A Hot Montana Summer

by Karen Foley

When she returned just a few minutes later, Jamie had opened the bottle of white wine and had poured them each a glass. Now he reclined on one half of the dual chaise with a pillow beneath his leg. He had the plate of cheese balanced on his thigh as he deftly sliced it into manageable pieces. He looked up as Rachel paused in the doorway to the patio, and patted the cushion next to him.

  “C’mon and sit down. Don’t be shy.”

  Rachel hesitated. Smart guy that he was, he’d chosen the only chaise that looked out over the shadowed gardens. Her choices were to sit next to Jamie in the twin chaise, or by herself on the far side of the fire. If she didn’t sit with Jamie, she’d look like an uptight prude.

  With as much nonchalance as she could manage, she settled herself onto the chaise next to him, and skootched herself back against the cushions. Then, unfolding the blanket she’d brought with her, she shook it out so it covered her legs.

  “Do you want to share this with me?” she asked, knowing her tone was anything but gracious.

  Jamie either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “Sure,” he replied, and pulled the extra material across his legs. He set the cheese plate down between them, and retrieved their glasses of wine from the side table, handing one to her.

  “Cheers,” he said, and tipped his glass against hers.

  Rachel took a sip, enjoying the crispness of the wine, and then kept going, finishing the entire glass in one fell swoop.

  “Okay, then,” Jamie said, amused, and refilled her glass.

  She watched the flames in the fire pit as they spread outward and grew larger, and she tried to pretend she wasn’t acutely aware of the man seated next to her. A mere five inches of space separated their bodies, and he was so close she could actually smell him. By now, she was familiar with the scent of his soap and shampoo, and the underlying musk that was his alone. She breathed deeply, furtively.

  “How long are you going to be mad at me?” he asked, idly turning the wineglass in one hand. Rachel watched, noting the strong, tapered fingers and neat nails. His hands fascinated her. She knew how they felt on her bottom. How would they would feel on the most sensitive parts of her body?

  “I’m not upset with you,” she said after a moment, and she realized it was true. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been this comfortable with someone, although that might have been the wine she’d just guzzled. She was beginning to feel the effects. Jamie was easy to be with. He made her laugh, and he had a way of putting her at ease so she felt she could say—and do—just about anything. And that was the problem. She’d allowed her guard to slip. She’d let herself forget he was her client. “I’m upset with myself.”

  Jamie swiveled his head to stare at her in surprise. “Why?”

  He was so close, even in the dim light from the overhead bulbs, she could see the faint bristle shadowing his jaw, and the strong vein that ran along the side of his neck and throbbed strongly. Rachel would only have to lean over to press her mouth against his skin.

  “You know why,” she said. “Because I forgot myself.”

  He looked at her with a mixture of exasperation and amusement and, reaching over, took her wineglass from her hand and set it down alongside his own.

  “Come here,” he murmured, and before Rachel could protest, he slid a hand along her jaw to cup her face and turn it for a kiss. Rachel didn’t resist; if she was honest with herself, she’d been wanting this since she fled his house yesterday morning.

  His mouth was warm and he tasted faintly of the wine, and the small sound of approval he made sent shivers of awareness along Rachel’s spine. Almost without will, she leaned in to him. Her hand curled around his arm, feeling the muscles beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, and reveling in how solid and hard he was.

  Jamie pulled back and studied her, before reaching up to smooth a stray tendril of hair back from her face. After a moment, a smile touched his mouth. “I want you to forget yourself, Rachel McCafferty.”

  “Rachel Narducci.”

  Jamie shook his head. “Nah, you’re not a Narducci. Not anymore.”

  Rachel smiled ruefully. “If I ever was. The more I think back on those days, the more I wonder why we got married in the first place.”

  Jamie shifted to look at her more fully. “That always did bug me. What was it about that dude that made you decide to go and marry him?”

