“Wrap your legs around me.”
She wound her arms more tightly around his neck and did as he asked. His hands slid over her buttocks and her exposed thighs. He glanced down, hesitating as his fingers touched the lace tops of her nylons. He looked up at her in surprise, his eyes dark and fiercely sensual.
“I hate panty hose,” she said breathlessly.
Dylan traced a finger over the edge of the soft scalloped lace that separated warm skin from silky stockings. Women’s undergarments had always intrigued him, but this particular item caught him completely off guard. He was glad he hadn’t known earlier. He never would have made it through the evening without dragging her off. His blood pounded in his temples, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to take her right here. But he wanted to see her, to touch every inch of her before he loved her.
He felt her tremble under his touch as he moved his hand up her thigh. “What else do you hate?” he murmured, pushing her dress up higher, wondering what other surprises she might have.
“Slow,” she whispered harshly. “I hate slow.”
Smiling, he moved his hands over her hips and rocked his body against hers. Her fingers raked through his hair, then curled tightly into his collar. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and closed her eyes. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest and decided he hated slow, as well.
He lifted her higher and blazed kisses over her neck, then downward to the swell of her breasts, frustrated by the clothing separating them. Her fingers worked at the buttons on his shirt, and when her hands slipped inside the fabric and touched his chest, he closed his own eyes and swore.
Jessica smiled at the word Dylan uttered. Though she wouldn’t have expressed herself quite that way, she completely understood the feeling. Never before had she experienced such intense pleasure. Never before had a man brought her even close to this, and she knew no other man ever would again. No man but Dylan.
The cool wall on Jessica’s back was a sharp contrast to the hot male skin under her fingers. His muscles rippled and bunched under her touch, and when she dragged her nails lightly through the thicket of dark hair on his chest, she felt his body tighten.
He brushed his lips over hers, tasting the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her earlobe. His teeth nipped at a sensitive spot behind her ear and she drew in a breath and held it.
“My bedroom or yours?” he murmured.
“Yours is closer.”
He gathered her to him, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a feather. They moved into his bedroom, and he kicked the door closed behind him as he carried her to the bed. His motions were smooth and sure, confident. A man with a purpose, she thought with a smile.
His room was dark, but pale moonlight softly lit the room, giving shape to the shadows. There was a masculine scent here, leather and denim and musk. The night heightened her awareness, and she heard the sound of his breathing, smelled the passion in the air. His hands skimmed over her hips, then her waist as he eased her body down his until her feet touched the floor.
Her eyelids felt heavy as she lifted her gaze to his. He stared down at her with an intensity that made her shiver.
His eyes never left hers as he reached up and gently tugged the remaining pins from her hair. They bounced on the floor with tinny echoes. Her hair spilled over her shoulders.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
She looked away, an involuntary reaction, but he cupped her face in his hands and brought her gaze back. “You have to believe that,” he said, his fingers tightening almost painfully. “If nothing else, you must believe that.”
She covered his hands with her own, and the rough texture sent ripples of pleasure through her. What did a woman say when a man told her with such fervency that she was beautiful? She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She felt him hesitate, then his arms closed fiercely around her, and he kissed her with a recklessness that left her reeling.
She felt so small in his arms, he thought through the mist of desire. So delicate. The sound of his name on her lips empowered him. Her hands moving over his body left him weak. He found the pearl clasp at the back of her dress and opened it, then tugged the zipper down. The dress fell away, then pooled at her feet.
Dylan’s breath caught. Nothing could have prepared him for the exquisite sight of her. One wisp of black lace covered her full breasts, another bridged her hips. His heart slammed in his chest. “Jessica,” he whispered hoarsely, then swallowed hard.
She should have been embarrassed. Never had she stood so brazenly before any man. But it felt so right, so natural, that she could only revel in the exhilaration of his response. She leaned toward him, pressing her lips to his chest as she unbuttoned, then tugged his shirt from his pants and off his shoulders. She tasted the salt on his skin, felt the tickle of his chest hair against her cheek. His heart beat at the same erratic pace as her own, and as her hands moved lower, his sharp intake of air mixed with the rasp of a zipper.
His mouth rushed to hers with bruising force. She welcomed him, and his tongue swirled with hers over and over again. He lowered his head, then found her breast with his mouth as he cupped the soft mounds in his hands. She gasped, arching her back when he unsnapped the front clasp of her bra and drew the hardened peak of one nipple into the moist heat of his mouth.
Fire raced over her skin. An urgency built in her, almost a desperation. “Dylan, please...”
He seemed to ignore her, and the desperation grew to a wild writhing need. His hand moved lower and slipped under the thin strip of lace at her hips. He slid a finger slowly into the heat of her body. She trembled at the ecstasy knotting inside her.
Her knees gave way and she sank onto the bed. He followed, moving over her, his mouth on her breast, his hand stroking her most intimate spot. She bit her bottom lip and moved her head from side to side, digging her nails into his shoulders and back. “Dylan,” she whimpered, “I need you. Now.”
He stood and slid his own pants and briefs down in one swift movement, then fumbled in the nightstand drawer. She understood why, but the wait was unbearable until he joined her again.
