12
GRETA SMOTHERED A laugh. Clint Bowman was nothing if not entertaining, but she wasn’t entirely certain she should allow herself to relax with him yet. Behind tonight’s affable manner lurked a man with lots of dark corners and hidden depths.
Translation—Clint could still prove dangerous to a woman wary of men she couldn’t control or, at very least, understand.
Jesse had been every bit as dark and enticing as Clint with his bad-boy ways, but at least Greta had the peace of mind that he channeled them into games of seduction. While she’d never stood a chance at controlling him, she’d understood him. And she’d never been fearful of sex and all the erotic delights that went along with it.
But after the tense atmosphere of her childhood, Greta refused to get tangled up with any man who possessed a scary temper or who liked to power trip. And while Greta hadn’t pegged Clint for that type, she still hadn’t managed to peg him for any type. Period.
Deeper emotions frightened her far more than a guy sporting a set of handcuffs or a wicked grin.
“I know exactly what parking refers to, Clint Bowman. And I may be a cheap date, but I’ve given you no indication that I’d be easy.”
“Amen to that.” He turned off the main road onto a quiet stretch of highway lined with towering Georgia pines and banyan trees. “You’re talking to the guy who kicked off our first date by watching you tangle tongues with another man. I didn’t think for a second you’d be easy.”
Clint had stayed awfully calm in the wake of her throwing herself at Jesse. Some guys might have been jealous or picked a fight. Or worse. But Clint hadn’t been ruffled in the least.
A man like that must surely possess great stores of patience. Which, if Greta decided she might be interested in him, would definitely be a good thing.
Now, she watched the play of his muscles beneath his white polo shirt as he shifted gears. She’d totally forgotten to look for pointers on driving in her quest to simply watch Clint. He might not have the sculpted perfection of Jesse, but his rough-hewn features and solid, muscular build had definite appeal.
Her body was warming up beneath the blue cotton throw blanket Clint had given her. And it wasn’t just because her dress was drying out.
“I guess I needed to see if things were really dead between Jesse and me,” she said finally, crumpling up the remains of her dinner and stuffing them in the paper bag on Clint’s truck floor.
“And?”
“You saw with your own eyes how he turned me down cold. Obviously, he’s not carrying a torch.”
“But what about on your end? Still some sparks there?”
“Surprisingly, no.” Ever since she’d stumbled over Clint at the Crooked Branch, she’d had a hard time finding much enthusiasm for her pursuit of Jesse Chandler. “I think my feelings for him died a while back, but he’s just so damn perfect for the vision I have of my life that I couldn’t let go of the dream. Is that totally ridiculous or what?”
“I think you’re smart as hell for moving on once you figured out he wasn’t right for you. Too many people settle for relationships that don’t really work or that died a long time ago.” Something in his voice made Greta think his thoughts had jumped far beyond the confines of the truck cab.
“Speaking from experience?”
Clint stared out the window, but she could tell his expression changed. Hardened. “Put it this way—I’d sure as hell never want anyone to feel like they were settling with me.”
Again.
He didn’t say the word, but Greta heard it just the same. She studied the hard angles of his face as he slowed the truck and pulled into a paved turnoff on one side of the road.
“That begs the question what on earth are you doing asking me out when you knew I was chasing Jesse?” She thought they were turning around until Clint parked the truck and clicked off the ignition. The rain had stopped completely and they stared out at a clump of trees still dripping from the downpour.
Turning to face her, Clint stared at her with intent gray eyes. “Call it gut instinct, but I couldn’t see you with a guy who doesn’t recognize what’s in his own backyard.” Rolling his window down, he tossed the crumpled up fast-food sack into a trash can some ten feet away. They sat at some roadside pull-off with zero scenery in sight. A few trees loomed in the shadowed distance. No houses lined the road. “Besides, a girl as pretty as you ought to hook up with a less-than-perfect guy. Sort of even out the gene pool a little.”
She had a mind to quiz him on who he might deem appropriately less-than-perfect, but she was too curious about what they were doing out in the middle of nowhere.
“Not that I’m suspicious or anything, Clint, but I couldn’t help but notice your truck is now parked.” She squinted out her window, but there were no streetlights here to illuminate their surroundings. In the distance, through a scant line of fat trees, she spied little blue lights on the ground.
“So it is.” He smiled, unconcerned.
“We wouldn’t be parking by any chance, would we?” Okay, maybe the idea intrigued her just a little bit. All that gear shifting and flexing of male muscle had revved her engines a bit.
And for reasons she still couldn’t fully fathom, she and Clint had some major chemistry going.
His mouth hung open as if he couldn’t be more offended. “You wound me, Greta. Didn’t you specifically nix the parking idea? I just thought an international jet-setter like you would appreciate the slow pace of Saturday night entertainment where I come from.”
She waited for the other shoe to drop. “Watching the windshield fog up?”
“Watching planes take off. We’re on the outskirts of Tampa International Airport. See the runway lights over there?” He pointed to the strip of blue she’d seen before. “Although if you decide you want to work on fogging up that windshield, I’ll be more than happy to help.”
“Because you’re such a gentleman?”
“Exactly.”
