by MJ Fredrick
The pounding of her heart, the rhythm of his breathing drowned out the music. She wanted to look into his eyes, but was afraid what he would see in hers, so she lowered her gaze to the column of his throat, below her eye level. His thumb rested on the edge of her waistband, and if she bent to the right, just a little, his fingers hooked through her belt loop would be against her bare skin. Her entire consciousness focused on the imagined pleasure.
She bent, and his breath caught as he encountered flesh. The scrape of his finger over her sensitive skin sent heat spiraling downward, making her muscles weak. But she wasn’t ready to lean into him.
“What kind of name is Peyton, anyway?” His voice was a growl vibrating in his chest. She should have known better than to toy with an alpha.
She glanced up to see him watching her, his eyes crinkled in amusement, completely at odds with her thoughts. Damn, that was sexy. “A family name.”
“What, like a last name?”
His words brushed warm over her skin as he turned her to avoid another couple. “Mm, my mother’s.”
His eyes were still crinkled, but they’d twisted more toward shrewd than good-humored. He’d figured it out; they all did as soon as she explained. Only wealthy families had the audacity for that pretentiousness. Poor little rich girl.
What did she care what he thought? She wasn’t sticking around. She never did. And that made it easier when he released her hand to press his against the small of her back, brought her against his body, which made it easier to tilt her face up to see his descending. Made it easier to part her lips in anticipation as her nerves skittered from where he touched her to where she wanted him to touch her. So close, she could already feel his kiss.
She expected to feel guilty for wanting this man, but the guilt didn’t come. Maybe she’d been alone too long, maybe her connection with Gabe was stronger than she credited. Maybe her anger with Dan for dying had killed her love for him. Sleeping with Gabe Cooper wouldn’t be a betrayal of her husband, but it might be a betrayal of herself and all she wanted.
“What’s happening here?” she asked breathily.
A teasing smile curved his lips. “You know, the whole life-in-peril thing, adrenaline transfers to arousal. Danger is a big turn-on. You said so yourself.”
Her breath hitched and she tried very hard not to focus on his mouth, or how it felt against hers as he leaned closer.
She swallowed, hoping it would make her voice stronger. “They say danger, or escaping danger, is like a sexual rush. Is that why you do what you do?”
He brushed his cheek against hers, the stubble an erotic caress on her suddenly sensitive skin. Peyton struggled to keep her eyes open and her knees locked.
“I don’t have to almost die to get turned on.”
“But it doesn’t hurt.”
“If I waited for that, I’d have some long dry spells. Not that this one was short.” His low, husky voice sent shivers through her as they swayed, though the song had changed to a faster pace. Maybe he thought she was still cold.
Then she realized what he meant. “What?” she asked incredulously.
“It’s been awhile.”
She pulled her head back to look up into his eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Have you seen yourself? Just today I saw two women throw themselves into your arms. You are not what I’d call the celibate type.”
“Yet here we are.” He leaned close, let his breath fan her mouth. “Maybe I’m ready to end the drought.”
She forced her eyes to his instead of giving in to the urge to kiss him. The flirting was delicious, but a kiss would be anticlimactic now.
“Good luck with that,” she teased, and ducked away.
Gabe came after her but was waylaid by another crew of firefighters demanding to hear his story. Peyton grinned over their heads at him and saluted him with her beer. He jerked his head toward the stairs, signaling escape.
“Shower,” he mouthed exaggeratedly.
Her heart pounding, she resolved not to think about what she was doing and hurried down the hallway. He broke away from the other firefighters to follow, then caught her hand and led her through a group of women waiting for the restroom. Gabe was brought up short by a pair of very young female Hot Shots in matching tight T-shirts.
“Hey, Gabe, want to party?”
He nodded toward Peyton. “No thanks, ladies. I have plans of my own.”
“The more the merrier,” one called after them as they headed up the stairs.
“Three women?” Peyton asked, shock forcing out a giggle. “How is that even possible?”
He waggled his eyebrows at her, startling her with his playfulness.
“You pair off.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Yeah, well, two of them aren’t there for the guy anyway.”
Peyton laughed out loud and Gabe hushed her, one finger over his frowning mouth.
“How many women in this building right now have you slept with?”
He considered. “None.”
She let her eyes slide the length of him, assessing, felt the thrill of arousal that she was the one he wanted tonight. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, about ten years ago, the answer would have been different. I probably slept with a lot of these girls’ older sisters.”
“And their moms.”
He gave her an evil grin as they reached the top of the stairs.
“My heavens, Gabe, no wonder you were able to save us on the mountain today with those maneuvers,” she said in mock seriousness.
“You want to see maneuvers?” He tugged her to him. She shuddered in delight at the sensation of his hard body against hers. “Let’s find that room.”
Chapter Nine
Peyton’s blood thrummed in her ears as Gabe opened the door of the motel room. Maybe he’d just rented the room as a reward for her courage today, but if that was the truth her heart wouldn’t be pounding, her skin wouldn’t be tingling.
She wouldn’t be worrying about wearing her new panties.
