His hands were moving, too, cupping her bottom, sliding up her ribs, to her breasts. She made a cry of surprise into his mouth when he lifted her off her feet and took them both down to the pillows before the hearth. He came over her, draping his leg across hers, and kissing her so fully that Madeline couldn’t help but cling to him and inhale the heat from the fire burning through her now.
The fire was so bright and intense that she did not feel uncomfortably exposed when he dipped his hand into her dress and freed one breast. Her head did not fill with questions of what she was doing, of warnings to flee when he took her in his mouth. On the contrary, she ignored who she was and lifted one arm overhead and closed her eyes, giving into the lush sensation of his mouth and his hands and his body on hers.
When his hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress, she didn’t fight the urge to close her legs as she had in the past. It was as if that Madeline had been left behind in the Grizzly Lodge, and this Madeline was letting herself go, letting herself ride this storm, letting herself openly forage in the garden of sex.
He stroked her between her legs, his fingers dipping inside her. When she thought he would plunge into her and take her like a man who could only be sated by a woman’s flesh—and yes, she would have liked that very much—he suddenly slowed. He kissed her tenderly, his hand cupping her face, his lips pressing against her temple, her cheek, her mouth. He was almost reverent, certainly caring.
She understood why he was so careful with her. She was so uncertain around him, about so many things. But in this, she was surprisingly certain. In a few days, she might never see Luke again, so tonight, she was going to let the mountains pull her to them. She was going to let herself off her leash.
Madeline pushed Luke, forcing him onto his back. He laughed with surprise, but when Madeline straddled him and began to unbutton his shirt, his smile faded. His hands went to her arms, pushing the flannel jacket off of her. “Hey—” he started.
Madeline kissed his mouth before he could say anything, then traced a wet line down his chest, nibbling him. Luke’s eyes darkened; she could feel his body responding, hardening and pressing against her. She felt completely outside of herself, as if she were someone else entirely—a sexy, desirable woman.
Luke sat up, his arms around her, holding her tightly and kissed her fiercely. She dropped her head back so that he could devour her neck. “You’re driving me wild,” he growled into the hollow of her throat.
“Then we’re even,” she said huskily.
He made a sound deep in his throat and easily flipped her onto her back, kissing her as he unfastened his jeans and kicked them off. He sat up and removed his shirt, then braced himself above Madeline, his arms taut. He gazed down at her, dark-eyed, his jaw clenched as if he was holding himself back. The fire cast shadows across his face that made him look even more powerful. Like a warrior, Madeline thought dreamily. She smiled and touched her fingers to his face. “You are amazing.”
Luke groaned and lowered himself to her, kissing her, his hands on her breasts, on her waist, between her legs.
Madeline felt herself sliding onto a little raft, floating on her own private sea of sensation. He moved between her legs and entered her so fluidly that she gasped with the pleasure of it. She opened her eyes and did not shy away from his gaze as he watched her, moving inside her, stroking her hair, kissing her mouth, her face. Madeline kissed him, too, his shoulders and chest, her hands sliding over rock-hard hips, then touching her fingers to his mouth.
They made love before the hearth, their breath hot and hard, their caresses urgent, their bodies slick with the intensity of their lovemaking. When Madeline’s body did at last erupt with the sensation of his touch, she felt herself showering down with the rain in that little bungalow.
He followed her, burying his face in her hair as he found his release.
Sex with Luke went beyond the pale of pleasure—it was New Year’s Eve, Fourth of July, and the Super Bowl all wrapped up in one moment. It was spectacular.
She and Luke lay there together side by side afterward, her leg now draped across his, their fingers interlaced, a throw rug loosely covering them. They talked about silly things, about houses, laughing as they compared the strangest houses they had ever seen. It felt to Madeline as if they talked about everything and nothing. It was easy. It was familiar, comfortable. His body was warm, his hands strong, but surprisingly gentle in their caress and when he ran a strand of her hair through his fingers.
Madeline didn’t know when the lights came on, because she had drifted to sleep. She didn’t know that Luke had gotten up to stoke the fire and find a heavier quilt, which he tucked up under her chin. Or that he had a last beer, watching her sleep in the soft glow of the fire, her hair spilling around her.
Madeline didn’t know anything except that it had been one of the most splendidly shimmering evenings she’d ever known.
And then came morning. Bright sunlight and chirping birds awakened her.
It took her a moment or two to remember where she was—oh yes, he’d awakened her in the night, had urged her to his bed. And then they’d made love again.