Too bad the fire in his gray eyes didn’t look the least bit gentlemanly. Greta was experiencing hot flashes over the idea of wrestling around the truck with Clint Bowman and all those unrefined muscles of his.
She’d picked Jesse as a potential husband candidate because he seemed so perfect for her on the outside and what a total disaster that had been. What if this time, she ignored her damned preconceived notions of what kind of man she ought to be with and dated a guy who just plain made her feel good?
And Clint had only been armed with a bacon double cheeseburger and his wit. Imagine how he could make her feel if she allowed him to use those big, broad hands of his?
The mere thought sent shivers through her that didn’t have a thing to do with her limited attire.
Greta stared out the truck window for at least twenty seconds. “If this is your idea of fun, Clint Bowman, it’s no damn wonder you’re still single.”
Making up her mind to follow her instincts instead of her old, immature notions of perfection, Greta levered open the passenger-side door and tossed off the blanket she’d been hiding under.
“What are you doing?” He reached for his hat, shoulders tense. “This is not a good place to hitchhike, Greta.”
The flash of concern in his eyes sent a little thrill through her. When was the last time anyone had expended energy worrying about her?
She was definitely making the right decision tonight.
Even if it was just a little over-the-top.
“No?” She slid out of the truck and down to the pavement. Glancing back toward the main road, she didn’t see a car anywhere so she hooked one finger in the lone knot that held her dress together. “Is it a good area to get naked?”
* * *
SHE WOULDN’T.
Clint stared at Greta’s right index finger curved into the loop of purple fabric at her navel. He’d been the freaking epitome of control and restraint all night long.
Even when Greta had wrapped herself around another man for a kiss that he wanted to taste.
Even when she’d wriggled her way into his truck with a wet scarf plastered to her body and highlighting every sinfully sweet nuance.
But he couldn’t handle seeing her whipping off that scarf for his eyes only. Not when anybody could happen by their deserted stretch of runway.
He found his voice. Barely. “Outside the truck is probably not a great place to get naked.” His vocal cords hit a new depth of bass. The rest of his body seemed to be striving to reach new heights. “Inside the truck is perfectly safe, however.” He stretched across the front seat to offer her his hand. “So why don’t you climb in and we’ll pitch off all the clothes you want?”
Preferably starting with that fluttering piece of silk she was trying to pass off as a dress.
But dress or no, Clint just couldn’t wait to put his hands on her. Any part of her. Surely even a PC kind of guy could interpret the suggestion of getting naked as a bit of an invitation?
An airplane screamed down the runway while she stood out in the Florida night air, making up her fickle woman’s mind. Greta turned to watch it.
Faster.
Faster.
Before it shot like a bullet straight into the inky sky.
She laughed with the heady delight of a woman heeding the call of the wild. And with a snap of her wrist, she unleashed the scarf and banished it to the cool night wind.
That was definitely an invitation.
Clint didn’t see nearly enough skin in his scramble to get out of the truck. He followed her out the passenger-side door, unwilling to lose track of her for even an instant.
She was already sprinting—barefoot and laughing—toward the shelter of the banyan trees at the edge of the fenced runway. Her luscious pale body caught the hints of moonbeam even in the dark, making her an easy target for a man on a mission.
He’d never been so motivated in his life.
Less than ten steps and he caught her around the waist from behind. Drew the back of her to the front of him and nearly lost his mind at the onslaught of sensual impressions.
The creamy smooth skin of her belly beneath his palm. The exotic scent at her neck that didn’t originate in any dime-store perfume bottle. The perfect dip at the small of her back that gave way to hips other men could only dream about.
But mostly he felt the soft curve of her rump snuggled tightly to an erection that wouldn’t quit.
At least not any time tonight.
He might have tried carrying her back to his truck. That would have been the safest, most sensible thing to do with a naked woman.
But then Greta turned in his arms to pin him with hungry eyes and a wordless sigh, and robbed him of that option.
Her breasts pressed into his chest, making him very much aware of her arousal even through his polo shirt. The tight peaks teased and tormented him, called to his mouth.
He was already bending to kiss them when she ground her hips against his and caused a white flash through his head that could only be sensory explosion. Never had any man been inundated with so much delectable woman at one time.
The dull hum of a car engine flitted through his consciousness, but Clint couldn’t seem to make his feet move back toward the truck. Not now, when his lips were closing over Greta’s tight pink nipple.
He nudged her back into the protective cover of the scant trees and ignored everything else but the sweet taste of her rain-washed skin. She moaned and the sound vibrated right through him. Vaguely, he wondered if he’d drawn her too far into his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to let go of her enough to ask, and she kept squeezing him harder and harder.
God, she was incredible.
The car sped by the parking area, the flash of headlights behind them barely a blip on Clint’s mental radar. He normally played things so safe. He was normally a gentleman, damn it. But this woman got under his skin.
And right now, she’d gotten into his khakis in record time.
Her soft hands curved around him through his boxers and he knew he was so done for. A stone-encrusted bangle of some sort scraped against his abs, a welcome momentary sting to balance the pleasure that was robbing him of logic and reason.
