by Jennie Marts
Another giggle bubbled out of her as he set her down. Holy hot Cheetos. She didn’t think she’d giggled as many times in a whole year as she had in the last twenty minutes with this man. But he had this way of making her feel giddy and light and like she was sexy and desirable. She’d never felt like that before, and the giggles were probably a cross between nerves and happiness, but as silly as it sounded, she didn’t want them to stop. She was having fun, real honest fun, and she loved it.
Fumbling for the door handle, she pushed it open, letting the dog in ahead of them, then pulling Colt in behind her. She kicked off her slippers as he bent forward and pulled off his boots.
He pulled her to him, nuzzling his lips against her neck. His voice hummed along her skin as he whispered in her ear. “I’m suddenly feeling very patriotic.”
She chuckled, then her laughter died, and she shivered as he ran his tongue along the rim of her ear. His words were meant to be funny, but the low, slow way he’d said them was pulse-pounding sexy. “‘Give me liberty, or give me death.’”
He took a step back and tugged at the hem of her shirt. “As much as I love seeing you wearing my jersey, cupcake, I’d much rather see you not wearing it.”
She swallowed, suddenly shy again as she clutched the hem of the shirt, holding it down over her cupcake. “Right here?” It had been one thing to have him pull it up in the heat of the moment; it was another thing entirely to whip it off in the middle of her kitchen.
His eyes went dark with hunger as his voice went deeper, a cross between a request and a command. “Yes. Right here. Right now.”
This wasn’t like her. None of this was like any semblance of her normal self. But who was her normal self? A shy schoolteacher who spent most nights hanging out with her cat, either knitting or reading romance novels and imagining what it would be like to have the kind of crazy-hot sex scenes that filled the pages of her books?
Well, sister, a six-foot, four-inch package of hot sex was standing right in front of her and telling her to take her clothes off. She had a chance to fulfill one of those scenes right now, if only she were brave enough to bare herself to him, quite literally.
She licked her lips and swallowed again as she clutched the edge of her shirt in her hands. Her knees threatened to buckle under her, and flames of fear mixed with desire swirled through her veins. Why was this such a big deal? It’s not like he hadn’t already seen her naked.
But this was different. This wasn’t lying in bed or in the throes of passion. This was sensual and intimate and about something more. This was about trust.
He hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken his eyes from her. He stood still, his only movement the fall and rise of his chest.
A naughty grin pulled at her lips as she tightened her fists around the hem, then pulled the jersey over her head. She held it out in one hand before letting it drop to the floor. “Let freedom ring.”
Colt threw back his head and laughed. Not at her, but with her, and the sound of it rippled over her bare skin like cool water on a hot summer day.
Shrugging out of his jacket, he let it fall onto the kitchen floor as he unbuttoned the first few buttons of his flannel shirt and pulled it over his head, not bothering with the last remaining ones. His hair was mussed, and his grin was devilish. She expected him to pull her to him or grab her and kiss her, but instead, he gestured toward the hallway leading to her bedroom. “After you.” He might be a rake, but he was a gentlemanly one.
She took a deep breath, then pushed back her shoulders and walked through the living room. He followed and must have been stripping as he walked. His white T-shirt flew through the air beside her and landed halfway across the back of her sofa. His pants must have fallen off next because she heard them hit the carpet in the hallway.
By the time they made it to her bedroom, all he still had on was a pair of black boxer briefs. She had no idea what had happened to his socks. And she didn’t even care.
Bending forward to pull the throw pillows from the bed, she felt the heat of Colt’s hand as he placed it in the center of her back. He stepped closer, trailing the back of his fingers up her spine. He drew her hair to the side, exposing her neck. She tipped her head and sighed as his lips settled on the spot just below her hairline. His open hands glided around her waist, pulling her back against him as his palms cupped and teased her breasts.
Forget the throw pillows. Forget the bed. He could take her right here on the floor.
He bent his knees, trailing his lips in a line of hot kisses that led across the back of her neck and down her spine. His thumbs slid inside the elastic band of her panties, and he slid them down, the cotton gliding over her hips, her thighs, her knees, then drifting to the floor.
He lifted her and set her tenderly on the bed. She lay back against the jumbled pillows, the comforter askew beneath her, and watched as he dipped his head to her breast.
She let go of everything that had happened earlier in the day and just let herself savor the time with him. She was putty in his hands, and all she wanted was to have him touch her. She craved the feel of his hands, his lips, his tongue, as he explored and discovered what she liked and how she wanted to be touched, to be caressed, to be stroked. She came alive under his touch—arching and sighing, telling him what to do. She’d never been so brazen, so bold, never experienced such raw sensual need.
This isn’t me, she kept telling herself. But maybe it was. Maybe this was the woman she was always supposed to be. Maybe it was okay to be wanton and sexy and to stop overthinking this whole thing and just let herself feel it, experience it. Who cared if her perfectly made bed was messed up? Who cared if her lover—gah—her lover’s clothes were strewn across her house? Seriously, what had happened to his socks?
This could be her. The new her. The new Chloe who had hot, crazy sex with a handsome cowboy, and coached a hockey team, and who stayed up way past her bedtime. Even on a school night.
