True Love at Silver Creek Ranch

Chapter Nine

Adam looked out his window up at the main house, and knew when Brooke was home by the lights going on in her window. Though she passed in front of it several times, the curtains were gauzy, and he couldn’t see much.

He stood there for a while, holding his beer, enjoying the silence. Not that the boardinghouse had been rowdy, but there was something peaceful about the ranch. He was hoping it inspired dreamless sleep, but if not, at least he wouldn’t disturb anyone if he had a nightmare. They’d been fading gradually over the six months since his discharge, but sometimes, in the half sleep just before wakefulness, he still felt like he was back there, on patrol, in danger, calling in the air strike that had been the biggest mistake of his life. He shook the memories away quickly.

To his surprise, Grandma Palmer hadn’t even been upset about his moving out. And then he’d seen the glance that passed between her and Mrs. Thalberg. Those two widows were going to find something to meddle in.

Brooke’s light went out, and the ranch house settled into darkness. And then he saw the other light he’d missed, the one in the barn. It was almost midnight—was a horse ill?

Shrugging into his coat and hat, he walked through the yard, his boots crunching on the frozen ground. He went into the dark barn with the horses crowded into each stall, but no one was working. Most of the small herd roamed on the horse pasture and never came inside. He heard several dogs whine a greeting, but none barked, now that they knew him. Ranger came bounding toward him, tongue hanging out of a dog-smiling mouth, and Adam rubbed between his ears. A door at the far end was open—one that was usually closed. He realized he’d never gone in there.

“Hello?” he called before approaching the doorway.

“Adam?”

It was Josh’s voice, so he went inside and was surprised to find him at a workbench, a mallet and some kind of tiny chisel in his hand. He was bent over a shaped piece of dyed leather. Adam’s gaze swept the rest of the room, obviously a workshop, with floor-to-ceiling shelves along the other walls.

“Can’t sleep?” Josh asked, looking up with his usual smile.

“I saw your light. I had no idea you did this in your spare time. I’m not even sure what it is.”

“Leather tooling.”

Josh gestured over his shoulder at another bench where projects were laid out in various stages of completion. There were belts, wallets—and a lot of purses. All had been intricately carved and colored in various patterns: simple geometric shapes, swirling vines and flowers, soaring eagles.

“You’re good,” Adam said, returning to the main workbench.

“Thanks. I’ve got orders to fill, so I’m usually in here most evenings. My work’s on display at Monica’s shop.”

“The ‘and Gifts’ in Monica’s Flowers and Gifts?”

Josh chuckled. “Right. Local artists and craftspeople sell there on consignment. Seems my purses are very popular with the ladies.” He wiggled his eyebrows, then bent back over the leather.

Adam laughed. “Mind if I watch for a bit?”

“Pull up a stool.”

Adam did so, studying how Josh used different tools to bring out a three-dimensional image of a daisy in the leather.

He worked in silence for a while, then spoke without lifting his head. “Sorry if my sister can be a pain.”

Adam tensed but spoke impassively. “What do you mean?”

“Give her some time. Her bossy ways will calm down. You’re her subordinate, so I imagine you bear the brunt of it.” Josh looked up at him. “She seems to be going through something. She’ll work it out—she always does.”

“I’ll remember that, but honestly, I haven’t seen any problems.”

“Then you must be used to strong women. Oh, wait, your grandma is one of the widows, too. That explains it.”

Adam smiled. The widows were a much better topic of discussion with Brooke’s brother. “I hope lining themselves up with Leather and Lace doesn’t cause them problems.”

“I’ve been hearing rumblings about that store in a few places. Nate says the guys who drink coffee at Hal’s Hardware aren’t too pleased. Seems Sylvester is lining people up to speak at the next town-council meeting.”

“Do you think our grandmas will be cowed by a bunch of men?”

They shared a grin.

The next day after school, Brooke met Stephanie Sweet at the barn. The teenager had driven over, pulling her horse trailer, then led out her horse, already saddled.

Brooke went into the barn to saddle her own horse, and found Adam and Josh shoveling out stalls. Steph stepped inside, probably to do some ogling, so Brooke introduced her to Adam.

When Steph left the barn ahead of her, Adam said quietly, “So this is Emily’s sister? The one who’s causing all the wedding problems? Hard to believe.”

