Chapter Twelve

Turning back to his daughter after watching Cooper storm from the room, Carlson said, “What an unpleasant individual.”

“Father, how could you have offered him money?” Rusty cried in dismay.

“I thought you wanted and expected me to.”

“Whatever gave you that impression? Cooper...Mr. Landry... He is a proud man. Do you think he saved my life for profit?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s an unlikeable character from what I’ve heard of him.”

“You asked around?”

“Certainly. As soon as he was identified as the man with you when you were rescued. Being marooned with him couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“We had our differences,” Rusty replied with a rueful smile. “But he could have deserted me and saved himself at any time.”

“He wasn’t about to. Not when there might be a reward for saving you.”

“He didn’t know that.”

“He’s clever. He deduced that I’d spare no expense to rescue you if you were still alive. Maybe he was offended by the amount.” He picked up the ripped check and studied it. “I thought it was a generous reward, but maybe he’s greedier than I suspected.”

Rusty closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto the pillows in defeat. “Father, he doesn’t want your money. He’s all too glad to be rid of me.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Carlson sat down on the edge of her bed. “However, it’s unfortunate that we can’t capitalize on your mishap.”

Her eyes came open again. “‘Capitalize’? What in the world are you talking about?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions until you’ve heard me out.” She’d already jumped to several conclusions, none of which were to her liking. “You’re not referring to a movie are you?” When her friend had mentioned the idea, she’d been appalled.

Carlson patted her hand. “Nothing so crass, my dear. We’ve got more style than that.”

“Then, what?”

“One of your problems has always been your lack of vision, Rusty.” Affectionately, he cuffed her on the chin. “Your brother would have immediately seen the enterprising possibilities this situation has opened up to us.”

As usual, the comparison to her brother left her feeling inferior. “Like what?”

Patiently Carlson explained. “You’ve made a name for yourself in real estate. And not by riding my coattails, either. I might have placed a few opportunities in your path, but you took advantage of them.”

“Thank you, but what is this leading to, Father?”

“In your own right, you’re something of a celebrity in this town.” She shook her head scoffingly. “I mean it. Your name is well-known in important circles. And in recent days your name and picture have appeared in newspapers and on television. You’ve been made into a sort of folk heroine. That kind of free publicity is as good as money in the bank. I propose that we use this disaster to our advantage.”

On the verge of panic, Rusty wet her lips. “You mean promote the fact that I survived an airplane crash to generate business?”

“What could it hurt?”

“You must be joking!” He wasn’t. There was nothing in either his expression or demeanor to indicate that he was only fooling. She bowed her head, shaking it. “No, Father. Absolutely not. The idea doesn’t appeal to me at all.”

“Don’t say no right away,” he said patronizingly. “I’ll get our advertising agency to work up a few ideas. I promise not to move on any of them until you’ve been consulted and I have your approval.”

He was suddenly a stranger to her. The voice, the face, the polished manner—all were familiar. But she didn’t really know the heart and soul of the man behind the veneer. She didn’t know him at all.

“I’ll never approve. That plane crash killed five people. Five men, Father. I met their families—their grieving widows and children and parents. I talked to them. I offered them my heartfelt condolences. To turn their misfortune to my own advantage—” she shuddered with repugnance “—no, Father. That’s something I can’t do.”

Bill Carlson pulled on his lower lip, as he always did when he was deep in thought. “Very well. For the time being, we’ll table that idea. But another has occurred to me.”

He pressed both her hands between his. Rusty got the distinct impression that she was being restrained as a precautionary measure, as if what he was about to suggest would precipitate a fit.

“As I’ve told you, I had Mr. Landry thoroughly checked out yesterday. He owns a large ranch in a beautiful area of the Sierras.”

“So he’s said.”

“No one has developed the land around it.”

“That’s the beauty of it. The region has remained virtually untouched. I fail to see what that has to do with us.”

“Rusty, what’s the matter with you?” he asked teasingly. “Have you become a conservationist after two weeks in the woods? You’re not going to circulate petitions accusing builders of raping the land every time a new tract of homes goes up, are you?”