  His voice held so much contempt and disbelief that Rachel laughed. After a moment, she sighed, and shrugged. “I don’t know. I was young and impressionable, and he was such a big personality. He used to call me doll-face, and even though it sounds old-fashioned, and maybe even a little condescending, I actually liked it.” She risked a glance at Jamie. She’d never even told her girlfriends that bit, because she’d known how they would react. “Stupid, right?”

  “To marry someone because he calls you doll-face?” Jamie made a scoffing sound. “Yeah.” He picked up her hand in his and turned it over, before pressing a kiss against her palm, and then curling his fingers over it. “I would never call you doll-face. Sugar lips, maybe. Hot pants, definitely. Or maybe sweet cheeks.”

  Rachel snatched her hand from his, laughing in mock outrage. “Sweet cheeks?”

  “C’mon,” he teased. “You’ve got a great ass.”

  His compliment, however crude, made Rachel blush. Nobody—not even Deke—had ever told her she had a great ass.

  “Thanks,” she said with a grimace. “I think. But I didn’t marry Deke just because he called me doll-face. For all his faults, he can actually be extremely charming, and when he turns his attention on you…” Her voice trailed off.

  “You don’t have to explain it to me,” Jamie said. “I get it. The guy’s a multi-millionaire, he’s good-looking in his own bizarre, attention-grabbing way, and he probably showered you with gifts. How can anyone compete with that?”

  His tone was one of frustrated resignation, and Rachel wondered if he might actually be jealous of Deke. She had been twenty-eight when she’d married Deke, who had been just twenty-five at the time. His family had been against the union, convinced Rachel was only after his money. Hence, the rigorous prenuptial agreement that had essentially denied her any portion of his wealth should they divorce without children.

  But the truth was Rachel had been completely infatuated with Deke in those early years. He’d had a magnetism that drew you in and made you want to be close to him. Of course, his lavish lifestyle had been part of his allure. On their first date, he’d driven her to a local high school football field where a helicopter had been waiting. They’d flown to Martha’s Vineyard for dinner, and had returned to LaGuardia Airport, where he’d handed her into his sports car and driven her home. She hadn’t invited him up to her apartment that night, but she did the following night, and each night after.

  But had she really loved him? She’d been hurt when the marriage had ended, but she hadn’t been devastated. If she was honest with herself, she’d actually been a little relieved. Keeping up with Deke Narducci had been exhausting, both physically and mentally.

  Deke had loved a good party, and had thought nothing of traveling halfway around the world to be part of a celebration. At first, Rachel had enjoyed accompanying him. Each party, each location had been more fabulous than the last. But eventually, she’d grown weary of the late nights, the constant travel, and the glamorous people. She wasn’t in the same league as the other women at these social events, and she’d grown tired competing for Deke’s attention. She’d started staying behind, letting Deke go alone. Maybe she’d been complicit in the death of their marriage, but looking back she realized it never would have lasted, no matter what she did.

  “He could be pretty hard to resist,” she agreed. “Unfortunately, he’s the kind of guy who needs constant stimulation, and he becomes easily bored with the same thing.”

  Jamie stared at her in disbelief. “Are you seriously suggesting he became bored with you?”

  Rachel shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently. He began c
heating less than a year after the wedding. I didn’t find out until much later, but that was his defense—he was bored.”

  “Not only is he a serious douche, but he also sounds like a three-year-old.”

  Rachel laughed. “Yes, there are a lot of similarities between Deke and a toddler. But enough about him, okay? He’s out of my life, and I’d just as soon not talk about him anymore. Could you hand me my wine?”

  Reaching over, Jamie picked up the wineglass and handed it to her. “I don’t know if this helps, but I always thought you were way too good for that guy.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” She took a long swallow of her wine. “Dylan said the same thing. He actually flew out to New York to try and change my mind about marrying Deke.”

  “Yeah, I remember. I even offered to pay his airfare if he succeeded in getting you to call the wedding off.”

  Rachel stared at him. “You knew about that?”

  Jamie shrugged. “I may have encouraged him, a little.”

