Hold on Tight by Deborah Smith Page B

eyes were full of urgency as they searched her face. “I’ll make it easier, Dee.”
    He swiftly rearranged her body so that he held her in his arms. Then he stood up, lifting her, and covered her mouth with another hungry, demanding kiss. The night shrank to nothing but the two of them, the nearness of two overwrought bodies, the communication of blue eyes and green, the silent, tender messages that flowed between them. He started toward the back of the house, his stride quick.
    This is the right thing to do, she thought with one last shred of clear thought. I won’t have any regrets.
    He walked into her darkened bedroom and paused, getting his bearings amid the sleek contemporary furniture. Moonlight angled across the queen-size bed by the far wall, illuminating its satiny gray coverlet. The air was fragrant with the mingled scents of feminine colognes and the spicey pine burning in the livingroom fireplace. He went to the bed and laid her down in the moonlight, then stood looking down at her, breathing heavily. Dinah stretched out slowly, feminine instinct guiding her movements to be languid and inviting. Even in the dark she knew that his unwavering gaze mapped everything she did.
    “Come here,” she whispered.
    “I don’t take orders from women.”
    “I see.” Dinah smiled, sensing the erotic game he wanted to play. “Pull your shirt off,” she commanded. “
That’s
an order.”
    “Make me, beauty queen.”
    She leaped up, her hands quivering, and wrestled his sweatshirt over his head. He fought with feigned resistance and lost gamely, then watched as she slung the garment onto the floor and climbed back onto the bed.
    Dinah lay on her back again and felt her breath aching for passage. She swept her eyes over his magnificent chest covered in dark, thick hair. He carried a lot of his weight in that chest and the broad shoulders above it, but he was well proportioned. She watched a muscle quiver in the flat terrain at the edge of his jeans.
    “Undress for me, Dee,” he drawled in a tone as languorous as warm whiskey. “And then I’ll undress for you.”
    Her body flooded with anticipation and surprise. Making love was supposed to be a politely orchestrated event, she had always thought, performed with the utmost delicacy and restraint. But neither delicacy nor restraint had a part in what was happening between her and Rucker.
    “All right,” she answered.
    “Do it slow.”
    Pleasure shot through her at that sensual command. She began to comply, her eyes never leaving his shadowed face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. Then seconds later, “High-topped panties. You’re sweet.” And then, drawing out the words with an audible sigh of pleasure, “I knew that would be a fantastic bosom.”
    When she was naked, she put her arms behind her on the pillow. He was a dark, mysterious, and compelling shadow above her, a shadow that bent suddenly and grasped her ankles with big, calloused hands. She jumped, startled. “Easy, easy,” he cajoled. His hands slid lightly up her legs, molding themselves to the curves. By the time he reached the smooth joining of thighs to hips, she could barely keep from writhing. His fingertips swirled deeply into the patch of dark, curly hair at the top of her thighs, then parted her legs and sought the moist, hot folds there. Dinah moaned and closed her eyes.
    “It’s not a great deal of fun being naked alone,” she teased in a barely audible voice.
    “You won’t be alone in a second.”
    He moved away. Dinah opened her eyes and watched him strip off his shoes, socks, and jeans. “Plain BVD’s,” she commented, mimicking his earlier perusal of her underwear. “How sweet.”
    “I get no respect,” he said playfully. Rucker removed them in quick, fluid motions, then stood naked before her, his hands by his sides, his chest moving with deep contractions.
    After a moment of rapt study, Dinah whispered in a tender voice, “Oh, Rucker, you’ve got my