by Ava Miles
Before he could slip past Rhett, the man clapped an enormous hand on his shoulder. “I’m only telling you this so you can be a better man with the women in your life. You’re growing up. You ain’t always going to be around your mama and Uncle Mac to tell you things, and teenage girls are their own mystery.”
“True that,” Dustin said, shaking his head. “Thanks.”
Rhett winked at him. “I’ll call you and Mac when we’ve got supper ready. Don’t spoil your stomach with too many of those chips.”
Abbie blinked, staring at Rhett in something like shock, as her son laughed and shut the door behind him. “Who are you?” she asked.
The right side of his mouth kicked up. “Just an old dog who’s learned a few tricks along the way. That young ‘un could benefit from a few of them, it appears. Hope I didn’t overstep.”
“No, of course not,” she said, tucking her hands behind her back. “You showed remarkable insight.”
“I pay attention,” he said with a shrug. “Now, I don’t want to drip all over your floor either, so I’ll just hop on back to my little house and change. Be back in a jiffy.”
She took the opportunity to pour herself a glass of white wine. Rhett was going to help her in the kitchen? Was the sky falling?
Sure enough, he was back in short order—leaning against the counter a few feet from her and smiling like he’d just won the jackpot. He’d changed into a simple white T-shirt and jeans, much less wild than his poker-playing clothes. When he dressed, well, normal like this, it was much harder to resist him. So much so that she found herself clearing her throat.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said, his gaze locked on her. “Now, what can I help you with?”
She set her glass down carefully. It would be embarrassing to spill it with her hands shaking like they were. “How about you grab the baking soda and baking powder out of the spice cabinet?” She pointed to the space in question.
“I can do that,” he said. “Where do you keep your forks? My mama always said a fork made better flapjacks than a whisk.”
Who was making these pancakes anyway? “In the right drawer beside the dishwasher.”
She got out the measuring cups and started to measure out the flour in the bowl she’d set out. He came up beside her and set his items on the counter.
“I really appreciate you having me over like this,” he said. “Being with y’all is a sight better than winning a poker tournament, let me tell you.”
“I can’t imagine that’s true,” she said dryly.
He turned her slowly with a gentle hand on her arm, the heat of him radiating through her. “I’ve always wanted to stay over with y’all, but I sensed your hesitation. I was determined I’d be on my best behavior if you ever did invite me. Abbie…what I’m trying to say is that I’m not sure if I should apologize for kissing you. Do you want me to leave?”
She turned back to dole out the sugar and ended up dropping the tablespoon straight into the bowl. “I don’t know…” Her breathing grew difficult suddenly, and she feared the start of an asthma attack. “I need my inhaler. Excuse me.”
Doing her best not to run to her purse, she fumbled with the clasp and dug out the device. Putting it to her mouth, she pressed the top and inhaled deeply. She needed to calm down—and to do that, she needed to ignore Rhett. He didn’t cross over to her, thank God, but kept his gaze on her.
“You go on to your sitting room,” he quietly said. “I’ll finish up these here flapjacks.”
She was trembling, she realized, and since she was afraid any further conversation about kissing would only worsen her condition, she nodded.
At the edge of the kitchen, she looked back. Rhett’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, and when he ran a hand through his thick golden hair, she felt tears surface in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered across the distance between them.
He looked up. “It’s okay, Abbie.”
She left the room, wishing she were a different kind of woman, the kind who could admit that she wanted his kisses, that she dreamed of his hands on her.
Chapter 3
Rhett awakened bone-tired the next morning. He and Mac had told tall tales into the night after a disquieting dinner over slightly burned flapjacks. Abbie had barely said a word, her inhaler resting next to her silverware. He still felt like shit for pushing her. What had he been thinking to abuse her friendship and hospitality?
