His lips quirked. "Scary, you and me."
"Very." She shivered again. Guess confessions are only as good as the confessional box. She'd hoped for relief from the chill that kept her in its grip.
"You're still cold." He stood and slid her off the vanity and rubbed her arms.
The tiniest of heat moved along her skin. His hand moved to cradle the back of her head, his rough fingertips pressing into her scalp, radiating warmth, and she moved closer.
He tipped her chin up. "You didn't cause Tom's death. Whether you took the horses or not, that's no reason to kill."
"No. But I should have thought it through—weighed the consequences. Tom would be alive."
Something in the depths of his eyes hardened, and he bent his head, his lips grazing hers, and whispered, "He's not."
The quiet rasp of his voice, the mere touch of his lips ignited a desire she hadn't had in a long time, and instead of giving in to it, she stiffened. But the usual feeling of betrayal eluded her, attempts to recall Tom's face—difficult. The only face she saw was Rafe's. The only touch she felt—his. Her heart raced.
Oh God.
The memories of tonight swamped her. He was right. Vengeance didn't spell victory—try misery. She'd lost the love of her life. How many more had to suffer? How many more could she afford to lose?
Her hands moved up, putting some space between them. Still keeping her hands on his expansive chest, she concentrated on him. Rough and tumble, dark and dangerously handsome, he made her senses reel. The solid warmth of him was intoxicating. It made her woozy with the kind of need a woman could only have for a man.
And then there was that damn feeling that she had missed connecting a dot somewhere. Was it an expression? Or maybe his eyes, so familiar, sharp and piercing at times, but mostly devastatingly warm and caressing.
Whatever it was about Rafe Langston, the thought of losing him hurt with such intensity she felt as if she would die. Her fingers gripped his army jacket. "You jerk." This time his eyes were alert and questioning. "I thought I'd lost you, too."
His arms went around her, and she snuggled so close, the drum of his heartbeat was one with hers.
"Not gonna happen, darlin'." He kissed her, his mouth experienced, sure, and firm with such undeniable possessiveness she trembled.
She'd never been kissed like that before. Not by Tom. Not by anyone. It was hungry, hard, and explosive. Yet, that nagging sense of knowing him poked her subconscious—the reasoning close enough to grasp but the understanding of it beyond her.
He touched his tongue to hers, and that tingle of unexplored newness, replacing any conscious thought, spread through her like liquid fire, and she sighed into his mouth.
Blessed heat had returned, and it warmed her clear through.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Confessions being what they were, it would have behooved Rafe—considering their admitted status of best friends and all—to ante up and put his cards where Bren could see them. But the truth of it was, his only concern was getting her naked. He was too far gone over her to think about the days ahead, to pull back and reassess.
Her lips were soft and pliant and moving beneath his in a seductive dance. Suddenly his heart beat faster, and then Tom Ryan's ghost nudged him, a little. He opened his eyes. Hers were closed. Amazing as it was, Ryan didn't seem to be on her mind. Good. He wasn't interested in taking a cold shower.
What he wanted was what could have been his all along—he wanted her.
Rafe slipped his hand under her sweatshirt, its thickness hampering him as he tried to touch more skin. "How about we lose this?" he ground out against her lips and tugged on the edge of her sweatshirt.
She lifted her arms, and he pulled it over her head, the band of her ponytail slipping off with it. He tossed her shirt to the tile floor.
She shook her head. The weight of her hair dusted her shoulders and her back. The contrast, reminding him of alabaster and rose petals, couldn't have been more erotic.
He twined his fingers through the dark-cherry waves cascading over her shoulder. Motionless, their eyes connected, and then they both stared at his other hand caressing the curve of her waist.
When their gazes locked again, her eyes were big and brown and...
Shit. Was she frightened?
Her legs trembled against his thighs, and she held fast to the folds of his jacket, tugging. "Take it off." Her soft, impatient demand gave him his answer. At least for now, she was willing.
