“She’s really a good baby,” Trish said, bringing the mixture over and sitting down beside them.
“That she is,” Helen agreed.
After they fed Meggie and put her down in the play yard that Trish had struggled to assemble, Helen helped her get the high chair set up. The woman was a wiz with baby equipment and zipped through the assembly process in short time.
Trish asked Helen to stay for dinner. She made a chicken avocado salad and during the meal, they spoke of family and friends. Helen had a genuine giving nature, although she’d been guarded with Trish during her marriage to Clay. Now, it seemed Helen was friendlier and more open in her conversation. They discussed favorite television shows, the best baby buys and then Helen caught her up on Red Ridge gossip. Of course she refrained from saying that Trish coming back to Red Ridge had been the lead topic of conversation. Clay was the homegrown favorite son—the superstar who had the heart of a cowboy. The townsfolk loved that Clay had retired to his Red Ridge ranch, so naturally the return of his estranged wife was big news.
It was eight o’clock when Helen left the house. With all the afternoon stimulation, it had been a breeze getting Meggie to sleep. She slept on her back in the crib dressed in a light green SleepSack decorated with pink roses. Trish gently turned her head to the side, facing the wall.
“No flat-head syndrome for you, sweet baby,” she whispered, brushing an air kiss over her hair. Babies slept on their backs these days with their faces turned to the side. It amazed Trish just how much she’d had to learn. In those first few weeks, she’d made a record amount of phone calls to the pediatrician.
She walked into the shower, stripped out of her clothes and let the warm soothing water caress her tired body. The soaking felt good right down to her toes and eased her tight muscles. When she got out, she dried her hair and then dressed in her most comfy nightclothes, a pair of gray cut-off sweats and a soft cotton T-shirt that was fraying around the collar.
She picked up yet another how-to baby book and sat down on the sofa, propping her feet under her. She didn’t get more than a page read when a soft knocking on the front door interrupted her. She closed the book and rose, mindful of the time. It was almost nine o’clock. She could only think of one person who would show up here this late.
She padded with bare feet to the entrance and opened the door. When she saw him standing on her doorstep, a bruise on his cheekbone in varying stages of purple and a bandage on his wrist, concern registered first. Her mouth opened and then shut when she met his eyes. Flutters of awareness zipped through her body like a powerful, bone-melting force of nature.
Wordless, he took all of her in, his gaze achingly slow, roaming over her body with an incendiary look that fired her blood. No other man could look at her like that and cause such a reaction. His eyes were red-hot pokers, searing her when they touched her breasts, her belly and below. She’d forgotten she’d come to the door dressed in flimsy nightclothes.
The burning hunger in his eyes reminded her.
Under his scrutiny, her nipples pebbled, which only made matters worse.
Heart thrumming against her chest, she whispered a breath. “Clay.”
Four
Clay stood on Trish’s porch and forgot about the accident that totaled his car. He forgot about the ache in his ribs, the soreness in his arm and the damn bruises on his face. The second he laid eyes on his wife, blood pounded in his head—the throbbing having nothing to do with his head injury.
She came to the door wearing nothing much of anything, her long legs exposed in cutoffs that barely covered the tops of her thighs. He’d remembered how they’d felt under his palms, soft and creamy, just the way they looked now. There wasn’t anything about Trish’s body he’d forgotten. His gaze moved up to breasts barely concealed by thin cotton. Each rounded globe was visible, with a darkened protrusion at the center, the hard tips stretching the material. His blood stirred. Heat pulsed through his body like wildfire.
The expression on her face matched his, pure, unabashed sexual frustration. He wasn’t the only one feeling the torture of yearlong celibacy.
There…there hasn’t been anyone else.
Her words had brought him relief and satisfaction.
“What are…how are you?” she stammered, drawing her lower lip in with her teeth. Fear entered her eyes, but not the kind that would have her running away. This fear was just what he’d hoped for. Fear of the inevitable. “I was just going to bed.”
He smiled and saw Trish break out in goose bumps. It was his cue to enter the house. He brushed past her and turned, waiting for her to close the door. She hesitated and he got a good look at her from the backside. The shorts crept up the back of her thighs and the bottom edge of two perfect cheeks peeked out from the ragged sweats she wore. Two handfuls of heaven. Clay’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed down the raw lust that threatened to consume him. Hell, his wife looked like every man’s fantasy, an Ellie Mae Clampett of modern times.
Trish whirled around to face him and he got a whiff of citrus and shampoo. Saw a pretty face washed clean of the day, blue summer-sky eyes and long blond hair curling at the ends. She stood by the door, her eyes fluttering, darting away.
“Come here, Trish.”
Her eyes slammed shut and she gave a little shake of her head.
“Come,” he rasped, the demand emanating from a dark forbidden place.
Her eyes opened and slowly she moved toward him, shaking her head. “This isn’t a good idea.”
When she reached him, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her up close until she was pressed against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, her breasts crushed to his chest. He ignored the pain shooting from his ribs, but the ache below his waist he couldn’t ignore. “Tell me when you think of a better one.”
