the kitchen island. “Brenna…”
“Shh,” she murmured against his mouth. Her hands cupped his face, smoothing his jaw. “You’re so damned good-looking…”
He’d been complimented before—just the previous evening, in fact, by the town busybodies—but no compliment had ever meant as much to him or had ever felt as sincere. Maybe it was just because his ego had been bruised, but he suspected it had far more to do with who was giving the compliment.
“And you’re so beautiful,” he replied, awed by her voluptuous beauty and her passion.
Brenna shook her head, as if trying to awaken from a dream. “This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.”
He shook his head. “This…You are the only thing that feels real to me. You, Brenna Kelly, you’re more real than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Brenna had been called real before, by her friends and by associates, but never by a man. And never had it meant so much to her. She was down-to-earth and free of pretense. And open and sometimes too honest, for some people. Josh calling her “real”—that compliment meant more to her than any declaration of beauty. If only another man had said it to her.
If only this man didn’t already belong to someone else—to her friend.
She shifted against the counter, but Josh blocked her attempt to get down by standing right in front of her, between her legs. Hip to hip, chest to chest. Why was she—who’d always been so strong—too weak to resist? “Josh…”
“Brenna, let me see how real you are.” His hands closed over the straps of her sundress, slipping them from her shoulders. The bodice slid down, revealing a strapless underwire bra in the same emerald green as her dress and her eyes. Maybe she had dressed for him.
So that she would see this look on his face—admiration. And desire.
Then he reached for the clasp at her back, unhooking the bra so that it fell onto her lap. His breath shuddered out. “Brenna…”
Trembling with need, she caught his hands in hers. “ Feel how real I am,” she offered, not even remembering the last time a man had touched her. Knowing no man like this one—so handsome, so gentle—had ever touched her before.
When his palms brushed her skin she trembled, wanting and needing more. He gave her more—leaning forward first to kiss her mouth, his tongue flirting with her lips before exploring more deeply. Then his mouth skimmed her jaw and throat, traveling down to the curve of her breasts. She shivered, her nerves never more alive than they were now from his touch.
“What’s this?” he asked, his breath warm against her skin. His fingertip skimmed the side of her breast. “You have a tattoo?”
She nodded. Shivering with cold now, she crossed her arms over her chest. How could she do this? She, who had always been so loyal to her friends?
“About nine years ago, we all got tattoos,” she explained. “Well, everyone but Abby, and it had been her idea. I think she came up with it for Molly and Colleen, to distract them because their dad was so sick then. We all piled into her car and drove to Grand Rapids. But thanks to Rory ratting us out, Clayton caught up with us before Abby got hers.”
Remembering that day, thinking how happy Molly and Colleen had been after so much stress and sadness, filled her with guilt and regret. “You’ve never seen Molly’s tattoo?”
“Molly and I never…”
She lifted her gaze to his face, hope pounding in her chest again. “You never made love?”
“We were going to wait until…”
“Your honeymoon?” No wonder he’d rushed the wedding. Sweet, old-fashioned Molly. “But you never even…”
“Made out?” He shook his head. “Our relationship wasn’t about this.” He gestured toward her, his eyes hot with desire.
“What’s this? ” She wanted to know, needing an explanation.
“Passion.”
“Lust.” Wishing that was all she felt for him.
“It’s not like that. It’s more. There’s more here between
“Shh,” she murmured against his mouth. Her hands cupped his face, smoothing his jaw. “You’re so damned good-looking…”
He’d been complimented before—just the previous evening, in fact, by the town busybodies—but no compliment had ever meant as much to him or had ever felt as sincere. Maybe it was just because his ego had been bruised, but he suspected it had far more to do with who was giving the compliment.
“And you’re so beautiful,” he replied, awed by her voluptuous beauty and her passion.
Brenna shook her head, as if trying to awaken from a dream. “This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.”
He shook his head. “This…You are the only thing that feels real to me. You, Brenna Kelly, you’re more real than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Brenna had been called real before, by her friends and by associates, but never by a man. And never had it meant so much to her. She was down-to-earth and free of pretense. And open and sometimes too honest, for some people. Josh calling her “real”—that compliment meant more to her than any declaration of beauty. If only another man had said it to her.
If only this man didn’t already belong to someone else—to her friend.
She shifted against the counter, but Josh blocked her attempt to get down by standing right in front of her, between her legs. Hip to hip, chest to chest. Why was she—who’d always been so strong—too weak to resist? “Josh…”
“Brenna, let me see how real you are.” His hands closed over the straps of her sundress, slipping them from her shoulders. The bodice slid down, revealing a strapless underwire bra in the same emerald green as her dress and her eyes. Maybe she had dressed for him.
So that she would see this look on his face—admiration. And desire.
Then he reached for the clasp at her back, unhooking the bra so that it fell onto her lap. His breath shuddered out. “Brenna…”
Trembling with need, she caught his hands in hers. “ Feel how real I am,” she offered, not even remembering the last time a man had touched her. Knowing no man like this one—so handsome, so gentle—had ever touched her before.
When his palms brushed her skin she trembled, wanting and needing more. He gave her more—leaning forward first to kiss her mouth, his tongue flirting with her lips before exploring more deeply. Then his mouth skimmed her jaw and throat, traveling down to the curve of her breasts. She shivered, her nerves never more alive than they were now from his touch.
“What’s this?” he asked, his breath warm against her skin. His fingertip skimmed the side of her breast. “You have a tattoo?”
She nodded. Shivering with cold now, she crossed her arms over her chest. How could she do this? She, who had always been so loyal to her friends?
“About nine years ago, we all got tattoos,” she explained. “Well, everyone but Abby, and it had been her idea. I think she came up with it for Molly and Colleen, to distract them because their dad was so sick then. We all piled into her car and drove to Grand Rapids. But thanks to Rory ratting us out, Clayton caught up with us before Abby got hers.”
Remembering that day, thinking how happy Molly and Colleen had been after so much stress and sadness, filled her with guilt and regret. “You’ve never seen Molly’s tattoo?”
“Molly and I never…”
She lifted her gaze to his face, hope pounding in her chest again. “You never made love?”
“We were going to wait until…”
“Your honeymoon?” No wonder he’d rushed the wedding. Sweet, old-fashioned Molly. “But you never even…”
“Made out?” He shook his head. “Our relationship wasn’t about this.” He gestured toward her, his eyes hot with desire.
“What’s this? ” She wanted to know, needing an explanation.
“Passion.”
“Lust.” Wishing that was all she felt for him.
“It’s not like that. It’s more. There’s more here between
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