Chapter 18
Chloe opened her eyes the next morning and found herself staring at Colt’s muscular back. She sucked in her breath as she studied the definition of his broad shoulders, the dip and curve of his shoulder blades. The sun was barely up, and a soft glow of predawn light filled the room, giving it an almost ethereal feel, like the room itself was being held in a delicate balance and once she moved, her reality would tip and falter, and she’d be back to being the same frumpy schoolteacher she’d been the week before.
Except she wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same. For one thing, there was a man sleeping in her bed, and by the warm pressure against her legs, she was pretty sure a dog was sleeping there too. She had no idea where her cat was—but Agatha could take care of herself.
She’d had an odd night, alternating between feeling wide awake and drifting into deep sleep. She’d only left the bed once, waking with a jolt as she remembered Colt’s revolver was still in her purse. She’d slipped out of bed and hurried into the kitchen, taking the gun from her purse and setting it on the counter where she knew she’d see it and remember to give it to him in the morning.
Just having it in the house both made her nervous and imparted an odd sense of security. But the sight of the steel weapon on her white counter gave her the chills, so she’d wrapped it in a towel and stashed it in a drawer next to the workbench in the garage.
As she closed the drawer, she’d caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and almost screamed. Then laughed at herself as she realized it was only Watson. The dog must have followed her out to the garage to check on her.
Agatha couldn’t care less about her nightly rovings, so it was nice to have the dog accompany her on her rounds as she checked the windows and locks. With a sigh, he’d settled on the floor by the bed as she’d slipped under the sheets, cuddled against Colt, and fallen back to sleep.
Now with the pale shimmers of light falling on Colt’s body, Chloe held perfectly still, not wan
ting to wake him, not wanting to break the illusion. She only wanted to look at him, to study him, to memorize every feature, every hard plane of his body, so she could play it back in her head once he was gone.
A thin, white line of scar tissue marred the perfect skin of his shoulder. He’d told her about a time Mason had caught his shoulder with a fishhook when their dad was first teaching them to fish. It had happened the same day the picture on his mantel had been taken, and Colt had pointed out the scar with pride.
She reached up, wanting to run her finger along the edge of the scar. But she didn’t. Didn’t touch him at all.
Memories of the night before swirled in her mind, and now, in the light of a new day, as she needed to get up and return to her life as a schoolteacher, she felt confused and conflicted, embarrassed that she’d been so open and willing with this man. She didn’t really even know him. Yet she’d let him… Well, it didn’t matter now what she’d let him do. It was done, and all that was left were the soreness of her muscles and the tender ache between her legs.
She needed a hot shower, a cup of coffee, and a shot of perspective. Feeling out of sorts, she needed her routines, something to plan and organize, something she could control, or that would give her at least a measure of feeling she had a grip on something in her life.
Dropping her hand, she lifted the comforter and slipped naked from the bed.
* * *
Colt blinked against the sliver of sunlight shining on his face, disoriented for a minute by the unfamiliar feel of the sheets. Then he remembered, and a slow smile crept across his face. He felt a warm body against his back and turned over to greet her. “Good morning, beautiful.”
He was met with a sloppy lick to his cheek from Watson, who’d made himself comfortable stretched out in Chloe’s spot. Rubbing the dog’s neck, Colt pushed him off the bed, somehow guessing Chloe wouldn’t be thrilled to find the dog’s head lying on her pillow.
The clock on the nightstand read half past six, and he yawned and stretched his arms over his head. His muscles were sore, and he was tired from staying up late, but it was a good tired and he welcomed the ache, because he knew what had caused it. And it had been worth it.
He couldn’t seem to stop the smile from spreading across his face as he slid out of bed and pulled on his briefs. He listened for sounds of Chloe, but the house seemed quiet. Padding barefoot down the hall, he expected to see the trail of his discarded clothes, but instead saw them placed in a neat pile on the side of the sofa.
The scent of coffee led him toward the kitchen, where he finally spotted Chloe, sitting at the table, papers, books, and a giant white poster board spread out in front of her. Fanned out across the table were books with titles such as Creating a Winning Culture, Hockey Skills & Drills, and How to Be a Great Coach in Seven Easy Steps. Charts and diagrams filled the pages, and she’d made similar color-coded plans across the poster board. He recognized the names of the kids on the hockey team on the board and realized she was working out schedules and drills.
Her head was bent over the poster board as she used a colored pencil to shade in a section of a pie diagram. He leaned against the doorway, watching her. Her attention was focused on the papers in front of her. Her lips were set in a tight line as she concentrated on the diagram. A lock of hair fell across her forehead, and she reached to push a loose strand behind her ear.
She was so damn beautiful. She didn’t know it, didn’t see herself the way he and other people did, and that was part of her beauty. She had about the biggest heart of anyone he knew, and in the short time he had known her, he’d seen numerous occasions that she’d put others before herself.
Something twisted in his chest as she chewed on her bottom lip, pulling it under her top teeth as she worked to neatly fill in the space on the diagram with color. He liked this woman way too much. He knew it, but he couldn’t help it.
