“I didn’t know you wore spectacles,” he said.
Surprised, Laurel blinked widely. “What?”
“Your spectacles. They’re on the table behind you. I didn’t know you wore them.”
“For reading sometimes. Mostly Beadle’s. The print is small.”
“Put them on.”
She frowned slightly and didn’t move.
“No, really. Put them on. I want to see you in them.”
Laurel didn’t turn. She reached behind her instead and felt around on the table until she found them. Unfolding the stems, she slipped on the spectacles and pushed them up the bridge of her nose. She tilted her head and regarded Call over the rims. “Well?” she said.
Call placed a forefinger under her chin and tipped herface toward him. He was unsmiling as he studied her. “I was right,” he said eventually. “You can’t help but look lovely.”
Laurel huffed a laugh and brushed his hand away. When she realized he still wasn’t smiling, her eyebrows folded. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“And ridiculous.”
“Frequently,” he said, “but not about this.”
Shaking her head, Laurel removed the spectacles and put them behind her. Without quite knowing how he’d done it, Laurel realized he’d set her at ease. She appreciated that because now that she had him here, she wasn’t sure what to do about it. “You could take off your hat,” she said.
Call removed it, tossing it toward a painted ladder-back chair. It caught one of the white spindles and hung there.
Laurel watched the hat’s flight and looked at him suspiciously when it landed. “You got lucky.”
He grinned, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I did. Iam.”
The gleam in his eye made her think she’d gotten lucky as well. Not for the first time in her life, Laurel took the bull by the horns and curled her fingers in his leather vest. She pulled him closer, stood on tiptoes, and sought his mouth with hers.
The kiss started out hungry and just got hungrier. She didn’t know how much she needed this, needed him, until she felt his mouth against hers. His lips were dry. She licked them with the damp edge of her tongue and heard him groan softly at the back of his throat. He kissed her deeply as she fumbled with the buttons of his vest and pushed it over his shoulders. It fell to the floor and he kicked it away. His mouth never left hers.
Their tongues tangled. Laurel breathed in the earthy scent of him and found she liked it. At the pool there’d been no fragrance. The clean, crisp scent of the water overwhelmed the man. Now she recognized what theheady combination of the faint odors of sweat and horses and whiskey could do to her. McCall Landry overwhelmed her.
Laurel tugged on his shirttail, pulling it out of his trousers. Reaching under it, she unfastened his belt and then set to work unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers were clumsy. It was his mouth, she thought. The kiss clouded her mind, made her fingers fumble. She was no longer wearing her shirt, and she had no idea when that had happened. He was holding it crumpled in his fist at the small of her back. She felt, rather than saw, him pitch it over his shoulder and had no idea where it landed.
Laurel opened his shirt and slipped her hands inside. He was wearing a loose cotton undershirt. She plucked at the material, lifted it, and laid her palms flat against his skin. He was warm. His flat belly retracted when she touched him because he sucked in a breath. It was the first time his mouth left hers.
She found him again, lightly bit his lower lip, nibbled it. She ran her tongue along the ridge of his teeth and along the sensitive underside of his upper lip. She kissed the corner of his mouth, touched his jaw, rubbed her cheek against his beard.
One strap of Laurel’s camisole fell over her shoulder. Before she could even think of righting it, Call’s mouth was at the curve of her neck. He sucked on her flesh and she felt the pulse of it all the way to her toes.
Laurel’s palms climbed his smooth back; her fingers traced the length of his spine. Her nails settled at his nape and dug in ever so lightly. She twisted his hair with her fingertips, ruffled the ends. He made her moan when he drew his lips along her collarbone. His hands lifted her camisole and cupped her breasts. His thumbs made a pass across her nipples and she arched into him, cradling his erection with her thighs.
Call ground his hips against her, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. His lips were at her ear when he told her what he wanted in language so rough it was likegravel in his throat. She didn’t pull away or take him to task. What she did was shiver.
Laurel grasped the hem of her camisole, pulled it over her head, and let it sail. Call shrugged out of his shirt, undershirt, and yanked on his belt. They sat on the bed at the same time and shucked their boots. Call got out of his first and knelt on the floor at Laurel’s feet to help her with her second one. He tossed it to the side and removed her socks. She wiggled her toes. Call set his hands on her knees and looked up at her. He said nothing, merely looked at her while she stared back. Her pupils widened. His desire was mirrored in her eyes and she would see the same in him.
His hands slid up her thighs and parted her legs. He stood between them, took her by the wrists, and brought her hands to the buttons of his fly. Call waited to see what she would do, but he needn’t have asked himself the question. Laurel handled these buttons with a deftness that was missing when she unfastened his shirt. She slipped her hand inside his trousers and cupped his balls through his drawers. He caught her by the wrist and held her hand there, pushing back against the pressure of her palm.
Now she asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing,” he said, closing his eyes. “Nothing.” After a moment, and before he came out of his skin, Call stepped back and drew Laurel to her feet. He stripped her out of her trousers and drawers and shed his own while she stood naked at the bedside watching him. “I appreciate your interest,” he whispered, pulling back the covers, “but I want you here more.” He gave her a little push just below the hollow of her throat and she toppled back without complaint.
