Bedded Then Wed
Heidi Betts

In loving memory of my cousin, Kathy (Stock) Mulder.

A beautiful, caring soul, taken from us much too soon.

And always, for Daddy.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Coming Next Month

One

The last, slow strains of an old Tammy Wynette song spilled from a small portable radio set up on the steps of the park’s gazebo to replace the more elaborate sound system that had been used earlier that evening, and Emma Davis covered her mouth to hide another yawn.

Lord, she was exhausted. She’d spent all yesterday cooking and baking for today’s Fourth of July shindig, then most of the morning helping to decorate the town square.

The Gabriel’s Crossing holiday celebrations were legendary, and she was more than happy to lend a hand wherever she could. But now, at eleven o’clock at night, she was just plain exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to go home, fall into bed, and sleep for a week…or at least until noon the next day.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like she would get to do any of those things for quite some time yet.

She cast a glance over her shoulder, to where her father and three of his cronies sat at a worn card table, playing what had to be their two-dozenth hand of poker. Unlike Emma—and everyone else, who had pretty much collected their things and headed home hours ago—her father didn’t seem anywhere near ready to leave.

With a soft groan, she lowered her head to where her arms rested atop the rough planks of the picnic table and closed her eyes. If she couldn’t get to her own bed, then she would sleep right here. At this point, she wasn’t particular.

“Need a ride home?”

The low, gravelly voice penetrated her tired brain and she lifted her head to stare up at her neighbor and one of her closest friends since childhood.

Closest friend and secret crush…or at least he had been in high school.

Oh, who was she kidding? Just looking at Mitch Ramsey, with his black-as-sin hair and gray, penetrating eyes, was enough to send the blood pumping through her veins.

A moment ago she’d been so tired she could barely put a single thought together, now she felt wide awake and ready to do the two-step…as long as Mitch was two-stepping right along with her.

When she didn’t answer right away, Mitch tapped his beat-up Stetson against the side of his muscular thigh and offered her a kind smile. “Your father seems to be pretty involved in his card game, but you look about ready to drop. Why don’t you let me take you home, and he can come along whenever he’s ready.”

My hero, she thought, and could have sworn her heart skipped a beat.

It had always been that way with Mitch…he smiled and her belly flip-flopped. He drawled her name, and she felt it all the way down to her toes.

This wasn’t the first time he’d come to her rescue, either. Mitch was a gentleman right down to his born-and-bred Texas roots.

“That would be great, thank you.” She pushed herself up from the bench seat of the picnic table and brushed her hands on the legs of her jeans. “Let me just go tell Pop I’m leaving.”

Mitch gave a small nod, staying where he was while she wandered over to the group of poker buddies.

“Hey, Pop,” she said, curling her hands over her father’s shoulders and leaning in to kiss his bearded cheek.

Wyatt Davis gave a chuckle, laid out his cards, and said, “Read ‘em and weep, boys.” His full house clearly beat his friends’ hands, and he wasted no time dragging his winnings toward him across the table.

Once he had all the chips in front of him, he turned his head and tipped his face up to Emma. “Hey, there, baby girl. How are you doing?”

“I’m tired and ready to go home.” Before his mustachioed mouth could turn down in a frown, she added, “Mitch has offered to take me so you can stick around and play cards as long as you like.”

Wyatt glanced past her to where Mitch was standing, fitting his hat on his dark head. “That’s awfully nice of him. You sure you don’t mind?”

She smiled and gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Of course not. You have fun. No more drinking, though, or we’ll have to find someone to drive you home, too.”

Her father grinned and pointed to the brown bottle to his right. “Don’t worry about me, pumpkin, I’ll be nursing this one the rest of the night.”

“All right.” She leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “See you in the morning. Win big. Bye, guys,” she said, waving to her father’s friends as she made her way back to Mitch.

“Ready to go?”

She nodded, grabbing her purse from the picnic table and following Mitch to his dark blue truck, shining near-black in the moonlight. He held the door open while she climbed in, then slammed it behind her and walked around to the driver’s side. After he’d gotten in behind the wheel and started the engine, he adjusted the air-conditioning to cool the inside of the cab and turned on the radio so that a familiar country tune played in the background.

“Thanks again for this,” Emma murmured softly when she realized he didn’t intend to carry on a conversation. “I had visions of spending the night curled up on that picnic table. If I’d known Pop planned to stick around playing cards all night, I’d have suggested we take separate cars.”

“No problem. I was headed in your direction, anyway.” He graced her with a quick grin that creased the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah. If I’d thought of that, I probably would have asked you for a ride hours ago.”

Mitch’s ranch, the Circle R, bordered her father’s property. There were plenty of acres in between, but for all intents and purposes, they were next-door neighbors.

“So, what were you doing hanging around the celebration this late? I’d have expected you to hightail it out of there at the first opportunity.”

Mitch was a hometown favorite and more than willing to help out any time Gabriel’s Crossing needed him, but ever since his divorce from Suzanne four years earlier, he’d become quiet and withdrawn. He spent most of his time alone on his ranch, going into town only when he needed supplies, or for an event like tonight’s—the town’s annual Independence Day celebration. But even then, he usually only made a brief appearance before disappearing again, back to the Circle R.

“Chase took Mom home after the fireworks, but since he was in charge of the sound system he needed someone to stick around and dismantle everything.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the equipment piled into the truck bed. “I’ll have to drop that stuff off in the morning.”

“Why didn’t you take your mother home?” she pressed, knowing that would have been Mitch’s choice over staying to the very end of the town-wide party.

Even from where she was sitting, on the opposite side of the bench seat, she could see the wry twist of his lips.

“Because my family thinks I’m becoming a hermit and need to get out more. And that if I stuck around long enough tonight, I might have met a nice girl and gotten married again.”

His tone told her how enamored he was of that idea, but she couldn’t help the tiny flicker of awareness that bloomed to life inside her.

She opened her mouth to speak, then had to clear her throat before she thought the words would come out as more than a squeak. “Did you? Meet a nice girl, I mean.”

“No,” he answered without reservation, and with the slightest hint of an edge to his voice. “But then, I wasn’t looking for one.”

The flicker in her belly sputtered and died. She shouldn’t be surprised. It was no secret that Suzanne’s infidelities and the divorce had hit him hard. He’d never been the most outgoing guy to begin with, but after the divorce he’d become noticeably more sullen. Nothing anyone said or did seemed to shake his sour mood.