“Greta, you deserve better.” He wanted to worship this woman. Lick every inch of her and stir her senses all the way to multiple orgasms.
Instead, he was halfway to taking her naked in the woods. Against a banyan tree of all the freaking things.
She bit his shoulder. Kissed his neck. “I don’t want better. I want more. Now.”
Running her hand up and down the length of him to prove her point, Greta presented arguments too persuasive to ignore. This time.
Clint promised himself next time would be different. Next time he’d be the one taking off her clothes. And she wouldn’t have a prayer of rushing him.
But for now, he was more than willing to get caught up in her wild ways.
She was in the middle of freeing him when she pulled back with a start. “Do you have anything with you? Um. Protection-wise?”
He reached for his wallet and pulled out a plastic packet. “Good thing one of us kept our clothes on.”
She stared at him accusingly even as she tore open the condom. “You did think I’d be easy.”
“Are you kidding? Hope springs eternal for every man. I carry one when I go to church, too, if it makes you feel any better.”
“Really?” She flashed him a conspiratorial smile, her blue eyes glowing with a feral light as she nudged his boxers down and rolled the prophylactic over him. “That sounds very wicked of you.”
He forgot how to breathe. She stroked him with urgent fingers while she wrapped one calf around his thigh.
When he found his voice again, he steadied her hips, not ready for her to fast-forward through this. “I prefer to think of it as optimistic.”
Staring down at her bared body in the moonlight, so perfect and totally uncivilized, Clint had to admit he would have never been this optimistic, however.
To have her.
Tonight.
The more he thought about it, the less capable he was of slowing things down. Her peeling her scarf off had been his personal breaking point—a total explosion that left them both burning out of control. And if this time was fast and furious, he could tell himself he’d only been looking out for her best interests.
He couldn’t allow a world-famous cover model to be discovered running around the outskirts of Tampa International while buck naked, could he?
Yeah, right. Just call him Mr. Unselfish.
“Please, Clint.” She whispered it over and over like a seductive mantra while she rubbed herself against him.
The sultry night air whispered across his senses, but mostly he could only see, feel or hear Greta. Her little moans worked him to a fever pitch while her hands smoothed their way under his shirt and her short nails scraped lightly against his back.
She was too fast for him, but he didn’t stand a chance of slowing her down. He settled for sliding one hand around the back of her neck and tilting her head to receive his kiss. She tasted like sex—hot, wet and mind-blowingly sweet.
So he indulged himself. Thoroughly.
And all the while he kissed her he sought the other source of her heat. The silky wet essence of her that had brushed ever so lightly against his cock and made him insane to be inside her.
His fingers brushed over the damp curls that sheltered her from him, tunneled through the soft blond fuzz she’d shaved into some precise pattern or another. He’d look later.
In detail.
Right now, he bypassed that pleasure for later, needing to feel the pulsing—
Ah, yes.
She was slick and ready for him. Swollen and every bit as eager as he was. He would have slid his finger inside her, but she was lifting herself into his arms and wrapping those long, perfect legs around his waist before he had the chance.
Her position placed her snugly against him, opened her to him with an invitation he couldn’t hold off any longer. He had to be inside her.
He hoped like hell she didn’t regret this later. In his gentleman mode tonight, he’d planned to come clean about his work and his special interest in psychology. For some reason, he had the feeling Greta, and all her intriguing depths, was going to have a problem with his fascination with neurosis—human and equine alike. But bottom line, he was a horse breeder. She couldn’t take issue with that.
And if she was a little incensed about his other work, he’d deal with that later.
When he wasn’t on the verge of the best sex of his life.
Forgetting all about anything but claiming the woman in his arms, Clint hoisted her a few inches higher. Slowly, he resettled her, positioning her above him.
And then he was inside her and she was squeezing him all around. Greta’s ankles clamped together behind his back as if she’d keep him right there forever. Her breasts brushed his cheek, filled his nostrils with her soft woman’s scent.
Another motor rumbled in the distance and Clint made sure they were hidden from view of the road. But as the growl of an engine grew louder, headlights hit them—not from the street behind them, but from the runway dead ahead.
For a moment, they were caught in the bright light and Clint saw every facet of Greta with piercing clarity. Head thrown back, teeth sunk into her full lower lip, cheeks flushed with the night air and the sex.
And right there, in the middle of that white hot spotlight, she unraveled.
Her cry all but lost in the whine of the airplane engine, Greta went taut against him, her back arching with her pleasure. Clint might have gone over the edge just looking at her like that. But her body pulsing around his in quick little throbs stole all his control within seconds.
He flew right up there with her for a long, breath-stealing moment while the plane turned to accelerate up the runway. They clung together, damp with sweat and sex and Clint had never felt so fulfilled.
They were so damn right together in the big scheme of things. So balanced.
Cast in darkness once again, the image of Greta in the bright light burned itself on the backs of his eyelids.
And he knew from that one blinding moment he wouldn’t be letting this woman go anytime soon.
If ever.
He’d find a way to reach past that haughty attitude she wore like armor. And once he did that, convincing a sophisticated globe-trotter to trade in her frequent-flyer miles for a life on an Alabama horse ranch would seem like a walk in the park.