“Of course not, Father.” His teasing bordered on criticism. There was a trace of reproach behind his smile. Rusty didn’t want to disappoint him, but she hastened to eliminate any ideas he was nursing regarding Cooper and enterprise. “I hope you aren’t considering any commercial development in Mr. Landry’s part of the state. I can promise you, he wouldn’t welcome it. In fact he’d fight you.”

“Are you sure? How does the idea of a partnership strike you?”

She stared at him incredulously. “A partnership between Cooper and me?”

Carlson nodded. “He’s a war veteran. That’s very promotable. You survived a plane crash together and endured unbelievable hardships in the Canadian wilds before you were rescued. That, too, has high drama and marketability. The buying public will eat it up.”

Everyone, even her own father, seemed to regard the plane crash and the life-threatening experiences following it as a grand adventure, a melodrama starring Cooper and herself in the principal roles—The African Queen set in a different time and locale.

Carlson was too caught up in his plans to notice Rusty’s negative reaction to them. “I could make a few calls and by dark today put together a group of investors who would love to build condos in that area. There’s a ski lift at this Rogers Gap, but it’s ill-managed. We’d modernize and improve that and build around it.

“We’d bring Landry into it, of course. That would smooth the way with the other locals. He’s not a mixer, but my investigators reported back that he wields a lot of influence. His name means something up there. Once the condos are under construction, you could start selling them. We’d all stand to make millions.”

Her objections to his proposal were too many to enumerate, so she didn’t even try. She had to shoot down the idea before it even took off. “Father, in case you didn’t get the message a minute ago, Mr. Landry isn’t interested in making money.” She picked up the two halves of the check and shook them in front of his face as a reminder. “Making money off a real-estate venture will be anathema to him. He loves that country up there. He wants it left alone, kept the way it is, unspoiled by land developers. He loves the way nature developed it.”

“He might pay lip service to that Walden Pond philosophy,” her father remarked skeptically. “But every man has his price, Rusty.”

“Not Cooper Landry.”

Carlson stroked his daughter’s cheek. “Your naivete is endearing.”

The twinkle in his eyes was familiar and alarming. It indicated that he was on the scent of a Big Deal. In a community of capitalist sharks, her father was among those with the most deadly jaws. She grasped his hand and squeezed it hard. “Promise me, promise, that you won’t do this. You don’t know him.”

“And you do?” The glint in his eyes dimmed and the lids narrowed. Gradually she released his hands. He backed away from her suspiciously, as though he’d just learned that what was confining her to the hospital bed might be contagious.

“I haven’t posed any questions that might have been embarrassing for you to answer, Rusty. I wanted to spare us both that. However, I’m not blind. Landry is almost a caricature of the macho male. He’s the kind of belligerent loner that women swoon over and fancy themselves able to tame.”

He cupped her chin and tilted it up so he could read her eyes. “Surely you’re too intelligent to fall for a pair of broad shoulders and a broody disposition. I hope that you didn’t form any sort of emotional attachment to this man. That would be most unfortunate.”

Unwittingly her father had echoed Cooper’s theory— that their feelings were due largely to their dependency on each other. “Under the circumstances, wouldn’t forming an attachment to him be natural?”

“Yes. But the circumstances have changed. You’re no longer isolated with Landry in the wilderness; you’re home. You have a life here that mustn’t be jeopardized by a juvenile infatuation. Whatever happened up there,” he said, hitching his perfectly groomed head in the direction of the window, “is over and should be forgotten.” Cooper had said as much, too. But it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. And it couldn’t be forgotten. What she felt for him wasn’t going to weaken and eventually die from lack of nurturing. She hadn’t formed a psychological dependency on him that would disappear as she gradually resumed her previous life.

She’d fallen in love. Cooper was no longer her provider and protector, but something so much more. He was the man she loved. Whether they were together or apart, that would never change.

“Don’t worry, Father. I know exactly what I feel for Mr. Landry.” That was the truth. Let her father draw his own conclusions.

“Good girl,” Carlson said, patting her shoulder. “I knew I could count on you to come out of this stronger and smarter than ever. Just like your brother, you’ve got your head on straight.”

She had been home for a week after spending almost a week in the hospital recovering from the first operation on her shin. The scar didn’t look much better than it had before the surgery, but the doctor had assured her that after the series of operations, it would be virtually undetectable.