But she’d looked so eager the night before, standing in the soft light outside the guesthouse. He’d never doubted a woman wanting him, but he was filled with second guesses now. Mac hadn’t said a word, which meant he likely didn’t know about the kiss, and Rhett decided the best he could hope for was for everything to blow over. He would make an excuse to leave today. He hated to think about Dustin’s disappointment—or his own—but he’d do anything to avoid making her more uncomfortable.
Checking the time, he groaned. It wasn’t much past six o’clock in the infernal morning. For a man who played poker and partied late, he was never up with the sun. But he couldn’t simply lie here brooding.
A fast, lung-burning run would be just the thing. He pulled on some shorts, followed by his shoes and socks, and walked out into the dry heat. Being a country boy, he preferred nature trails, but he’d run on the sidewalk in a pinch.
He ran, pouring all of his frustration into it. The neighborhood was lined with greenery, and he found himself marveling at how much water people used to turn a desert into a paradise. Seemed like a plumb crazy idea, if you asked him, but it wasn’t for him to say. Of course Abbie had to use a butt load of water to keep her gardens thriving. She was a woman who cultivated flowers like some women cultivated their dance card at cotillion.
Not your kind of woman, he tried to remind himself. She deserves better.
After more than an hour, he headed back, sweaty as a horse ridden hard and put up wet. Letting himself in through the back fence, he made his way down the meandering garden path.
When he reached the guesthouse, he stopped short. Abbie was hacking at weeds in a small patch of earth in front of the porch. She was wearing a loose yellow cotton shirt that hugged her petite body and some tan shorts that were hiked up her golden thighs. He’d never seen her in shorts. Lord have mercy. His mouth went dry, and he took a massive inhale.
She jerked around on her knees, clenching the trowel in her hands. “Oh…I…”
Her eyes traveled across his body. He knew because every hair seemed to raise on his skin despite the heat. And he grew hard, hard enough for her to see. Clearly she did because her eyes widened. Her chest rose with her own shallow breathing, and he feared she would have another asthma attack.
She dropped the trowel and rose from the earth, looking like some fertility goddess who gave life to barren places. Her hands were dirty, he realized, and he marveled that she wasn’t wearing gardening gloves. Very un-Abbie of her.
“I was waiting for you to come out to apologize for last night, but now I…”
Darn it all if she didn’t lick her lips then, making him even harder. “You what?”
“I can’t deny it,” she whispered, edging closer until she was inches away from his body. “I wanted you to kiss me last night. To…touch me.”
He swallowed.
“And I want it now,” she said, reaching out her hand slowly until it touched his chest. “Rhett, I’m tired of denying what I want.”
Her fingers grazed the hard planes of his pecs, leaving streaks of dirt behind, mixed with his sweat. Oddly arousing, he realized, like they were already mixing what they were made of.
“What do you want?” he asked, certain she needed to say it as much as he needed to hear it.
Her eyes locked on his, and she placed her hand right over his heart. “You. Put your hands on me, Rhett.”
Some voice of his was yelling for attention in a distant part of his mind, but his balls were gripping, and his musc
les were locking, and all he wanted to do was lay her down in the sweet grass and pleasure her until she screamed his name.
He closed the distance between them and kissed her, fitting his hands around her body. She stumbled back, and he cushioned her as they both fell to the ground. Then her mouth was opening under his. He fell into the power of his desire for her, her heat, and the urgency between them.
“I want you to be sure,” he said harshly, breaking free.
She placed her hand flat on his naked chest. “I’m sure.”
He levered them up and swung her into his arms, walking to the door of the guesthouse and opening it with one hand. “Then you have me. I’m going to love you like crazy, Abigail Maven.”
Kicking the door closed behind them, he made sure to turn the lock. Then he headed to the master bedroom in the back of the cozy house. The shades were still drawn, and since he wanted to see her, he carried her over to open them a touch.
“You’re as light as a feather,” he said, liking the feel of his hands under her bottom.
“Kiss me, Rhett,” she whispered.
“Yes ma’am.”
