Page 93 of Meet Me on Greenwood

His arms were around me, holding me tight, our lips only inches apart. "Is that true, or did you just make that up?"

He grinned. "I can look out the window and prove it to you."

I held onto him tighter. "No, don’t leave."

"I don’t want to leave," he whispered, sliding closer to cup my cheek. His lips grazed mine, but he didn’t press, as if waiting for me to push him away.

"We shouldn’t do this," he whispered.

"We’ve established that—ask me again now that I know all your secrets."

His lips descended on mine, like he’d been waiting all his life for them.

He pulled back slightly. "You aren’t mad, then? I haven’t—ruined things between us?"

I kissed him back just as feverishly, clasping my hands behind his neck. "I haven’t decided," I breathed as he kissed down my neck. "Convince me I shouldn’t be mad at you. Convince me you feel bad for lying to me."

He gripped my breast. "I will do whatever it takes," he said, biting down delicately on my nipple. I inhaled sharply in pleasure as he slid my chemise around my thighs, our rain-soaked skin touching.

He bent and lifted me in one motion, one arm beneath my knees, the other supporting my back, as if I weighed nothing. I made a small sound of surprise and gripped his neck.

"Houston—"

"I've got you," he said. The words took me back to our encounter on the ferry boat, though now they had an entirely different meaning.

He laid me down on the bed before sitting next to me.

I looked up at him in the dark. Rain still on his skin. The cut above his eye had stopped bleeding.

"You should know," he said quietly, reaching out to push a wet curl away from my face. His hand stayed at my jaw. "The nights I've spent in this room."

"Houston—" I moaned.

"The images in my head of you in this bed." His thumb moved slowly along my cheekbone. "They have been torturous." His voice dropped further as he pulled down the straps of my chemise. "The things I thought about doing to you."

My breath left me entirely.

"Tell me," I said.

His eyes flashed, the last threads of his restraint unraveling.

"I'd rather show you," he said.

His kiss was sensual, hands moving into my wet hair, tilting my head back. I felt the full weight of his attention settle over me and pulled him closer by the lapels of his soaked shirt. Houston took the hint and drew the shirt over his head, revealing the muscular body hidden underneath.

"What’s wrong?" he asked.

"I thought you were a doctor," I said, running my hands along the muscles of his back. "This is not the body of a doctor."

He grinned. "Those crates of whiskey don’t lift themselves."

Houston settled his weight over me carefully, with one hand braced beside my head. He looked deep into my eyes, giving me every chance to stop what was happening, and I answered by pulling his mouth back to mine.

He peeled the wet chemise over my head and sat back on his heels to look at me, taking his time about it, like I was something rare and worth appreciating. His hands followed the paths his eyes had taken, warm and adoring, and when his mouth came down on my skin, I stopped being able to form complete thoughts.

"Houston." Just his name. It was all I could manage.

I clawed at his hair as he reached my core, fingers teasing me until I was shaking. The low sound he made when my hands moved across his back was full of wanting and entirely undone. He dipped his hand between my thighs and I exhaled sharply.