Brooke smiled. “I know. She’s a nice girl—most of the time.”

“You going to interrogate her?”

“Of course not. My mom trusts me to handle her, so you should, too. Now get back to work,” she added with mock sternness.

Josh leaned on his shovel and eyed them. “Damn, but you’re a taskmaster.”

She grinned and waved at her little brother, turning on her heel and sauntering outside.

She and Steph mounted and rode toward the corral, where she’d set up the barrels in their cloverleaf pattern. Steph had sworn last time that she was going to clock a faster time galloping around the barrels than Brooke in her record-setting days, and Brooke had to grudgingly admit that day might come soon.

“That Adam guy?” Steph said. “I’d heard about him being here, but didn’t know how hot he was.”

Brooke grinned at her. “Is he? I guess so.”

Steph, her blond ponytail bobbing behind her, rolled her big blue eyes. “You guess? Come on, Brooke, he’s a Marine!”

“Well, we went to school together, so I still think of him as that boy who used to annoy me.”

“I’m not twelve,” Steph said. “Most boys don’t annoy me anymore.”

“Most? Is there one in particular you find least annoying?”

Steph shrugged and looked off into the distance, but Brooke thought she might have detected a blush. She went back to her own memories of the days when boys were a mystery she just couldn’t figure out. She’d always been a tomboy in high school, and had only blossomed as an adult, when she realized how much better she could feel about herself when she wore pretty clothes and paid attention to her hair. Although heck, with Adam, she hadn’t done any of that, and somehow she was—irresistible.

“I have a lot of different friends,” Steph said. “There’s the Chess Club that meets at the community center. It’s pretty fun.”

“You play chess?” Brooke asked in surprise.

Steph laughed. “No way. It’s not really a chess club—it just started as a chess club. Then they threw some parties, and kids realized they could hang out and do other things together. But we kept the name. It’s kinda funny.”

“What do you do there?”

“Some volunteer stuff around town—shoveling, raking, painting, stuff like that. We hold a dance a couple times a month, go hiking, and sometimes we go to Aspen or Glenwood Springs.”

“It does sound like fun.”

“We’re supposed to let anyone in,” Steph continued, “but there are these idiots in school, led by Tyler Brissette.”

Brooke felt that the name seemed somehow familiar. “How are they idiots?”

“They get in trouble a lot, causing problems in class. They even got kicked out of the Rose Garden in town for hanging around too late.”

“Maybe they don’t have enough to do, and the Chess Club would be good for them.”

Steph pulled a face. “I don’t know about that.”

“They sound bored if they’re hanging out in the Rose Garden with the tourists.”

That got a giggle out of her.

“I don’t know,” Steph said at last. “Maybe Tyler’s only going to get worse. His brother just got out of jail this week.”

That’s why the name had been familiar, Brooke thought. Cody Brissette had gone to jail for arson last year, and now he was out? She looked at the ruins of the old barn near the corral they’d be practicing in. The firemen had said it was an accident, and Cody hadn’t been out of jail, yet . . . It made Brooke unsettled.

“So you think Cody will influence Tyler to be worse?” Brooke asked.

Steph shrugged. “I don’t know. I saw Cody a day or two ago, and he seemed . . . really different. Kinda quiet, you know?”

“I’m sure jail can change a person. Bet Tyler’s feeling bad about his brother.”

Steph stayed silent for a moment. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. It’s gotta be hard having your brother come home from jail, where he doesn’t have a job and everyone knows what he’s done.” She stared at the ruins of the barn with her own troubled expression.

Time to lighten things up.

“Guess we’re lucky with our brothers, huh?” Brooke asked.

Steph relaxed and grinned back. “They’re okay.”

“You’re lucky to have a sister. I’d give anything to have one.”

Steph’s smile faded, and Brooke thought, Uh-oh. But she had to find a way to bring Em up. She wanted to be a bridge between the two sisters.

Brooke held up a hand. “I know, I know, we haven’t known her that long. But she’s become like a sister to me.”

“Well, she’s marrying your brother,” Steph reminded Brooke with faint sarcasm.

“You’re right. And you and I are going to be bridesmaids together. Has she told you the color for the gowns?”

Steph shook her head.