He shimmied out of it and tossed it to the floor. Going for her jeans, he struggled with the button and zipper until her jeans hung loose around her waist, allowing his hands to cup her bare, curvaceous bottom. He pulled her tight to him. "I wanted to take your clothes off the first night I took you home." It was a guttural growl—an admission of weakness. He'd been angry at her stupidity, using herself as bait with a jackass like Skidmore. But mostly because he'd realized that night he had the hots for Ryan's widow.
It had been his first warning to walk away, and the last reason he would have considered it. He hadn't found a woman yet who could hold his interest, much less put a dent in his heart—she'd scored on both.
They struggled with each other's clothes, tugging, lifting, and touching skin. Down to next to naked, she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra.
"Whoa, darlin'." He pressed her up against the vanity. "You were holding out on me. Let me see." He eyed her approvingly. "And here I thought my farm girl would be wearing cotton briefs."
"Cute." She lifted her chin, blushing. "I like the feel of silk better."
He nodded. "Silky and see-through, Red." He cupped both breasts and brushed a thumb over each nipple and watched with interest as they poked steadily against the white lace of her bra, her areolas shrunk and darkened against its sheerness. His mouth came down and covered her nipple, his tongue barely touching it.
She writhed up against him and sank her fingers into his scalp, holding his head against her. "Don't tease me, Rafe."
He suckled her and lifted his head. "Not true, honey. You're teasing me."
He kissed her, their tongues touching, stroking, and his body responded. "You're making me hard, darlin'." The quiet rasp of his voice surprised him. He'd had his fair share of women. Even rocked their worlds—at least that was his impression. But none had ever rocked his.
He crouched down. His rough hands experimented with the white lace, the russet swath covering her sex a shadow beneath the swirling design. "Pretty panties." He brushed her there with his fingertips, then lower.
She gripped the edge of the vanity. "Oh God, Rafe." The catch in her voice and her sigh would be his undoing. Devastatingly sensual, laced with surrender, it invaded his bloodstream, hot and consuming.
He caressed her, the sudden dampness through her lace panties made him dizzy with desire, and he rose to his feet. Deliberately wedging his thigh between her pale, shapely legs, he marveled at the silky sexiness of her. He lowered his head and kissed her neck, his lips grazing her ear. "Bren, honey, take a shower with me?" He rocked his thigh up higher between her legs. The tiny sound of pleasure she made had him reaching behind him. Rafe slid the shower door and fumbled with the cold metal of the faucet. It squeaked, and the hard pressure of shower spray filled the tight bathroom.
"Rafe?" There was a note somewhere between pleasure and distress in her voice.
He turned around.
She chewed on her bottom lip and moved away. "Maybe it'd be best if you..."
His eyes searched hers. "What's up, Red? Do I frighten you?"
Making love to him was a damn huge step for her.
"Come here." Her pretty lips thinned, and he pulled her toward him. She fell into him, her fingers slipping into his crisp, dark chest hairs. His pulse quickened.
She held his gaze. Her hand moving across his stomach, she moved lower, dipping her hand inside his underwear.
He pulled in a jagged breath. "You know what?" He strove for calm, which was increasingly dif
ficult considering she was stroking him from root to tip. "I've got a real thing for girls who don't frighten easy." He kissed her then, his hand slipping behind her back, fingers working the clasp of her bra until it gave, and the straps fell down her shoulders.
She released his dick, and he groaned. She slipped her hands between the two of them, resting them tentatively on his pecs, looping her arms around his neck.
"Truth or dare, darlin'." All he needed to do was step back. But he didn't need to worry about making a move. Dare was on his side. She'd choose to lose the bra before she'd admit she had fallen for a cowboy.
She gave his chest hairs a tight pull.
"Ow." He frowned down at her and rubbed his chest.
"Not funny." Her eyes flared. "A woman who hasn't done it in a long time could get carried away and hurt you."
He gave her a lopsided grin. "I was kind of hoping for that."
"Were you?" A well-shaped brow arced in challenge.
"Yes, ma'am." He slid the bra off her arms. Soft, jiggly breast pressed up against him. He lowered his head and closed his mouth over hers. Her mouth was warm and soft and incredibly sweet. He touched her tongue. Hot sparks rocketed him, and his balls grew unbearably tight.
