A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel by Carol Burnside, Emily Sewell, Kim Killion Page B

low in her abdomen.
    Soft and sweet wasn’t enough. Not when they’d already experienced more. Rosie nodded again, keeping her eyes downcast.
    “Hey,” Sam coaxed. “It’ll be fine.” With one finger under her chin, he tilted her face. Rosie kept her lids lowered, reached for the misaligned button and secured it. She tried unsuccessfully to hide her desire. When she dragged her gaze to Sam’s, it was her breath that hitched in response to the smoldering look reflected there.
    Time screeched to a halt.
    Nothing existed except this.
    Sam’s head dipped forward. Rosie swayed toward him. Their combined breaths mingled, whispering across her lips seconds before he repeated the soft kiss.
    Rosie draped her arms around his neck, her nipples pebbling as they came into contact with his solid chest. She opened her mouth to him. His tongue touched hers, igniting a firestorm that engulfed them both in its intensity. A jolt hit Rosie’s midsection, the heat sliding lower, pooling deep in her abdomen. Sam urged her closer, one hand pulling her lower body toward him. Breast to chest, thigh to thigh, it still wasn’t enough.
    His firm hands clamped around her bottom, pulling her in tight, a blaze flaring where his rigid length pressed into her pliant belly.
    Her fingers furrowed into the silky softness of his hair. His roamed her back, settled at her waist. His thumbs slid under the front of her baby tee, stroking, inching upward.
    Yes. Touch me. Need built, raging through her now. A high-pitched mewl escaped her throat, the sound exploding into the room like a gunshot.
    Rosie jerked back, only to find herself sandwiched between a hard male and an equally hard desk.
    Their ragged breathing joined the faint tick-tock of an old-fashioned pendulum clock on the side wall opposite the desk. By slow degrees, they pulled apart, smoothing hair and clothes without their gazes meeting.
    With her eyes downcast, Rosie’s attention caught on the swell at the front of his pants—one she imagined must be very uncomfortable right about now. Pride swelled in her, knowing she was the cause of his condition.
    Sam huffed around a mirthless chuckle, drawing her gaze upward. There was no censure, no apology, no blame staring back at her, nothing but tightly leashed desire.
    He wanted her. Her . If they got this hot over a kiss, what would sharing a bed with him be like?
    Sam’s brows lifted over a knowing gaze. “Still think we’ll look awkward?”
    The question was a dousing of ice water so thorough, not even a warm coal remained. Of course he wanted her. He was a man, and she’d practically thrown herself at him. While she’d lowered her guard, he’d been thinking about the effects they’d have on their audience.
    Rosie shoved him away and stepped around him. “A few minutes ago, I had my doubts. But that’s what rehearsals are for, right? The performance is always better when you throw yourself into the role.”
    Safely out of arms reach, she turned, chin raised. “I made a few minor adjustments to the wedding plans. You know.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “To make it look more convincing.”
    Sam regarded her through narrowed eyes, his expression hard. “As long as it doesn’t delay things. Weddings are your business, but I don’t see much leeway in a civil ceremony. We’re already having attendants instead of witnesses. What else should I know about before we go back out there?”
    Relief left her feeling a little giddy. She really had to quit expecting Sam to react like Dean would have.
    “I found a wedding dress. Not a formal one, but nice. So I thought—”
    A quick knock sounded on the door before it swung open.
    “Daddy!” Rosie shrieked.
    John Thomas’s tall, lanky frame filled most of the doorway. “Y’all gonna hide in here all day,” he asked with a lazy drawl. “Or come and join the party?”
    “On my way, Daddy.” Rosie glanced back and found Sam standing nearby. “Coming, Sam?”
    “You go ahead.