building. One of these days or one of these nights, it was going to snap like a rubber band that was stretched too tight. Was this the night? The night for passion? For lust, pure and simple? He knew the answer. It was yes, yes and yes. Was it the night for honesty? No. Honesty would just muck things up. Probably for good.
She lifted her hand to his face and traced the hard line of his jaw with her finger.
Her touch was so soft, so gentle, yet so unmistakably inviting. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed. “I hope you know what you're doing.”
The answer was there in her eyes. She knew, she knew. She lifted her lips to his. He would have been crazy to ignore the invitation. And Mrs. Bowie didn't raise any crazy children.
He took her mouth completely in one swift motion. He was tired of wondering. Tired of flirting. And talking. He wanted her. All of her. Now. Their tongues tangled in a rapturous kiss that went on and on and made his heart hammer until she finally came up for air.
Chloe clung to him, her arms around his neck, her body pressed against his, merging with his until she was desperate to feel the texture of his skin and the heat from his body without clothing in the way. He picked her up with one swift motion, and carried her to the bathhouse. She dug her face into his neck, nuzzling and kissing him as he kicked the door open and set her on the bench.
Dazed and dizzy, Chloe watched Zeb turn on the hot water to fill the tub. Her body was aching, throbbing with desire. She needed him, wanted him. She had reason to think he felt the same. Through the steam she watched Zeb come toward her, his eyes burning.
“Brings back memories,” he said, watching her with the same heated gaze he'd fixed on her that very first day. “I wanted to take your clothes off then and I want to now.” He knelt next to the bench and unbuttoned her shirt, his fingers clumsy and awkward.
Impatient, she yanked her shirt over her head, unsnapped her bra and tossed it aside. Finally her breasts, swollen with lust and longing, were free. Zeb didn't move, didn't speak. He just stared at her as if she were a statue just unveiled for his pleasure. Maybe he thought she was wanton. Maybe he thought she had no scruples. Maybe he'd regret this tomorrow. Maybe she would too. But at the moment she didn't care. She needed this. Now. She needed him. Now. To feel whole again. To feel wanted, desired again.
“My God, Chloe, you're so...so beautiful,” he stammered. He reached for her then and cradled her breasts in his hands. She felt her nipples peak as he stroked them reverently with the pads of his thumbs. Her body quivered, every cell, every pore alive and aware.
Arching her body to give him access, she suddenly glimpsed the water cresting over the top of the tub. “Zeb, the water,” she gasped.
He let some out, then motioned for her to get in. She approached cautiously, watching him kick off his shoes and strip down to his jeans.
“I want you to come in, too,” she said, in a breathy voice she hardly recognized. She quickly shed the rest of her clothes.
“I'm coming all right, sweetheart,” he promised, ripping his jeans off as he watched her slip into the tub.
She wanted a good look at him, at his body in all its naked magnificence, but he slid into the water before she could satisfy her curiosity. With his hands on her shoulders, he held her on top of him, her back against his chest, where she half floated, half rested, half satisfied, half frustrated, as his arms went around her. His broad fingers stroked the outline of her breasts, then moved to her belly and the soft slick skin of her inner thighs. She shuddered. A rush of pure sexual desire left her quivering, begging for release. She was losing control fast, too fast.
She wanted to see him, touch him, and feel him go rigid at her touch. She twisted around to face him, reached for the soap, and started a lazy journey down his body. Her hands traveled from his broad shoulders
She lifted her hand to his face and traced the hard line of his jaw with her finger.
Her touch was so soft, so gentle, yet so unmistakably inviting. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathed. “I hope you know what you're doing.”
The answer was there in her eyes. She knew, she knew. She lifted her lips to his. He would have been crazy to ignore the invitation. And Mrs. Bowie didn't raise any crazy children.
He took her mouth completely in one swift motion. He was tired of wondering. Tired of flirting. And talking. He wanted her. All of her. Now. Their tongues tangled in a rapturous kiss that went on and on and made his heart hammer until she finally came up for air.
Chloe clung to him, her arms around his neck, her body pressed against his, merging with his until she was desperate to feel the texture of his skin and the heat from his body without clothing in the way. He picked her up with one swift motion, and carried her to the bathhouse. She dug her face into his neck, nuzzling and kissing him as he kicked the door open and set her on the bench.
Dazed and dizzy, Chloe watched Zeb turn on the hot water to fill the tub. Her body was aching, throbbing with desire. She needed him, wanted him. She had reason to think he felt the same. Through the steam she watched Zeb come toward her, his eyes burning.
“Brings back memories,” he said, watching her with the same heated gaze he'd fixed on her that very first day. “I wanted to take your clothes off then and I want to now.” He knelt next to the bench and unbuttoned her shirt, his fingers clumsy and awkward.
Impatient, she yanked her shirt over her head, unsnapped her bra and tossed it aside. Finally her breasts, swollen with lust and longing, were free. Zeb didn't move, didn't speak. He just stared at her as if she were a statue just unveiled for his pleasure. Maybe he thought she was wanton. Maybe he thought she had no scruples. Maybe he'd regret this tomorrow. Maybe she would too. But at the moment she didn't care. She needed this. Now. She needed him. Now. To feel whole again. To feel wanted, desired again.
“My God, Chloe, you're so...so beautiful,” he stammered. He reached for her then and cradled her breasts in his hands. She felt her nipples peak as he stroked them reverently with the pads of his thumbs. Her body quivered, every cell, every pore alive and aware.
Arching her body to give him access, she suddenly glimpsed the water cresting over the top of the tub. “Zeb, the water,” she gasped.
He let some out, then motioned for her to get in. She approached cautiously, watching him kick off his shoes and strip down to his jeans.
“I want you to come in, too,” she said, in a breathy voice she hardly recognized. She quickly shed the rest of her clothes.
“I'm coming all right, sweetheart,” he promised, ripping his jeans off as he watched her slip into the tub.
She wanted a good look at him, at his body in all its naked magnificence, but he slid into the water before she could satisfy her curiosity. With his hands on her shoulders, he held her on top of him, her back against his chest, where she half floated, half rested, half satisfied, half frustrated, as his arms went around her. His broad fingers stroked the outline of her breasts, then moved to her belly and the soft slick skin of her inner thighs. She shuddered. A rush of pure sexual desire left her quivering, begging for release. She was losing control fast, too fast.
She wanted to see him, touch him, and feel him go rigid at her touch. She twisted around to face him, reached for the soap, and started a lazy journey down his body. Her hands traveled from his broad shoulders
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