she’d lost count of the numbers. He could’ve done five thousand things to her and she would’ve been mired in a tangle of sixes and eights.
All she knew was that he didn’t seem to miss an inch of her: lightly biting her shoulder, pushing aside her hair to kiss her nape then rub his lips against her neck.
“They say,” he murmured there, against the sweet spot, “that thirteen’s pretty unlucky.”
That must’ve been where they were now.
Thirteen.
“But,” he said, coaxing his hand down between her legs, “I don’t believe in bad luck.”
She buried her face in the mattress just as he stroked her once again, kissing her neck at the same time.
Her head was a bundle of equations that made no sense. All her learning flew away like a flapping crash of wings, leaving something new to rise and take its place.
Clutching at the bedspread, she moaned with every caress, her voice getting higher and higher, sharp edges pushing against her until she knew that she was going to burst all over.
He seemed to be an expert on just when to leave her hanging, because he turned her over just then, pulling the bodysuit off her in one fluid movement.
Unleashed, she sat up, tearing his shirt off all the way, helping him to fumble off his jeans and boots and all the rest.
But it seemed that he didn’t think the number thirteen was enough for them, and after he snatched a condom from a pocket of his discarded jeans, he guided her back down to the bed.
He lowered himself to her thighs, kissing them on the inside, working his way up as she lifted her hips to meet him.
“Laurel,” he said against her skin, just before he hit home, kissing her between the le
gs.
A slam of desire got her right away, making her fly in all directions, making her cry out at the fierce explosion.
He kissed there again and again, taking his time, building her up until she couldn’t stand it anymore and she pulled at his hair, urging him upward so he could press his mouth against hers.
As their lips met, she felt as if she’d been exposed in every way.
But how?
And why?
She’d never planned for this to happen....
He kept his body against hers as he took the condom out of the packaging, then slid it over himself. Finally, he kissed her once more, then paused to look into her eyes while pushing the sweat-dampened hair back from her face.
There was something there, in his gaze. Something she’d noticed before but had wanted to ignore or explain away.
Did he see it in her, too?
No, he couldn’t. Because there wasn’t any kind of growing attachment in her.
“Let’s do this,” she whispered, taking him by the hips, wiggling beneath him once again.
It was obviously too much for him, and he groaned, entering her.
She made a surprised sound. It’d been so long, and he filled her up so well....
And it wasn’t just in a physical way, either. She felt full in her heart, and she didn’t know why, because she’d been working so hard to protect against it.
But as they moved together, all those shields around her melted, slipping, gathering into a molten pool in her belly.
And that pool was spreading, simmering...
Bubbling...
Popping once again until it pressed out against her, pushing, pushing—
Another slam, another wave that decimated her. She heard herself say his name over and over, heard him groan again as he came to his own climax soon afterward.
As they collected themselves, she stroked his hair, kept him close, not knowing how much longer she’d allow herself to be this vulnerable.
Maybe for a while, she thought as he kissed the sweet spot on her neck again.
Maybe just until morning came and they could go back to normal.
* * *
Sawyer woke in a bed that wasn’t his.
And all by himself.
As the events of the night before came back to him, he smiled, hearing the sound of Laurel in her kitchen outside of the open door. He smelled roasted coffee and muffins.
Most of all, though, he smelled her clean shampoo on the sheets, and he stayed in bed a few minutes longer, taking in her essence.
She’d brought him to a place he’d never expected last night. A few times, too.
After the first time, it hadn’t taken long for him to recover, and they’d gone for an encore. Then there’d been the shower. Then they hadn’t even made it back to the bed.
Every time, Sawyer’s heart had rotated to a different position in his chest. Or at least it felt like it. He wasn’t sure if it’d just gone off-kilter, or if it’d finally settled in a spot that it’d been meant to occupy all along.
Either way, last night had changed everything for him, even if he couldn’t define what everything was just yet.
But what about Laurel?
He wasn’t sure, because whenever he’d found himself looking deep into her gaze, she’d given him a flirty smile or initiated another round of sex, as if that’s all she wanted from him.
Then again, Laurel could be hard to read. Plus, he couldn’t expect a woman who’d been treated as she had been by an absentee father and a jerk boyfriend to warm up to intimacy right away.
Maybe it’d just take some time for her to get used to what he was starting to feel....
Sawyer sat up in the bed, ruffling his hair. Good thing he had all the time in the world to see if these new feelings would stick with him.
After pulling himself together in the bathroom, he found his jeans on the floor and donned them, then made his way out to the kitchen, pushing his hair away from his face and probably making it even messier.
“Morning,” she said casually, already sitting at the table fully dressed in her khakis and a polo shirt with the Redmond Flight School logo on the front. She was drinking a cup of coffee with a plate of minimuffins and berries on the side.
Her smile was just as it always was—light and appealing, but...
