by Jennie Marts
“Come on,” she said, tugging his hand as she pulled him toward the house.
He studied her for just a moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to make a decision. Another flash of lightning struck, and he twisted his fingers with hers and ran with her to the house.
They jogged up the steps and burst into the house. Lucky looked up from the dog bed in the corner, but Bryn barely noticed. All her attention was on Zane and the feel of his hands and his lips as he lifted her onto the counter in the kitchen and continued what they’d started in the driveway.
His hands were big, strong, and exhilarating as they pulled her to him, then moved over her body, exploring her curves. She pushed his hat off and dug her hands into his thick hair as she wrapped her legs around his waist and lost herself in his kiss, in the feel of him against her.
She’d dreamed, fantasized, wished for this moment, and it lived up to every aspect of her dreams. Except they weren’t naked. Yet.
* * *
Time lost all meaning as Zane reveled in the feel of Bryn against him. Her lips were soft and yielding, yet the press of her body against his was firm and insistent. He loved the way she squirmed into him and the soft sighs she made as he trailed his lips down her throat.
Her fingers clutched his back, and she let out another soft moan as his hand skimmed over her breast. He wanted to pick her up, carry her to the bedroom, and strip her out of those pajamas. He wanted, needed, her naked and under him. Then naked and over him. Then under him again.
Which was why he had to stop.
“Wait.” He pulled back, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he let out a shuddering breath. “This can’t be happening.”
Bryn cocked an eyebrow and fixed him with a seductive stare. “Oh, it’s happening all right.”
A grin pulled at the corners of his lips. “No, I mean it can’t be happening because I don’t have any…you know…protection.”
“You don’t?”
Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “No. I don’t. I’m a man, not some teenage boy who carries them around in his wallet in hopes of getting lucky.”
“Well, too bad you weren’t channeling your inner teenager because you were just about to get lucky.”
He offered her a devilish grin. “Yeah?”
She laughed and hopped down from the kitchen counter. “Yeah, and you still might if I can find a box in my brother’s room. He leaves all kinds of stuff here for when he occasionally comes back,” she explained as she started down the hallway.
“We don’t need a whole box,” Zane said, stopping her in her tracks.
She planted a hand on her hip as she turned back to him. “We don’t?”
He chuckled. “Nah. Five or six will do.”
Her eyes widened, then she playfully wiggled her hips. “Just five or six?”
He shrugged. “For now.”
She laughed and raised her hands to the ceiling. “I’ve never prayed for condoms to appear before, but I’m praying now. Like manna from heaven, please let me find a box!”
Zane chuckled, then sent up a silent prayer that echoed hers as she continued down the hallway. In an odd way, he was thankful she didn’t have any of her own because that meant she hadn’t been planning the same kind of night with Brody. Apparently, she hadn’t been planning any kind of night with anyone. But neither had he.
He’d never imagined—well, he had imagined plenty but he’d never believed—this night could actually happen.
“Bingo!” he heard Bryn holler from down the hallway.
Heat shot up his spine. He felt like he’d just won the round and couldn’t hold back his grin as he headed toward her.
She met him outside her bedroom—at least he assumed it was her bedroom from the pink and white décor he could see through the door. Shaking a purple box at him, she grinned. “I found a brand-new package. I guess you’re going to get lucky after all.”
“I already have. Just getting to kiss you is lucky in my book.” He pulled her into his arms and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “This is an entirely new form of luck to me. It’s like the Powerball number in the lottery instead of just a two-dollar scratch ticket.” He leaned in and kissed her neck, loving the sound of her laughter. Pressing another kiss below her ear, he whispered, “I’ve never won a prize this grand before, and I’m not about to waste a minute of my winnings.”
“Then I guess I’m a winner too,” she said, pressing her lips to his and kissing him thoroughly. To his chagrin, she pulled away, taking a step back. She narrowed her eyes in a seductive stare and pushed up her chest. “If you’ve just won the lottery, don’t you think you’d better get to unwrapping your prize?”
Chapter 12
Zane dropped his gaze to Bryn’s pajama top. The little tank buttoned up the front and the top button was already undone, showing just enough skin to torment him. His groin tightened at the sight of the taut nubs of her nipples pushing through the thin fabric of her pajamas.
Damn, this woman was going to kill him. He loved that she was beautiful and sweet, but dang if he didn’t love this new side of Bryn he was being introduced to, the side that was flirty and beguiling. He loved her tantalizing playfulness, although she was killing him with this teasing.
Time to turn the tables and do a little teasing of his own. He nudged her another step, pressing her back and shoulders against the wall, then slid his hand over the top of her shirt and cupped her breast in his palm. He grazed the tip of her nipple with his thumb and grinned at her sharp intake of breath. Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to her shirt, sucking at the hardened nub through the light fabric while his free hand slipped under her shirt and caressed her skin. She arched into him, wanting more. He obliged by pulling down the material and exposing one breast over the loose neckline of her top.
Slowly, so slowly, he ran his lips down her throat and over the top of her breast, his breath a whisper over her skin. Circling her nipple with his tongue, he reveled in the soft whimper he heard as he sucked the nub between his lips.