And he had never looked at her as anything other than a neighbor and friend—no matter how much she might wish he would.

Not that she’d ever done anything about it. She could have flirted a little, or come right out and told him she had the hots for him. Instead, she’d kept her feelings to herself while pining after him from afar.

She was such a coward. Maybe if she hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have married Suzanne in the first place and wouldn’t be so miserable now.

Swallowing uncomfortably, she rubbed her palms along the tops of her jean-clad legs and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized they were nearing her house. Getting home would mean an end to the awkward silence filling the cab.

Mitch pulled up in front of the pale yellow, ranch-style house and cut the engine.

“You want me to walk you to the door?”

Considering the walk would take all of about two seconds and ten steps, it was a gracious but unnecessary offer.

“Thanks, but I need to check the livestock one last time before I go to bed, anyway.”

She released the latch on her seatbelt and opened the passenger side door. When she turned from closing it, she was surprised to find Mitch moving toward her in that long, lanky stride of his.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her mind drawing a complete blank as to why he’d bothered to get out of the truck at all.

“Helping you with the livestock.”

“That’s all right, I can handle it.” It might not be her favorite pastime, but she’d grown up pitching hay, mucking stalls and grooming horses, and—along with several ranch hands—still helped her father on a daily basis. Checking water buckets and tossing out a little extra grain by herself would be child’s play.

“I know you can,” he told her, catching an arm around her shoulders. “But things will go faster and you’ll be able to get to bed quicker if we both do the work.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic, so she said nothing as they made their way across the grass-sprigged dirt yard to the big gray barn.

One half of the large double doors was propped open. They walked inside, and Emma flipped a switch to her left to turn on the lights. The uncovered bulbs dangling high above their heads weren’t very bright but illuminated enough of the building so that they could see what they were doing.

Mitch had spent so much time at the Double D as a child that he knew where everything was. The horses nickered at the interruption to their rest, and Mitch patted more than one equine nose as they passed.

While she shook a bit of fresh hay into each horse’s feed trough and checked to make sure they had clean water, Mitch hauled a bale outside. She knew he would carry the hay out a ways into the field, then spread it on the ground for the cattle to find during the night.

They finished at nearly the same time. She was wiping her hands on the seat of her jeans when he strolled back in, the leftover baling twine clutched in one hand. He hung the strings on a nail sticking out of a nearby beam, then turned to face her, hands on hips.

“All done?” he wanted to know.

“Just about.” Moving farther into the wide open space of the barn, she wrapped her fingers around the sides of the ladder that led to the loft and said, “I want to check on a new litter of kittens before we leave.”

She scurried up the ladder in a matter of seconds, creeping quietly across the straw-strewn floor in search of the kittens. The light up here was even weaker than down below, but she could still make out the shapes of stray bales and—hopefully—tiny bundles of fur.

A second later, a board squeaked behind her and she turned her head to see Mitch standing at the top of the ladder. Her stomach did another one of those queer flip-flops at the sight of him, then settled down to a dull simmer.

“You didn’t have to come up,” she whispered.

“I wanted to,” he said just as softly, but didn’t elaborate.

Deciding Mitch pretty much did what he wanted, whenever he wanted, she went back to looking for the kittens. She found them tucked together in a tight ball, nestled into a pile of loose straw in the corner. They were adorable, and so small she thought she could probably hold the entire brood of them in the palms of both hands.

There were five in total—two tabbies, one calico, one white, and one black with white feet and a streak of white on its nose. She’d been playing with them on an almost daily basis since she’d discovered them. They were old enough that their eyes were open but young enough that they still wobbled when they tried to walk.

Not wanting to disturb their rest, she intended to simply back away and leave them be, but then the mama cat appeared, rubbing between Emma’s legs before moving to her babies and lying down to let them feed. They immediately woke up and started nuzzling around their mother’s belly, and Emma took the opportunity to stroke their soft little heads and backs.

Most barn cats were afraid of people because they didn’t get handled as much as house cats, but from the time she was old enough to toddle around in her father’s footsteps, Emma had loved the odd collection of felines running around the property. Her father used to tell her to be careful or she’d stroke them all bald, but so far that hadn’t happened. Instead, they had a barn full of friendly cats that often came running when they heard the doors open and would pester for attention while you were trying to work.

“Cute,” Mitch murmured just above her left ear, startling her.

She straightened, covering her heart with her hand. For a moment, she’d forgotten he was there but wondered now how she ever could have made such a grievous error. His tall frame and broad shoulders filled the space around them like a sponge in a glass of water. His presence alone seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air and make her short of breath.

“Well,” she said nervously, backing a step or two away, “I just wanted to see how they were doing. We can leave now.”

Instead of heading for the ladder to climb back to the main floor of the barn, Mitch moseyed over to a couple of bales of straw stacked against the far wall and sat down.

“What’s your hurry?” he asked, leaning back on his elbows until he was nearly lying flat. “If we wait for the kittens to fill their bellies, you might get to pet them again.”

Stuffing her hands into the hip pockets of her jeans, she rocked back on her heels. She could play with the kittens anytime, which he probably knew perfectly well. But he seemed to want to hang around a while longer, and she didn’t get the chance to talk to him very often anymore, especially alone. Besides, as tired as she’d been only half an hour ago at the picnic area, she didn’t feel at all sleepy now.

Feet dragging slightly through the loose straw that covered the loft floor, she took a seat beside him. She kept her spine straight, her hands on her knees as she searched for something to say. The problem was, she’d already ex-hausted her list of small-talk topics on the drive home. She didn’t have a clue what else to say that wouldn’t sound forced or too probing into his personal life.

Thankfully, Mitch kept the moment from turning awkward.

“So how’d you enjoy the celebration today?”

“It was fine,” she said. “The Fourth of July picnic is always fun.”

“Yeah.” He picked up a long strand of golden-yellow straw and twirled it between two fingers, casting shadows in the dim light. “I got a slice of your cherry pie before it was all gone. It was good.”

“Thanks.”

“You made some of the other food, too, right? I thought I heard somebody mention you always cook a lot for the picnic.”

She nodded, remembering all the times she, Mitch and his brother, Chase, had hung out together just like this. On those long summer days when it was too hot to run or play, they’d found a shady spot to do nothing more than lie around and shoot the breeze. The happy childhood memories eased her nerves and she began to relax.

