and muscular, harsh, and yet gentle.
Her attraction to him was uncontainable. And she no longer wanted to try to contain it.
Slowly she walked in through the bunkhouse door, leaving it open.
He followed her. The last of the outside world was shut away when she heard him close the door, then lean against it, as if barricading them in with his back.
Â
Minutes seemed to pass as Lyndie stared at the wet man in front of her.
Bruce had to be cold, she thought, but he didnât shiver. He just studied her back, until suddenly he reached for her, and she let him, unmindful of the wetness, blank to any sensation that was not the pure, warm, dark essence of male.
He kissed her.
His mouth took, his tongue probed.
Her lips thrummed with desire for his taste, his demands.
She felt drugged as he broke from her to slip out of his T-shirt. Now she could see what she could not at the mill.
His chest was smoothly rippled, finely sprinkled with black hair. Steel beneath velvet.
She couldnât stop her hand from resting there, to see if he felt as erotic as he looked.
She was not disappointed.
The warmth on her hand spread to her belly and then to her thighs. Her emptiness became unbearable. She wanted him, on top of her, covering her, inside her. She wanted him all night and maybe the next and the next one after that. Her hunger was insatiable.
His hand went to her nape and pulled her to him.
Without speaking, he kissed her again, this time unbuttoning his soaked jeans and forcing her hands to the waistband so she could help pull them off.
She moaned when he unzipped her fleece jacket. She was still in the silk camisole and tap pants that she slept in. To go out to the porch, all sheâd done was slip into her jacket and pull on a pair of jeans.
He seemed pleased by the easy access. He made quick work of the jacket, then slipped his hand beneath the shimmering pale pink silk.
Her resistance crumbled.
Perhaps it was partly the callused palm on her breast, or the surprising warmth of his mouth on her nipple.
But in the end, it was his scent. While Mitch had smelled of expensive cologne and starch, Bruce smelled of rain and the darker scent of aroused male.
There was only one way to purge both their systems of this strange attraction.
They were so different, she thought, and yet as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to him,nothing seemed more natural, more comfortable. His hands gave her assurance and warmth, even when the last of her clothing was gone. His words kept her mind on the moment and her need, blessedly away from everything rational and prudent.
Finally with a last soul-searching kiss, he lowered his body to hers.
He was naked, hard and hot, and she wanted him like an alcoholic wants a drink. Her thirst became insatiable, even destructive, but she didnât care.
He parted her thighs with his hand and thrust himself inside her. His breath quickened; she moaned. The fullness was ecstasy. She didnât ever want him to leave.
She reached up to his chest and felt the hammer of his heartbeat begin to meld into the rhythm of his lovemaking. His tense, muscular legs rocked against her womanly soft thighs. Then he grew more fierce and demanding, and her body went with him, finally building into a long, racking release.
The fall was exquisite.
She took her orgasm and held it inside until tears filled her closed eyes. The feeling was life-affirming, yet terrifying; satiating, yet agonizingâtaunting her that there might be no more.
He stared down at her. She clutched him to her though his back was slick with sweat.
Finally, when he could take no more, he devoured her mouth in a searing kiss and spilled himself inside her. His release racked his torso with pleasure, his muscles steeled with barely contained strength.
The silence afterward should have horrified her. Instead, it was like a blanket of peace that lulled her into sleep.
Her last thought as she snuggled within his arms was
Her attraction to him was uncontainable. And she no longer wanted to try to contain it.
Slowly she walked in through the bunkhouse door, leaving it open.
He followed her. The last of the outside world was shut away when she heard him close the door, then lean against it, as if barricading them in with his back.
Â
Minutes seemed to pass as Lyndie stared at the wet man in front of her.
Bruce had to be cold, she thought, but he didnât shiver. He just studied her back, until suddenly he reached for her, and she let him, unmindful of the wetness, blank to any sensation that was not the pure, warm, dark essence of male.
He kissed her.
His mouth took, his tongue probed.
Her lips thrummed with desire for his taste, his demands.
She felt drugged as he broke from her to slip out of his T-shirt. Now she could see what she could not at the mill.
His chest was smoothly rippled, finely sprinkled with black hair. Steel beneath velvet.
She couldnât stop her hand from resting there, to see if he felt as erotic as he looked.
She was not disappointed.
The warmth on her hand spread to her belly and then to her thighs. Her emptiness became unbearable. She wanted him, on top of her, covering her, inside her. She wanted him all night and maybe the next and the next one after that. Her hunger was insatiable.
His hand went to her nape and pulled her to him.
Without speaking, he kissed her again, this time unbuttoning his soaked jeans and forcing her hands to the waistband so she could help pull them off.
She moaned when he unzipped her fleece jacket. She was still in the silk camisole and tap pants that she slept in. To go out to the porch, all sheâd done was slip into her jacket and pull on a pair of jeans.
He seemed pleased by the easy access. He made quick work of the jacket, then slipped his hand beneath the shimmering pale pink silk.
Her resistance crumbled.
Perhaps it was partly the callused palm on her breast, or the surprising warmth of his mouth on her nipple.
But in the end, it was his scent. While Mitch had smelled of expensive cologne and starch, Bruce smelled of rain and the darker scent of aroused male.
There was only one way to purge both their systems of this strange attraction.
They were so different, she thought, and yet as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to him,nothing seemed more natural, more comfortable. His hands gave her assurance and warmth, even when the last of her clothing was gone. His words kept her mind on the moment and her need, blessedly away from everything rational and prudent.
Finally with a last soul-searching kiss, he lowered his body to hers.
He was naked, hard and hot, and she wanted him like an alcoholic wants a drink. Her thirst became insatiable, even destructive, but she didnât care.
He parted her thighs with his hand and thrust himself inside her. His breath quickened; she moaned. The fullness was ecstasy. She didnât ever want him to leave.
She reached up to his chest and felt the hammer of his heartbeat begin to meld into the rhythm of his lovemaking. His tense, muscular legs rocked against her womanly soft thighs. Then he grew more fierce and demanding, and her body went with him, finally building into a long, racking release.
The fall was exquisite.
She took her orgasm and held it inside until tears filled her closed eyes. The feeling was life-affirming, yet terrifying; satiating, yet agonizingâtaunting her that there might be no more.
He stared down at her. She clutched him to her though his back was slick with sweat.
Finally, when he could take no more, he devoured her mouth in a searing kiss and spilled himself inside her. His release racked his torso with pleasure, his muscles steeled with barely contained strength.
The silence afterward should have horrified her. Instead, it was like a blanket of peace that lulled her into sleep.
Her last thought as she snuggled within his arms was
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