“Me neither. I asked her if it was a secret, and she said she just couldn’t decide. Guess we’ll have to help her. Speaking of Em and your Chess Club—”

Steph gave her a look that said How are you gonna connect that?

“—maybe you could go to the bakery and get some snacks for your meetings. I’m pretty sure your sister would give you a discount. Heck, she might offer a box for free.”

Steph looked away. They’d arrived at the empty corral, so she mumbled, “I’m not gonna bother her. She’s got enough to think about with the wedding.”

As Brooke leaned over to open the gate, she winced at the sarcastic emphasis on “wedding.” Okay, enough of that. Hopefully, she’d planted some seeds. Once they’d gone through, and she closed the gate behind Steph, she gave the girl a challenging look. “We’ve got a little thaw today, so the ground will be muddy. After a warm-up, let’s see how fast you can go.”

Steph brightened immediately and trotted her horse over to take the starting position.

After the lesson and Steph’s departure, Brooke was oating Sugar before letting her loose in the pasture with the other horses when Nate approached her.

He glanced out in the yard, where they could just see the taillights of Steph’s horse trailer disappear down the road into dusk.

“So . . . how’d it go?” he asked, leaning oh so casually against a stall.

She eyed him with amusement. “Steph is going to be a champion someday, if I have anything to say about it.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I thought you didn’t want me talking to her?” Brooke asked innocently. “You know, I might goof things up worse.”

“I didn’t say that. And I know you can’t keep your mouth shut. So how’d it go?”

She smiled. “Okay, I guess. She didn’t want to talk about Em or the wedding much. I just brought up the gowns we might wear as an ‘us bridesmaids’ kind of thing. I suggested the Chess Club go to the bakery for their snacks.”

Nate’s brows lifted. “Chess Club?”

Laughing, she explained the misleading name.

“That was a good idea,” he admitted.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she said lightly. “I do have them now and again.”

He reached around and tugged her braid. “I know.”

She swatted at his arm, and he just grinned. When he walked away, Brooke couldn’t help staring after him and shaking her head. It was rather amusing how desperate her playboy brother was to get married.

After helping a couple tourists park in the right spot for the sleigh ride, Adam almost walked into the barn when he caught sight of Nate and Brooke talking. He backed out again before they saw him. Nate had assigned him some mechanic work in the truck shed, and he wasn’t quite done.

When he saw Nate leave the barn, he went in and found Brooke hanging up her tack.

She glanced at him and shook her head. “Surely you’re not interested in how my talk with Steph went.”

“Not really. I don’t have too many fond memories of the teenager I was.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself. You straightened out . . . some.”

He shrugged. “And your brother may want to get married in a hurry, but it’s not like he’s spending his nights alone.”

Brooke laughed. “No, but they don’t live together. He loves her and wants to be with her.” She tapped his chest as she walked past him out of the tack room. “Don’t tell me you’re complaining about spending your nights alone.”

“Not me. It’s peaceful.”

“Then why are you bothering me?” she asked in a lighthearted tone. “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, and I have lots to do.” She moved to the barn door and paused. “Did my mom invite you to Thanksgiving supper tomorrow night?”

“You don’t want me to be there,” he said, knowing it was for the best.

She didn’t deny it, only met his gaze then, and as usual, he couldn’t look away. He could get lost there, forget where he was—forget what she wanted. He wasn’t sure he knew anymore what he wanted from Brooke.

“But I don’t want you alone on the holiday,” she admitted at last.

“Alone?” He smiled. “When I have the widows?”

She visibly relaxed. “So you’ll be with your grandma then.”

“For the afternoon. Then I hear the widows are coming to your place. I’ll convince my grandma to come, too, so I can have some peace and quiet.”

“You seem to value that,” she said, putting her hand against a wooden beam.

“I do. When you’ve spent ten years shoulder to shoulder with other men, and you never do anything alone, even the most private . . . well, let me tell you, that log cabin is mighty peaceful.”

“I’m glad.” A sly smile curved her mouth. “Once upon a time, you never went anywhere alone, if I remember correctly.”

He grunted.

“Ah, so you can’t disagree. What did you need that posse for? Proof of your popularity?”

He had no choice but to smile. “I can’t deny that. It made me feel good to have guys who thought I was cool. It was something I definitely didn’t get at home.”

She winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Naw, it’s okay,” he interrupted. “I did have a childish view of friendship then, that friends would do whatever I wanted, back me up, whatever I said. It took the Marines to show me that I was the one who had to prove I was good enough, to show that I would give my life in loyalty to my brothers.” He thought of those brothers, of Paul and Eric and Zach, and so many others who’d died because they believed he couldn’t make a mistake.

She stared at him solemnly, as if sensing his troubled thoughts. “Adam?” she began uncertainly.

He waved a hand. “Sorry. Lost my train of thought. Have a good Thanksgiving, Brooke.”

Thanksgiving had been hectic but wonderful, Brooke thought, as she finished up the last of the dishes with Josh. The day had been filled with football, turkey preparations, then a great meal. Nate and Emily had been practically glued together all day, arms around each other or holding hands, making Brooke feel happy but a little jealous. They looked into each other’s eyes and saw a future together. It must be so wonderful to be a part of that.

But not right now, she reminded herself. She had to figure out some things on her own, without the complications of a romance.

Adam’s grandma had come to dinner dressed as a Pilgrim, making everyone laugh. Brooke had thought that Adam was probably relieved not to be seen with her in her outlandish getup.

But that wasn’t fair. He loved her and tolerated all her eccentricities. She knew Mrs. Palmer had been more a mother to him than his own.

She kept thinking about Adam as she wiped down the tables, turned out the kitchen lights, and went to her room. Nate and Emily had left, escorting the widows home, and Josh was out in his workshop. Her mom had been tired though she protested it wasn’t true, so her dad had retired to their room with her.

And Brooke was left to stare out her window at the bunkhouse. The lights were on low, firelight flickering.

Had he eaten supper? During the meal, she’d thought of him just across the way, and as if reading her mind, Mrs. Palmer had told her Adam had promised he was going into town for a bite. Wistfully, Mrs. Palmer had added she hoped Adam could find some nice young people to be with.

But Brooke stared at the bunkhouse and wondered if he’d lied about going into town.

She remembered the spartan condition of the cabin when she’d bandaged Adam’s face after the fire. Did he have anything in there but his clothes? And then she imagined what his Thanksgivings had been like growing up, with two parents who didn’t care about him, let alone worry about making the holiday special for him. He’d gone into the Marines, where Thanksgiving was spent far from Mrs. Palmer, his only true family.

And Brooke had agreed that she didn’t want him at Thanksgiving dinner. She groaned aloud at her selfishness.

Without questioning what she was doing—or why—she put together Thanksgiving leftovers, kitchen and bath towels, soap dispensers, condiments, and some snacks. She didn’t feel sorry for him—he would hate that. But he’d moved onto her family’s property, and it was Thanksgiving.

Bundling up, she left the house quietly and walked across the yard, carrying her bags, with only the moonlight as her guide up the lane between pastures. The wind swirled around her and stole her breath, and she was shivering even under her coat when she walked across the porch and knocked on his door.

He opened it so fast she was startled.

He let his breath out and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I heard footsteps and . . . old habits.”

She stared at him, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Behind him, he had a roaring fire going in the stone hearth.

“Can I come in?” she finally asked.

He backed up, and once she was inside, shut the door. He looked down at the bags. “Going somewhere?”

“Here.” She kicked off her boots and carried the bags to the kitchen table.

He followed her. “I don’t understand.”

“You didn’t go anywhere for supper, like you promised your grandma, did you?” she asked, throwing her coat on the back of a chair and beginning to unpack.

His silence was an answer.

She glanced at him. “You didn’t want to see your grandma as a Pilgrim?”

He winced, a smile beginning to curve his lips. “Oh believe me, I saw.”

“You must have been traumatized. So I brought you some leftovers. And . . . other stuff.”

He glanced at the bags, then said with amusement, “Housewarming gifts?”

“Oh, please.” She turned her back and started unpacking, and felt vindicated when he picked up one of the plastic containers.

“Leftovers, huh?” he said. He loaded up a plate with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, corn, and peas. After heating it in the microwave, he plopped a healthy scoop of cranberry sauce on the side. “Can’t eat any of it without cranberry sauce,” he said, his tone very serious.

“Oh, I agree.”