“Mom used to cook up a storm for all the town celebrations, you know. After she died, I guess I picked up where she left off. I had her recipes, and I didn’t want anyone to be disappointed.”

“I think people would have understood,” he said seriously.

“Probably. But I enjoy it, and I think it makes Pop feel more like Mom’s still around.”

“She did make the best potato salad in Texas.”

“Yes, she did,” Emma agreed with a smile.

“Yours was pretty tasty, too.”

She met his storm-gray eyes and grinned. “How do you know it was my potato salad you were eating?” There had to have been at least four or five bowls of the stuff, all prepared by different cooks.

He sat up and leaned closer to her, one corner of his mouth quirked with amusement. “Because I saw you arrive and watched you set the bowl on the table with the rest of the food. Then I made sure to get there early before it was all gone.”

His face was inches from her own, hovering over her, smelling of some crisp, clean aftershave she couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was, it made her think of waking up in the arms of a strong, sexy man. This man, in particular. Running her fingers over his stubbled, unshaven jaw…kissing his warm, pale lips…feeling the full, bare length of him pressed against her while they slowly stirred each other’s arousal.

“I didn’t see you,” she responded quietly, unable to tear her gaze from his tempting mouth. “Not until much later.”

“I was hiding out to avoid those nosy questions I get whenever I show my face in town. But I could still see every move you made.”

She shivered with awareness at his words. He’d been watching her at the picnic and she hadn’t even known it.

Instead of feeling unnerved that he’d essentially been spying on her all day, she was flattered…and suddenly incredibly turned on.

“I wish I’d known you were there,” she said, boldly lifting her hand to caress the strong line of his jaw. “I would have asked you to dance.”

He wrapped his fingers around hers, pulling her hand away from his face and turning it to press a kiss to the center of her palm. Tiny flames of desire flickered to life in her belly and started to spread outward.

“We could dance now,” he offered softly.

She shook her head. “There’s no music.”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, brushing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, “I definitely hear something in the air.”

And then he leaned forward, covering her mouth with his own.

Emma’s heart kicked up, pounding in her chest like the hooves of a galloping horse. Mitch Ramsey was kissing her. Finally. Gloriously.

His lips were firm, skillful. He knew exactly where to press, where to move, when to open his mouth and encourage her to do the same. While his tongue darted over and around hers, she tasted the coffee with just a touch of cream and sugar that he must have drank before bringing her home.

Her nipples turned hard and pressed against the inside cups of her bra as he stroked her from hip to breast. The heat of his touch burned through her blouse, raising goose bumps along her flesh and sending her core temperature soaring.

She ran her hands over his back, feeling the sleek muscles beneath his shirt, the way they rippled and flexed as he moved. Using her nails like claws, she tore at the tail of his shirt, dragging it out from the waistband of his jeans until the pads of her fingers encountered smooth, bare skin.

Between them, he was loosening the buttons of her blouse from top to bottom, opening her to the night air. And Emma let him…more than let him. She moved however she thought was needed to grant him the best access.

It was amazing, wonderful, spectacular. Everything she’d ever imagined and more.

She was panting for breath when Mitch grasped her shoulders and pushed her slightly away. His own chest heaved as he stared down at her, his eyes dark with desire.

“Don’t stop,” she blurted out, thrusting her fingers into the hair at his temples and drawing him near once again.

She was so afraid he’d stop. So afraid the tight line of his lips meant he was about to apologize and say that kissing her was a mistake.

But it wasn’t a mistake; it was what she wanted. Had wanted, more than anything, for years.

“Please,” she said again, more softly this time, uncaring that she likely sounded desperate and pathetic, “don’t stop.”

“Not a chance,” he murmured, just before he lowered his head to kiss her again and sent her world back to the realm of temporary perfection.

Two

Mitch’s body was on fire, throbbing with need and straining to get closer to Emma.

Four years. It had been four years since his divorce from Suzanne and four long years since he’d been with a woman. The time had taken its toll and stretched his control to the breaking point.

And now here he was, with a warm and willing woman in his arms.

Never mind that it was Emma, childhood friend and neighbor, a woman he shouldn’t even be contemplating sleeping with.

But she tasted like peppermint and smelled like flowers and reminded him of a time in his life when he hadn’t been miserable. Back when they were kids, without a care in the world, when he was first married to Suzanne, head over heels in love and believing they would always be that way.

Emma was safe and familiar…and sexy as all get out.

How had he never noticed that before? The way her small, firm breasts filled out the front of her blouse and her soft lips formed a seductive little moue. Or the way her strawberry-blond hair fell to her shoulders and perfectly framed her heart-shaped face.

He shouldn’t be thinking of her in those terms, shouldn’t be touching and kissing her. But she felt so good, so right, he couldn’t seem to stop.

She made soft mewling sounds as their tongues tangled and her body writhed against his. He pushed her shirt the rest of the way off her shoulders, letting it fall to the bale of straw behind her.

Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, as rapidly as his own. But he didn’t let it keep him from sliding his right hand over her left breast, beneath the lacy material of her bra. His fingers caressed the pillowy softness while his thumb teased and flicked the hardened nipple.

She moaned in pleasure, sending shockwaves rippling through his bloodstream. Her head fell back, exposing the long, smooth column of her throat, and he couldn’t resist kissing her there, licking the pulse point and nibbling at the taut line of muscle.

He used his free hand to unhook the latch of her bra and skim the loosened straps down her arms.

In the back of his mind, he hoped she would protest. If she asked him to stop, suffered a sudden bout of embarrassment, he was gentleman enough not to pressure her to go farther than she felt comfortable. But on his own…

On his own, he wasn’t sure he was man enough to let her go.

He had full access now to her bare chest and took a moment to admire the pale splendor of her small, pert breasts with their tiny cherry nipples. They reminded him of ice cream sundaes, sweet and delectable and good enough to eat.

Shifting around on the bales of straw, he supported her back with one arm while leaning in for a taste. He kissed the side of her breast, then opened his mouth to sample the silken skin.

She raked her hands through his hair, grazing the scalp and anchoring her fingers near his nape. His tongue drew circles around her tightened areola, the movements growing smaller and smaller until he engulfed the entire tip.

She straddled his thighs like a champion rider, tilting her hips, straining for a more intimate touch. And he wanted to give it to her, was desperate for it himself. Sweating, shaking, more aroused than he could ever remember being before in his life.