He only wished he could tell her—tell her how beautiful he thought she was, how kind and thoughtful he found her, how much he loved kissing her and holding her and…well, doing lots of other things to her as well. Last night had blown his mind. Every time they were together, she grew more comfortable with him, more comfortable with herself. It was like watching a flower bloom in his hand. A wildflower.
And like a wildflower, she’d planted something in him. And it was growing stronger every day he spent with her. But he hadn’t told her.
He wanted to—wanted to take her face in his hands and tell her all the crazy emotions he was feeling. But he couldn’t. Not because he didn’t know—he knew what he was feeling—knew how hard he was falling for her. Falling like a paratrooper with no parachute. But he couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t say the words. Because as soon as he said it out loud, it became real, and that’s when it could be taken away. When it would all start to go wrong.
No. Best to keep his feelings to himself for now. And it wasn’t as if she was pouring out her heart to him either. He knew she liked him, hell, she had to like him—at least a little, especially after the weekend they’d just spent together. But she sometimes still acted like a skittish colt, backing away every time he got too close. So, he just needed to keep things light and remain a safe distance away—don’t let himself get too close—for both their sakes.
“Mornin’, cupcake,” he drawled.
She let out a tiny shriek as she jumped and dropped the colored pencil. It rolled across the table as she pressed her hand to her chest. “Holy crickets. I didn’t see you there. You scared the fork out of me.”
He chuckled and sauntered in to peer over her shoulder. “Whatcha working on?”
“Just a few things for practice tonight. Some drills and a few skate sequences. I’ve been researching techniques and secrets to teach kids how to improve their hockey skills and have some great ideas for setting up some passing- and shooting-skills practices.”
“Wow. These are great ideas. You don’t even need me.” He pulled one of the pages toward him to study a detailed puck protection drill. “But you do realize these kids are eight, right?”
She snapped the paper back and straightened it in one of the piles. “You do realize I like to be organized, right?” She pushed back her chair, and he stepped away to avoid getting plowed into. “I made coffee. You want a cup?”
“Yeah, thanks. That would be great.”
He crossed the kitchen to stand behind her as she pulled a cup from the cabinet and reached for the coffeepot. Brushing the hair from her neck, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her neck. “You smell nice.”
Her hands shook, and a bit of coffee splashed over the edge as she tried to pour it into the cup. He reached around her, lifting the cup from her hands and taking a sip. “Mmm. It’s good,” he said, wrapping his arm around her stomach and pulling her back against his chest.
He expected her to melt into him, or maybe turn around and kiss him good morning. He was standing there in his underwear, and it was pretty clear some parts of him were unmistakably ready to wish her a good day, but she didn’t turn around or do any kind of melting. Instead, her shoulders tensed against his back, and she reached for the washcloth folded neatly across the middle of the sink and used it to clean up the spilled coffee. Okay. Not the reaction he was hoping for, but even in the short time he’d known her, it didn’t surprise him that she wouldn’t be able to leave the mess on the counter.
He took another sip of coffee and tried again. Lowering his voice, he playfully whispered against her ear. “I was going to hop in the shower. You want to join me? I could wash your back. Or your front. Or anything else you think might be dirty.”
“Oh, um, no thanks. I already took a shower.”
He hadn’t actually been interested in getting clean.
She fumbled the spoon she’d been trying to put in the sink, and it clattered against the stainless-steel side. “I mean, of course, I know that’s not what you meant. I just
have a meeting at school this morning, and I’ve been focusing on the stuff for practice tonight. I committed to the kids to be their coach, and I don’t want to let them down.”
She was acting squirrelly again. And he could feel her pulling away, just the slightest bit, but it was there—in the tightness of her shoulders, the firm set of her lips. He couldn’t quite figure her out. One minute she was calm and joking around with him, and the next she was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
“Sure, of course. I don’t want you to be late to your meeting on my account. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be showered and ready to go.”
“You don’t have to rush that fast. We don’t have to leave for twenty.” She’d turned away, and her attention was focused on collecting the pages of notes she’d been making.
He touched her arm. “You’re going to do great tonight. I know the kids, and Logan and I, all appreciate the effort you’re putting in for the team.”
Her shoulders relaxed, dropping just the slightest. “Thank you. I appreciate that. And I’ll feed Watson while you shower. There are clean towels under the sink.”
The dog had been waiting patiently by the back door, and Colt let him out. He’d thrown a few things in a duffel bag before he’d left the cabin—his razor, a clean shirt, a stick of deodorant, and some dog food. He’d brought the bag in the night before, after Chloe had fallen asleep and he’d gone out to do a walk around her property and check on his truck. He’d dropped the bag by the door, his mind preoccupied with getting back to the warm woman he’d left in bed. “I can feed him if you wouldn’t mind giving him some water. I think he’s been drinking out of the cat’s bowl,” he said, unzipping the duffel and pouring some dry dog chow into a traveling dog dish.
Watson could hear the sound of food hitting a dish from a mile away and was wiggling and whining outside the back door to be let back in. Colt opened the door and smiled as the dog went right for his food. “I’ll clean up the yard when I get back.”