She wasn’t going to sit and watch him eat; it just seemed too . . . intimate. She put away the towels and condiments, noticing the bare refrigerator—except for a six-pack of beer, of course, and a carton of orange juice. Oh, he had food stacked on the counter—beef jerky, packaged cakes, and donuts.

“I just moved in,” he called from the table. “That’s what I could get at the gas station. I’m going to the grocery store tomorrow. I just didn’t want to deal with the holiday crowd yesterday.”

She wasn’t certain she believed him. “They even sell fruit at gas stations, you know.”

“Not all of them. I love those little packaged donuts. Hard to get overseas. And thanks for the towels. Grandma Palmer left me a bag of them, and I forgot to bring them. So I just grabbed one from the barn.”

She shuddered. “That’s disgusting!”

“They’d been washed,” he protested mildly.

With nothing left to put away, Brooke sat down opposite him at the table. “I admit I was surprised when your grandma didn’t drag you to our house tonight.”

“She tried. I finally told her to go work her wiles on the other vets in town. She keeps talking about those houses they’re renovating. She knows I’m not interested.”

“She just wants you to stay,” Brooke said quietly. She knew that the old woman was using every trick in the book to make that happen.

He glanced at her briefly before closing his eyes in bliss over a bite of stuffing. Eventually, he said, “I’m here now, and that’s what matters.” His look sobered. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her. I actually talked to old Doc Ericson, who told me she’s fit as a fiddle.”

That lessened the guilt Brooke was feeling about hiding her suspicions. At least Adam knew his grandma was healthy.

“Now, did she make Doc tell me that?” he continued. “Who knows? But I’m here and willing to help. All I can do is trust that she’ll come to me when she needs me.” He swallowed a bit of stuffing with his eyes closed. “So how did your mother handle the hectic holiday?”

“We didn’t let her do too much, and after all these years, she knows not to push herself. But . . . I found myself watching her a lot, you know? Trying to enjoy each moment.” She looked away, her face hot. “God, that sounds morbid.”

“It sounds smart,” he said.

When he put his hand on hers, she pulled away and gave him a polite smile.

“Let’s find the pumpkin pie,” she said. “I need seconds.”

She brought out the pie, and his eyes went wide.

“It’s a whole pie,” he said almost reverently.

“Blame my mother. She insisted we make far too many. I snuck this one.”

“I love pumpkin pie for breakfast. To hell with donuts.”

She couldn’t help laughing as she cut two slices and plated them. Holding up a can of whipped cream, she gestured with her hand for his approval.

“What more do you want of me?” he demanded. “I’m already salivating.”

After squirting way too much whipped cream on her slice, she carried the can and her pie over to the worn couch in front of the fire and sank into it. Adam followed and sat beside her.

“Are you keeping this to yourself?” he asked, grabbing the can to use it.

“No, I share. I just might need more.”

They ate the first few bites in reverent silence.

“Maybe you won’t visit me anymore,” Adam said at last, setting down his plate, “but I feel you deserve the truth.”

She eyed him. “What truth?”

“I had many fantasies when I was overseas about the things I could do to a woman with whipped cream.”

She swallowed heavily and just stared at him. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this. What balls. I might never come back.”

And then they both dove for the can. She got her hands on it first, laughing in triumph, but with impressive strength, he flung her back on the couch and straddled her to get the can back. He loomed over her, and she was breathless from laughing and trying to hold his arms away from her.

He squirted a dot on each cheek, then examined her face as if he were a painter. “Very nice.”

She groaned, and when she tried to wipe off the cream, he dropped the can and gripped her arms at the wrists, slowly raising them over her head.

Her smile died, and all of her amusement seemed to combust inside her, morphing into the powerful desire for him that was never far from her thoughts. She lost her breath as he leaned over her, then shuddered when he licked the whipped cream off each of her cheeks.

“You taste good,” he whispered.

“That’s not me, it’s the cream, you idiot,” she said, her protest lacking any firmness.

She couldn’t move beneath him although she tried to get her hands free. It was the strangest, most erotic thing that had ever happened to her. She was used to being in control, even on dates. But with Adam, she was helpless . . . helpless to resist even though she should. She should tell him to stop—and he would.

With his weight on her hips, and his hands holding on to hers, she was arched beneath him, and she saw his gaze go to her chest. It sent a rush of hot pleasure surging through her.