Her arms were down, one hand still clutching the purple box, the other hand pressed to the wall, as he flicked open another button of her shirt. His gaze was trained on the rise and swell of her breasts, but he felt her swallow as he undid another button. Then another. Then the last. He caught his breath as the fabric fell free, baring her smooth skin and both luscious breasts.
He paused, suddenly feeling shy, like the nerdy teenage boy who had gotten the rare and extraordinary opportunity to make out with the prettiest cheerleader on the squad. He wanted to touch her, to taste her. Hell, he wanted to devour her. But he also wanted to savor this moment and not rush through what was quickly shaping up to be the best night of his life.
Reaching out, he ran the back of his fingers from her neck down the center of her chest, his knuckles grazing the side of her full breast as he went. He circled her belly button, then flattened his hand and smoothed his palm over her stomach and around her waist. Slipping his hand under the elastic band of her shorts, he tugged them over her hips and let them fall to the floor. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to see her. All of her.
She still stood against the wall, her shirt opened in the front, her breasts bare, and the only thing left covering her was the thin scrap of lacy fabric that barely passed for panties. Women could rave about the benefit of no panty lines, but men were the ones who truly appreciated the invention of thong panties. And he was offering his appreciation now.
“Damn, you are beautiful.” He raked his eyes over her body, admiring her sensuous curves and smooth skin. He leaned down and took her mouth in a hard kiss. Her lips were compliant, returning the kiss with passionate fervor. His hands roamed her body, skimming over her lush curves and caressing her breasts, her waist, her hips. His breath came in ragged gasps as he leaned down and swept her up into his arms, carrying her into the b
edroom and laying her on the bed.
The room was lit by a lamp on her bedside table, and her skin glowed in the soft light as she shimmied the rest of the way out of the pajama top. She looked up at him.
He’d toed off his sneakers when they’d come through the door, but he still wore his running shorts and T-shirt. Her hands gripped the hem of his shirt and tried to drag it up. But he pinned the fabric down with his arms, then reached to turn out the lamp.
She put a hand on his. “Don’t. Leave it on.”
He pulled back, a scowl shadowing his face. “I don’t do this unless it’s in the dark.”
“Zane.” She said his name softly and rested a hand gently on his chest. Could she feel the thundering of his heart? He swore it had to be pounding like a hammer against her hand. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing with you.”
His scowl deepened. “Did I give you some kind of indication that’s what I wanted?” he growled.
“No, I didn’t mean that. I just meant that I feel like this could be the beginning of something good. And I don’t want to start it in the dark. I want us to start in the light.”
He shook his head. “I’m not pretty in the light.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Hell, I’m not even pretty in the dark.”
“Stop. You’re beautiful to me.”
He huffed. “You’re beautiful. I’m a scarred-up beast.”
“That’s not how I see it. You are more than your scars. But I think our scars tell our stories. They don’t have to be marks of shame, they can be symbols of survival, even victory.” She reached up and gently ran her finger along the jagged mark on his face. “You lived through the battle and came out stronger.”
She reached for his hand and drew it to her side, using the end of his finger to trace a thin white line of tissue. “This scar is from when I was playing in the barn, and my grandfather told me to stay away from the tractor, and I didn’t listen and fell off the seat and cut my side.” She moved his hand to another scar on her leg. “I got this when I wrecked my bike and broke my leg because I was trying to keep up with my brother and his friends who’d dared me to try to jump the ditch. I spent two weeks in the hospital. And my grandmother brought me books from the library. I must have read twenty books that week.”
“My scars don’t tell those kinds of stories. You don’t know what I’ve been through and what I’ve done.” He thought of the strip of skin that had been torn from his leg when he’d been stabbed by an Afghani soldier. The welts that crisscrossed over his back and shoulders—gifts from his father. The jagged gash across his thigh where he’d drawn a knife across it the night Sarah died, his hands sticky with blood as he tried to punish himself for her death.
“But they do. Every scar tells a story. And every one teaches us something.” She touched the scars again. “Like this one taught me that I’m not always right. And this one taught me my brother and his friends could be jerks and not to let myself get peer-pressured into doing stupid stuff I’m not ready for.”
He shook his head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But I don’t have scars from riding my bike and playing in the barn. Mine are wounds of war and chaos and from getting beaten by a drunk. The only thing these scars have taught me is that war is hell and I’d rather have my dad hit me with his fists than whip me with a belt.”
She winced. “I know it’s not the same. And I can’t begin to imagine the things you endured growing up with a man like Birch. But what I’m trying to say is that your scars don’t define you. They are just a part of you. But not all of you. And I want all of you, Zane.”
“I want you too,” he said, his voice hoarse, his skin hot with shame. Didn’t she know how humiliating this was? Couldn’t she tell how much of himself he’d already bared to her? He didn’t want her to see this part of him, to hear the pity in her voice or witness the horror in her eyes.
“Show me.”
He shook his head again but didn’t stop her this time as she reached for the hem of his shirt and slowly eased it over his head. “You don’t have to tell me the story of every one, but I want to see them. And I want you to know that I see more than your scars. I see you.”