Aside from a little tenderness in her leg, she felt perfectly fine. The bandages had been removed, but the surgeon had advised her to keep clothing off the leg and to continue to use crutches for support.

She had regained the few pounds she’d lost after the plane crash. She spent a half hour or so each day lying in the sun on the redwood deck of her pool to restore her light tan. Her friends had been true to their promise, and since she couldn’t easily get to a salon, they’d brought the salon to her. A hairdresser had trimmed and conditioned and restored her hair to its usual glossy sheen. A manicurist had resculptured her nails. She’d also massaged a pound of cream into Rusty’s dry, rough hands.

As she watched the manicurist smoothing away the scaly redness, Rusty thought about the laundry she had washed by hand, then hung up to dry on a crude outdoor clothesline. It had always been a contest to see if the clothes would dry before they froze. It hadn’t been all that bad. Not really. Or did memory always make things seem better than they actually had been?

That could be applied to everything. Had Cooper’s kisses really been that earth-moving? Had his arms and whispered words been that comforting in the darkest hours of the night? If not, why did she wake up frequently, yearning for his nearness, his warmth?

She had never been so lonely.

Not that she was ever alone—at least not for prolonged periods of time. Friends dropped in to bring trifling presents that would hopefully amuse her because she seemed so morose. Physically she was coming along nicely, but her spirits hadn’t bounced back yet.

Friends and associates were worried about her. Since the airplane crash, she was not her usual, jovial self at all. They kept her stuffed with everything from Godiva chocolates to carry-out tacos to covered dishes from Beverly Hills’s finest restaurants, prepared especially for her by the head chefs who knew personally what her favorite foods were.

She had lots of time on her hands, but she was never idle. Her father’s prediction had come true: she was suddenly a celebrity real-estate agent. Everybody in town who wanted to sell or buy sought her advice on the fluctuating market trends. Each day she took calls from prospective clients, including an impressive number of movie and television people. Her ear grew sore from the hours spent on the telephone. Ordinarily she would have leaped over the moon for a client list of this caliber. Instead she was plagued with an uncharacteristic ennui that she couldn’t explain or overcome.

Her father hadn’t said any more about developing the area around Rogers Gap. She hoped that idea was officially a dead issue. He came by her house each day, ostensibly to check on her progress. But Rusty suspected, perhaps unfairly, that her father was more interested in quickly harvesting this crop of new business than in her recovery.

The lines around his mouth became tense with impatience, and his jocular encouragement for her to get back to work was beginning to sound forced. Even though she was following doctor’s orders, she knew that she was stretching her recovery time for as long as she could. She was determined, however, not to return to her office until she felt good and ready.

On this particular afternoon, she groaned in dread when the doorbell pealed through her house. Her father had called earlier to say that because of a business commitment he wouldn’t be able to come by that day. Rusty had been relieved. She loved her father but had welcomed the break from his daily visit, which never failed to exhaust her.

Obviously his meeting had been canceled and she wasn’t going to get a reprieve after all.

Hooking her arms over her crutches, she hobbled down the hallway toward her front door. She’d lived in this house for three years. It was a small, white stucco building with a red tile roof, very southern California in design, tucked into an undercliff and shrouded with vividly blooming bougainvillea. Rusty had fallen in love with it the minute she saw it.

Propping herself up on one crutch, she unlatched and opened the door.

Cooper said nothing. Neither did she. They just stared at each other for a long time before she silently moved aside. He stepped through the arched doorway. Rusty closed the door and turned to face him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see about your leg.” He looked down at her shin. She stuck it out for his inspection. “It doesn’t look much better.”

“It will.” His skeptical gaze moved up to meet hers. “The doctor has promised it will,” she said defensively.

He still seemed doubtful, but let the subject drop. He took in his surroundings, pivoting slowly. “I like your house.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s a lot like mine.”

“Really?”

“Mine looks sturdier, maybe. Not decorated as fancy. But they’re similar. Large rooms. Lots of windows.” She felt she had recovered enough to move. Upon seeing him, her one good knee, which she relied on for support, had threatened to buckle beneath her. Now, she felt confident enough to move forward and indicated for him to follow her. “Come on in. Would you like something to drink?”

“Something soft.”

“Lemonade?”

“Fine.”

“It’ll only take a minute to make.”