With a smooth stroke, he tilted her chin up and lowered his head down. His lips brushed hers gently, the kiss an open invitation and Trish welcomed him by responding without resistance. Sweet like sugar and familiar like morning coffee, Clay couldn’t forget her taste.
She pulled away slightly, as far as he would let her. Her eyes searched his with deep concern. Her hand came up to the bruise on his face and she caressed him with tenderness. “You’re hurt.”
“I’ll live.”
“But you—”
He kissed away her worries and then deepened the kiss. She whimpered from deep inside her throat. Clay cursed. His willpower vanished. He kissed her urgently now, parting her lips, his tongue filling the sweet hollow of her mouth. She moaned and fell into his kisses, scrambling for a way to get closer. Clay brought her up, rubbing his erection to her groin. Hell, she felt good. She moved against him in a rhythmic grind, teasing him with her hot little body, just the way he loved.
“Make another one of those little sounds of yours,” his voice scraped out low, “and I swear to you, it’ll be over before it starts.”
With a coy smile, her eyes gleamed with hunger, tempting him with raised brows even though she didn’t make a sound. She stood before him and he backed away slightly. He took hold of her T-shirt with both hands at her waist and, too damn impatient to be smooth, he yanked it up and over her head. Her breasts bobbed from the pull and he sucked in oxygen watching them settle onto her chest. He stared at their perfection, round and full with pink tips that pointed heavenward.
“Holy hell.” The air left his lungs. They weren’t three feet into the doorway and she had him hard and ready to sweep them into oblivion.
“Take your shorts off,” he commanded with urgency.
“Your shirt first,” she countered, her breath coming out in a rush.
He wouldn’t take his shirt off. Not until they were in the dark. He wouldn’t let her see his battered chest. If she did, she’d send him home to rest. It was the last thing he needed tonight.
He sent her a sly smile. “Never mind, I have a better idea.” He drew her close again and turned her around, so that her back pressed against his ches
t.
Adjusting her position, he settled behind her and cupped her breasts. They were firm and sensitive to his touch. His need intensified. His erection against her backside, barely restrained by his jeans, Clay inhaled her erotic scent. “I have good ideas. Admit it.”
He kissed her soft throat and then moved farther down to scrape his teeth over her shoulders.
“Mmm.”
He closed his eyes to the pleasure, weighing the soft round mounds in his hands, playing her like an instrument. She moaned with each flick of his thumbs. Cried out with each gentle pinch of his fingers. He palmed her and filled his hands, caressing her with gentleness first, then stroking her nipples with rough quick strokes.
He ached to be inside her. To feel her warmth and heat surround him. To make them both come undone with a powerful release.
Gripping her arm with one hand, he slid the other hand down along her torso, past her flat belly and farther yet over her navel. He slipped his hand under her shorts, the sweatshirt material easily giving way. He felt her softness, the curls that protected her, and he wove his fingers through them as he shoved her panties to the side. Teasing her with his fingertips, edging closer, her anticipation grew. Her body stilled. She drew a sharp breath. The arch of her hips as she leaned her head against his shoulder invited him in.
He dipped his finger and stroked soft flesh. “Damn, Trish. Honey, you’re wet for me already.”
A shudder ran through her and she made a tiny little noise, a gasp of a sound.
He found patience somehow, tempting her with slow strokes, one, then another and another, each deliberate, each leading to something more potent, each with the intent to bring her the greatest pleasure.
“Please, Clay,” she whispered, moving against him, his body taking the force of her gyrations against his swollen groin. “I need…”
His fingers slid over her again and again, stronger, more purposeful now. He knew what Trish liked. He knew her body best. And when she uttered quick sharp cries, her hips frantic, her body quivering with hot flames, her release came hard and fast. Shudders racked her body in waves and waves. She succumbed to them, feeling taut against him at first, then her limbs became loose as the tremors took over. The way she climaxed, giving in to a full powerful orgasm, turned Clay inside out. His body was ready to burst. He held her upright where her knees might have caved, cradling her against him.
“You have good ideas,” she muttered on a soft, sated breath.
Gently, he turned her around. The fire in her eyes was there, still burning hot. She answered his question before he asked.
“Meggie is sleeping in the crib.”
Clay grabbed her hand and led her to the other bedroom where only a hint of moonlight streamed in. They stopped by the side of the bed. He drew her close and crushed a kiss to her lips. “Get naked.”
This time she didn’t argue. She shimmied out of her shorts and her pink bikini panties. Moonlight paled her skin. She was an ethereal beauty with flowing hair and a curvaceous body. He drank in the sight of her as he sat down and yanked off his boots. She came to him then, half helping, half fumbling with the removal of his clothes. He plucked a condom out of his pants pocket and Trish’s expression changed. She took the packet out of his hand and stared at it, ready to say something.
Clay grabbed hold of her wrists and leaned back on the bed, pulling her with him. She toppled a little and then righted herself on her knees, straddling him like she would a wild stallion, her body lording over him.
“I carry them, just in case,” he explained.
“And how many cases have there been?” she whispered.
Clay pursed his lips. She had a right to know the truth, but he didn’t want a discussion right now, with his brain functioning south of his waistline. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I put them in my pocket tonight. Before I walked over here.”
