He broke the kiss. “It’s not your birthday—not until midnight.”
She moaned in frustration. “You’re not seriously going to make us wait until midnight, are you?”
“It’s not easy, but you’re worth it.” He let her go. “I got us steaks for supper. How about we grill them on the deck?”
They made dinner together—grilled T-bones, baked potatoes, and salad, with ice cream for dessert—but Megs insisted on loading the dishwasher alone since she’d never used one before.
“How does this work? Oh, I see. Right on!”
They sat on the deck to watch the sunset, deer grazing in the meadow downhill from the cabin, the scent of fall in the air. Then Megs stood and undressed, exposing her sweet body to his gaze.
“I’m going to try the Jacuzzi.”
Damn.
The breath left Mitch’s lungs, and for a moment, he could do nothing but stare. Her smooth skin. Her small, sweet breasts. The curves of her hips. Her round, athletic ass. Those slender legs.
She stepped down into the water. “Oh, this feels so good!”
Before he knew it, he was on his feet. While she watched, he stripped down to his skin and followed her into the hot tub.
Chapter 16
Somehow Mitch managedto keep his hands to himself, despite the beautiful, naked almost-woman beside him. They stayed in the Jacuzzi until their fingers and toes grew wrinkled and the sky was full of stars. Then they came inside, walking hand in hand, naked and wet.
Mitch took a shower first, shaving away the day’s stubble. He couldn’t imagine that whisker burn would feel good on Megs’ inner thighs. Then he slipped into one of two blue velour robes hanging in the bathroom and went in search of Megs.
He found her wrapped in a towel in the living room. “Your turn.”
“Nice bathrobe.”
While she showered, he got things arranged in the bedroom—condoms, champagne on ice, candles, a book of poetry by Kahlil Gibran. Then he started a fire in the bedroom fireplace and glanced at his watch.
10:30
An hour and a half to go.
Good grief.
Was he nervous?
Hell, yes, he was.
Megs walked into the bedroom, her long hair damp, the robe far too big for her, its sleeves hanging beyond her fingertips. “Candles and champagne. This is romantic.”
He drew her into his arms. “I have waited so long for this night. I want to make it special for you.”
“You already have.”
He kissed her, exploring her mouth with lips and tongue, until his blood ran hot. Then he drew her over to the bed, picked up the book, handed it to her. “I bought you this for your birthday.”
She ran her hand over the cover. “The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.”
“He wrote amazing poetry, some of it about love. I thought you’d enjoy it.”
She looked up at him. “Thank you.”
They read poems together every night back at Camp 4, so they climbed into bed and took turns reading to each other, his arm around her shoulder, her head resting against his chest.
