Throwing back her head, she laughed and relaxed in his arms, letting him romance-movie stride in the opposite direction. They turned a corner and into a room dimly lit by a single lamp. She had the vague impression of walls, wood blinds, a big bed with a dark patchwork quilt before he tossed her onto the mattress.
She bounced, then sat up to watch him work on the remainder of his clothes. God, he’d matured in all the right ways. Heavy shoulders, the chest she’d already admired, muscled thighs.
That other part of him that made her shiver again.
“Oh, wow,” she whispered.
He pulled open the drawer of the bedside table, removed foil packets, dropped them beside the lamp. She stared.
Right. Protection. Sex.
Mad and Harp were going to have sex.
New memories.
She switched her gaze to meet his eyes. “Do we know what we’re doing?”
His smile was part wolfish, part tender. “I know what I’m doing. Shall I promise to remind you how it goes?”
She had to smile back. The way he looked at her told her he saw her as a mature woman, a bold and intrepid world traveler. Not someone always running from her feelings, her inner voice said. She reached for Mad. “Come here.”
His weight was delicious, heavy and hair roughened. With an elbow on either side of her head, he looked down, another smile curving his lips. “I may have imagined this a time or two.”
She floated on the bubble of that comment, wrapping her arms around his neck even as she wiggled on the mattress to make a better place for him between her legs. His erection pressed hot against the inner crease of her thigh. She reached up to kiss him.
When they came up for air he was staring at her again. “You still kiss just fine.”
“I do?” Delight made her sound so young. Eighteen. Twenty. She’d been so in love with him then.
But no. No! Don’t get mired in the past. Stay in the moment, Harper.
New memories.
“Kiss me again,” she said, pulling his head down.
His mouth was greedy this time, his touch determined, his expertise obvious. Another shiver turned into a shudder and she abandoned herself to the feelings, to the pleasure, to the skim of his fingertips down her belly as he again kissed and laved her breasts.
He played with her intimate folds, moisture on his fingertips, her body telling the truth about her eager response to him. Moaning, she lifted into his touch, her nails digging into his scalp when he slid one long finger inside.
Her inner muscles clenched, her body tightening on him as his thumb circled her clit. A cry caught in her throat and pleasure coiled. God. “Mad…”
He could read her, she supposed, hear the plea, because he reached blindly for a packet and then pressed it into her hand. She attacked the foil with her teeth, then between them they managed to cover him. He sat back on his heels, his big hand stroking up and down, such a man. Unworried about appearing to want too much, as he just looked at her, spread open to him.
For him.
What if it could always be like this?
A bed, sex, Mad looking at her like dessert. What if—
No! No past, no future, just now.
She said it to him. “Now. Now. Now.”
But he made her wait, using his talented fingers and dispersing his talented kisses until she was panting and begging and he was looking at her with hot eyes and a lusty expression that took her breath. Then he moved over her again, and he hitched up her bent knees to press against his hips and then she felt him at her entrance, a blunt pressure that she yearned for and yielded to and the thick slide of him delivered pleasure, hot and sweet, as well as a slight sting that only sharpened the moment. Etching it into memory.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him to move. “Mad…”
“Shh.” He placed a tender kiss on her mouth and trailed his lips to her ear, leaving a quivering trail of nerve endings behind him. “We’ll just take our time,” he said, sliding out and then surging in again, steady and sure.
“Mad.”
“I want to make you feel good.”
Her skin felt hyper-sensitized, the brush of his chest hair against her breasts a torturous tease. “I feel good. I feel so good that—”
“Shh,” he said again, still moving at that slow, maddening pace. Her hips lifted into his, encouraging more of everything, pleasure and pressure and passion. It all combined into a rush of sensation and she went blind with it, arousal tightening her belly and her breasts as her body reached for completion.
