As much as I cried last night, I don’t need a mirror to know my eyes are red and puffy. I blink them open and stare down at the hard surface of my pillow. Since I’ve only ever slept beside one man, it takes me a moment to process the view.
Miles looked nothing like the body sprawled out beneath me.
Ridges and grooves ripple along a tanned torso that narrows into trim hips. Sadly, the tangle of sheets hides everything below Jake’s waist, but good lord, he’s built. Every brick and crevice is made for a long, strenuous day on the range, yet he’s still in bed, with an arm hooked around me, in a room saturated with sunshine.
I kept him up late last night, and now I’m keeping him from work.
With my cheek on his shoulder and my thighs clamped around his leg, I snuggle closer to his side, reluctant to give him up.
“How do you feel?” His deep, sleepy voice whispers across my skin like a caress.
“Terrible.” Sandpaper scratches my eyes, and a throb ricochets in my skull. The rest of me, however, tells a different story. “And good.”
“Explain that.”
“Don’t you need to work?”
“Nah.”
I shift against the hard warmth of his body, and he groans. His hand lowers to the region of his groin, adjusting. I start to pull my leg from the V of his, but he stops me with a grip on my thigh.
“Don’t worry about my morning problem.” He returns his arm around me. “Explain what you’re feeling.”
Angling my neck, I find his deep, brown eyes and fall right in. “I cried a lot, so…”
“You need to do more of that.”
“I feel like I’ve been hit over the head with a tractor.”
“You look like an angel.” He runs his fingers through my hair in hypnotic strokes, tingling the roots. “Tell me about the good part.”
“Who’s doing your job?”
He exhales a puff of breath. “Two new hires started today. I’m taking off for the next two weeks.”
“What?” I sit up. “Why?”
He captures my hand and traces his thumb along my scar. “We have a pact to carry out, therapy sessions to focus on, and…” Using his grip, he yanks me across his chest. “I have six years to make up with you.”
I flatten my hands on his washboard stomach and pull my legs beneath me, straddling his hips. The ridge of his very swollen, very large morning wood twitches against my butt.
“I could spend the next two weeks doing nothing but reacquainting myself with your freckle.” His gaze lowers.
I track his line of sight to my nipples, which stand at attention beneath my thin, bra-less camisole.
“I need to see that freckle, Conor.” His voice scratches, and he clutches my hips, pressing me down against him.
He doesn’t grind, but his body stiffens and contracts as if he’s fighting one hell of an internal battle.
It’s a battle I understand. Jake epitomizes every woman’s ideal of physical male beauty. From his bed-ruffled brown hair and seductive eyes to his chiseled jawline and brutally fit physique, he has a devastating effect on the ovaries.
I’m so undeniably attracted to him I can’t make my body move from its suggestive position on his pelvis. But just because I appreciate his sex appeal, it doesn’t mean I’m considering a future or anything else with him.
I had all night to think about the past, to let myself bleed for the years I lost with him. There are some difficult things to accept, and I suspect my tears have only just begun. I do feel lighter, though, as if some of my Jake-related hurts have been cleansed.
“Catharsis,” I whisper.
His gaze jumps to mine. “What?”
“That’s what I’m feeling. I haven’t cried like that since…” A sharp burn stings my sinuses.
“Since?”
“The day I found you with Sara Gilly. When I rode away, I purged enough tears for a lifetime. Then I left that ruined wreck of a girl on the side of the road.”
Pain creases his face, his voice a cracked rasp. “It doesn’t work that way. Grief is a process. It’s anger and sadness and acceptance over time.” His strong throat rises and falls with a swallow. “It’s okay to hit me, Conor. Punch me, yell at me, do whatever you need, for however long—”
I press a finger against his lips. “The breakdown last night helped. Crying in the company of your silence was…unexpectedly effective. Better than doing it alone.” Sliding my touch downward, I trace the scruffy shadow on his jaw. “But I still have a lot of resentment. Even more after last night.”
“Tell me.” He strokes my thigh, urging me on.
“The night in the barn wasn’t fate exactly, but it fulfilled something important. Something that was stolen from us when we were sixteen. It was meant to be, you know?” I lick dry lips. “Had I known it was you that night, had I known you were giving me your virginity…”
I drop my hand to his chest, my insides constricting with heartache.
“Keep going.” He covers my fingers with his.
“I resent you for not telling me. I resent the years that came after. My relationship with Miles. Your…whatever with whoever has a vagina. That wasn’t meant to be.” I pull my hand from his and curl it into a fist against my midsection. “I can’t stop picturing you with those women, and I’m sick to my soul with jealousy. I don’t know how to get over that. You were mine, dammit.”
“I still am.” Conviction burns in his eyes.