His mouth descended on hers. Her lips were eager and unskilled, so he nestled her closer and cupped her cheek, showing her the angle they both needed. The hand that had clutched the weeds earlier clutched his hair, and his tongue speared her lips. She gasped, but soon she was squirming against him.
He knew what she needed. Abbie Maven needed an orgasm. Not just a plain ol’ vanilla one. She needed a raw, earthy one, as raw and earthy as the sweat on his body and the dirt on her small hands.
He set her on bed and sunk to his knees before her, kissing her neck with his open mouth. She tensed when he pressed her knees apart and settled between them.
“It’s okay, Abbie,” he whispered, pausing to meet her eyes. “Let me take care of you. Do you trust me?”
She nodded quickly, but he could see the anxiety in her eyes.
“Ignore me,” she said. “I’m being foolish.”
If he’d thought her inexperienced with men before, this confirmed it. “You could never be foolish. Let’s keep kissing for a spell, and when you’re ready, we’ll go a little further. Okay?”
Another brief nod, but he was pleased when she snuggled close and lifted her mouth to his. The kissing was as exciting and nerve-racking as a newly dealt hand of cards. Every move she made told him whether he needed to check, call, fold, or raise. Some touches she arched into. Others she withdrew from, almost as though they were too much for her to endure. He patiently kissed her, stroking her in mutually-agreed-upon zones: her back, her hips, the sides of her waist, and a few sweeping passes over her bottom.
When she squirmed again, he knew it was time to test the waters. He raised her shirt, kissing her flat stomach. While her breath stopped short, she didn’t tense up, so he lifted that yellow shirt until it rested against her collarbones. He kissed the delicate mounds of her small breasts, cupped in a simple white bra. But it was when he ran a single finger over that soft rolling skin that she moaned and closed her eyes.
He wanted to shout for joy and whistle Dixie.
Reaching under her, he undid her bra and slid his hands around to caress the undersides of her breasts. More tortured moans sounded from her lips. “Oh, honey, make music for me.”
Then he lifted her bra and set his mouth to her breasts. She jerked under him, but moaned again and continued moaning as he experimented with what she liked: soft or hard suction, gentle or urgent kisses. She liked them all, he discovered.
She lurched up and tugged her shirt over her head. Next went her bra. Her mouth gave an uncertain smile. He gave an answering grin. Covering her so their bare chests connected, he brushed their bodies back and forth until she was running her feet over the backs of his calves. Pressing back, he reached for the button of her shorts and opened them.
She was tensing against him all over again, but he knew how to assure her. More kisses. More caresses to her breasts. Soon she was opening on a new level, and he was sliding her shorts down her luscious legs. He took off her sandals, cupping her arches in his large palms. She lay before him like a feast.
“You are so beautiful,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Let me show you how much.”
He kissed his way up her legs. The closer he came to the core of her, the more tense she became. He eased back, focusing on giving her more kisses. He even turned her onto her stomach and kissed his way down her delicate spine. Taking her bottom in his hands, he kissed her there too. She gasped again, but since she was still squirming, he didn’t stop. Whatever was holding her back was dissolving, and he was proud to be a part of toppling the wall she’d surrounded herself in.
His hand reached around her body until he could touch her core. Out of some primal instinct, he knew it would be easier this way. She was shy about her pleasure, and so he stroked her gently at first, kissing her neck until she lurched hard against his hand. Sliding a finger inside her, he realized she was as tight as a virgin. He would need to take extra care not to hurt her when he entered her. Again, he experimented with touches to see what she responded to, increasing the pressure and speed until she quickened and cried out under his hands.
He turned her over, determined to heighten her pleasure. Parting her legs, he stroked her lightly until she started moaning again. Only then did he leave her to grab a condom from his wallet.
Urging her legs to bend at the knee, he pressed slowly inside her. He ground his teeth at the fierce pleasure of being encased in her warmth. Holding onto his control took effort, especially when she made another tortured sound.