What would it be like to act on all these feelings, the fear, the excitement, the lust? In her thirty-two years she’d never had a fling with a man she couldn’t imagine having a future with; maybe it was time.
Gabe smiled at her, sending off flutters in her belly, twinges of longing.
“Want to shower first?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” She ducked under his arm as he held the door for her. She pulled her hair from her wet ponytail and found herself with her back against the wall, Gabe’s arms braced on either side of her head, only the heat from his body pressing against her.
Every atom in Peyton’s body quivered in anticipation. He must have sensed it, contrary beast that he was, for he hesitated, his breath teasing her lips, shattering her nerves. She couldn’t let him know, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She took a deep breath. Big mistake. The scent of him, smoke, man and Irish Spring, intoxicated her.
Just her one moment of hesitation was enough for him to dip his head and brush his mouth tauntingly over hers. Her lips trembled open, her tongue rose to meet his. The rasp of his tongue, the way it curled about hers, made her forget he wasn’t touching her. She pressed her hands back against the wall, pretending if she didn’t touch him it would be easier to change her mind. At the same time she raised up on her toes to deepen the kiss.
Her conviction not to touch him faltered as his mouth pulled at hers, thickening her blood, eliminating everything but the two of them. She reached up to hold him, savored the sensation of his short hair tickling her palm.
He drew back slowly, drawing her lip out between his, and rested his forearm on the wall above her head. She closed her eyes against the power of those deep brown eyes that read her emotions so well, and dropped her head back against the wall.
“So you want me to take you back to camp?” he asked, his voice rough-edged.
She opened her eyes to lo
ok into his, saw a sharpness there focused on her. “No. No, I don’t want to go back to camp.”
He closed his hands around her waist to bring her against him. She gasped at the abruptness, and he took her gasp into his mouth, dipping his tongue inside, dragging it along hers. The play of his lips over hers, stretching and parting her own so his tongue could tease between them, evoked images of kisses in more intimate places.
He coursed his hands over her body, hip to shoulder, strong and determined. God, she’d forgotten how feminine a man’s hands could make her feel. Urging her legs apart, he made space for himself between them. She whimpered when he dropped his weight against her, pinning her to the wall.
Oh, she loved how he kissed her, savoring her one moment, devouring her the next. She couldn’t say which she preferred. Not knowing what to expect kept her off balance.
He released her mouth and dragged her head back to devour her throat, his caresses hot, slick, knowledgeable. Peyton tugged at the neck of her sweatshirt so he could reach more of her skin with those magical lips.
His eyes twinkled with promise as he slid his hands under the hem of her sweatshirt, pulled it over her head in a fluid movement, his fingers barely brushing her skin as he unfastened her fire pants. How could the way he wasn’t touching her turn her on?
“What the hell is this?” he asked, encountering the bra from the middle ages. She’d forgotten about it and reached behind her to discard it.
“It was all they had next door, and I can’t really go without.”
He made a strangled sound as he eased back to inspect the garment. “It looks like your boobs caved in.”
She unfastened it and let it fall between them. Eyes bright with laughter, he looked back up at her.
“Good to know that wasn’t the case.”
He eased his mouth back to nibble her ear, traced his tongue along the edge, driving every coherent thought from her head, then glided his mouth down her throat. Pausing at the swell of her breast, he let his hot breath rush over her flesh. Her nipple pearled painfully before he teased it with lightning-quick touches of his tongue. His name escaped in a sob and he took pity on her and pulled her sensitive skin into the heat of his mouth.
Her whole body contracted with pleasure as he suckled her, circled her nipple with his tongue before teasing it with less practiced movements. Her throaty groan was alien to her ears.
They tangled with each other as they undressed, unwilling to move too far away from each other, and suddenly Gabe’s hands were everywhere, skimming over her skin, her waist, her back, her breasts. As if they’d been making love forever, he knew just where to touch her to make her crazy—the insides of her wrists, the backs of her thighs. He pulled her closer until she whimpered his name. Longing knifed through her, deeper than simple sexual desire. She wanted this. She was sure now.
Together they fell to the bed. The mattress creaked ominously and Peyton’s breath escaped in a grunt.
Gabe shifted his weight so he wouldn’t crush her, and leaned over to dig his wallet out of his pants on the floor. Peyton rolled with him, eager, practically straddling his lap as he pried a foil packet from the leather folds of his wallet, ripped it open.
“What the—?” She stared at the gummy substance inside.
Gabe swore. “It melted.”
She looked at him, fighting the urge to laugh or cry, she wasn’t sure which was bubbling inside her. “It melted? You took it up on the fire line?”
Eyes wide with chagrin, he shook his head. “I didn’t even know I had it.”
“So—now what?”
He regarded her for a beat. What kind of picture did she make, sitting on the middle of a cheap bedspread in her cheap underwear, her wet hair a mess from his hands, her skin scraped red by his kisses?
Apparently an appealing one, because he was suddenly all motion. He hopped off the bed, grinning, and bent to brush his mouth over hers. “There’s a condom machine in the bathroom. And you thought this place was tacky.” Several long minutes later he extricated himself from her and disappeared into the bathroom.