The night closed around them as he lowered himself over her; their bodies were no more than silhouettes in the darkness. A man, a woman. Hard against soft. Rough against smooth. The textures of their bodies contrasted sharply, sensuously.
He knelt over her and spread her legs, entering her slowly, his hands kneading her thighs as he murmured her name. She thought she might cry from the intense pleasure consuming her. He eased himself deeper, and she buried her hands in the pillow under her head, arching her back to accept him more fully.
He moved then, and the heat spiraled through her, tightening and twisting her insides. He groaned and the sound was primitive, exciting. She clutched at the pillow, turning her face to muffle the cry that suddenly burst from her. She shuddered uncontrollably, again and again, his name on her lips. He followed her with equal force, his body convulsing as the powerful release overtook him.
* * *
It was a long while before either one of them moved. Their ragged breathing filled the night, and somewhere far in the distance a lonely coyote howled at the moon. Dylan slowly shifted his weight, rising on his elbows, but she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him back.
“I’m going to break you,” he said hoarsely.
“I don’t break that easily, Dylan,” she murmured. “I think we both just proved that.”
He didn’t know what to say. He’d lost complete control and taken her like a crazed man. He was crazed. Her hands on his skin, her lips so eager and warm on his, had driven him over the edge. He couldn’t have stopped, wouldn’t have stopped, if a bulldozer had driven through the room.
He could barely make out her face in the darkness, but he saw a faint smile and heard her sigh. He ran his fingertips along her cheek, her neck, her lips. Soft. She was so soft.
Just when he thought he might bring himself back t
o reality, her fingers moved lazily over his arms, then down his back. Reality could wait, he thought dimly, pressing his mouth to hers and kissing her deeply. It wasn’t going anywhere, he knew that, and there was nothing more imperative at this moment than the woman in his arms.
Jessica took her time exploring the hard planes and valleys of Dylan’s back with her fingertips. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his body—both their bodies—and her hands slid smoothly over his damp skin. Dylan’s lips moved insistently over hers, and she answered the kiss with equal persuasion.
She knew she should be embarrassed by her lack of inhibition, but she was too thoroughly content to care at the moment. She’d save her shyness for the light, for the morning that was sure to come, bringing with it regret. The thought gave her a sharp pain in her chest, but she quickly pushed it away. She wouldn’t think about the morning. She wanted only to think about now, about the man who held her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
His chin scraped over her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. Her fingers slid over his shoulders, his waist, his hips. As his mouth moved lower, so did her hands. Skin that had begun to cool, heated again. There was a gentleness in his touch that surprised her, a slow tenderness that picked her up and pulled her along like a leaf in the breeze.
The urgency rose, but still he moved with precision, slowly, sensuously. She began to squirm, then writhe, and still he moved as leisurely if he was taking a Sunday stroll. She wanted to curse him, to shout at him. Her body ached, and his unhurried pace became a sweet torture. An unbearable torture.
She dug her hands in his hair and arched her body upward.
“Dylan!”
Was this really possible? So soon? She cried out again and he met her fully, completely, dragging her tightly to him with a deep groan. She clung to him, gasping as the shudders overtook her.
And in the quiet afterward, she curled into Dylan’s arms and drew the darkness around her as she would a blanket, wishing that morning would never come.
* * *
Lucas and Meggie sat on the steps of the church, looking up at the stars. Hannibal lay beside them, head on his paws, dozing intermittently. The moon glowed silver, illuminating Meggie’s slender form.
Strange, Lucas thought, how Meggie still made his breath catch and his heart beat faster. Who would have thought that a ghost had such feelings? It was torture to be able to feel all the emotions of a living man, but unable to do anything about them. Still, he would rather experience the pain of the feelings than have no feelings at all.
Meggie glanced over at the hotel and sighed. “Are they up there together?” she asked.
He nodded. Meggie had been in the church, but he’d been in the hotel, waiting with Dylan for Jessica to get home tonight. He’d rather enjoyed the argument, but when Dylan kissed Jessica, Lucas, as any gentleman would, had left. A man and a woman about to make love certainly did not need company, not even a ghost’s. Hannibal had thought it best to come along with him.
“Are they making love?”
Lucas shifted uncomfortably. He and Meggie rarely talked of things like this. Until now, there’d really been no reason to. “It would seem likely.”
Her expression grew pensive. “I wish we had made love, Lucas. I want so much to know how it would have felt to be with you like that. How I wish we hadn’t waited.”
“We were from another time, Meggie. Opinions of things like that were quite different, if you remember.”
She shook her head sadly. “We were wrong. I can’t imagine anything more beautiful than making love with someone you love.” Meggie sighed and glanced up at the hotel, then back to Lucas. “Do you think we’ll ever know that kind of love?”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly. “Or perhaps we will experience a greater love, a joining that reaches far beyond that of the physical.”
Meggie smiled at the thought and held up her hand. He brought up his hand, as well, matching his fingers to hers. He felt an energy he’d never felt before, almost a sensation of skin touching skin. Stunned, he looked at Meggie, whose eyes had grown wide. She felt it, also. Was it possible?
They stared in amazement at each other, then smiled slowly.
