Waking Up in Vegas
Page 25
Cherie slipped her hand into JT’s hair, her other arm encircling his neck, pulling him closer. His breath rained hot fire on her cheek. He leaned his weight on her, pushing her back into the corner of the couch, no longer holding himself above her with his arms. He needed to feel her in his embrace; his hands slid behind her back, crushing her to his chest. He deepened the kiss, his tongue invading her mouth, needing to taste her, to be inside her one last time. She responded by opening her mouth further, to allow him as deeply inside her as he could be. With her small moan, JT felt his desire rising, but he didn’t care. It would go no further. They both understood that. He cast himself into the storm of desire, no longer trying to hold it back. Not this time. Her breath was coming harder, faster, as her passion grew under the tender caress of his lips. This time it was he who groaned, lost in the rapture of her mouth under his. Such sweet torture, this kiss.
Cherie lowered her hands to his chest, then traced lightly down his sides, finally drifting around his bare back. His arms pulled her still closer; her hands went around to squeeze his backside. He purred low in his throat, wanting to have her completely under him, to grind himself into her again and again.
JT realized he was about to cross the line from a kiss to something more, and knew it was time to stop. Gradually, he untangled his tongue from hers, slowly ending the intimate dance they shared. Cherie let the tip of her tongue wander across his lips, touching and teasing as her breathing slowed. With one last sweep of his lips over hers, JT inclined his head until they rested forehead to forehead. She looked up at him with wonder, the fire still smoldering in her eyes.
“I really should go, Cherie. Before I can’t tear myself away from you.” He rose from the couch, adjusting the discomfort in his shorts. “Thank you for showing me what I never thought I’d find, what I was certain didn’t truly exist. That elusive love I write about in my songs, the kind that I thought was only for novels and fools.”
He turned away and let himself quietly out the door.
**the end**
JT read the last paragraph again and sighed heavily. Romantic as a woman, that’s what I am. But maybe a little more realistic. I know love like that only exists in novels and songs. I’ve been kicked often enough to learn that lesson well. Still can’t help myself searching for it, anyway.
He glanced to the alarm clock on the bedside stand, wondering if there were time enough for a nap; he was feeling suddenly sleepy and tired. And heavy, too heavy to even blink. He was acutely aware of gravity, feeling as if he’d soaked in a warm bath, then pulled the plug and stayed in the tub while the water spiraled slowly down the drain.
Hundred-pound eyelids slammed down, the bound sheaf of paper flopped to his chest from fingers gone slack. Sleep claimed him, fast and deep.
And he dreamed.
Of checking lenses. Of packing a camera bag, rechecking the contents, then going back to add extra film, far more than could ever be shot in a two-hour concert. Of hoping someday to replace the sturdy Nikon with a digital SLR camera so running out of film would never be a problem again. Of remembering the black leather blazer, and wondering why it would be needed, but fishing it out of the back of the closet, anyway.
Of intense denim-blue eyes and a sardonic smile that belied the passionate heart of an ever-hopeful romantic.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Giving thanks:
About the Author
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