Releasing her breast, dragging in great gulps of air, he returned his mouth to her lips. At the same time, he tried to get his trembling fingers to work on the snap and zipper of her jeans.

With the denim loose around her waist, he slipped his hands inside, palms flat against her skin as he slid them down, beneath the elastic edge of her panties. He skimmed her hips, then moved around to cup her buttocks.

When she moaned and ground herself into the hard bulge behind the zipper of his own jeans, he knew he couldn’t wait much longer to be inside her. Not without embarrassing himself and depriving them both of something he was beginning to suspect would be earth-shattering.

Laying her back along the bed of straw bales, he sat up only long enough to yank off her shoes and drag her pants down her legs. Then he was with her again, tearing off his shirt, unbuckling his belt and opening his fly before covering her with his body.

He lifted her legs around his waist, gently probing her warm, moist folds. Brushing thin strands of strawberry-blond hair away from her face, he met her eyes and offered her an encouraging smile. She returned his grin and lifted her hands to his shoulders, applying just enough pressure to tug him down for a kiss. While his tongue plumbed the depths of her mouth, he cocked his hips and entered her in one long, strong stroke.

The instant friction and intense sensation made them both gasp. Mitch held himself perfectly still, feeling her tight inner muscles flexing around him, all but blowing off the top of his head. He knew if he moved, if she shifted even a millimeter, things between them would be over much too soon.

So he gritted his teeth, concentrating on his breathing until the blaze in his gut sputtered to a low forest fire and he thought he could open his eyes, gaze down at Emma’s angelic features without exploding. She was staring up at him with liquid blue eyes, the same stunned expression on her face that he suspected mirrored his own.

Taking a deep breath, he let the air shudder out of his lungs, and then brushed his lips across her mouth.

Her breasts brushed his chest, her arms and legs locked around him like tentacles. With a minor shift, just a small forward movement, he was inside her, buried to the hilt.

He groaned, the sound rumbling up from his diaphragm even as she flexed around him and he began to move. Short, slow strokes growing slightly longer and faster as the tension built. Blood pumped through his veins, hot and flowing like molten lava to pool between his legs.

Emma threw her head back and he kissed her throat, nibbled her ear, trailed his lips down to her breasts. His belly clenched at the noises she was making. Low, erotic mewling sounds that drove him senseless and made him thrust harder, faster, striving for completion.

Sweat dripped past his temples and down the middle of his back. Her fingers tangled in his hair, caressing and keeping him close as her hips rose and fell to meet him.

“Emma,” he growled out.

She met his gaze and smiled even as her mouth opened on a rush of ecstasy. “Mitch,” she breathed in return.

And that was all it took to send him over the edge. White-hot pleasure pounded through his pores, filling every cell of his being to near bursting.

With a deep groan, he drove into her one last time, relieved to feel her pulse and shake, following him over the cliff into mindless pleasure.

Emma couldn’t keep her lips from curling up in a grin as she ran her hands over Mitch’s silky-soft hair and sweat-slickened back, his strong, muscular bicep and broad chest.

His face rested in the hollow of her neck, his body still covering hers after the most intense session of lovemaking she’d ever experienced.

She still couldn’t believe it had happened. Her body hummed with recently released passion, the lingering effects causing her muscles to twitch and a delightful warmth to spread all over.

And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that with anyone but Mitch Ramsey, the sex might have been good, but it wouldn’t have been phenomenal.

So many times, private wishes and forbidden fantasies lost their luster in the bright light of day. She’d dreamed of being with Mitch for so long that when he’d begun to kiss her, a part of her had been worried she’d be disappointed.

Or perhaps she’d been worried that she would disappoint him.

Instead, being with him had been everything she’d hoped for and more. So much more.

He’d been gentle and caring and…amazing. Not only in the way he touched her—although the memory of that alone was enough to curl her toes and cause a renewed warmth to pool deep in her belly.

No, he’d been kind and considerate all evening. Offering her a ride home, helping her tend to the livestock, climbing into the loft with her to check on the kittens.

It was a side of him she hadn’t seen in a very long time. Since Suzanne had ripped his heart out and stomped it into the ground, leaving him an empty husk of his former self.

Mitch thought he’d handled his ex-wife’s infidelity and the subsequent divorce well. He thought he’d been impervious to the pain that woman had caused him and had recovered quickly to return to his normal life.

But everyone around him knew it was a lie. He pretended to be okay while his insides remained shriveled and cold.

Emma often thought that if she ever ran into Suzanne again, she would slap the cheating bitch for what she’d done to Mitch.

But then, Emma had never liked the woman. From the moment Mitch had brought her home to Gabriel’s Crossing, having met her at a truck stop in Abilene, Emma had known that every dream she’d ever had of spending her life with Mitch was destroyed.

Suzanne was tall and blond and built like a 1920s pinup girl, while Emma had always had a more boyish figure. Small breasts, narrow hips, no feminine curves to speak of. She was a bit of a tomboy, and had always been proud of the fact, until Suzanne Yates had waltzed into town and reminded her of all the things she wasn’t, stealing Mitch in the process.

It had been a silly dream to start with, thinking that just because she and Mitch had grown up together he might fall in love with her. She’d grown up with Chase, too, but had never had an erotic or ever-after thought about him.

And until tonight, she’d truly thought she was over Mitch Ramsey. Or, if not over him, at least had come to terms with the fact that he was never going to completely heal from Suzanne’s betrayal. He was off the market and more out of her reach than ever before.

Now, though, she wasn’t sure what to think. Her heart wanted to believe this was the start of something permanent. That by driving her home tonight and making love to her in the barn loft, he was showing that he was recovered from his lousy marriage and willing to love again.

But her rational, more somber brain warned her to be careful. Reminded her that one night of passion did not a marriage proposal make.

She would keep that in mind, play it safe and follow his lead, whatever it may be.

“Mmm.” He moaned low in his throat like a man waking from a good night’s sleep and pushed himself up on one elbow.

Cool night air washed over her skin where his body no longer covered, and she fought not to shiver. Not because she was cold, but because she missed the intimate contact.

“You okay?” he asked, still leaning over her, staring down at her with those slate-gray eyes.

She nodded, biting the inside of her lip to keep from saying more.

