A Winter Wedding

“In a professional sense, yes.” She came closer to the bed. “I’m sorry.”


“We knew this would happen eventually.” So why hadn’t he done a better job of protecting his stupid heart? “Thanks for telling me.”

“That’s it?” she said. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

He sighed deeply. “What else can I say, Lourdes?”

She peeled off her T-shirt and stood there, nibbling nervously at her bottom lip as she stared down at him, wearing only her panties. “There’s still three days before I go. Do you want them?”

As his gaze settled on her breasts, Kyle told himself not to be a fool. He already cared far too much about her. At the rate he’d been falling, three more days—especially the kind of days she seemed to be offering—would bury him so deep it might take as long to get over her as it had Olivia.

But three days was still three whole days. So he threw back the covers and invited her into his bed. If he was going to crash and burn, he might as well make it one hell of a conflagration.

*

The way Kyle made love this time was completely different. He was in no hurry, for one thing. And he was so gentle it almost brought tears to Lourdes’s eyes. She was astonished by how much he seemed to feel—and what she could feel for a man she’d known for such a short while. The poignancy of those emotions amplified the pleasure of every kiss, every touch, every embrace.

It wasn’t long before she was convinced that she’d made a serious miscalculation in coming to his bed. What they’d shared before had affected her deeply enough. She’d never experienced that kind of raw, powerful sensuality, had certainly never allowed anything like that to drive her to the point of risking a public display. But she trusted Kyle in a way she’d never trusted any other man. And following that experience in the alley with this slow, sensual act just added an exclamation point to her infatuation with him. It had all happened so quickly—and yet it was going to be so difficult to leave. Even with the promise of that fabulous song Derrick had found for her.

As Kyle kissed her forehead, she had a feeling this trip to Whiskey Creek would soon seem more like a dream than a memory. She’d come here feeling like a bird with a broken wing, and Kyle had taken her in and carefully tended her until she could fly again. Just connecting with him had somehow made her whole.

Their eyes met as he rolled her onto her back and put on a condom. As strange as the thought was, since they’d already been together twice, this felt like the first time they’d ever made love.

He watched her face as he pushed inside her and didn’t look away when he began to thrust. He held himself above her and moved slowly, methodically, drawing out the pleasure for as long as possible. She noticed how the intensity of his gaze sharpened when her breathing grew labored, and she arched toward him, saw his nostrils flare as she gasped right before crying out in release. Then the barest hint of a smile curved his lips and he closed his eyes to concentrate on his own pleasure, until his climax followed hers.

She could tell by the way he pulled her to him afterward and hooked his arm protectively around her that he was feeling a great deal. But she was glad he didn’t voice those emotions. She knew it would only make it harder to leave.

Maybe he knew the same thing.

*

They showered together the following morning—and wound up making love beneath the spray. To Kyle, it felt like a honeymoon, or what a honeymoon should be like. Now that he and Lourdes had given themselves permission to enjoy their final days together, before she went back to resume her regular life, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. There was no more holding back. All inhibitions were gone. All pretenses, too. They just wanted to be together, refused to waste a minute on any other part of life—like eating or sleeping or including friends and family.

After the shower they went back to bed, where they made love yet again.

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