He stood back. She was lovely—lush smooth skin, toned lithe body. His fingers and mind tingled. He cupped her breasts, pale and full and perfect in his hands. He ran his thumbs over her nipples—extended and pink and vying for his attention. "You're beautiful." He flicked them with his tongue.
She drew in a short breath and placed her hands on his shoulders, her fingertips working their heat through his skin. He moved lower, kissing her stomach above the lacy edge of her panties, his fingers hooking into each side. He pulled them off.
Tight, sexy legs trembled beneath his rough palms, and he couldn't get enough of her ivory skin against the bronze of his working-man's hands. His fingers ran the length of her silky legs, her hips, to rest on her small waist. He came to his feet. His eyes swept her, taking in every contour and curve, his finger tracing the edge of the soft, thin delta of russet curls.
He couldn't move. But his mind reeled. His heart raced.
"Not what you expected." Her face grew flushed, and she turned away from him.
Shit. He wanted to kick himself for giving her the impression she was less than perfect. Not his intention. If anything she took his breath away.
"Hold up." He grabbed her by the waist and turned her toward him. She struggled, and he tightened his grip. "Don't rush me."The crush of their bodies, and the tender breathless way in which her eyes caressed his face, sent a rush of heat surging up his belly that spread through him, scorching his heart. "Cowboys are slow—methodical."
Her gorgeous brown eyes flickered, changed, and fastened on him.
He stroked her cheek, warm and rosy with maybe a combination of embarrassment and anger. "Bren, I'm not pretty with words. All I know is you're better than any birthday or Christmas present combined, and I want to take my time unwrapping you."
"I think you've done that."
"Yes I have." He held her tighter. "Now I'm going to tinker with my gift. Touch her." He ran his hand down her spine. "Tease her." He rolled her nipple between his fingers, and the little gasp she tried to hide made him grin. "And kiss her." He lowered his head and dropped a hard kiss on her mouth. Pulling back, he held her eyes with his.
She rolled her kissable lips in a considering kind of way, but remained silent. No problem. Talking was optional. He opened the shower door and drew her under the water.
She squealed, "Damn it, Rafe!" Her lips sputtered with water, her legs unsteady
He held onto her until she got her bearings. Her skin shimmered under the water. Dark, wet shafts of hair clung to the rise of her breasts, soft and provocative. She was intoxicating, and he wanted his hands on her flesh with an intensity that drove him senseless.
"Hang tight," he said, his voice thick with need, and shed his underwear. He stepped in, the heat of the water prickling his skin like pins and needles.
She had already ripped off the wrapper of the purple puff thing and began soaping it up, giving him her shapely back.
He kissed her neck and wrapped his arms around her. Reaching for her hands, he took the soap and puff from her. "Let me wash you, darlin'." He started at the base of her neck, slow, circular motions over her delicate shoulder blades, past the curve of her waist, and took his time over her soft, round rump. Crouching behind her, he held her hips in place and took a nip of her tender flesh with his teeth.
She moaned and turned, giving him access to swirling russet wet curls. He washed her there, messaging the soapy puff between her thighs. As the warm water rinsed the soap from the soft curls, he kissed her mound. Wet and warm, she smelled of soap and woman, and his body grew hot and heavy.
He stood and let his erection brush her there, and the contact inflamed him. Taking the puff, he continued to explore her sensual curves, letting the soapy iridescent bubbles glide over her skin. When he came to her breasts, he touched them lightly with the puff. Her nipples grew stiff, and he lowered his head and rubbed his scratchy cheek against the pale slope of her breasts. He kissed them, the water streaming over her, sensual rivers slick beneath his lips.
She cupped his head and brought it up. "My turn." Her eyes, huge and dark, rested on his face. She took the puff and made arcs across his chest, the roughness of it snagging his nipples, he stilled her hands with his.
"You're going to make me—"
"Come?" Her eyes rested on him—swollen and erect. "I want you to come." She touched him with the puff, swirling his pubic hair, the soap running down his legs.
He quelled her hands and took it from her. Dragging her head up, he kissed her. Slanting his mouth over her sweet, pliable lips until she opened her mouth to him, he licked his way in. She was warm, her lips tasting of soap. He delved deeper, caressing the inside of her mouth.
