“Not right now,” he whispered. “Not with you.”
Brock slid off Buttercup first, and reached up for Jane. She grabbed his arms and slowly slid down his body.
Their mouths almost touched.
His body burned for her in a way he’d never experienced before. It was a completely foreign feeling, wanting her not just in his bed, not just in the present, but in the future.
She cleared her throat and stepped back, her smile nervous, pink lips trembling. “If Bentley packs as good as he cooks we should have some good snacks.”
He knew that look, the look she was giving him. After all, he wore it often. It said not to prod, not to ask questions, ignore the elephant in the room even though it’s sobbing in the corner.
So he obliged her, though it killed him to do so. But selfishly he knew the minute he started digging more into her life, she’d do the same to him. And part of him preferred to keep the future, the auction, all of it locked away, or at least temporarily forgotten.
Where he didn’t have to deal with it.
“I’ll grab the bag.” His voice cracked and he watched as she quickly turned around and started petting Buttercup again.
The moment floated away, and he kicked himself mentally for allowing it to go. After all, moments with her were precious, they were short, and the sand was very quickly sifting through the hourglass.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
She was getting too close.
She was starting to want his smiles, his caresses, his inappropriate remarks.
She craved them.
Not just the attention, but the fact that somehow they were building something together. Just to have it ripped away when she left. When he was auctioned off.
Was it worth it? Pursuing him? Allowing more touches? Kissing? Spending the few nights they had left together? Would it be worth it? Or would she regret knowing what it would be like to be in his arms… Would she spend the rest of her life comparing every other man to him?
Brock’s muscles flexed as he pulled the backpack from the horse then patted down Buttercup’s side and whispered in her ear.
Holy crap he was sexy.
He was gruff.
Both a polished CEO and apparently a cowboy.
A regular prince of industry.
With a pauper.
Hah.
She reached for her phone to take a picture of the scenery in front of her then remembered she’d turned it off after receiving all the nasty texts from her sisters and left it in her room.
Brock spread out a small black and red quilted blanket, then grabbed the backpack and dropped it in the middle.
“Wine?”
She nodded.
He opened the wine and handed her a plastic cup. “So, what do you think?”
“Hmm?” She took a long sip, frowning over the cup as Brock eyed her up and down in appreciation.
“Riding.” He grinned wolfishly.
She looked away and smiled. “It was okay.”
“Just okay?” He leaned forward. “Careful or you’ll hurt Buttercup’s feelings.”
“Just Buttercup?” She tilted her head.
“Mine too.” His voice was gravelly, buzzing with sexual tension as he leaned forward and very slowly pulled her cup from her hands and kissed her on the cheek. His body was braced above hers. “I’m going to taste you again.”
“You were right.”
“What?” He blinked as if confused.
“You did leave Boring Brock with the cock.”
“It irritates the hell out of me that ‘Brock’ rhymes with ‘cock.’ Just laying it all out there so you know.”
She giggled.
“And now you’re laughing, and I’m trying to kiss you.”
“Don’t try,” she whispered. “Just do it, before I lose my nerve and limp back to the house.”
“Done,” he said just before he slammed his mouth against hers.
With a gasp she hung on to his shoulders to keep from falling backward against the blanket, even though the idea had merit.
His hands reached for her body.
They were a pair: Brock grasping at her in any way he possibly could, Jane holding on for dear life, praying that the kiss could go on forever. It wasn’t just his taste, or the possessive way he marked her with his lips with each caress—maybe it was the combination of everything, of the desperation they both felt.
To be free.
His tongue slid against hers and a shiver ran down her body, just as a raindrop fell onto her cheek.
Brock pulled back, his expression heated. “I’m not stopping at one kiss.”
Jane brushed the raindrop away only to have another take its place.
Brock glanced up and swore just as the sky opened up and a downpour rained hell all over the beginnings of their romantic picnic.
He jumped to his feet, but Jane remained, her face tilted up at the sky as the cool rain fell against her body, each drop sliding down her skin, making her feel alive, ready for anything.
Maybe the rain was an omen.
A sign.