I look away, focus on his lips, and think about all the women who have tasted him. And it hurts.
“Conor. Give me your eyes.”
I stare at the sculpted perfection of his torso and think about all the acrylic nails that have passionately scored his skin. And it hurts.
“Conor.” The command in his voice compels my gaze to his. “I love you.”
He watches me with a deafening look, his hands resting on my thighs, our bodies an impulse apart. My heart pumps so loudly I’m certain he hears it.
We’re not going to have sex, but he can sure tempt the hell out of me with his unshakable attention. Lying there on his back, all stretched out between my thighs, he seems content with just looking at me. He always does that. Always stares at me like I’m the only view in the world.
It moves something inside me, a fluttery pull through my gut, revealing a turn-on I wasn’t aware of before. His assertive, uninterrupted attention on me makes my skin hum and my pulse race. It arouses me.
I don’t trust him, but I feel things for him. I feel this moment, the wonder in it.
Slowly, the knot around my heart loosens, and my breathing becomes arrhythmic.
His eyes seek mine, and his hand reaches for me. I catch it and redirect it to the shoulder strap of my camisole.
He stops breathing.
I don’t think about what I’m doing as I use his fingers to slide the strap to my upper arm and let it fall. Then I release his hand and give him leave to roam.
His touch on my chest is tentative, so achingly slow and cautious as the pads of his fingers reveal a hairbreadth of skin at a time. Such a contrast to the hand squeezing my thigh.
We watch each other through the unhurried descent of my top. As the elastic edge meets my nipple, we both look down.
He unchokes his held breath when he sees the freckle. His mouth parts. His nostrils flare, and his smoldering gaze scorches my exposed breast, melting me there and everywhere.
He sits up, his voice gravel and smoke. “Lift up on your knees.”
With a shiver, I obey, straddling his lap. The position puts my chest level with his face. His nearness is unbearable, inviting a needy ache to gather and throb between my legs.
He teases my top down with prolonged tenderness, his fingers featherlight, reverent, as they brush over the swells of my breasts. By the time the camisole slouches around my waist, I’m trembling, panting, and wet. Soaked through to my cotton shorts.
Covering my chest with his hands, he caresses and cups and molds my flesh. Every touch pulses a wave of heat to my pussy. I wobble on my knees and grip his shoulders.
He feels so warm I slide my palms down his chest, tracing the shape and texture of him while he does the same with me.
The room echoes back the whispers of our movements. The stroke of hands, shortening breaths, shifting legs, rustling sheets, vibrating moans—the sounds of two souls stitching back together.
It’s a moment of alarming realization. The instant I lowered the strap of my top, I opened the door. Everything will change after this, and given the predatory look in his eyes, he knows.
“Jake.” I move my hands back to his shoulders. “I didn’t intend to—”
“Just a few more seconds.” His arms wrap around me, bringing my chest to his lips.
Then he kisses me there. Mouth open, breaths panting, he sucks and nuzzles the vicinity of my freckle until my back bows and his whiskers burn my skin.
I stab my fingers in his thick tousled hair, holding on, pulling him closer, and pushing him away. Reason battles need, distrust rivals hope, and confusion wins.
“We can’t do this.” It’s a protest on my lips and an invitation in my head.
“I don’t deserve you.” Anguish crashes across his expression. “After all the pain I caused you—”
“You were protecting me.” I don’t know why I’m arguing. He did hurt me. But I can’t bear that look on his face. “I want to forgive you.”
He stares at me with eyes so full of hope. Then he twists his fingers in my hair and wrenches my mouth to his.
The moment his tongue rubs against mine, my skin burns red-hot, an answering fever to the aggression in his grip and the hunger in his kiss. Our breaths coalesce in loud, shaky gasps, singeing the air that dares confine us.
“God, Jake.” I pant against his sinful lips. “You’ve always been such a good kisser. But now…” I let him catch and lick my tongue, moaning into his mouth. “All your practicing over the years has paid off.”
He leans back and flashes me a wolfish smile. It’s a smile that will stick with me, bandaged over the bruises on my heart, even if I spend the rest of the day scolding myself for giving it to him.
He drops a kiss on each of my breasts and flattens his grin into a line of seriousness. “We have a three-hour car ride ahead of us.”
“Three-hour…?” Comprehension zips through me. “We’re going to see Lorne?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He slams a hand against my butt. “Go take a shower.”
I swallow a gulp and shudder with delicious tingles. “Stop doing that.”
He spanks me again, harder. “If you’re not in that shower in ten seconds, I’m joining you.”
I go, off the bed and across the room, yanking my top up to cover my chest.
“Conor.”
I twist my neck and find him sitting on the edge of the bed.
Lips swollen and hair mussed, he gives me the full force of his eyes. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed.”