“Don’t bother.”

“No bother. I was thirsty for some anyway.”

She maneuvered herself through the dining room and into the kitchen at the back of the house. He followed. “Sit down.” She nodded toward the butcher-block table that formed an island in the center of the kitchen and moved toward the refrigerator.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“No thanks. I’ve had practice.”

She turned her head, ready with a smile, and caught him staring at the backs of her legs. Thinking that she was going to be alone all day, she’d dressed in a ragged pair of cutoffs and hadn’t bothered with shoes. The tails of a chambray shirt were knotted at her waist. She’d pulled her hair up into a high, scraggly ponytail. The effect was a Beverly Hills version of Daisy Mae.

Caught staring at her smooth, bare legs, Cooper shifted guiltily in his chair. “Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Your leg.”

“Oh. No. Well, some. Off and on. I’m not supposed to walk or drive or anything like that yet.”

“Have you gone back to work?”

Her ponytail swished against her neck as she shook her head. “I’m conducting some business here by telephone. The messenger services love me. I’ve kept them busy. But I haven’t quite felt up to dressing and going to the office.”

She took a can of lemonade concentrate out of the refrigerator where she’d had it thawing. “Have you been busy since you got home?”

She poured the thick pink concentrate into a pitcher and added a bottle of chilled club soda. When some of it splashed on the back of her hand, she raised it to her mouth and sucked it off. That’s when she turned with the question still in her eyes.

Like a hawk, Cooper was watching every move. He was staring at her mouth. Slowly, she lowered her hand and turned back to her task. Her hands were trembling as she took glasses down out of the cabinet and filled them with ice cubes.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

“How was everything when you got back?”

“Okay. A neighbor had been feeding my livestock. Guess he would have gone on doing that indefinitely if I’d never turned up.”

“That’s a good neighbor.” She had wanted to inject some levity into the conversation, but her voice sounded bright and brittle. It didn’t fit the atmosphere, which was as heavy and oppressive as a New Orleans summer. The air was sultry; she couldn’t draw enough of it into her lungs.

“Don’t you have any help running your ranch?” she asked.

“Off and on. Temporary hands. Most of them are ski bums who only work to support their habit. When they run out of money they work a few days so they can buy lift tickets and food. The system works for both them and me.”

“Because you don’t like a lot of people around.”

“Right.”

An abysmal depression came over her. She staved it off by asking, “Do you ski?”

“Some. Do you?”

“Yes. Or I did.” She glanced down at her leg. “I may have to sit this season out.”

“Maybe not. Since the bone wasn’t broken.”

“Maybe.”

And that, it seemed, was all they had to say. By tacit agreement, they ended the inane small talk and did what they really wanted to do—look at each other.

His hair had been cut, but was still unfashionably long. She liked the way it brushed the collar of his casual shirt. His jaw and chin were smoothly shaven, but if one single hair in his mustache had been altered, she couldn’t tell it. The lower lip beneath it was as stern and unyielding as ever. If anything, the grooves bracketing his mouth looked deeper, making his face appear more unrelievedly masculine. She couldn’t help but wonder what particular worry had carved those lines deeper.

His clothes weren’t haute couture, but he would turn heads on Rodeo Drive and be a refreshing change from the dapper dressers. Blue jeans still did more for a male physique than any other garment ever sewn together. They did more for Cooper’s body than for most. Of course, there was more to work with—so much more that the bulging denim between his thighs made Rusty’s stomach flutter.

His cotton shirt was stretched over a chest she still dreamed about. The sleeves had been rolled back to reveal his strong forearms. He had carried a brown leather bomber jacket in with him. It was now draped over the back of his chair, forgotten. Indeed, he seemed to have forgotten everything except the woman standing only a few feet, yet seemingly light-years, away from him.

His eyes tracked down her body, stripping her as they went. As though he were actually peeling away layer after layer of clothing, her skin began to burn with fever. By the time his eyes paused on the uneven, stringy hems of her cutoffs, where the soft threads tickled her bare thighs, Rusty was warm and moist.

His gaze moved back up to her face and the desire he saw registered there reflected his own. His eyes were like magnets drawing her into their field. On her crutches, she closed the distance between them, never breaking their stare. He didn’t either. As she drew nearer, he had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. It seemed to take a lifetime but was actually only a few seconds before she stood directly in front of him, leaning on her crutches for support.

