on her skin and the feeling was divine yet wantonly unholy. Her head was spinning, her body craved more.
“I mean… We should maybe go back to… Oh—” She half-closed her eyes as his tongue followed the path his finger had taken. Within the soft cup of her bra, her nipple hardened and ached.
He looked up, noticed the want in her eyes and kissed her again. With a deftness that only comes with practice, he unhooked the back strap and the lacy scrap of unwanted fabric was tossed aside.
He touched the tip of one nipple and watched in fascination as it puckered. “You are beautiful.”
Blushing, she attempted to roll over to hide her nakedness, but as she turned, he pushed her back onto the grass and stared directly into her eyes. With a calloused thumb, he circled her nipple and she moaned with a desire she’d never known existed.
How she wanted to feel his naked body on hers. She imagined the length of him stretched out upon her, touching her, kissing her, his erection pressing hard as he made love to her as he had before. Deep inside she melted, and as he kissed her breast, his tongue caressing and tugging at her nipple, she moaned, her eager fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, her body arching in an insistent demand for more.
His lips found hers and her mind began to spin. As if from a distance she heard the stream gurgling and a woodpecker drilling into the bark of a tree.
He lay upon her, the fly of his jeans hard against hers. Heat roared through her. She held him fast. He began to move and rub against her, denim against denim, friction mounting.
Somewhere not too far off, over the drum of the woodpecker she heard hoof beats. The mare snorted. Trent stiffened and lifted his head. “I think we’ve got company.”
She froze. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Terrific,” she muttered, scrambling for her clothes and feeling every inch of her skin turn red.
Trent rolled to his feet and tossed her clothes to her. She stuffed her bra into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled on her T-shirt. She didn’t have time to tuck in the hem. In an instant Garrett Kincaid, astride a painted stallion, rode out of the woods.
Gina was certain her face was the exact hue of her hair. The man wasn’t an idiot. It wouldn’t take him too long to figure out what had been going on as she stood barefoot, her hair mussed, her clothes wrinkled. Trent’s shirt was on, but not buttoned, its shirttails flapping in the breeze.
The expression on Garrett’s face said it all. He wasn’t pleased. Hard lines surrounded his mouth as his eyes narrowed on his newfound grandson. “Thought I might find you up here,” he said as he swung to the ground as easily as if he’d been forty years younger.
“You were looking for me?” Trent asked.
“Yeah. Rand said the two of you had headed up this way. You got a call from your secretary. Said it was real important. Talk of a strike.”
“Hell.”
“Thought you’d want to know.”
“I do.”
Garrett’s harsh, uncompromising gaze swung in Gina’s direction. “And Jack’s been calling for you.” If he noticed her disheveled state, which, unless he was blind he couldn’t have missed, Garrett had the good manners not to mention it.
“Guess we’d better get back.” Trent tucked the tails of his shirt into his waistband.
Garrett’s jaw slid to one side. With a curt nod, he walked back to the paint and pulled himself up into the saddle. “Might not be a bad idea, all things considered.” He kneed his horse and the rangy stallion took off.
Gina wanted to die. The last thing she needed was for Garrett to think she’d compromised her professionalism. “Well, that was certainly embarrassing,” she said, dusting off the seat of her jeans and walking to her mare.
“Nah. He didn’t think a thing of it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Trent snorted. “He’s Larry’s father, right? Garrett Kincaid’s already seen it all.”
But Gina wasn’t convinced as she
“I mean… We should maybe go back to… Oh—” She half-closed her eyes as his tongue followed the path his finger had taken. Within the soft cup of her bra, her nipple hardened and ached.
He looked up, noticed the want in her eyes and kissed her again. With a deftness that only comes with practice, he unhooked the back strap and the lacy scrap of unwanted fabric was tossed aside.
He touched the tip of one nipple and watched in fascination as it puckered. “You are beautiful.”
Blushing, she attempted to roll over to hide her nakedness, but as she turned, he pushed her back onto the grass and stared directly into her eyes. With a calloused thumb, he circled her nipple and she moaned with a desire she’d never known existed.
How she wanted to feel his naked body on hers. She imagined the length of him stretched out upon her, touching her, kissing her, his erection pressing hard as he made love to her as he had before. Deep inside she melted, and as he kissed her breast, his tongue caressing and tugging at her nipple, she moaned, her eager fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, her body arching in an insistent demand for more.
His lips found hers and her mind began to spin. As if from a distance she heard the stream gurgling and a woodpecker drilling into the bark of a tree.
He lay upon her, the fly of his jeans hard against hers. Heat roared through her. She held him fast. He began to move and rub against her, denim against denim, friction mounting.
Somewhere not too far off, over the drum of the woodpecker she heard hoof beats. The mare snorted. Trent stiffened and lifted his head. “I think we’ve got company.”
She froze. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Terrific,” she muttered, scrambling for her clothes and feeling every inch of her skin turn red.
Trent rolled to his feet and tossed her clothes to her. She stuffed her bra into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled on her T-shirt. She didn’t have time to tuck in the hem. In an instant Garrett Kincaid, astride a painted stallion, rode out of the woods.
Gina was certain her face was the exact hue of her hair. The man wasn’t an idiot. It wouldn’t take him too long to figure out what had been going on as she stood barefoot, her hair mussed, her clothes wrinkled. Trent’s shirt was on, but not buttoned, its shirttails flapping in the breeze.
The expression on Garrett’s face said it all. He wasn’t pleased. Hard lines surrounded his mouth as his eyes narrowed on his newfound grandson. “Thought I might find you up here,” he said as he swung to the ground as easily as if he’d been forty years younger.
“You were looking for me?” Trent asked.
“Yeah. Rand said the two of you had headed up this way. You got a call from your secretary. Said it was real important. Talk of a strike.”
“Hell.”
“Thought you’d want to know.”
“I do.”
Garrett’s harsh, uncompromising gaze swung in Gina’s direction. “And Jack’s been calling for you.” If he noticed her disheveled state, which, unless he was blind he couldn’t have missed, Garrett had the good manners not to mention it.
“Guess we’d better get back.” Trent tucked the tails of his shirt into his waistband.
Garrett’s jaw slid to one side. With a curt nod, he walked back to the paint and pulled himself up into the saddle. “Might not be a bad idea, all things considered.” He kneed his horse and the rangy stallion took off.
Gina wanted to die. The last thing she needed was for Garrett to think she’d compromised her professionalism. “Well, that was certainly embarrassing,” she said, dusting off the seat of her jeans and walking to her mare.
“Nah. He didn’t think a thing of it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Trent snorted. “He’s Larry’s father, right? Garrett Kincaid’s already seen it all.”
But Gina wasn’t convinced as she
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