She suckled his lips, tugging, and the suction she created drove him insane. Her breasts grazed his chest, and he broke the kiss. Pert pink nipples begged his attention, and he laved them with his tongue.
Her fingers pressed into his head. "Rafe," she moaned. "Oh Rafe, please take me." Her hands moved down his back, stroking him, her fingers pressing hard into his muscles.
The small shower made her request a challenge, but he'd never backed down from one yet. He spun her around. Kissing her neck, then her ear, he grated through clenched teeth, his voice thick. "I'm going to take you from behind." He kneaded her buttocks.
She nodded. "Just don't stop."
He couldn't have anyway. She was all he ever wanted, could ever hope for in a woman. No matter how they'd come to this point, he wouldn't apologize for where they ended up.
She was his. He felt protective, possessive, wildly territorial. And he knew as long as he lived, he'd want her the rest of his days.
He tilted his hips forward and nestled his erection in the cleft of her cheeks. He kissed the nape of her neck, taking love bites as he went. He stroked her breast and teased her nipple taut. His hand slid past her flat stomach and cupped her sex, his finger sliding inside her. He moved them, gently stroking the little nub until she whimpered and pressed the side of her face against the shower wall.
Her profile, smooth as sweet cream, glistened under the shower spray. Her cheeks, flushed and perfectly sculpted, were a masterpiece of beauty against black, dense lashes, wet and fluttering shut.
He pressed a string of kisses along the delicate curve of her jaw, while his finger continued to stroke her, tease her. She was wet, her muscles clenching his finger, and her hips began to move against his palm in rhythmic motions.
She bit down on her lower lip. "I want you inside me, now." Her voice was husky.
"Not yet."
Her hands flattened on the shower enclosure. He removed his finger and wrapped his arm around her waist. Holding tight, he positioned himself. He drove into her slowly, the sensation utterly soul-shattering. "God, Bren, you
feel so good." He kissed her cheek.
"Love me, Rafe." She said it in a soft, urgent voice.
"I do, darlin'." He held her hand with his against the wall, and he thrust into her again. "God help me. I do." His words were choppy as he tried to hold on to his slipping control.
He continued to rock them toward a tumultuous orgasm. The curve of her tight bottom undulated against his thrusts in perfect rhythm.
"Oh, Rafe, don't stop. Please don't stop. It feels so... right... so amazing..." She took a deep breath through her nose and bit down on those perfectly shaped lips, so wet and sexy.
He groaned with the need to kiss them hard and senseless. Her body began to tremble, and he held her snug to him, letting the warm shower spray pelt his back.
"Rafe," she moaned. Her body convulsed in his arms. "Oh God, Rafe, Rafe..."
He thrust deeper. "Bren." His voice was hoarse, and he buried his mouth into the hollow of her neck. He kissed her and continued to seek his own release. His body shuddered, and he came violently. Breathing in gasps, he spun her around, enveloping her in his arms.
Slick and wet and warm, she rested against him. "Hold me."
His arms tightened around her. "I wasn't planning on letting go, honey."
She lifted her head, her eyes voluminous, lids heavy.
He caressed her cheek and eyed her speculatively. "Love me, Rafe?" It came out half amused, half questioningly. "Is that something you normally say during the height of lovemaking? Or did you really mean it?"
"I don't usually say things I don't mean."
"Is that the best you can do?"
She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him. He kissed her back and shook her playfully. The undeniable curve of her mouth against his told him she was enjoying his pain. His lips moved against hers. "Call me old-fashioned, darlin'. But I want to hear the words."
His one eye opened. Her eyes remained closed, and she was content in kissing him back. Rafe broke off the kiss.
Her eyes sprang open, and she laughed. "You're awfully concerned about this." She pulled him toward her. "Isn't it obvious how I feel about you?" She ran her palms over him until they rested on his shoulders. One small hand slipped to the back of his neck, nudging him forward, pulling him to eye level with her. Her eyes were intent, serious, and all for him. "I love you, Rafe. So much it hurts, baby."
Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) Page 26