He shifted again, rolling farther away on the bales of straw. She felt bereft without his touch, but curled her fingers into fists at her sides and took deep breaths until she got the urge to reach for him under control.

“We should think about getting dressed before your father gets home and catches us out here.” He shot her a wicked grin. “I’ve made it almost forty years without getting chased off by an angry, pitch fork-wielding father. There’s no sense in starting now.”

Moving around her, he climbed to his feet and began gathering their discarded clothes from the straw-strewn floor. She sat up and accepted her things when he handed them to her, taking her time putting bra and panties then her jeans and blouse back on.

She ran her hands through her hair, picking out pieces of straw and wishing for a brush to smooth the tangled mass. When she looked back at Mitch, he was dressed and just fastening his belt.

When he was finished, he slapped his hands against his thighs and fixed her with a lopsided smile. “Should we head down?”

She glanced around, surprised to find no visible signs of what had happened between them. After their explosive joining, she’d expected to see burn marks, singed straw, smoke still rising from the ashes. But, instead, there was just plain yellow straw, a little flat in places, but ordinary enough, and the litter of kittens curled up sleeping around their mother.

Turning back to meet his gaze, she nodded, then climbed down the ladder ahead of him.

Just as they reached the door of the barn, they heard tires crunching on the dirt and gravel drive, and saw headlights headed their way.

“That’ll be Pop,” she told him.

“Looks like we made it just in time.” He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his thumbs hooked over his belt and waistband.

If he was nervous about coming face-to-face with her father only minutes after having her naked and writhing beneath him, he didn’t show it.

Her father pulled his pickup into the yard and cut the engine. A second later, the door opened and he climbed out.

He didn’t look completely steady on his feet, and she rushed forward to take his arm, hoping he’d kept his word about only finishing off that one last beer.

His head snapped up when he felt her hand on his elbow, and he smiled through his shaggy gray beard and mustache.

“Well, there you are. I thought you would have been in the house, asleep by now. What are you doing out here?”

“Mitch and I were just…um…”

“Checking the livestock,” Mitch offered, stepping out of the shadows of the barn and into the glow of the house’s front porch light.

“Good, good,” her father said. “Thanks for helping out my girl, Ramsey.”

Emma’s cheeks heated, but she hoped neither her father nor Mitch would notice in the dark.

“My pleasure, sir,” Mitch answered, rocking back on the heels of his well-worn boots, hands still in his pockets. “Anything else I can do for you tonight before I get going?”

“No, no, you go on.” Her father started toward the house, slipping out of Emma’s hold and looking more steady on his feet now that he’d had the chance to stand for a few minutes. “Have a good night. We’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

“Emma, I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“All right. ’Night, Pop. I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.”

The screen door slammed closed behind him and she waited several long seconds before speaking. Once she was sure he was out of earshot, she turned to face Mitch.

“Went a little overboard with the ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, sir,’ ‘have a good night, sirs,’ didn’t you?”

She thought she saw him wince and bit back a chuckle of amusement.

“Maybe,” he answered shortly, his face a mask of inexpression. “But it sure beats the alternative.”

“What’s that?”

“Letting him know I spent the last half hour rolling around in the loft with his daughter.”

It was Emma’s turn to wince, and she cast a quick glance over her shoulder, afraid her father might have been close enough to overhear Mitch’s declaration.

She was a grown woman, so what she did with her body and with whom was no one’s business but her own. But talking about sex in front of her father—or worse, having him know she’d just finished having hot, extremely satisfying sex in his barn—was still something that made her keenly uncomfortable.

“Point taken.”

Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she crossed to him, then followed as he stalked to his truck.

“Thanks for your help with the horses and cattle,” she said.

He nodded, opening the door and climbing inside.

Watching him get ready to leave made her stomach clench. But what had she expected? That he would ask to stay the night or suggest they sneak back into the barn for seconds? That he would declare his undying love and fall to one knee, asking her to marry him?

She might harbor fantasies of happily-ever-after with him, but she wasn’t delusional. She was realistic enough to accept that sex was just sex, even if it had been with the one man she’d always secretly had a crush on.

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” she offered. The perfect opening for him to ask her out on a date, tell her he’d call, anything to imply that what had passed between them would be more than a one-night stand.

“Yeah,” he replied, and nothing more.

A beat passed before he started the engine, then turned his head to meet her gaze. “’Night.”

Forcing a smile to her lips, she swallowed back the bubble of disappointment swelling in her belly. “Right. Good night.”

He put the truck in gear, turned around and rolled slowly down the drive. She stood watching until his taillights disappeared, rubbing her arms to stave off a chill that centered in her chest and had nothing to do with the still night air surrounding her.

Three

Emma glanced at her shopping list. She had everything she needed except bread flour.

Turning down the baking aisle, she scanned the shelves for the brand and type she wanted, groaning when she spotted it on the uppermost shelf. The store had apparently rearranged items since the last time she’d purchased bread flour. And at five foot three, that left it just a couple of inches out of her range.

Pushing her cart to the side, she used the toe of her shoe to nudge cans of pie filling on the lowest shelf out of the way, then grabbed hold of a shelf at waist level and hoisted herself up. Her fingertips brushed the front of the bag, but she still couldn’t get a good enough grip to lift it down.

“Need some help?”

With a yelp, her hold on the shelf slipped and she fell backward. Strong hands and an even stronger chest caught and steadied her.

She turned, looking up into Mitch’s hard, gray eyes. Not that she’d needed to see him to know who’d spoken to her. She would know his voice anywhere.

“Hey,” she greeted him, feeling slightly out of breath, and not because of her graceless pirouette from the grocery store shelves.

It had been two weeks since the Fourth of July picnic, since that night in the barn. Two weeks without seeing or even hearing from him again.

She hadn’t been surprised. She would have been more surprised if he’d called or shown up on the doorstep, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t disappointed.

Disappointed that he could walk away without a backward glance after what they’d shared but also that their sleeping together might have ruined a perfectly good, lifelong friendship.

And now here he stood, staring at her from beneath the rim of his black Stetson. He didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her, but then Mitch hadn’t looked happy since Suzanne had left. A thin layer of stubble shadowed his square jaw, and lines bracketed his flat mouth.

“Hey, yourself. Is this what you were after?” He reached up with one hand and plucked a bag of bread flour from the top shelf with ease, holding it out to her.