“Wait for it,” he said again and she couldn’t, she couldn’t wait, so she tightened on him, feeling his muscles tense in reaction. Then his hand trailed down her side and moved between them, between her legs, finding where they joined. He kissed her neck and shoulder and as he circled her most intimate place, she, suddenly helpless, lost her place, lost her breath, lost her mind. Her climax spiraled from her belly outward, her sounds joining his deep groan of satisfaction.
Sometime later Harper awoke to the sensation of Mad kissing her neck—soft lips edged with the prickly scrape of night whiskers. Her eyes slitted open, the golden glow of that bedside lamp warming his face, revealing his smug expression and sleepy gaze. Behind the window blinds, the gray of dawn peeked in.
“You’re such a man,” she murmured, allowing herself to caress his face, her thumb stroking the dark arch of one eyebrow. “You look as if you think you invented sex.”
“Just the orgasms part.”
She laughed, a little giddy if she had to admit it, to come out of dreams to find him truly beside her.
His big hand brushed her hair off her forehead. “I’ve never forgotten how beautiful you are.”
Her body tingled. “You sweet talker.”
“Yeah?” He smiled. “Then maybe I can talk you into something else.”
His voice had deepened, the timbre like velvet. Irresistible. “I use the same PIN number for everything—918 and the current year.”
“Hey, my birthdate is September 18th.”
Whoops. Guilty. “It is? Weird. Enjoy the forty-three dollars in my checking account. But please promise you won’t look at my Amazon order history—”
“Show me how you do it, Harp,” he said, touching his nose to hers, his tone now cajoling. “Show me you touching yourself…and thinking of me.”
Her belly jittered and her face heated. “Mad…”
He kissed her eyes, her forehead, her chin. His mouth rested on hers so she felt the shape of his plea as well as heard it. “Make a man’s newest fantasy come true.”
Newest fantasy.
New memories.
She ran her hand over the heavy bone of his shoulder and down the sleek skin of his back. So much male anatomy. Hers, for the moment.
“Lay back,” she said, giving him a little push. He fell onto the pillow beside hers, a grin of anticipation already showing.
“I am such a winner,” he said.
With an eye roll, she swept the covers off his body. Instead of looking the least bit embarrassed, he tucked one arm behind his head.
“Such a man,” she murmured. “Now hold still while I let my lust for you simmer, then boil.”
“Simmer away,” he said, his gaze on her. “Boil on.”
She sat back on her pillow and let the sheet fall to her waist. Her head turned so she could take in all of him, those pecs, the ripple of rock-hard abs, the cock that lay thick and quiet until her glance ran over it.
Then it twitched, growing, stiffening.
Her heart moved into her throat. Beneath the sheet, her legs shifted, suddenly restless.
Between them, need. Lust.
“Let me see,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
The room was too hot for covers anyway. She kicked them off, then slid her heels up the mattress as her knees edged apart. Air touched her wet flesh.
Her gaze ran over his body again as she reached down. Slow, gentle fingers. The heat of him bes
ide her. Was she really doing this?
His lips quirked and then his free hand moved to his erection. Long fingers circled his flesh.
Were they really doing this?
But it was just a game, a fun sex game, and he was so beautiful and watching him pleasure himself, well…
So arousing.
Sexy.
And astonishingly personal.
Their breath quickened together. Hot chills flashed over her skin. Her womb felt heavy and her fingers moved faster. His hand followed suit.
“God, Harp,” he said.
Her gaze jumped to his and the heat in them made her belly clench, her womb clench, the climax just waiting crashed over her.
His bicep swelled and the movements of his hand quickened, blurred. Then he came, the action raw, his pleasure noises unfiltered.
The whole experience…intimate.
They continued staring at each other as they recovered, their chests heaving, their bellies hollowing. As the fog of satiation evaporated, she didn’t look away from him. He didn’t look away from her. A new feeling crept in, something warm and delicate, like expensive perfume on the breeze, like a good thought not quite completed, like a fantasy that wouldn’t wholly materialize.
