to his chest to his navel, reveling in the rise and fall of his chest in the heavy thudding of his heart. In the sounds he made, all male, all macho groans of pleasure and of protest.
“Chloe, hell, what are you...oh, yes, yes...,” he said as her soapy hands stroked his rigid masculinity.
Stunned by the strength of his response, she felt excitement fluttering in her very core. Excitement and need and wonder at the size of him. Her breath was coming in short gasps now as she realized how hot and how wet and ready she was. How ready he was. How close they were to the point of no return. Not that she wanted to return. She wanted to move ahead. To close the gap between them. Once and forever.
With a deep hoarse sound, he gripped her shoulders and thrust upward, filling her as she'd never been filled before. Her body was hot and wet and slick as his strong, demanding thrusts drove her higher and higher onto another level of consciousness. Until the painful pleasure peaked, and in one dizzying moment she went over the edge. She called his name. He shouted hers.
His eyes were closed, his lips pressed together in a sublime smile. He was drifting...no, he was sinking.
“Zeb,” she said, alarmed, pulling his head up out of the water. “You're drowning.”
“I don't care,” he said and he meant it. He could die right now a happy man. On the other hand, if he stayed alive, he might live to do this all over again.
“Come here,” he said. He sat up and, with his hands on her temples brought her mouth to meet his. He brushed his lips across hers, tangling his hands in her wet curls possessively. He wondered for the nth time how any man could have ever let her go. She was everything a man could want— generous, warm, loving, lovable. It took all his self-control to remind himself not to get involved with another woman. Especially one who didn't fit in here. No matter how lovable she was.
In fact, the more lovable, warm and generous she was, the more likely she was to be desired by someone else. And the more likely to go off with someone else when his back was turned. He'd never forget the pain and humiliation he'd felt when Joanne left. How his friends had looked at him, with a mixture of pity and astonishment at his stupidity.
This was a different matter. This was a one-night stand, or maybe two or three. As long as she was willing. As long as she never knew he wanted her land more than he wanted her. Needed her land for his own survival. If he played his cards right, she'd never find out. But if she did... He shuddered to think what she'd think.
If he'd met her sooner, it might have been a different story. Before he was disillusioned about women. Before she was disillusioned about men. Before he'd decided that women couldn't be relied on. Before she'd decided that men couldn't be trusted.
As if she'd read his mind, and suddenly saw how conniving and devious he was, she drew back and studied his face for a long moment He didn't know what she saw there, but whatever it was, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a large towel around her, knotting it above her breasts.
“So now what?” she asked briskly, as if they'd just finished a hand of poker.
He followed her out of the tub, dripping water across the floor and braced one arm against the wall. “I was thinking about spending the night in your hammock, with you,” he said. He'd been thinking about it since the day she'd bought it. Thinking about sleeping next to her in it her body folded tight against his, one hand stroking those beautiful breasts, the other sliding between her legs to find that secret spot to bring her to another climax and another and another. Then he remembered he'd already suggested a night in her hammock the last time he'd been there and she'd turned him down flat. Something about not wanting to fulfill her romantic fantasy. Not with him, anyway.
Whatever the reason, she had the same look on her face as last time, the look that said, I don't
“Chloe, hell, what are you...oh, yes, yes...,” he said as her soapy hands stroked his rigid masculinity.
Stunned by the strength of his response, she felt excitement fluttering in her very core. Excitement and need and wonder at the size of him. Her breath was coming in short gasps now as she realized how hot and how wet and ready she was. How ready he was. How close they were to the point of no return. Not that she wanted to return. She wanted to move ahead. To close the gap between them. Once and forever.
With a deep hoarse sound, he gripped her shoulders and thrust upward, filling her as she'd never been filled before. Her body was hot and wet and slick as his strong, demanding thrusts drove her higher and higher onto another level of consciousness. Until the painful pleasure peaked, and in one dizzying moment she went over the edge. She called his name. He shouted hers.
His eyes were closed, his lips pressed together in a sublime smile. He was drifting...no, he was sinking.
“Zeb,” she said, alarmed, pulling his head up out of the water. “You're drowning.”
“I don't care,” he said and he meant it. He could die right now a happy man. On the other hand, if he stayed alive, he might live to do this all over again.
“Come here,” he said. He sat up and, with his hands on her temples brought her mouth to meet his. He brushed his lips across hers, tangling his hands in her wet curls possessively. He wondered for the nth time how any man could have ever let her go. She was everything a man could want— generous, warm, loving, lovable. It took all his self-control to remind himself not to get involved with another woman. Especially one who didn't fit in here. No matter how lovable she was.
In fact, the more lovable, warm and generous she was, the more likely she was to be desired by someone else. And the more likely to go off with someone else when his back was turned. He'd never forget the pain and humiliation he'd felt when Joanne left. How his friends had looked at him, with a mixture of pity and astonishment at his stupidity.
This was a different matter. This was a one-night stand, or maybe two or three. As long as she was willing. As long as she never knew he wanted her land more than he wanted her. Needed her land for his own survival. If he played his cards right, she'd never find out. But if she did... He shuddered to think what she'd think.
If he'd met her sooner, it might have been a different story. Before he was disillusioned about women. Before she was disillusioned about men. Before he'd decided that women couldn't be relied on. Before she'd decided that men couldn't be trusted.
As if she'd read his mind, and suddenly saw how conniving and devious he was, she drew back and studied his face for a long moment He didn't know what she saw there, but whatever it was, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a large towel around her, knotting it above her breasts.
“So now what?” she asked briskly, as if they'd just finished a hand of poker.
He followed her out of the tub, dripping water across the floor and braced one arm against the wall. “I was thinking about spending the night in your hammock, with you,” he said. He'd been thinking about it since the day she'd bought it. Thinking about sleeping next to her in it her body folded tight against his, one hand stroking those beautiful breasts, the other sliding between her legs to find that secret spot to bring her to another climax and another and another. Then he remembered he'd already suggested a night in her hammock the last time he'd been there and she'd turned him down flat. Something about not wanting to fulfill her romantic fantasy. Not with him, anyway.
Whatever the reason, she had the same look on her face as last time, the look that said, I don't
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