She took it, cradling the five-pound weight to her chest while she swallowed and tried to think of something witty to say to break the tension and attempt to return them to the easy camaraderie they’d shared before sex had muddied the waters.

“You headed somewhere after this?” he asked without preliminaries.

“Just home to put groceries away,” she answered.

“Got time for a cup of coffee? Maybe a bite to eat?”

She glanced over her shoulder into the basket of her cart. Nothing cold. Nothing that would go bad if she didn’t go straight home.

Her stomach gave a little lurch at the possibilities of what he might want to talk about, but she nodded. “I guess that would be all right.”

“Good. Need anything else?”

She checked her list one last time, then shook her head. “No, I’m ready.”

They moved down the aisle together, Emma pushing the cart as Mitch followed a step behind. The heels of his boots clicked rhythmically on the hard, tiled floor, matching the nervous beat of her heart.

He stayed with her while she went through the checkout line, then helped to carry the bags to her car.

“Where are we going?” she asked, standing in the open driver’s side door.

“Rosie’s Café.” He tipped his hat down a fraction to shield his eyes from the midday sun. “I’ll meet you over there.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated across from one another in a red vinyl booth near the back of the café. Located in the center of town, Rosie’s was Gabriel’s Crossing’s most popular restaurant. A greasy spoon where folks came for home cooking and the latest gossip.

The lunch crowd had cleared out already, and dinner customers wouldn’t begin to trickle in for a few more hours. When the waitress came, they asked for pie and coffee, then sat in uncomfortable silence while the young woman went to fill their order.

Emma folded and refolded her napkin until the paper edges began to flake and fall away. Finally, she took a deep breath, laid her palms flat on the Formica tabletop, and faced Mitch head-on.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” she blurted out, deciding it was better to simply come to the point than sit here imagining worst case scenarios. Like tearing off a Band-Aid in one quick swipe rather than toying and tugging and prolonging the agony.

“Us.”

As much as she’d braced herself for his answer, she hadn’t expected that.

She waited until the waitress set slices of pie and steaming cups of black coffee in front of them before responding, using the much-needed time to calm her erratic pulse and get her scattered thoughts in order. He took a sip of black coffee while she stirred a sugar packet and dollop of cream into hers.

Once they were alone, she took a deep breath and kept her tone low so no one would overhear. “What about us?”

“I think there should be one.”

She knit her eyebrows. Mitch had never been the easiest man to talk to, but at the moment he was giving new meaning to the word confusing. “One what?”

“Us. I think there should be an us.”

Picking up his fork, he dug into his slice of blueberry pie as though they were talking about the weather instead of…them.

Before she could reply, he swallowed and went on. “You know what happened between us, Emma. It shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have happened the way it did, and for that I’m sorry.”

The flush of embarrassment she’d felt at his mention of the night they’d made love flared into sudden anger and more than a little hurt.

How dare he apologize to her for what she considered one of the most special nights of her life? If he was sorry, if he regretted what they’d done, then he should have kept it to himself instead of cornering her like this.

“That’s what you brought me here to tell me?” she demanded, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the edge of the table. “You’re sorry we slept together? I hate to break it to you, Mitch, but you’re not the first man I’ve had sex with. You didn’t seduce me, you didn’t take my virginity, you didn’t do anything that requires an apology. I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions and sleep with whomever I want. I don’t need your permission or your approval.”

A beat passed while he held her gaze, then he nodded. “You’re right. You can make your own decisions.”

He took another bite of pie and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. “The thing is, I’m not the type to have a one-night stand with a neighbor and childhood friend. It feels…sleazy.”

Her eyes narrowed in warning. He wasn’t calling her sleazy or even what had passed between them, she knew that. But it was a close thing, and in her current mood she wasn’t sure she was willing to split hairs.

“My point is,” he continued, “I think maybe we should keep seeing each other. See where it leads.”

Of all the things he might have said, that shocked her the most. It also made her heartbeat—which had slowed to a crawl at the direction the conversation was taking—speed up and thump against her rib cage.

She swallowed hard, praying she wasn’t hearing things. “Excuse me?”

“I think we should…date. Go out a couple of times and see what happens.”

It was half-true, anyway. But the suggestion wasn’t driven by interest as much as nobility. And, he admitted, guilt.

In the two weeks since the Fourth of July picnic…since they’d made love in the loft of her father’s barn…he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

Partly because the sex had been incredible and every fiber of his being wanted to be with her again. And partly because she was his neighbor, a friend since childhood. They’d gone through school together. Climbed trees and ridden horses together. Survived the prom and graduation and the death of a parent—her mother, who had been a second mother to him as well—together.

She wasn’t some casual acquaintance to be used to slake his lust. Even if it had been four long, lonely years since he’d been with a woman.

So far, this was the best solution he could come up with. His personal code of honor wouldn’t allow him to just walk away and pretend that night had never happened. That might be all right for a stranger he’d met in a bar, but he couldn’t treat Emma that way.

Emma deserved better.

Using her for a one-night stand was unacceptable. But dating her for a while wasn’t.

Nothing would come of it, he knew. Nothing could ever come of it, and he didn’t want it to. But if they dated for a while and then split up, he could justify having slept with her.

And he wouldn’t sleep with her again, that was a promise.

Even if the memory of kissing her, touching her soft skin, heated his blood and tightened his trousers across his groin.

He’d known Emma all his life, but this was the first time he’d been distracted by her as a woman. The first time he’d noticed how sexy and attractive she was.

Physically, she was the opposite of Suzanne in every way. Where Suzanne had an hourglass figure, with full breasts and wide hips, Emma was proportionally well-balanced. Small, but still shapely.

Her hair was more strawberry-blond than peroxide-blond; her look more natural than painted on; her clothes stylish but comfortable, rather than skin-tight and meant to attract attention.

She certainly had succeeded at catching his attention, and not a day went by that he didn’t regret it.

“So?” He took a swig of coffee to wash down the last of his pie, taking note that Emma had yet to touch hers. “What do you say?”

What could she say? What should she say?

This had to be the most bizarre date invitation she’d ever received. And if it were coming from anyone other than Mitch, she’d have probably laughed the poor guy out of the restaurant.

But it was Mitch, which left her torn.

Did she accept because her feminine heart had dreamed of this moment a million times? Or did she turn him down because she suspected the offer stemmed more from guilt than an actual interest in seeing her socially?

