“You’ve got to do that. This is midweek, not even a date involved, flowers. I saw them sticking out of his saddlebag. Irises, so he went out and bought them deliberately.”
Callen wagged his fork at her. “Has every man who brought you flowers been in love with you?”
“I’d sure as hell know he was seriously sweet on me if he bothered. And Chase has shy ways with women. Flowers for him are a statement of intent.”
“Intent of—”
“She won’t know that,” Bodine breezed on. “But I know that. He’s in love with her, and he’s never been more than halfway sweet on anybody before. You know what else?”
“I might, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“I can’t say if she’s in love with him—I haven’t known her long enough to be sure of that. But I do know she’s seriously sweet on him. It’s not halfway sweet.”
She pushed the plate aside. “God, I feel better. I think Rory was going out with Chelsea.”
“He in love, too?”
“No, but he’s in substantial like and definite lust. I think that’s absolutely mutual. Dad’s going to make sure Mom gets some rest, and the grannies are better for being at the ranch right now. So … Have you got a spare toothbrush?”
“No.”
“Oh, well.”
“You want to brush your teeth?”
“Not right this minute, but I will in the morning.” She polished off her wine, stood. “I’d like to try your bed out.”
“It’s not as big as the one we tried out before, but it’s got good springs.”
“Well, let’s give them a good bounce. Do you mind if I lock the front door? I’d just as soon nobody wanders in while I’m naked on top of you.”
“Who says you’ll be on top?”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“Lock the door.”
The springs held up just fine. And once they had, Bodine lay in a limp, sweaty daze.
“Oh yeah, I do feel better.”
“Glad I could help. But I think it’s time for you to feel a lot more than better.”
He rolled back on top of her.
The daze ran sugary enough that she tangled her fingers in his hair and just smiled. “That would be a heroic recovery, Skinner.”
“Not really, because we’re going to do something we haven’t managed before.”
“I can’t think of anything we missed.”
“We missed taking our time.” He brushed his lips to hers, skimmed them over her jaw.
“The fast and furious works pretty well.”
“Let’s see how we do with the slow and thorough. I like how you’re put together, Bodine.”
His fingers glided up and down the side of her right breast. “You’ve got long limbs, long and pretty ripped with it.”
“I work out,” she managed.
“Firm, pretty breasts.” He brushed the nipple with his thumb. “All that hair, straight as a ruler, dark as midnight. I like how it smells so I always want to get a little closer. I like how you taste.”
He took his mouth to her throat.
“And those eyes, the color of leaves in the shadows. The way your skin feels under my hands, just silk smooth. The way your mouth fits on mine.”
He took his back to hers, let the kiss spin on and on, soft and lazy as a spring shower.
“I do like how you’re put together.”
“You’re going to turn my head.” But she couldn’t quite manage a laugh. Not when her head had started to spin, and those licks of heat ran under her skin.
“The more I touch you, the more I want to. This time, you’ll just have to tolerate it.”
Her pulse beat under his lips, slow and thick, just as he wanted it. Her body stretched, undulating under his hands, then quivered, then softened. He’d wanted her like this, wanted not just the excitement, the release, but all. What would all with Bodine be?
Sighs and sumptuous kisses, quiet moans and moonlight in a narrow bed. Response in an easy, unhurried rhythm. Pretty green eyes, heavy with what he could give her.
He worked his way down her body. And this time when she sighed, she sighed his name.
Her head no longer spun. Instead it seemed she moved, they moved, through a warm, lovely mist where everything shimmered. His hands, hard, callused, only made those lazy strokes all the more erotic. The stubble brushing over her skin as he ran his tongue down her belly made her quiver.
Then his tongue slid down, slid over, slid in, and had her rolling, rolling, rolling slowly, dreamily, helplessly over a velvet-covered peak.
Still he didn’t rush. Still those hard-palmed hands drew her down, further down into dazed pleasure so the shimmering mists thickened. When his mouth took hers again, she’d already surrendered.
He slipped into her, heard her breath catch, saw her eyes blur.
“This part, too,” he whispered, toying with her lips. “Slow. Nice and slow.”
Long, slow, deep, and her so hot, so wet around him. She broke again on a moan, but he held on, moving in her, drawing out every moment, every ounce of pleasure. Up again, up again, slowly, relentlessly until he felt her give, just one more time, and gave with her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bodine overslept—something she never did. Maybe a half hour didn’t rank high on the scale, but it put a dent in her rigid morning schedule.
She hopped out of bed so fast, Callen missed his chance to catch her.
“What’s your hurry?”
“I’m running behind before I get started. I can cut back on my workout, prioritize e-mails.” While she threw on her clothes, she calculated. “Take the truck instead of Leo.”
“I can get Leo fed and saddled up for you. I was hoping to use him today.”
She glanced back at the bed, at the shadowy outline of the man she’d slept with. “That’ll add to your own time.”
“Looks like I’m up anyway.”
Not complaining, she thought, amused, more resigned.
“Do you want to come over for breakfast?”
“I’d get better than a fried egg on toast.”
“Then I’ll see you in an hour.” She hesitated, then stepped back, leaned down, and kissed him. “If I’d known this was going to happen, I’d have pushed to get you a bigger bed.”
“This one worked out all right.”
“I’ll say it did. I have to go.”
She dashed out. Seconds later he heard his door slam behind her.
The woman sure did move fast, he thought, dragging himself up to put the coffee on.
In under that hour, Bodine finished an abbreviated workout, grabbed a shower, dressed, answered a handful of e-mails. The rest could wait. Coffee just couldn’t.
Since she still ran ten minutes behind, she’d sacrificed that first solo cup. Clementine would be in the kitchen by now.
As expected when she jogged down the back steps, coffee scented the air. Clementine had biscuit dough in a bowl and stood grating potatoes. It wasn’t altogether unexpected to see Maureen chatting with Clementine and frying up bacon and sausage.
But seeing Alice sitting at the kitchen table, head bent over her crocheting, put a hitch in Bodine’s stride.
“Running late for you.” Maureen laid sizzling bacon on a paper towel, sent her daughter a silent signal.
“Just a bit. Morning, Clem. Morning, Alice.”
“I’m making a scarf.”