  “Was I the only one who didn’t realize we were wrong for each other?” With a groan, she tipped the wineglass back and drained the contents, and then set the empty glass down on the patio beside the chaise. “Don’t tell me any more; I don’t want to know.”

  Reaching out, Jamie captured her free hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I’ll just say one more thing,” he said, “and then we’ll never talk about the Deke-wad again.”

  Rachel looked at him, but there was no trace of laughter or mockery in his expression. Something inside her coiled itself in anticipation of what he might say, and she was acutely conscious of how warm and large his hand was.

  “What’s that?” she asked faintly.

  “Deke is an idiot,” he began, and his voice had a rough-soft quality that made Rachel’s insides quiver. His gaze dropped to their linked hands. “Otherwise, he would never have let you forget how important you were to him, or how damned lucky he was to have you in his life. He’d have reminded you every day of how beautiful and special you are.” He raised his eyes to hers. “And he damned sure never would have cheated on you.”

  “Jamie…”

  Without conscious thought, she leaned toward him. Jamie released her hand and met her halfway, rolling toward her so he pressed her back against the cushions, bracing his weight on one elbow as he used his free hand to cup her jaw. His hair glinted gold in the firelight, and Rachel’s eyes drifted closed in anticipation of his kiss. He traced his thumb along the line of her cheek before brushing it across her mouth. Without opening her eyes, Rachel lightly bit the pad of his thumb.

  She heard Jamie give a small groan of surrender, and then he was kissing her, his lips pushing against hers until she opened willingly for the hot slide of his tongue. She speared her fingers into his short hair, urging him closer. He complied, slanting his lips over hers and licking at the inside of her mouth. He smelled delicious, and the warm, heavy weight of him against her breasts sent an ache of longing to her groin. She shifted slightly to accommodate him, and he responded by sliding his free hand to her breast.

  Rachel gasped into his mouth as he cupped her gently, and then kneaded the flesh with his strong fingers. She hadn’t been touched this intimately in a long time, and the sensations were almost overwhelming. When he brushed his thumb over her nipple, and then plucked at the sensitized bud through the fabric of her shirt and bra, she arched involuntarily, seeking more of the delicious contact.

  “I want you to touch me,” she breathed against his mouth.

  “I am touching you,” he said, laughing softly. “And you feel amazing.”

  In answer, Rachel covered his hand with hers, and brought it down to the vee of her legs where an insistent throbbing had begun the moment he began kissing her. He made a deep sound of approval and cupped her through the thin cotton of her pants, before rubbing his fingers along the seam of her sex.

  Rachel realized her breathing had quickened, and she shifted her hips restlessly as he deepened the kiss. Her hand crept to his waist. More than anything, she wanted to touch him the way he was touching her. She could still recall how thick and hot he’d been when she’d touched him by the pool.

  Jamie pulled away. His breathing was a little ragged, and even in the indistinct light, she could see the twin patches of hectic color high on his cheekbones.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, and his voice was a husky rasp. “We should probably move this indoors, where we can, uh—”

  Looking down, Rachel saw the blanket had slid off. Beneath the soft sweatpants, Jamie was fully aroused, but was having difficulty getting into a comfortable position on the inclined chaise.

  “Your leg!” Rachel exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t even thinking—”

  “Shh,” he hushed her. “It’s all good. I just think we should go indoors where we can get more comfortable.”

  “What about the fire?”

  “Which one?” he asked, laughing and kissing her at the same time. He glanced at the fire pit. “I’ll put the screen over the top. It’ll be fine.”

  He eased himself away from her, and the cool evening air washed over Rachel’s heated body, making her shiver. She immediately missed Jamie’s solid weight and warmth. Pushing to a sitting position, she gathered up the blanket and their wineglasses, watching as Jamie eased himself to his feet.

  He gave her an apologetic look. “If I could, I’d carry you inside. I don’t want to stop touching you for even a second. Promise me this won’t ruin the mood.”

  Rachel smiled. “It won’t. In fact, I’ll do the touching while we head inside.”

