All Summer Long

She turned her attention back to him and smiled. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He chuckled and tugged off his shirt. The rest of his clothes quickly followed, then he was na**d in front of her.

He was already hard, his erection jutting toward her. She reached for him, taking his arousal in her hands, stroking the length of him. His breath hissed.

Before she could settle into a steady rhythm, he was pulling off her T-shirt. Her bra quickly followed, then his mouth was on her breast and she was the one caught up in the magic he created.

He sucked deeply, pulling her tight ni**les into his mouth. He flicked the tip with his tongue before gently pressing his teeth into her skin. His hands roamed her back before settling on her rear and squeezing. She let her fingers trail down the small of his back to his famous ass.

He shifted to her other breast, putting his hand on the one he’d abandoned. Fingers and tongue worked in tandem. She shuddered, her chest tight, clenching her muscles in anticipation.

When he straightened, she unfastened the waistband of her jeans. His hands joined hers and together they pushed off her jeans and bikini panties. Then he was easing her onto the bed.

She slid over to make room for him, wondering if the bad memories would return now. If she would once again be caught up in the past. But there was only desire for the man settling next to her. When he opened his arms, she went willingly.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers. They touched each other, stroking, exploring. She ran her fingers along his side, down his hip and over his thigh. He shifted her onto her back and moved over her.

When he drew back, she opened her eyes and stared into his.

“Doing okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

He bent down and kissed her and then moved back to her nipples. Her insides tightened. Between her legs she felt both tension and swelling. When he knelt between her thighs, she parted her legs willingly. She remembered what had happened the last time he touched her there and she was ready for a repeat performance.

But instead of settling his fingers against her core, he kissed his way down her belly. Lower and lower, his mouth moving against her bare skin. Goose bumps erupted. He circled her belly button, then went lower still.

He reached for her, parting her gently, then kissed the very heart of her.

She was unprepared for the sensation of his tongue against her clitoris. Unprepared for the shudder, the hunger, the need. Tremors rocked her as her knees bent and her heels dug into the mattress.

He licked her again. Slowly. Softly, with just enough pressure to make her breath catch in her throat. Exquisite, she thought hazily. Divine, maybe. He raised his head and she nearly whimpered.

“Give me your hands,” he told her.

He took her fingers and showed her how to spread herself for him. When she was completely exposed to him, he settled his mouth against her center and proceeded to love every inch of her.

He worked slowly, licking all of her, darting his tongue inside then withdrawing. He blew on her damp flesh and chuckled when she shivered. Finally he returned to that one swollen spot and danced across it. Once, then twice. A third time. Then over and over again, back and forth, around and across. A steady rhythm that trapped her in his control.

She tried to regulate her breathing, but couldn’t. Tried not to cry out, but the sound escaped. Closer and closer, her muscles squeezing, her h*ps pulsing. And still he touched her, keeping her on the edge.

She’d never felt sensations like this. Every cell tasted pleasure. Every inch of skin, every ounce of bone, vibrated with need. She was beyond hungry and completely in his control.

Her orgasm ripped through her without warning. She cried out and pushed against him, desperate for all he had to give her. The crest of her cl**ax carried her on and on, pleasure shuddering through her.

He slowed but didn’t stop. The last tremor stilled and she was able to breathe again.

Clay kissed the top of her thigh, then sat back on his heels and grinned at her. “How was it?”

She waved a hand, which took more effort than she would have guessed. “Good.”

He chuckled. “Good? Not great?”

“Life changing.”

His eyes were bright with passion and he was still very much aroused, but he seemed content to enjoy his moment of glory. She was fine with that. The man deserved praise. A sonnet or two, or maybe a sports stadium named after him. While the shaking had stopped, she wasn’t sure how long it was going to be until she could gather the strength to move.

But at least for now, lying in bed with Clay seemed like an excellent way to spend the rest of the day.

“Your turn,” she said, reaching for the condoms.

He took the box, but didn’t open it. “You sure?”

Two simple words that asked a whole lot of questions. Was she ready? Was she scared? Did she want to postpone the actual deed?

“Very,” she told him, locking her gaze with his. “I stopped being afraid a long time ago.”

Which was about him, she knew. About how he’d been so careful to earn her trust and make her laugh at the same time.

“I can wait,” he told her.

“I can’t.”

He opened the box and pulled out the condom. It was only when he went to slip it over his erection that she realized his hands were shaking.

At first she didn’t understand. Why would Clay be nervous? But then she saw what she’d missed before. The tension in his muscles. The tightness in his jaw. He wasn’t nervous—he was aroused. He wanted to be with her as much as she’d wanted to be with him.

The knowledge added to her confidence. When he knelt over her, she instinctively reached between them to guide him.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch. Probably to give her time to adjust to him, but it had the added benefit of increasing her anticipation. He stretched her as he sank in deeper. The sensation of fullness excited her and she pulsed a little, wanting all of him.

Then it was done and he was inside her. He stayed still for several seconds.

“Still okay?” he asked, his teeth clenched as he spoke.

She smiled up at him, aware of their intimacy, loving all of it and wanting to complete what they’d begun.

“Show me what you’ve got, cowboy.”

He gave a strangled laugh, then slowly withdrew. When he pushed in again, she arched her h*ps forward, taking him deeper. His breath came out in a hiss. His arms started to shake.

She sensed he was holding back, trying to be gentle. She touched his shoulders. “I’m not scared. It’s okay. Just do what you want to.”

He shook his head.

She squeezed his tense muscles. “I mean it. I’m perfectly okay. Do you really want me to have to report back to the town that your performance was disappointing?”

