Wild in the Moonlight by Jennifer Greene

hadn’t already told him in a thousand ways she was ready for him. Lips met and clung as he eased inside her, initially trying to be gentle, determined to be gentle. But she hissed his name in a fierce, frantic call, wooing him into her deeper, harder.
    He plunged in then, burying his hands in her hair,burying his lips in her lips, burying himself in the heart of her. It was crazy, totally crazy, but he had the sensation of belonging to her, belonging with her, in some emotional way he’d never even known existed before. This was about sex, he told himself. The best sex he’d ever had, but still, about sex.
    The lie didn’t last any longer than it took his mind to try it out. This was so not about sex it was shaking his world.
    Or she was. She matched him, stroke for stroke, slamming heartbeat for slamming heartbeat, her lithe slick body tightening exactly when his did. She owned him at that moment. Or he owned her. Damned if he knew the difference—damned if he cared. The sky opened up in a shower of stars, or that’s how he felt, as if he were flying over the moon with her, release pouring through him and into her.
    For the briefest second he wished she hadn’t answered his question about birth control, because this insane feeling of longing, belonging, owning was so compelling. He wanted his seed inside her, a child that came from the two of them. But that thought, like every other coherent thought, fled faster than moonbeams. They rode the crest together, then sank, both spent, in each other’s arms.
    Later…minutes later, hours later, Cameron opened his eyes. The moon was still up there, still framed in stars. The smells of earthy loam and lavender still pervaded his nostrils; somewhere a raccoon rustledand an owl hooted. He’d smelled the smells before, knew that moon. But he didn’t know her; how it would feel to have her warm, vibrant body in his arms, still half-wrapped around him, her cheek nestled in the arch of his neck, her silky hair tickling his chin.
    â€œDamn,” he said.
    She leaned back her head. “Uh-oh. That sounds like a man in the throes of regrets.”
    â€œTry again. I couldn’t regret what just happened between us if my life were at stake.” He bussed the top of her head, which made Charlie pop to attention again. He was too old to have Charlie pop to attention again this fast. It was her. Making him feel things, do things, want things that weren’t normal for him.
    He couldn’t be in love with her. Not just because he barely knew the woman, but because his pull for her made no sense. She’d almost cried twice that day. Did he need a weepy woman? Did he need all those cats? For that matter, he’d seen Alps and ocean, so how could he possibly be drawn to some rocky land with red barns and stone fences and winding roads?
    Perhaps more directly to the point, if he’d lost his mind, where the hell had it gone?
    Was there a chance it could find its way home again?
    â€œCameron?” She twisted in his arms, not moving far away from him, just pushing back far enough thatshe could tilt her head and look at him face-to-face. Below, her fingers reached over and gently, playfully, entwined with his. “Tell me about your daughters.”
    He glanced down and watched their two hands blend together. Hell. Double hell. Teenagers held hands like this, not fully grown adults who were lying naked in the moonlight. But she didn’t seem willing to sever all closeness yet, and neither was he.
    The question about his daughters seemed to come from nowhere, but he was more than willing to answer it. Talk was better than the alternative—which was lying there, drinking in the scent of lavender and moonlight and wanting to make love to her again. So he talked. “Miranda’s fifteen. Kate’s sixteen.” He hesitated. “For a long time it was totally clear cut that they belonged with their mom. It’s not