Amy arched her back into his mouth, thrust her hands into his hair. She rubbed her leg against him, slid her fingers down his back, and reached between their bodies, spurring him on. His pace quickened, sliding in and out of her, thrusting into her deep. Her body clenched around him. How easily the rust fell away. She met each thrust, gasped with delight as they moved. He increased the tempo, and their gazes locked, their bodies working from some primal place, until they reached a monstrous climax. It felt like a lifetime of pent-up pleasure exploded within her.
In one long, sensational moment, she ceased to exist. And when she found her breath again, the air was heavy with their perspiration, and the Christmas song “Sleigh Ride” began to jingle at them.
They laughed with relief and ecstasy and amusement.
He pressed his lips to her shoulder. She turned toward him and kissed him. “I feel like I should thank you. That was fantastic.”
“I should thank you. That was incredible.”
She was pleased that he’d felt it, too. “I guess that’s what happens when you go without for too long. It’s pretty fucking spectacular.”
He laughed and rolled onto his back. His breath was heavy, his legs limp. He grimaced, then shifted, twisting his arm behind him. He held up a gingerbread-man ornament. “Ouch.” He tossed it aside.
Amy dropped an arm across him. She wanted to bask in this moment. She wasn’t sure what came next, but an itch had been scratched in a most delightful way, and lying there, she was pretty sure she could get used to this.
She would think about tomorrow, tomorrow. For now, she was just going to enjoy the lovely afterglow of great sex.
Why had no one ever clued her in that golfers were so hot?
12
They fell asleep on the rug before the fire like two free-love hippies at Woodstock, until the next morning when the fire was nothing but ash and Old Man Harrison woke up and mumbled about how damn cold it was. He got up to rekindle the fire. Amy thought she better check on Duchess, so she grabbed the Texas Longhorns blanket they’d used as their only source of warmth and hurried back to her room.
Harrison stumbled to his room and turned on a piping-hot shower. The sun had come out, which automatically lifted his spirits. Once he warmed up, he feltgreat.Sex had that effect on him. It put a spring in his step, made him feel like the Hulk—like he could lift entire buildings. And when he had great sex with someone like Amy, who wasn’t shy about her wants, he thought he might have grown another foot tall.
He would very much like more of that kind of sex. Alotmore. He didn’t quite know how to ask for it because he hadn’t had to ask for it in a very long time. And he didn’t quite know what it meant that he wanted more. He hadn’t come here to find a woman he clicked with, but here he was.
Which just made his internal debate about what came next thatmuch harder. If he went to Scotland, say, he’d have to leave here when his rental was up and fly to Florida immediately. But if he didn’t go, maybe he could hang out with Amy a little longer. Just stick around in town for a few days.
The moment the thought popped into his head, he grimaced at his own absurdity. She had a family and alife.She wasn’t looking for a fling with him.
Was it a fling? It had to be, right? It wasn’t as if he was thinking that something could come of this. No. That was silly. It was a fabulous intermission in his life, and to think it was anything more was insane. Damn it, he’d thought some peace and quiet would help him muddle through his many options, but now he just felt even more undecided. When had making decisions become so hard?
After his shower, he kept wandering into the kitchen and stealing looks out the window at the studio. He could see Amy’s head in front of a canvas, could see her arms move, but that was it. He was very curious about her painting. He wanted to go out there, but that would be rude and a little presumptuous. Sex did not equal an invitation into her space. She wanted this time to create, and the worst thing he could do was bother her.
And yet, he really wanted to see what she painted. He thought it would be a window into her head. Not that he’d be able to interpret it, but still.
It was just that he really liked being with her.
He grew more restless, wandering around, humming along to the Christmas music, and checking out the kitchen window. He was beginning to drive himself a little nuts when he heard a knock on the front door. That was odd. He walked to the cavernous entry and could see long blonde hair through one of the sidelights. He opened the door and stared with surprise at the woman standing there.
“Hey, you,” she said cheerily.
Harrison could hardly make his mouth function. “Hillary?” As in Hillary Green, a conditioning coach who followed the PGA tour around. His impression of her was that she was a golf groupie who happened to be good at her job. He’d used her a couple of years ago for some tendinitis in his elbow.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” she said, leaning to one side to see past him. She was wearing Nike running tights and a pink, zip-up, furry hoodie. It was open and revealed a formfitting tank top that outlined her very shapely body. She’d propped a folded massage table against her leg and had a gym bag slung over her shoulder. She looked like she did on tour when she was working. He frantically sorted through his mental inbox for a note, a message, a calendar reminder of her coming to Texas. But there was no such thing.
“What are you—”
“Clay!” she chirped before he could finish his sentence. “He said you’d be surprised.”
He was more than surprised. And he was immediately pissed.
“I honestly would have preferred he call you before I got here, but he said you love a good surprise. Is that true?”
“No, it is not,” Harrison said gruffly. “I’m sorry…you’re telling me that Clay sent you here?”
“Yep.” She beamed at him and picked up her massage table. “He said you need help, and I had the time, and he is paying me alot.”