But was there something else about her? Something...off?
He nodded to her, grinning at the plate she’d made for him, too. “Morning. Looks like you got up bright and early.”
“You sleep like a rock. I already took a shower and everything.”
“You wore me out, that’s why I slumbered through it all.”
As he sat, she remained friendly yet cool, just as if they’d met each other merely a day ago and hadn’t ever talked much or eaten dinner together or had birthday cake...
A raging flush swallowed him up as he thought of last night again.
When she glanced at her watch, he got the feeling that she couldn’t wait for him to be on his way.
Was he being paranoid? Usually he was the one who was in a hurry to skedaddle the morning after.
“You got somewhere to be today?” he asked. “No, let me guess. A charter flight.”
“Just a couple of lessons, Fortune. I’m due in at eight o’clock to prep.”
Had she really just called him by his last name?
Now he got another feeling—that maybe she’d woken up and started regretting last night, or that she’d second-guessed everything and thought she’d gone too far with him. That she wasn’t about to open herself up to betrayal from a man once again.
But was he reading too much into her?
As if confirming his suspicions, she got up from the table, heading for the sink, where she tossed the rest of her coffee.
“Laurel,” he said. “What’s going on?”
She sent a “who, me?” glance over her shoulder, her low blond ponytail swiping her back.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You seem...jumpy.”
She laughed, as if it was the most ridiculous comment in the world. But when he noticed that the cake box was nowhere in sight, he also started wondering if she’d thrown it away, getting rid of all the evidence of a reckless night.
The kind of night a careful woman like Laurel didn’t do.
As she cleaned up, he decided he was being overly wary and wolfed down his food. The chocolate-chip muffin was fresh, the coffee strong, as if she knew how he took it.
Then again, she could’ve just been expecting him to pour some sugar and cream in it, because the condiments were right there on the table.
Damn, she was driving him in all kinds of scattered directions, and it didn’t sit well.
Purposefully, he went to the kitchen, carrying his plate. When he leaned over her to put it in the sink, he pressed his chest to her back.
She went stiff, but then, with a recovering smile, went about drying a mug again.
Yeah, she was off. And he wasn’t buying this casual act, either.
Even though another gut feeling told him not to push Laurel to tell him what was on her mind, he certainly wasn’t going to leave without reminding her of how good it’d been last night.
He eased his arms around her, and she dropped her hands, the mug banging against the counter before she let go of it.
“Klutz,” he said kiddingly.
“It was still slippery,” she said in a whisper.
He refrained from the temptation of using her comment for a few double entendres.
“Before I go, I just want to thank you for everything,” he said, stroking a hand over her stomach.
She took in a breath, then laughed it out. “Same here. That cake, the drinks and flowers were all so thoughtful. If you want any leftovers, I put the cake in the fridge.”
“Nah. Just leave some in there for me.”
She laughed again, as if he’d been joking.
Had he been?
The only thing he knew
for sure was that this was one skittish woman. But maybe she was smart to take everything slow.
Maybe he was moving too fast into uncharted territory with this woman.
Keeping it low-key, he kissed her below the ear, and she squeezed his hand that was still on her stomach, as if in an unthinking response.
“Have a good one,” he said as he backed away from her.
“You off to ride the range?” she asked.
She’d turned around, her hands braced back on the sink.
Jeez. Did she want him to go or not? He was getting whiplash.
“I’m making arrangements to see Jeanne Marie today,” he said. “Nobody knows it, though, except for you, now.”
She nodded, then, as if she didn’t know what to say next, gestured toward the door. “I’m going to take off, if you don’t mind. Just lock the door from the inside on the knob when you leave?”
“I’ll do that.”
Smiling, she started to turn back toward the counter, but hesitated. Then she spoke.
“Really, Sawyer. Thank you for everything. It really was a great birthday.”
As she faced the sink again, turning on the faucet, he shook his head, wondering if he’d be able to figure her out as the day wore on.
* * *
Sawyer had found out from his father that he’d invited Jeanne Marie back to Red Rock during this family crisis, and he’d put her up in La Casa Paloma Hotel, in the lap of luxury.
Normally she lived in a town called Horseback Hollow, near Lubbock, but he’d wanted her nearby, making it easy for anyone who cared to visit her to do so.
Sawyer did her the service of calling beforehand to arrange a time to meet, and she gladly invited him up to her suite right away, sounding surprised yet touched that he cared to see her at all.
When he arrived, she greeted him at her door, a tall woman his father’s age, with gray hair in a tidy bun and a face that was wrinkled yet attractive in a striking way. She was wearing a simple light-blue blouse with darker pants, and if she were to take a stroll around the lush hotel property, no one would mistake her for a guest who seemed right at home.
“Sawyer,” she said, and for a moment, he thought she might rush forward to embrace him.
A CHANGE OF FORTUNE Page 11