“Oh, Rhett,” she whispered, her head pressing back into the pillows, her face flushed.
He filled her, and as they moved together, his heart filled up with tender emotion. This was Abbie, the unattainable lady he’d always admired and wanted, but his strokes seemed to summon up a rarely expressed part of her. She clutched his back in passion, urging him on with grunts and little cries, like she wasn’t used to pleasure like this and didn’t know where it would end.
He set himself to the task of pleasing her with his body. Long, deep strokes seemed to work the best for her. His body was flush with sweat again, and he was pleased to see hers was the same. They glided together until she started to quake under him, and when she cried out again, he let himself join her.
The pleasure shot through him, and when he was spent, he rested his forehead on her shoulder. “My God, Abbie.”
She made a soft sound, utterly feminine, the kind God must have designed with the sole intention to disarm a man. In that moment, he would have done anything for her, become anything to stay with her.
Because he had to see her, he raised up on his shaking arms. “Abbie.”
“Oh, Rhett,” she whispered.
When she raised her hand and touched his face, he knew his life would never be the same.
Chapter 4
Abbie had read plenty of magazine articles and books describing how lush a woman felt after sex.
She’d never imagined it could ever happen to her. But it had. And with Rhett Butler Blaylock.
His body was still curved over hers. She couldn’t help but recall the look in his eyes when he’d raised his head to meet her gaze… Something had snapped in her heart, like a balloon breaking free of its earthly tether to float into the heavens.
He was breathing hard, and she realized she was too despite the deliciousness running through every limb. My goodness, she wanted more of this. She wanted the sweat and the heaviness of his body covering her, the slide of him inside her most sensitive parts. He’d opened up a new world to her, and she hugged him spontaneously, wanting to thank him.
“Oh Rhett,” she said. “That was so wonderful. I…”
She stopped midsentence, realizing she’d been on the verge of admitting private things, things she’d never shared with another soul.
When he raised his head, there was a gentle smile on his face. “It was wonderful
. More wonderful than I’ve ever felt. Abbie…you do something to me.”
The words reminded her of the lyrics of an old-time song by Cole Porter, one of her favorites. He’d done something to her too. There was no denying it, but as the lusciousness faded and she noticed the streaks of dirt on Rhett’s body—from her hands—her cheeks grew hot.
“I got you all dirty,” she said, grabbing the edge of the sheet to rub it off. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t mind it one bit,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I was as sweaty as a hog after my run. Seems I should apologize to you on that account.”
They had both lost their minds. With the passion fading, she felt…unmoored. Undone. “Rhett…I don’t know what to say to you. I meant what I said earlier. This was wonderful.”
“I can hear the ‘but’ coming a mile away,” he said with a narrowed gaze. “It’s all right, Abbie, if you feel like you’ve been caught a little flat-footed. I sure as heck do. So let me say my piece since you likely need to get back to the house.”
The house! Right, Dustin would be sleeping in since he wasn’t in school, but Mac would be up and about—unless he’d already left for the hotel without her. “What time is it?”
Rhett rolled off her and dispensed with the condom, making her cheeks flare all over again. Thank goodness he’d taken care of that. She’d been so relieved when he’d pulled out a condom. She hadn’t even thought about the need for protection until the moment had arrived. Another thing she was grateful to him for. Rhett had such a reputation for being irresponsible, but in matters that counted, he always seemed to come through.
“It’s eight thirty,” he said, his lips twitching. “We took our time. I, for one, couldn’t be happier, although I know you need to rush off to work, so let me get this said. Abbie, I’ve tried not to want you for years, but after this…being with you… I don’t want it to end here. I want more of you. I haven’t come close to having my fill.”
The intensity in his voice rolled through her, making every cell tremble. “If we’re being honest, I don’t want it to end either. But there’s Dustin and Mac to consider. I don’t want to do anything to hurt your relationship to them, and this could make things…well, weird.”
