“No.” He moved closer. “That’s not the word I’d use.” He nuzzled her throat. “I wouldn’t use words at all.” Then he kissed her again and slid his hands all the way up to cup her breasts over her bra.
“Don’t stop now,” she murmured and unfastened the button at the waistband of his snow pants.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked.
She nibbled beneath his ear, sending a shiver through him. “I’m sure.”
He pushed her top up further and unfastened her bra. She moved beneath him, helping him undress her until they were both naked from the waist up.
Farley let out a loud snore, and she laughed. “Maybe we should move some place more comfortable,” she suggested.
He led her to the bedroom, where he switched on the bedside lamp and folded back the comforter.
“Condom?” she asked, and he took one from the box in the bedside table. The box had been there a while. How long before they expired?
“I’ll be right back,” he said and darted into the bathroom, where he verified that the condom was not expired, removed the rest of his clothing and brushed his hair.
When he returned, she was lying naked against the sheets, propped on her elbows. He had been right—she was a woman who knew what she wanted. All nervousness fled, banished by raw desire. He slid into bed and abandoned himself to the silken heat of her body wrapped around his.
She made love the way she did everything, he decided, with a focus that fueled his own intensity. If he was a mystery she wanted to solve, she was new terrain he wanted to spend years exploring. He wanted to study the way she moved when he passed his hands over her and memorize the pleased noises she made when he traced her curves with his mouth. There was nothing tentative in the way she touched him or in her responses, eager and joyful and urging him toward more.
By the time he rolled on the condom and pulled her on top of him they were past speech, communicating with nudges and looks. He groaned as she wrapped around him, then could scarcely breathe as she thrust against him. Then she leaned over and planted the gentlest of kisses on his mouth, and he opened his eyes to look into hers.
“You doing okay?” she whispered.
“Never better,” he said and wrapped his arms around her. They moved together, sometimes smoothly, sometimes awkwardly but always with the same goal in mind. He kept his gaze locked to hers and saw there the same vulnerability and eagerness that had caught him by surprise when she had asked him to accompany her to the Trail’s End to look for protestors. He watched her climax as it transformed her face, then closed his eyes and focused on his own release.
They lay together afterward, entwined beneath the comforter. He was spent but still so aware of her against him. He no longer felt out of control, merely a navigator of unknown territory, delighting in the adventure overcoming uncertainty about what lay ahead.
“Not too scary, I hope,” she said, and he wondered if she had read his thoughts. Then again, maybe she had seen through him all along.
“Not scary at all,” he said. He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t afraid of women. That he had welcomed a lot of them—well, quite a few of them—into his bed. But that didn’t sound like the diplomatic thing to say. And this wasn’t about experience or inexperience. Only the knowledge that part of his brain had recognized before the rest of him had caught up—the fact that Stacy was special.
Now she had the power to hurt him, something he hoped she never realized.
Stacy was deepin a dream of floating on a heated cloud. A gorgeous man was there with her, offering her chocolate. The man was Connor. And he was naked. She smiled and beckoned him to come closer.
Then loud, tinny music jarred her awake. She opened her eyes and stared into darkness, no sign of the gorgeous naked man or clouds or chocolate.
“Is that your phone?” a man asked.
“Connor!” She sat up, then pulled up the sheet to cover her breasts as cold air rushed over them. “What time is it?”
“It’s after midnight.”
The music had stopped, but as she groped for the switch on the lamp beside the bed, it started up again. She found her phone and checked the screen. “It’s my father,” she said and silenced the call.
The text alert sounded. She swiped up and read the message.You need to answer my call.The phone rang again.
“Answer him,” Connor said. “He’s probably worried you’ve been kidnapped by terrorists.”
“Hello?” She held the phone tightly to her ear with one hand and gathered the comforter more tightly around herself with the other.
“Where are you?” George demanded.
“I’m okay, Dad. I’m safe.”
“I didn’t ask how you are. I want to know where you are.”