Wrapping her fingers around the mug of still-warm coffee in front of her, she lifted it to her mouth and took a sip, buying herself a little more time.

But in the end, she knew what her decision would be. Knew that her heart and her sense of possibility would drive her to at least see where things could lead.

Maybe it would lead only to a couple of dates, dinner or a movie. Or maybe it would lead to more—to Mitch realizing he’d never belonged with Suzanne, but with a woman more like Emma. If she was lucky, with Emma herself.

The sensible side of her brain knew it was too much to hope for, but she was willing to take a chance. It was a small one, after all, and if things did work out, the payoff would be big. Everything she’d ever dreamed of.

And if it didn’t, she was the only person who would ever know her wishes had been for more than a casual relationship. She was the only one who would be hurt.

Taking a deep breath, she returned the cup to its saucer, then lifted her eyes to his. “All right.”

“Good.” He shifted in the booth, digging his wallet out of his hip pocket, peeling off bills and dropping them onto the tabletop. Then he slid out and got to his feet. “I’ll pick you up at six.”

Without a backward glance, he stalked out of the diner, leaving her alone with her coffee and uneaten pie.

If she were smart, she told herself for the fiftieth time, she would have called Mitch up and told him to forget about tonight.

He hadn’t exactly acted like Prince Charming back at Rosie’s when he’d walked out on her. And he hadn’t asked her out tonight, so much as told her when to be ready. For that alone, he almost deserved to be stood up.

Yet here she was, poised in front of her full-length mirror, checking her appearance one last time before he arrived.

She’d already fixed a supper plate for Pop and warned him she would be gone for the evening. She had no idea where Mitch intended to take her, but she assumed dinner would be involved, so she hadn’t bothered eating herself.

Then she’d come upstairs and torn apart her closet in search of something decent to wear. Without a destination in mind, it made dressing difficult, but she’d finally settled on a denim skirt and pale-yellow peasant blouse.

Looking at her reflection now, she adjusted the gold chain at her neck and tucked back a few thin strands of hair that had slipped out of its clip.

Through the open bedroom window, she heard Mitch’s truck pull up to the house and her father’s greeting as Mitch got out, slamming the door behind him.

She took a deep breath, straightened the hem of her top, then slid her feet into the black mules she’d pulled out of her closet earlier. Regardless of the butterflies tap-dancing through her belly, she’d agreed to go out with him. Beneath the layers of nerves that had her all but jumping out of her skin, she was even looking forward to it.

“Emma, honey,” her father shouted up the stairs. “Mitch is here.”

As though she wasn’t already keenly aware of his presence. Her arms had broken out in gooseflesh the minute he’d turned into the drive.

“Coming,” she called, when she found her voice.

He was waiting just inside the kitchen, near the front door. His black Stetson was in his hand rather than on his head, tapping against the side of his denim-clad thigh.

“Hi,” she said when his gaze lifted to hers.

“Hi.” He scanned her from head to toe, then met her eyes again. “You look nice.”

As compliments went, it wasn’t the best she’d ever received, but knowing that Mitch didn’t dole them out very often to anyone, she decided to accept.

“Thank you. You, too.”

He was dressed in jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, the same as usual, but he always looked good to her, so the compliment still fit.

“Ready to go?”

She nodded, grabbing a light jacket from the coatrack beside the door.

“You two have a good time,” her father called out from his seat at the kitchen table. He waved them off, barely sparing them a second glance as he dug into his dinner.

Mitch closed the door behind them, then walked her to the passenger side of his truck and helped her climb in.

“So, where are we going?” she asked once he was behind the wheel and they were headed down the long dirt driveway to the main road.

“You’ll see.”

She raised an eyebrow at his less than enlightening answer, but he kept his eyes on the road and couldn’t see the look of consternation she shot him.

Ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Silver Spur, one of the most popular honky-tonks in Gabriel’s Crossing. Lights blinked on the roof and bright neon signs shone in the windows, advertising a dozen different brands of draft and bottled beer.

Emma had only been to the Spur a couple of times before and always with a group of friends because the bar tended to get rowdy on the weekends. But this was a weeknight, and even though it was a strange place to go for a first date, she was with Mitch, so she had nothing to worry about.

He came around to help her down from the truck, then held her hand as they walked into the bar. Loud country music blared, filling the early evening air and hitting them like an ocean wave when they pushed open the front door.

Men and women, most wearing cowboy hats of all sizes and colors, filled the wide, open room. Dancing, milling around, sitting at the tables and bar with longneck bottles of beer and bowls of peanuts in front of them.

Sawdust was scattered in clumps across the scarred wood floor, and antlers decorated the walls, along with a dartboard and assorted alcoholic beverage posters and signs. At the far end of the room, a live band played on a raised stage and a group of people—mostly made up of couples—line danced to the tune of a Texas two-step.

“So, what do you want to do first?” Mitch asked, leaning over her shoulder and speaking close to her ear to be heard over the volume of the music. “Dance, find a table and order some nachos, or sit at the bar and order a drink?”

She scanned the crowd, weighing her options. This was a far cry from the movie or dinner at a quiet restaurant she’d expected of tonight, but it could still be fun.

“Let’s get a drink,” she yelled back, tipping her head toward the bar.

With his hand at her back, Emma eased her way through the crush of bodies and hopped up on one of the tall stools lining the long mahogany bar. Mitch took a seat beside her and ordered two cold beers.

Since she hadn’t had anything to eat yet that evening, she sipped her drink slowly and tried to avoid their images in the mirror that lined the wall behind the bar.

It wasn’t her reflection that made her uncomfortable, but Mitch’s. He was too darn handsome, too tall and sinewy and masculine in all the right places.

Beneath the wide rim of his black hat, he looked like some hardened Clint Eastwood character. His eyes glittered in the low lighting, his mouth a thin line of indifference.

And yet he took her breath away. Every strong, familiar inch of him.

She dragged her gaze away, staring intently at the colorful label that circled the brown glass bottle in her hand until her pulse slowed to an almost human rate of speed instead of that of a hummingbird.

Even in a rowdy, crowded bar, surrounded by strangers and the teeth-rattling thrum of a noisy band, she was still unaccountably attracted to him. He hadn’t touched her intimately since that night in the barn two weeks ago, yet she still felt the whisper of his hands and mouth on her naked flesh.

She shivered at the memory and took a long swallow of her light beer to extinguish the fire sparking to life low in her belly.