She said, “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Groaning, he lowered his head and pressed it hard against her breasts. “Rusty. Damn you. I couldn’t stay away.”

Overwhelming emotions caused her eyes to close. Her head tipped forward in total surrender to her love for this complex man. She whispered his name.

He folded his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face in the soft, fragrant valley between her breasts. His hands opened wide over her back, drawing her body closer even though she couldn’t move her feet.

“I’ve missed you,” she admitted hoarsely. She didn’t expect him to make a similar confession, and he didn’t. But the ardency of his embrace was unspoken evidence of how much he’d missed her. “I’d hear your voice and turn, expecting you to be there. Or I’d start to say something to you before I realized you weren’t there.”

“God, you smell good.” Openmouthed, he gnawed on the soft inner curves of her breasts, catching cloth and all between his strong, white teeth.

“You smell like the mountains,” she told him, kissing his hair.

“I’ve got to have—” he was frantically untying the knot at her waist “—just one—” it came undone and he ripped the buttons apart “—bite.” His mouth fastened on the fleshy part of her breast, which was overflowing the cup of her brassiere.

At the first hot contact of his mouth with her skin, she arched her back and moaned. Her knuckles turned white where they gripped the handles of her crutches. She longed to drop them and plunge her fingers into his hair. She felt it dusting her skin when he turned his head and kissed her other breast. He took gentle love bites through the sheer cups of her brassiere and delicately sipped at the tips.

She released a keening sound much like a sob. It was both frustrating and thrilling not to have the use of her hands. The sense of helplessness was titillating. “Cooper,” she gasped imploringly.

He reached around her and unhooked her bra strap, working it down as far as it would go before the straps got caught in her sleeves. But that was sufficient. He had completely uncovered her. His eyes drank their fill before his lips surrounded one taut, pink crest and drew it into his mouth. He sucked it lovingly, then sponged the very tip of it with his tongue before drying it with his mustache. His whole face moved over her breasts, rubbing them with cheek and chin and mouth and nose and brow. Rusty, leaning precariously on her crutches, chanted his name with religious fervor.

“Tell me what you want. Anything,” he said huskily. “Tell me.”

“I want you.”

“Woman, you’ve got me. What do you want?”

“To touch. To be touched.”

“Where?”

“Cooper...”

“Where?”

“You know where,” she cried.

He brusquely unsnapped her cutoffs and slid down the zipper. Her brief panties did little more than cover the triangle of curls. He wanted to smile, but his face was too set with passion, so he couldn’t. He merely growled his approval as he pulled down the panties along with her cutoffs. He kissed the gingery down.

Rusty’s strength deserted her. She let go of the crutches. They clattered to the floor. She fell forward slightly, breaking her fall by placing her hands on Cooper’s shoulders. As she did so, he slid off the seat of the chair and sank to his knees in front of her.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep from screaming with pleasure as he parted her dewy flesh with his thumbs and buried his tongue in the softness.

He didn’t stop there. He didn’t stop at all. Not after the first wave of ecstasy swept over her. Not even after the second had claimed her. He didn’t stop until her body was glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration, until tendrils of russet hair were clinging damply to her temples and cheeks and neck, until she was quivering with aftershocks.

Only then did he rise to his feet and take her in his arms. “Which way?” His face was softer than she’d ever seen it as it bent over hers. The guarded chill was no longer in his eyes. In its place were sparks of some strong emotion she dared to hope was love.

She raised her hand and pointed in the general direction of the bedroom. He found it without difficulty. Since she’d spent a great deal of time in that room recently, it had a homey, lived-in aspect that apparently appealed to him. He smiled as he carried her through the doorway. Gently he stood her on her left leg and threw back the covers on the bed. “Lie down.”

She did, watching as he went into the bathroom. She heard water running. Moments later, he came back carrying a damp cloth. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes spoke volumes as he drew her into a sitting position and eased off her blouse. Removing her brassiere only required sliding the straps off her arms. She sat before him totally naked, and marvelously unashamed.

