"We do it at Clint's bar. And you wear a vest."
"All right." Her voice didn't falter, and Randall wondered where the strength had come from. There was so much more to her than he'd ever imagined. So many twists and turns that made her the woman he'd fallen in love with.
The notion shook him to his foundation.
He crossed to her in two strides. Suddenly, the need to feel her against him, her heart beating against his, was so powerful, so urgent, that it struck a chord of panic inside him.
The fight went out of her the instant his arms wrapped around her. Her head dropped to his chest, and she leaned, vacillating, against him. She felt so small in his arms. So vulnerable.
"We need to do this, Randall."
"I know," he said, furious that she was right. He pulled her more tightly against him. "But I hate it. I fucking hate it." He tilted her head up and pressed his mouth against hers, reveling in the sweetness of her breath, the taste of her lips, the texture of her skin.
"Good still prevails over evil sometimes," she murmured.
He pulled away from her, looked deeply into her eyes, shaken by what he saw, overwhelmed by what he felt. "I love you," he said. A tremor passed through her, but he didn't stop. "I love you too much to let anything happen to you."
It was out. He'd said it. Christ, this was making him crazy.
"Jesus, Talbot, you never cease to amaze me."
"Yeah, sometimes I even amaze myself," he growled.
She touched his face with fingers that trembled. "Please, help me do this. Everything will work out. You'll see."
The need drove into him mercilessly, sending his mouth back down to hers, devouring. He pulled the sweater over her head, mussing her hair, making her look heavy-eyed and wild as she stared back at him.
Helpless to stop the urgency that rammed into him, Randall crushed her body to his, burying his face in her fragrant hair. He worked the tiny hook of her bra and bent to take a taut nipple in his mouth. "Did I tell you I love you?" he whispered.
"Yes," she panted.
"Good." Backing her against the wall, he pinned her arms above her head and suckled greedily on her breast. Throwing her head back in abandon, she moaned and arched against him.
"That drives me crazy when you do that." He released her hands.
She skimmed velvet fingers down his chest, over his nipples. A powerful shudder went through him. Her hands fumbled with his zipper. He was rock-hard and each time she brushed against him, he pearly exploded. But he didn't. That kind of control was too important to him. She was too important. This moment between them too precious.
He tugged her leggings down, and she kicked them aside. At the same time, she freed him from his jeans, touched him gently until an involuntary moan bubbled up from deep inside him. It was raw need she unleashed, primal, dark, and violent.
With a low growl, he swung her around, lifted her onto the bar by her hips, wedged himself between her knees, and drew them wide apart. Her head snapped up. There was surprise in her eyes when she looked at him, but he moved quickly. Cupping the soft flesh of her buttocks, he pulled her to the edge of the counter and thrust himself inside her.
He knew it was too rough for her, inexperienced as she was, but he wanted to possess her, if only for a moment, because he knew the moment was fleeting. No one would ever control her. As surely as he was hurtling himself to the edge of his own pleasure, she was slipping away.
Without the finesse she deserved, he pumped in and out of her, driving deep, gritting his teeth against the need exploding inside him. He wanted her. Had to have her. Like this. On his terms.
To his surprise, she began to move with him. Her fingers raked up and down his back. Her breaths came quickly until she was shouting his name. He ravaged her breasts with his mouth, with his hands, part of him wanting to hurt her the way he was hurting inside.
The orgasm was simultaneous and explosive. He held her so tightly he feared he might be bruising her, but he couldn't let go. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear but for the ragged sound of his own breathing matched only by hers.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Instead, they held each other for everything they were worth, knowing that tomorrow or the next day or next week, it could all be gone.
*
Clint worked by the light of his banker’s lamp, poring over last month's bank statement, wondering where in the hell he'd gone wrong. Beside the bank statement, a letter from the IRS outlined in ugly detail just how sorry his financial condition had become. It had taken him several years to reach this all-time low, and he knew there was little hope next month's financial statements would be any different.