And then he kissed her, and she opened her mouth with a groan as he invaded her. Since he still straddled her, she could feel his erection hard against her stomach, and she arched up to feel even more.

“Let me go,” she whispered, as he kissed his way down her throat.

He did immediately. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t say to stop kissing me!”

She grabbed him and pulled him back down on her. Now she could put her arms around him, her hands deep in his wavy hair as she held him to her.

“God, you smell so good,” he said, taking little nips at the skin down her neck. “Every time I get near you, I think of hot nights on an island somewhere, torchlight in the distance, you and me in the sand.”

“Wow, soldier,” she said with a hoarse chuckle, as the image flooded through her, heating her. “I didn’t know you had such an imagination.” She moaned aloud as he moved down her body, kissing his way to each button of her shirt and undoing them.

“Every time you wear one of these Western shirts,” he said against her stomach, “I think of doing this.” Then he spread the shirt wide. “Pretty underwear, just like you promised.”

Her bra was pink and lacy, but she didn’t wear it for long. Soon he pulled her to the end of the couch and knelt between her thighs. She was naked above the waist, and he was still fully clothed. He stared at her breasts, and when she arched her back, offering them, he went still.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked hoarsely. “Stop me now if you have to, but not later.”

“It’s just sex,” was her answer. “We’re not getting all serious, and no one is going to find out. Can you live with that, soldier?”

He put his hands on her bare waist, and she swayed forward, until the tips of her breasts brushed his t-shirt.

He groaned. “I can live with it. Can you?”

“I’m the one with my clothes half-off.” She pulled his t-shirt up over his head and admired the curve of his muscles, the scattering of light brown hair, the flat of his stomach with the sexy ripple of abs leading down into the waistband of his jeans.

They came together, hot skin to hot skin, and kissed with long and deliberate intent. She wasn’t going to change her mind. She locked her legs about his hips and rubbed herself against him. When he bent her over the arm of the couch, she felt deliciously abandoned. The first kiss on her nipple made her cry out, and he took it at a slow pace, teasing her until she was squirming, until at last he opened his mouth on her breast and took much of it inside.

She moaned his name. Never had she felt this hot for a man. She didn’t know if it was because he seemed so forbidden to her, or she attached no meaning to their relationship, so therefore no pressure. Whatever it was, it made her feel free to enjoy herself without thinking, without judging, things she didn’t often do.

He kissed his way down her stomach, unbuttoning her jeans. His mouth followed the zipper’s slow retreat, his tongue darting in to tease her to even greater heights of desire. He paused with her jeans caught around her thighs to taste her, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

She shoved him onto his back beside her, and let her jeans and thong fall to the floor. She leaned over him, reveling in the passion that made his half-closed eyes smolder. “Off with your jeans, soldier.”

He shrugged out of them easily. She saw the scars crisscrossing his right thigh, a few puckered and still red, others beginning to fade. And now she knew why he occasionally limped. She didn’t remark on them, knew he wouldn’t appreciate it.

He swung her into his arms, and she gasped and clutched his shoulders.

“Put me down! You’ll hurt yourself.”

“The day I can’t carry a woman to my bed . . .” he murmured.

She thought he’d toss her onto the bed and jump in, but instead he set her gently on the edge, pulled her braid around to the front and began to loosen it.

“I’ve wanted to do this from the first day I saw it beneath your hat,” he said, his voice husky with reverence.

She couldn’t say anything past the wonder that felt like a little knot in her throat. And then he combed his fingers through the long waves of curls and brought them around her shoulders to hide and reveal her breasts.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.

She tried to tell herself that any guy getting laid was going to say that, but . . . she believed he meant it. Then he reached into a drawer and pulled out a condom.

“A soldier’s always prepared?” she asked, smiling.

“Especially when he’s been out of the country a long time. He’s always hoping.”

She drew him back onto the bed, and for the first time, he lay full on top of her. She loved the feeling of being pressed into the mattress, aware of strong bone and hard muscle beneath fiery skin. They kissed again, over and over, rolling about with abandon. She licked his nipples as he’d done hers, explored his body until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do you want to ride, cowgirl?” he asked as he lay tense beneath her questing fingers.

“Oh, yes.” She took him inside her from above, undulating on top of him, feeling the upward thrust of his lean, strong hips.

And she was lost.