That earned her another laugh, then he nodded. “Okay. I’ll go for it, but if you get uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll stop.”

He would, too, she thought, closing her eyes to better enjoy the sensations. He would stop and start as many times as she wanted. He would suffer so she would feel safe. Pretty irresistible.

There were probably more nice things she could think but he started moving and she was too distracted by sensations to do anything but feel.

He did as she requested, moving more quickly, pushing in and pulling out. He went faster, then faster still until he tensed and groaned. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him in all the way, savoring his release.

Even at the end, he was careful. He didn’t rest his weight on her, probably so she wouldn’t feel trapped. Next time, she promised herself, running her hands up and down his back.

He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. They faced each other.

“Not bad for a rookie,” he told her.

She stared at him, then started to laugh. With the sound came a warm sensation deep inside. That cold, angry wound had finally healed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DOMINIQUE PASSED OVER the half cup of brown sugar, then watched as May stirred it into the contents of the bowl.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought the visit was going well. I was only trying to help. To save her.”

May cracked an egg into the batter and picked up the wooden spoon. “By telling her Clay is too good for her? I’m his mother and even I’m offended by that.”

Dominique paced the length of the small, old-fashioned kitchen. The farmhouse needed a major renovation. The furniture in the living room was beyond appalling. Still, she found the place oddly homey. It looked nothing like her beautifully decorated residences, but there was something here that went beyond appearances.

“I wanted to help,” Dominique insisted, not sure why her position was so difficult for everyone to understand. She’d spoken the truth. Why was she the villain?

“Trying to help isn’t an excuse for bad behavior,” May said bluntly. “You hurt Charlie’s feelings. You were mean and thoughtless.”

Dominique flinched. “How can you say that?”

“I’m only trying to help.”

Dominique opened her mouth, then closed it. “Not a very subtle lesson.”

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle. When it comes to interpersonal relationships, you tend to miss subtle cues.” Her expression softened. “Think about how your words sounded to her. She didn’t hear the concern. All she understood was criticism. You’re her mother. You’re supposed to be on her side. Yet there you were, telling her she wasn’t pretty enough or special enough. I like Charlie very much. As far as I’m concerned, Clay would be a lucky man to have her in his life.”

“But she’s so odd with her short hair. She won’t wear makeup and I think she would rather die than put on a dress.”

May laughed. “So? She’s loyal and caring. She risks her life every day on her job. If she’ll do that for strangers, imagine how much she would give to her husband or her children. Why wouldn’t I want that kind of devotion for my son and grandchildren?”

Character over appearance? Dominique considered the concept. “You’re saying you don’t mind she’s not beautiful.”

May reached for the measuring cup filled with peanut butter. “I’m saying Charlie is beautiful in ways that matter to me.”

“My way is easier,” Dominique told her.

May laughed. “I’m sure that’s true, but it’s not helping your relationship with your daughter.”

That was true enough. Dominique thought about the angry words Chantal had yelled at her. About the rape. The accusations made her uncomfortable, as if she’d been in the wrong. But at the time, the college boy had been so clear. He’d said Chantal had been following him around campus, as if she had a crush. That had made so much more sense than the alternative. But if she’d been mistaken, she’d abandoned her daughter when she’d been needed most.

“There’s an old saying in medicine that I think applies in life,” May told her. “First, do no harm. That might be a good place for you to start.”

“Don’t hurt her feelings?” Dominique asked, already knowing the answer to the question. “I can try. What else?”

May pointed to the bowl. “I don’t like peanut-butter cookies. But Shane and Clay do. So I make them. Because it’s a way for me to show my boys how much I love them. If you want Charlie in your life, you need to offer her something. A relationship with a person that is positive to her. We all want to be around people who make us feel good about ourselves. I’m sure you’re always the most interesting person in the room, but children aren’t always looking for witty conversation. Sometimes simply being accepted is enough.”

“But shouldn’t she be doing that for me? I’m her mother.”

“You’re the one who wants to connect.”

Dominique wanted to point out that was hardly fair, but suspected May wouldn’t be impressed by the argument.

She glanced out the window and saw a white van driving onto the property. The vehicle didn’t stop at the house.

“Who are they?” she asked, pointing.

May glanced up. “Archeologists. We have an old Máa-zib burial site on the property. It’s quite the find.”

Old bones weren’t that interesting to Dominique. She had more contemporary problems.

“I don’t know how to do it,” she admitted. “I’ve only ever cared about myself. And Dan. I did love him.” But he’d always been the one to take care of her. She wasn’t sure what it meant to give.

“I suspect it will take less effort than you think.”

* * *

CHARLIE MONITORED THE obstacle course she’d set up. While it wasn’t part of the CPAT testing, it increased agility and endurance—both of which the potential trainees would need. She held a stopwatch in one hand and yelled for the next person to go.

Normally she enjoyed the obstacle course. She could set it up different ways, presenting different challenges. Everyone could score themselves on accuracy versus time and it was fun. But today she couldn’t seem to concentrate. Not with Clay around.

This was the first time she’d seen him since they’d made love. She was hyperaware of him and worse, afraid every person within a ten-mile radius knew what they’d done.

Telling herself she was imagining things didn’t seem to be helping. Logically she knew that Clay was acting exactly the same and that even if she was the one being weird, the potential volunteers were more worried about getting it right than any ticks or sidelong glances on her part.

Still, she couldn’t figure out what to do. Should she look at him? Not look at him? Even standing there, blowing the whistle, made her feel self-conscious.

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