  If she was smart, she would take this opportunity to change the direction of the evening, maybe even send him home. But her body still thrummed from his touch, and the sight of his arousal made her remember she was a woman, and she still had desires. So instead of doing the right thing and putting an end to the night, she waited while Jamie secured the fire pit, and then walked with him into the house, keeping one hand on his back as he swung his crutches. Once inside, she set the glasses and blanket down, and turned to Jamie.

  “Where were we?” she asked.

  Jamie moved closer to her, crowding her against the island. He supported his weight on one crutch as he slid a hand to the back of her head, gently tangling his fingers in her hair and tipping her face back.

  “I’m crazy about you, Rachel McCafferty,” he said softly, and lowered his mouth to hers. “I always have been.”

  Alarm bells rang in Rachel’s head, but then he was kissing her, and she lost any ability to think coherently.

  Chapter Nine

  Jamie noted with satisfaction Rachel didn’t correct him on her surname. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, deeply. She tasted faintly of the wine they’d drunk earlier, and her body was warm and firm against his. She tangled her tongue with his, stoking his desire and causing a rush of heat straight to his groin.

  Rachel pulled away and began pressing hot, wet kisses against his jaw and neck, even as her fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt and pushed upward. Her hands were cool against his heated skin, and when she slid her palms over his abdomen, his flesh contracted beneath her touch.

  “Everything about you is so hard,” she murmured against his neck.

  Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.

  He was stiff with arousal, and when her fingers dropped to the waistband of his sweats, he stopped her.

  “Rachel, is there a couch or maybe even a bed we can use? I don’t know how I’m going to do this with these damned crutches.”

  “I’m using the guest room,” she said, and dropped her hands from his body. “This way.”

  Jamie followed her through the house to a room beyond the living room. She switched on a small lamp and Jamie saw what had once been a playroom when they’d been kids was now a bedroom, complete with an attached bathroom.

  “My grandparents can’t really do the stairs anymore, so my parents converted this room to a bedroom,” Rach
el explained.

  Jamie watched as she quickly gathered up some clothing she’d left on a nearby chair, and then flipped a small wireless speaker on, and soft music filled the air. Then she yanked the bedspread to the foot of the bed, and pulled the blankets back. He couldn’t quite get his head around the unbelievable fact they were really going to do this. He was finally going to have sex with Rachel McCafferty and even if he couldn’t last—and he was already so freaking aroused he doubted he could—it was going to be the most amazing two minutes of his life.

  “Sit here,” Rachel indicated, patting the edge of the bed. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  The way she said the words let Jamie know that taking care of him didn’t have anything remotely to do with his injury. He eased himself onto the side of the bed, and dropped his crutches to the floor. He watched as Rachel stood in front of him and, never taking her eyes from his, she began to undress.

  Slowly, as if wanting to torture him, she began to undo the buttons on her blouse, her body undulating softy to the music. Her hair swirled around her shoulders in thick, glossy waves, and one long tendril fell over her eyes, giving her a sultry look.

  Jamie’s eyes were riveted to where her fingers were slowly unfastening the last button, and then spreading the edges of the blouse apart. Beneath the shirt, she wore a navy-blue lace bra. Beneath the open lace, he could see her pale skin and hints of her rosy nipples.

  He swelled even more.

  “Now it’s your turn,” she said, and moved forward so she all but straddled his good leg. She grasped the bottom of his shirt and tugged it upward. Jamie helped her by reaching behind his head and grabbing a fistful of the shirt, and pulling it off in one smooth motion.

  “Lie back on the bed,” she said, and pushed gently on his shoulders. Jamie complied, hitching himself back so he lay diagonally across the mattress. He watched as Rachel took a bed pillow and eased it under his cast to support his leg. “Is that good?”

  Jamie was unabashedly admiring how the tops of her creamy breasts jiggled beneath the lace bra as she moved, and the only thing he could manage was a nod, and an incomprehensible mumble of assent.