Her fingers curled into her palms as if to hold onto it.
But she couldn’t name it.
A while later, she refused his offer to shower together.
“It’s a tiny stall, so I won’t take it personally,” he said, smiling down at her inert form, reclining on the bed. “But I will have the first shower and then make coffee.”
Still hungover from pleasure, she listened to the shush of the water. Leaving now might not be a bad idea, she mused. It would eliminate any goodbyes that needed to be said, any compliments that would only feed his ego, any discomfort she might feel at seeing him in her rearview mirror.
The sight of water droplets on his wide shoulders and a towel wrapped around his lean waist proved to be distracting enough that she forgot to get out of bed until he was dressed and had left for the kitchen. In the small bathroom, she found fresh towels where he’d said they’d be, a new toothbrush beside the sink, and the smell of him in the leftover steam.
Talk about distraction.
After an application of soap and water, she went commando beneath yesterday’s jeans. There was a T-shirt draped across the bottom of the bed—now made bed, because, God, of course Mad made beds—a green one that read “Duffy’s Does It Green & Local,” that she appropriated, tying the hem into a knot at her hip. On a hunch, she peeled back the quilt on the bed and noted the beige sheets—they’d been between blue. So Mad not only made beds, but he changed the linens, including hospital corners, after a visitor.
Not surprised.
Now she walked barefoot, finding her way to the kitchen. Turned away from her, he stood at the countertop, pouring coffee into mugs. Suddenly woozy, she gripped the back of a chair, that unnamed feeling taking over her body, making her heart suddenly gallop and her stomach dip and climb like a roller coaster.
As if he sensed her, his spine straightened, and then he slowly turned, his lips curving. “Hey,” he said softly, then held out a mug. “Light cream, one sugar.”
Happiness bubbled. He knew how she liked her morning beverage. That happiness then collided with that other unknown feeling as her hands cupped the mug of coffee. Her fingers tightened on the ceramic as she breathed in the scent, as she took hold of the truth.
She was in love with Mad.
Damn it all. She was in love with Mad.
His eyebrows drew together and he frowned. “What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing’s the matter,” she said quickly.
“Harp.” His head tilted and his eyes narrowed. “Is this becoming weird?”
“No.” It jumped out.
“Then sit down,” he said, gesturing. “Eggs and bacon?”
She couldn’t eat. As a matter of fact, she felt sick. “I’m not very hungry.”
Still, he pulled out a chair for her, watched her take it. “Toast,” he said, turning back to the counter.
Then he spun back around. “Harp.”
She looked up. “Yes?”
“Are you worried? Your face says you’re worried.”
“It’s not that.” She hauled in a breath.
He yanked out the chair beside hers, sat, dropped to it then took one of her hands in both of his. “Look, I know this isn’t going anywhere, okay?”
“Um…”
“Because you’re going away again, right? Just like before.”
She gazed down at their hands. His cradling hers like a dream that needed to be protected from harm. “Right,” she said, her voice faint. “Going away again.”
He released her and got to his feet. Smiling. Carefree. “Toast.”
Her arm lifted, reaching for him. “Mad…”
Busy with the small appliance, he didn’t turn. “Yeah?”
Her arm dropped. In her back pocket, her phone rang.
She fumbled for it, answered, heard her mother’s voice. “Mom?” Harper said. “What is it?”
“You didn’t come home last night.”
“Yes. But I texted. You weren’t concerned, were you?” Her mother wasn’t the kind to insert herself into her grown daughter’s life. “As I told you, Sophie asked me to stay over.” Her gaze caught Mad’s who had glanced over his shoulder. His expression amused, he just shook his head.
“Say hello to her for me.”
“All right.”
“Say hello to Sophie,” her mom repeated.
Harper closed her eyes and pitched her voice louder. “Mom says hi, Sophie.” Luckily, she also put her hand over the phone’s microphone, because Mad started laughing.