Peyton pulled back the bedspread and was inspecting the cleanliness of the sheets when Gabe popped out of the bathroom, hanging both hands on the doorjamb over his head, displaying his form to advantage. The T-shirt he’d been wearing hadn’t been nearly snug enough to follow the lean line of his body, the hard muscles beneath. A dark scattering of hair covered his chest, thickened and narrowed into a line that pointed to his navy boxers and their interesting shape. A stab of good old-fashioned lust shot through her and she reveled in it until he said, “You got change for a five?”
His meaning took awhile to sink in. “You’re kidding.” Reaching for her fire pants, she pawed through her pockets, trying to remember where she’d tucked her cash. “Maybe safe sex is overrated.”
“Really?” Hope tinged his voice.
She shot him a glance from under her hair. “No. What does it take, quarters, dimes, dollars?”
“Any of those.”
She dug out her change and poured it into his palm. “Hurry, all right?”
“Why?” He stopped, squinting at her. “You going to change your mind?”
Arching her back to entice him, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I might.”
He closed his hand around her wrist, buried his other in her hair, let the money fall around them, and kissed her hard. “Wait for me.” He pushed her toward the bed and ducked into the bathroom.
The fall of coin after coin into the machine rang out through the room, a twist of a lever, muttering, then banging on the metal dispenser. A horrible crash had her leaping from the bed to check on him, but he strolled in nonchalantly and dumped a handful of condoms on the nightstand.
“Problem?” she asked, looking from the pile of cellophane wrappers to him, trying to keep the laughter from her voice.
“Problem solved.”
He skimmed off his boxers and dropped over her, the mattress squealing a protest.
“You didn’t use your Pulaski, did you?” She reached for him and watched his eyelids lower as he bent to kiss her.
“Woulda if I’d had it.” He covered her mouth with his.
Shock and pleasure had her gasping as he nipped his way down her body. He glided his fingertips up her thigh. She cried his name and clutched his wrist when he slid one fingertip into her, then two. How were these sensations coming from her body? Her mind fragmented.
“Feel what you do to me. Touch me, Peyton.”
He groaned her name when she brushed her fingertips over the swollen head of him before dancing them down the underside. This time her name was a squeak, strange coming from his big body, and he closed her hand around him, ending her teasing touch.
She ached, hollow and empty, mindless from his fingertips stroking up and down over the backs of her thighs. Otherwise she couldn’t have worked up the nerve to tilt him onto his back and rise up over him, to guide him inside her. Her body resisted him at first, but he glided his fingers between them, touched the new center of her nervous system, and she took him into her so fast and deep she lost the ability to breathe.
He curled into a sitting position and buried his face against her throat. Peyton clung to his shoulders and raised and lowered her hips, feeling her body contract in his absence, expand at his depth. She no longer needed his encouragement as she followed the path.
He tried to soothe her, to steady her, but she threw his hands off. He tried to kiss her, to help her regain her rhythm, but she was focused, driven to pursue the pleasure he offered her.
Then with one accidental shift of her hips, she found it, and flung herself back, depending on his arms to be there to hold her as she expanded and shattered. She thrust down on him, hard, holding him prisoner inside her body, exploiting her pleasure. She felt him follow her, heard his soft moan of surrender, felt the short jerks of his hips, felt his teeth dig into her shoulder.
For endless moments, they floated in the hazy de
nouement. Finally she found the strength to move her arms from their limp submission behind her, to wrap them about his shoulders.
Apparently that was all he needed to tip him back onto the pillows, carrying her with him. They sprawled, damp and slack, him still deep inside her. He turned his head and nuzzled her hair.
“I didn’t mean for it to be over so soon,” he murmured.
She looked up from his chest, watched him open his eyes with some effort. The expression in them was replete. Their skin, where it touched, was slicked with sweat. She savored the sensation and, feeling a bit wicked, shifted a bit, enjoying the friction. An answering twinge from within her made her smile.
“I don’t think it’s over,” she replied, kissing his shoulder.
Peyton sat in the chair in the corner of the motel room, wrapped in Gabe’s sweatshirt, and stared out the window at the night sky. The scene was peaceful, no one would suspect a fire blazed just out of sight. Across the room, Gabe slept on his back, snoring softly, one arm tossed above his head, the other where she’d been lying. The sheet draped over his hips barely preserved his modesty. His position surprised her. A man so controlled in wakefulness was so unguarded at rest.
Dan always slept curled on his side, as if he could spring to action at the least provocation.
God, what had she done? She hadn’t thought about the past or the future, and it had been wonderful, liberating.
Why did she feel guilty now? She hadn’t dishonored Dan’s memory—a suitable period of time had passed, and while she would always love Dan, the resentment she’d felt when he’d left her alone had dulled her love to a pleasant warmth. She’d been ready to move forward.
She pulled her knees closer to her chest and pressed her face into the sweatshirt stretched across them, drawing in the scent. The person she chose to move forward with was what disturbed her. Gabe was exactly what she didn’t want, a man so committed to his job there was no room for anything else in his life. A man who would expect more than she was able to give. Oh God. She couldn’t—absolutely couldn’t—live a life of waiting and worrying again.