When Mitch’s hand closed on her arm, she jumped.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

He was talking at a near-normal volume now, and she realized the band had slipped into a much slower song.

“Let’s dance,” he said. Then, without waiting for a reply, he slid off his stool and pulled her down to the floor beside him.

Fingers linked together, he led her to the dance floor, then swung her around and into his arms.

He held her entirely too close…not too close for society’s standards, especially in this place, but too close for her peace of mind. For her body to maintain its natural calm.

One of his hands clutched hers. The other rested at the small of her back, his arm wrapped around her waist. His tall form brushed against her in all the right spots—chest to breasts, stomach to stomach, pelvis to pelvis. Everywhere they touched, rockets went off beneath her skin.

If he hadn’t been holding her up, she thought she probably would have melted to the floor. As it was, her feet felt like they were barely touching the ground.

The music flowed all around them, and for the moment she let herself pretend this was more than their first date, more than two old friends who were toying with the idea of getting more seriously involved.

She imagined they were old lovers, maybe even a married couple, still very much in love. Out on the town for their anniversary, or perhaps just for an evening away from the kids.

The hand on her back shifted slightly lower, caressing the upper curve of her buttock and drawing her snug against his arousal.

It stunned her still that he was so obviously attracted to her. After all the years she’d pined for him from afar, to suddenly have him notice her as a woman and show sexual interest left her feeling confused and off-balance. Especially when he could make love to her with abandon one minute, then leave her hanging for two full weeks without so much as a phone call.

But he was trying. His suggestion that they try dating might not have been the smoothest invitation she’d ever received, and this might not be the greatest first date she’d ever gone on, but she gave him an A for effort.

And an A-plus for the way he made her heart beat faster, her knees turn to jelly, and her insides feel like she was riding up and down in an elevator car.

She sighed and closed her eyes, forgetting that they were in the middle of a crowded dance floor. As far as she was concerned, there was only Mitch and herself and the electricity arcing between them.

His rough jaw scraped her cheek as he leaned in close, his warm breath stirring her hair as he leaned in to speak above her ear.

“Want to get out of here?”

She blinked, raising her head to meet his gaze. His gray eyes burned with barely banked desire, and it was all she could do to remain upright.

She didn’t think, didn’t weigh the pros and cons, she simply responded in the only way her heart and body would allow. “Yes.”

Four

Even as he half-dragged Emma out of the Silver Spur and across the gravel parking lot, Mitch called himself seven kinds of fool.

He’d purposely brought her here, knowing the bar would be noisy and crowded. Knowing there would be no chance of him being overcome by lust and making a move on her.

Ha! So much for that theory. His brilliant plan had backfired almost at the speed of light.

It had started innocently enough. Sit at the bar, sip a beer. The decibel level of the music and surrounding conversations made small talk impossible, which he considered a good thing.

But then he’d gone and asked her to dance. What a colossal mistake.

What had he been thinking? If he was going to make such a blunder, he could have at least made the offer during a fast song or while people were two-stepping in a synchronized group.

But, no, he’d gone and asked her to dance to a slow song. One that required them to stand close, to touch just about everywhere.

And he’d willingly taken her into his arms, set them both to swaying. Only when he felt her breasts with their semierect peaks brushing against his chest had he realized he was in trouble.

But by then, it had been too late. The scent of her freshly washed hair and spicy floral perfume had invaded his nostrils. The brush of her hands and belly and hips had turned him hard in an instant.

And despite his best efforts to maintain control, to cool his jets and remind himself that he’d promised he wouldn’t sleep with her again, he found himself leaning in and asking her to leave with him.

To hell with their drinks. To hell with his vow to keep things platonic. He wanted her…now, with a single-minded determination that made him feel like a bull charging a red flag.

Their feet crunched on the gravel of the parking lot as he led her to the pickup and lifted her inside. Slamming the door, he stalked around the front of the truck and climbed behind the wheel.

Before the sound of his door closing had finished echoing through the cab, he was on her. Reaching out, dragging her across the vinyl seat and kissing her senseless. His hands were everywhere, groping, yanking, tearing her clothes away so he could get to her naked flesh.

She tasted of the beer she’d drunk earlier but also like Emma. Sweet, womanly, innocent.

Her lips met his, matched him move for move as though she could read his mind. Her tongue teased and tangled, parried when he thrust and thrust when he parried.

And her hands…her hands were at the buttons of his shirt, the belt at his waist, every bit as eager to strip him bare as he was to do the same to her.

Her willingness, her eagerness drove him, let him know he wasn’t the only one raging with passion, scrambling to get closer, faster, now, now.

He let her push the shirt off his shoulders and fumble with his heavy busting bronco belt buckle while he yanked her denim skirt up around her hips. He whispered a prayer of thanks when he discovered only a pair of sheer panties, with no stockings to bar his way, and wasted no time shucking them down her slim legs.

She had his belt undone by then and was working on the button and zipper of his jeans. He released her long enough to cover her hands and help her along.

As soon as he was free, hard and aching, he stopped, took a deep breath, lifted his head and looked into her eyes. She was staring back, chest heaving, her expression one of impatience and longing.

He felt like he should say something…compliment her, tell her she was beautiful or he cared about her. But he couldn’t think of a damn thing that wouldn’t sound fake or forced, and his mouth was full of cotton, anyway.

So he scrapped the idea of trying to be romantic or chivalrous and simply leaned in to take her lips. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and weaving her fingers through his hair.

Keeping his mouth firmly on hers, he laid her back along the seat of the cab and knelt between her legs. A small shift of her skirt and his pants, and he was inside her.

She was gloriously tight and wet and felt like heaven. He let out a groan of pleasure, resting his brow against hers for a moment until his breathing and heartbeat returned to normal. Well, as normal as they were likely to get when he was this close to Emma, this close to pure bliss.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice strained. He sensed rather than saw her nod and felt her slick inner muscles tighten around him in assent.

It was all he could do not to moan in sweet agony.

She was amazing. Open and eager. Fluid and graceful, but at the same time wild and uninhibited.

Holding her was like holding a live wire. And that charge, that jolt of high-voltage electricity, rocked him to his core.

He’d been celibate ever since he found out Suzanne was cheating on him, so it was no small wonder he was ravenous for a woman’s touch. It had almost been easier to simply grit his teeth and white-knuckle his way through the lack of sex in his life.

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