“Because?”
He was hoping to get lucky with his wife? Because he’d wanted her the second she’d stepped out of that taxi the other day. “Right after I realized I wasn’t going to die today, I thought of you.”
“I was your first thought?”
“Yeah,” he admitted, his lips curving up. He’d imagined her just like this.
He didn’t want to dwell on the ramifications of that right now. The minute after the airbag deployed and he realized his body parts were still working on all cylinders, Trish’s image had popped into his head. Out of the blue. He’d blamed it on the concussion, this complete loss of wits, yet here she was, naked and beautiful, just like the visual he’d had of her, and Clay figured luck was with him today, in more ways than one.
His erection was killing him. Then a smile brightened her wary features and she stroked his chest, tempting him like a she-devil. “Well, cowboy, what are you waiting for?” She handed him a condom.
Clay growled and made quick work of securing it. “You’re gonna be sorry you said that.”
“I hope so.”
He gripped her hips splaying his hands wide, just as she rose, and together they fitted her onto his thick shaft, two parts of a puzzle interlocking at the end of a yearlong dry patch.
Sensations ripped through him as he entered her with a thrust that was months in the making. She was tight and wet and she made him sweat just by looking at her—her head thrown back, her eyes closed—absorbing him without a shred of hesitation. She offered no resistance at all.
Clay arched up. Holding on to her hips as levers for pleasure, he guided her down with measured, torturous force, until he reached the ultimate limits of her body. She moaned and whipped her head forward, her expression shock and awe under the moon’s soft glow.
Clay met with her eyes, dark midnight blue sparks igniting. And the fire within him continued to burn. She moved. He moved. They were one with the universe shifting to accommodate each other’s needs.
Aching and ready for wild release, Clay brought her down to him, their bodies flush. Her arms came around his neck. He kissed her thoroughly, completely, then rolled her over until she was under him on the sheets. She was petite yet strong, but he held his body back for fear of hurting her. He gripped the bedpost for support and shook the damn thing near to breaking as he drove his body to the edge. Trish followed his lead, moving underneath him, turning him inside out with her little gasps of tormented delight. His body was racked, his willpower gone. He needed this moment, this release. It had been too damn long.
“Come with me,” he gritted out as his pace quickened, his body reaching an unmatched crescendo.
Trish surrendered, her body giving way to trembles of pleasure. He felt the exact moment when her orgasm hit, the waves like little earthquakes bursting forth and it was all he needed. He came hard. With potent force. He pumped out his frustration, shed his unwanted celibacy and fulfilled raw sexual need. His groans were met with the cries. Together they blended into one with a last shred of energy.
Clay’s heartbeats pounded in his head.
He stilled and waited for his breath to return to somewhat normal, then looked down at Trish. Sated, she had a beautiful glow, but her body was limp as a rag doll.
“Are you sure you were in an accident today?” she murmured, spent.
He smiled and rolled onto his back. “I’ve got the concussion to prove it.”
She gasped and turned to him. “Tell me, you really don’t.”
“I do.” With a cunning look, he met her gaze and added, “The doctor said I shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
As Clay slept beside her, Trish looked over his body and shuddered when she thought of him being in a head-on collision. Aside from bruises on his face and a cut over his left eye, making him look somewhat dashing, his chest was black and blue in several places with varying degrees of discolor. Now, she understood why he wouldn’t allow her to undress him until they were under the cover of darkness in the bedroom. If she’d seen the road map of pain on his body she would have sent him away to rest and recuperate.
Earlier when sh
e’d opened the door to him, she hadn’t cared why he’d come. She’d been greatly relieved he was alive and she’d forgotten they were on the precipice of divorce.
Then Clay had seduced her with a deadly smile and the temptation of sexual bliss. But Trish wasn’t the victim in this. She wouldn’t blame him. She’d been an oh-so-willing partner. She’d wanted him the second she’d seen him standing on her doorstep.
Sex had been missing in her life lately.
And Clay was the sexiest man she’d ever met.
She wouldn’t read more into what happened. If Clay’s claims were true, then he’d gone without sex for months, too, and that’s what last night had amounted to—a need to satisfy sexual craving.
She touched the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with a strand that curled up and around her finger, and wondered if it could be that easy. Could she rationalize this with her analytical mind and come to that conclusion? It was all about sex. Clay knew her body like no other man. He knew what she liked, how she wanted to be touched. He’d always been an expert lover.
Her body had splintered, more than once, and the peace that settled around her, the completion she felt wasn’t a small thing.
Clay stirred and Trish quickly removed her hand from his neck.
She laid there, content in the aftermath of lovemaking for a time, closing her eyes and listening to his quiet breathing. When she heard Meggie’s morning complaint, a sound she was becoming more and more familiar with, she rose quietly. Slipping on her robe, she stole a glance at Clay. She still couldn’t believe he was in her bed. He’d confessed to having a concussion, after they’d made love. Nothing stopped Clay when he wanted something and even though he’d been reckless with his injuries, she was grateful he was strong and healthy. Still, she’d watched him half the night, despite his claims to feeling fine.
A concussion wasn’t something to mess with.
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