She was going to break him.
“There isn’t more. And they do define who I am. Every scar, every wound tells you exactly who I am. A nothing. A nobody. Not good for anything more than as a punching bag for my old man. Don’t you see? I’m damaged goods. Already broken. These wounds go deeper than my skin. They screwed me up.”
“They didn’t. They might have made you the man you are today, but they didn’t break you.” Her eyes tightened in the smallest wince as she drew her fingers across the small puckered circle on his chest where Birch had put out his cigarette the night he’d caught Zane smoking. He’d tried to make it seem like some kind of life lesson from a father to a son. Yeah, your Father of the Year award is in the mail, Dad.
She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the circular scar. “Show me,” she whispered again. “I’m not scared.”
“I am. I’ve been in the trenches in the desert. And locked in a closet. Those things made me a tough bastard. I’m not scared of much. But right now, I’m terrified.”
“It’s okay.”
All he’d wanted was to touch her, to kiss her. He wasn’t good at words or expressing his emotions, but he could show her what he was feeling. He wanted the focus of this time to be on her, not him. And damn sure not on his damaged body.
But she wasn’t going to let up. He hadn’t known Bryn long, but he knew the woman had a stubborn streak in her a mile long. He sighed. Fine. She wanted to see all of him, the true beast. It was her choice. If this was all he got, this brief time of making out with her in the driveway and the kitchen and the hall, then he’d have to be satisfied. He’d still gotten to touch her skin, to run his hands over her curves, to kiss that soft spot on her neck between her ear and her shoulder.
He turned around, anticipating the sharp intake of her breath, the cry of alarm and horror. But all he heard was a soft inhale, then felt her fingers lightly touch his back as she traced his history through his scars. A shiver ran through him.
He turned and saw tears on her cheeks, but her eyes didn’t contain judgment or fear. He wiped a tear from her face with the back of his thumb. “Hey now, don’t cry for me. I’m tough.”
“I know. I’m not so much crying for the man you are now, but for the boy you were then. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”
“I’m not,” she said. “And it doesn’t horrify me like you think it does. You have more to offer than you think.” She pushed his hair away from his forehead and stared hard into his eyes. “You’re like the stallions that run free in the mountains, wild but beautiful. You might not see it, but I do. You know, butterflies can’t see how beautiful their wings are, but the rest of the world can.”
He arched an eyebrow and offered her a wry grin. “Are you comparing me to a butterfly? Just as we’re about to have reckless passionate sex?”
She giggled, her eyes full of mirth as she nodded.
He laughed with her. This was all new to him, talking and laughing in the middle of making out. Baring their hearts, then joking and teasing in between kissing and shedding their clothes. “How about we go back to that part where you compared me to a wild stallion?”
Her grin widened.
The scent of rain mingled with her perfume, and he glanced toward the open window as another flicker of lightning streaked across the sky. His eyes widened as he stared at the two pairs of eyes peering into the window. He let out a laugh as he gestured toward them. “It appears we have an audience.”
Bryn twisted her neck and burst out laughing as she caught sight of the goat and the miniature horse watching them through the screen. The goat had a scrap of red flannel fabric hanging
from its lip as it let out a loud bleat. “Otis must have taught Shamus how to escape the corral. And I think that’s a piece of your shirt he’s snacking on.”
“Damn goat.”
“They look like they want to come in.”
“I consider myself a pretty open guy, but I’m gonna draw the line at that.”
Bryn giggled again, then pushed up from the bed and crossed to the window. She shooed the animals away. “Go on now.” She pulled the shade, then turned and walked back to the bed.
Zane had enjoyed the view of her walking away but appreciated the sight of her walking toward him even more. Her hips swayed, and she offered him a seductive smile. His gaze raked over her bare skin, and he grinned as her nipples tightened under his stare.
He took her hand and pulled her back into bed. Her lips curved into another slow smile as she nestled her head into the pillow, and he rose over her. Leaning down, he kissed the smile from her lips, losing himself in the sensual glide of her tongue against his. He buried his face in her hair, then grazed his lips along the soft line of her neck. He pressed his mouth against the hammering pulse point in her throat. Was she as nervous as he was? Or just excited?
His own heart pounded hard as he hauled her to his chest, slanting his mouth over hers again as he kissed her with a fury of lust and abandon. He wanted everything, all of her. Now. But he also wanted to take it slow, to savor every moment, every touch of her skin, every soft sigh that escaped her lips.
He tried to linger at her lips, but her body called for his attention. Her soft, lush curves molded perfectly against his body, but he pushed himself up, wanting to look at her as he ran his hands lightly down her sides and over the contours of her breasts and hips.
A wicked grin curved his lips as he watched her skin erupt in goose bumps at his touch. He dipped his head, giving his attention to one perfect breast, then the other. His tender caress over her sensitive nipples had her arching her back, demanding more. Her breasts filled his hands, and mouth, perfectly. She let out the softest whimper as his tongue rasped the tip of her nipple, and he almost came undone.