He ran the cool, damp cloth over her arms and shoulders and around her neck. After he had eased her back onto the pillows, he raised her arms over her head and washed the shallow cups of her armpits. She purred in surprised satisfaction; he ducked his head and kissed her moaning mouth.

He moved the cloth over her chest, then her breasts. Her nipples drew up again and he smiled. He touched a rosy whisker-burn on her tender flesh.

“I always seem to leave a mark on you,” he said with a trace of regret. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

His eyes glowed hotly as they moved down her stomach to her navel. He licked the sweat out of it before bathing the rest of her abdomen with the cloth. Then he washed her legs, being careful of her new scar. “Turn over.”

Rusty gazed up at him inquisitively, but she turned over on her stomach and rested her cheek on her stacked hands. Leisurely, he washed her entire back with the cloth. At the small of her back, he paused, then ran the cloth over the cheeks of her bottom.

“Hmm,” she sighed.

“That’s for me to say.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Hmm.” He spent far more time than was necessary to wash away any perspiration. He sponged the backs of her legs all the way down to the soles of her feet, which he discovered were ticklish. On his way back up, he lingered to taste the backs of her knees.

“Just relax a minute,” he told her as he left the bed to undress.

“Easy for you to say. You haven’t been subjected to heavy petting.”

“Brace yourself, baby. You’ve got more coming.”

Rusty wasn’t quite braced for him to lie naked and warm along the length of her back. She drew in a jagged breath and shivered with the startling impact of his hair-roughened skin against the smoothness of her back. His opened thighs sandwiched hers. Her bottom fit snugly against his sex. It was solid with desire and as smooth as velvet-sheathed steel as it rubbed against her.

He covered the backs of her hands with his palms, interlacing their fingers, and used his nose to move aside her ponytail so his lips could get to her ear.

“I can’t do anything for wanting you,” he whispered gruffly. “Can’t work. Sleep. Eat. There’s no comfort in my getaway house anymore. You ruined it for me. The mountains aren’t beautiful anymore. Your face has blinded me to them.”

He rocked against her and made an upward thrust, settling himself more firmly against her. “I thought I’d work you out of my system, but so far I’ve failed. I even went to Vegas and bought a woman for the evening. When we got to the hotel room, I just sat there staring at her and drinking, trying to work up desire. She practiced some of her fanciest tricks, but I felt nothing. I couldn’t do it. Didn’t want to. Finally I sent her home before she became as disgusted with me as I was with myself.”

He buried his face in the back of her neck. “You redheaded witch, what’d you do to me up there? I was fine, understand? Fine, until you came along with your wet-satin mouth and silky skin. Now my life isn’t worth a damn. All I can think about, see, hear, touch, smell, taste, is you. You.”

He rolled her over and pinned her beneath him. His mouth slanted against hers. He parted her lips with his hard, invasive, possessive tongue. “I’ve got to have you. Got to. Now.”

He ground his body against hers as though to meld them into one. Nudging her knees apart and giving one long, smooth, plunging motion of his hips, he delved into the giving folds of her womanhood.

Groaning with pleasure, he lowered his head to her chest. He called upon every prince of Heaven and hell to release him from his torment. His breath fell hot and labored on her breasts and when the nipples responded, he loved them with his mouth.

His skin was flushed. It burned her hands as she moved them over the rippling, supple muscles of his back and hips. She cupped his hard buttocks and drew him deeper yet. He moaned her name and brought their mouths together again. His kiss was carnally symbolic.

Rusty didn’t feel vanquished by his virile power, though she could well have. On the contrary, she felt free and unfettered, strong enough to fly, to soar to the limits of the universe. Just as her body was opened to him, so was her heart and soul. Love poured out of them abundantly. He must feel it. He must know.

She was sure he did, because he was saying her name in cadence to his thrusts. His voice was raw with emotion. But a heartbeat before he lost his ability to reason, she felt him about to withdraw.

“No! Don’t you dare.”

“Yes, Rusty, yes.”

“I love you, Cooper.” She crossed her ankles at the small of his back. “I want you. All of you.”

“No, no,” he groaned in misery as well as ecstasy.

“I love you.”

Clenching his teeth and baring them, he threw his head back and surrendered to orgasm with a long, low, primal groan that worked its way up from the bottom of his soul. He filled this woman who loved him with his hot, rich seed.