Eight
Something woke him.
Dylan opened his eyes and squinted at the sunlight pouring through the window. He blinked several times and listened.
There it was again. Sort of a high-pitched whine. In fact, it was a high-pitched whine. Just outside the bedroom door. He rose on one elbow, then realized what it was.
Hannibal.
Shaking his head, he smiled and lay back down. His smile slowly faded as he stared at the woman lying beside him. His breath caught in his throat.
She slept on her side with one hand curled under her chin. Her hair, tousled from sleep, lay in wisps around her face, and her lips were rosy and swollen from their lovemaking. Looking at her aroused him instantly; his entire body ached with wanting her.
Dammit, anyway! What the hell have I done?
He moved the covers slowly, intending to slip out of bed, but she stirred, then looked at him from beneath sleep-heavy lids. Her eyes, deep, deep blue, held him like velvet chains. When she reached out and lightly traced her fingers over his shoulder, he groaned silently, knowing he was trapped. She’d hate him soon enough, he thought as he slid back down under the covers and gathered her close. Too soon. He’d deal with his conscience later.
“Mornin’,” she said huskily.
“Morning.”
Hannibal whined again.
“I’ve spoiled him,” Jessica said, skimming her fingernails over Dylan’s chest. “He’s used to sleeping by my bed every night.”
It would be easy to let himself be spoiled by Jessica, Dylan thought, though sleeping in her bed every night, rather than by it, would be more to his liking. “Should we let him in?”
With a soft sigh, Jessica slid one long silken leg over his. “Not just yet,” she murmured.
That was all it took. One touch, and the madness came over him again. He pulled her roughly beneath him, whispering her name, holding her gaze with his own as he entered her. Cheeks flushed, lips parted, she eagerly responded until the madness came over them both.
And as the beating of their hearts slowed, Jessica knew with painful clarity the instant reality took hold of Dylan. She sensed his sudden awkwardness, his hesitation. As if he wanted to say something, to explain, but hadn’t the words.
She’d thought last night she could handle morning regrets. That she was a mature, reasonable woman who could deal with whatever the new day brought. But what it had brought was so unexpected, so earth-shattering, that all she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and wail like a baby.
She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself. At least, no more than she already had. She’d make it easy on him. On both of them. She forced a smile and slid out of Dylan’s arms.
“So, how about some breakfast?” She sat on the edge of the bed and searched frantically for something to cover herself with. Anything to feel less vulnerable. Her dress was out of reach so she grabbed for his shirt and tugged it on. “Eggs or pancakes? The sausage is frozen, but I could—”
“Jessica.”
The somber tone of his voice only tightened the knot in her heart. He took her arm and pulled her closer.
“Jess,” he said more softly, using a nickname only her family ever used, “look at me.”
She didn’t want to. She already heard the regret in his voice. She couldn’t stand to see it in his eyes, as well. “Dylan, it’s all right. It’s the wedding. Everyone just sort of gets caught up in the excitement, you know. It happens all the time.”
“Not to me,” he said. “And I don’t think to you, either. Last night was special to me, I want you to believe that. You are special.”
“I don’t need a line, Dylan. There’s no one standing here with a shotgun. Not even my brothers, though I doubt they’d be thrilled.”
She saw that l
ook in his eyes again. A strange mixture of anger and guilt at the mention of Jake and Jared. Frowning, she turned and faced him in disbelief. “Is that what your sudden remorse is all about? My brothers?”
“This is ridiculous.” Jaw tight, he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed for his jeans.
She turned away as he tugged on his pants. But he hadn’t answered her question. “What, did they threaten you or something?”
He rolled his eyes and swore. “Nobody threatened me. And I told you, I’m not afraid of your brothers.”
Arms folded, she stood and faced him. “Then what are you afraid of? We spend one night together, one simple night, and you act as if I’ve got the preacher man standing on the other side of the door.”
Eyes narrowed, he took hold of her shoulders and hauled her against him. “You can believe what you want, Jessica, but believe this. There was nothing, nothing, simple about last night. And as far as your brothers go, there is one thing we agree on. None of us wants to see you get hurt.”
Too late, she thought, refusing to give in to the threatening tears. She pushed away from him, and her skin burned where he’d touched her. “You don’t have to worry about me, Dylan,” she said with slow precision. “You aren’t the only one who learns from mistakes. I think we can both view this as an educational experience.”
She gathered her clothing and headed for the door on legs the consistency of warm molasses. “I’ll return your shirt later,” she said as casually as if they were friends borrowing clothes. When she opened the door, Hannibal bounded in with a loud bark.
“On second thought—” she tugged the garment from her shoulders and tossed it on the floor “—you can keep it.”
His mouth was still open when she quietly closed the door.
* * *
“Son of a bitch!”
Dylan continued to swear as the pain ricocheted up his hand and through his arm. Jaws clenched, he turned away from the window frame he’d been nailing in the church and kicked his toolbox.
Jessica, who was painting the frames, glanced over, but never missed a stroke with her brush. The rest of the crew paused, then continued with their work. They’d grown accustomed to Dylan’s irascible temper the past few days.
Texas Pride Page 10