Her quelling look didn’t quell him.
So she stalked out the kitchen door to stand on the back stoop, taking in the small and tidy yard. “So why are you calling, Mom?”
“Um… What vehicle did you drive to Sophie’s?”
“I came home from the beach in Grandpop’s truck but I took my car when I went out again.”
“Oh. I guess that’s good,” her mother said.
“Why?”
“Well, then we know where your car is,” her mom replied in a chirpy voice.
Harper frowned, considering the implications. “Which car is missing?”
“Truck. Um, Grandpop’s truck.”
“What?”
“He came outside this morning and it wasn’t parked in the usual spot.”
“I did leave it there,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Mike didn’t take it?”
“No. Doesn’t seem so.”
Damn. Harper began to turn, began to open her mouth to tell Rebecca she was ready to report the theft to Mad, when she realized she wasn’t supposed to be with Mad.
“Are you okay, Harper? You’ve gone quiet.”
“I’m just trying to figure this out. Is Grandpop going to call the police?”
“Well…”
Harper rolled her eyes. “When they stop by to take a report, they won’t come with a search warrant, Mom. Grandpop has to know that contacting the authorities doesn’t invite the erosion of his civil liberties.”
“He has his pride, honey. And there’s a chance one of the part-time hands borrowed it or something like that. He wouldn’t want to get them in any trouble.”
“They would have had to hot-wire it.”
“Well…”
“I’m on my way back to the farm,” Harper decided.
“You don’t want a leisurely morning? A chance for brunch with your best pal?”
Through the kitchen door window, Harper took in Mad, all those muscles, hands, arms, legs, lips. The man she was in love with.
I know this isn’t going anywhere, okay?
She knew. So their time together in bed would just remain that memory she’d been after, nothing more.
A new memory, that, unfortunately fo
r her, she suspected would be as unforgettable as the old ones.
Chapter Nine
After Harper left, Mad finished eating his breakfast alone. The quiet of the house seemed to press in on his ears and he wondered if he needed to get that dog after all. Someone to be home with would be nice. A new focus for his thoughts. A being to speak to.
“Hey, Gaucho!” He tried it out. Gaucho always seemed like a good dog name to him.
“Breeze, come here, boy.” That was another he’d toyed with. Not quite right, he decided, frowning.
“Huck! A walk and a park are waiting.” He smiled. Yeah, very nice. Huck. His dog Huck. Mad took his plate to the sink, washed it along with his fork and knife, then looked around the kitchen, wondering where he was going to hang the leash.
Then he froze, a realization hitting him like a quick slap to the side of the head.
He was calling an imaginary dog.
Considering where to hang an imaginary leash.
Jesus, this was bad.
He was the male, thirty-year-old equivalent of a cat lady.
To save the wall he felt like punching, he headed for the laundry closet, just big enough for a stacked washer and dryer and a couple of baskets. He gathered the sheets there and stuffed them into the machine, a pillowcase falling at his feet. When he lifted it from the hardwood, a scent wafted off the cotton. His gut tightened and he couldn’t stop himself from bringing the fabric to his nose.
To breathe in the scent of Harper’s shampoo.
Damn her. Damn her gorgeous self for sleeping with him and making it so fucking great.
Which of course wasn’t fair. So he felt guilty for ten seconds for the thought, then thought it again, and put in another ten seconds of guilt.
Shit. Strangling the pillowcase wasn’t helping matters, so he shoved it into the machine and strode into his bathroom to grab the towels.
Then he buried his face in the damp one she’d used.
What had he been thinking?
But good sense wasn’t first and foremost when he’d found her on the porch or when they’d shared dinner and wine and especially not when she’d kissed him. Then he’d been sensation, desire, whimsy.
God, whimsy was a terrible thing that he didn’t need in his life. Whimsy was the source of impulsive decisions. Imaginary dogs. Leashes that did not exist.
SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4) Page 11
