“You won’t be tellin’ him about this, will you.” It wasn’t a question.
She shorted softly. “No. I won’t. Not that he’d ever believe me, anyway, but I won’t.
“I thank you for telling me, though,” she added, glancing back to give him a smile. “I do appreciate your trust.”
Bart reached out to play with her hair. “I thought I could,” he said, his hand roaming further to brush her cheek. “I figured you’d understand, iffen you knew the truth.”
Kitty felt her insides begin to quiver as his hand wandered to the back of her neck. She closed her eyes for a moment as his strong fingers began to knead the tension out of her neck.
“What are you doing, Bartholomew?” she asked softly.
“Tryin’ to help you relax a little,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Is it workin’?”
“Hmm.” She let her head fall forward, and in another moment, she felt both of his big hands on her shoulders, his thumbs digging into tense muscles and setting them free.
I should stop this, she thought, but it just feels so damn good…
Then he turned her toward him. His hands took possession of her face and brought her lips to his, and in another moment, she was in his arms.
“Bart?”
“Shh,” he whispered between kisses as he possessed her. “Just relax, darlin’, and let’s see where this takes us.”
“But…”
It was all he needed to deepen the kiss, and she found herself kissing him back, her hands in his dark, thick hair, holding him to her.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered between kisses.
“Sure you can,” he said, bringing one hand down to cup her breast.
“I shouldn’t want you so much,” she whimpered, arching into his hand.
“But you do.”
She froze in that moment, trying desperately to see him by the firelight. She was trembling with need, hungry to feel this man’s touch, to feel him inside her.
“Yes,” was all she said.
45
Without another word, Bart lifted her into his arms in one graceful, powerful move and carried her down the hallway and into his bedroom. Kitty clung to him, kissing his face and anything else she could reach. In another moment, he set her on her feet at the foot of the bed.
“Let’s get you out of this strait-jacket,” he said, unbuttoning the fitted blazer and slipping it off her shoulders to the floor then fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons on her silky white blouse.
“You don’t like my clothes,” she said as she took his face between her palms and brought his lips back to hers.
“It’s like trying to get you out of a sardine can,” Bart growled in frustration as he kissed her back, and she heard the buttons of her blouse go flying across the hardwood floor when he ripped it open.
He made short work of the front clasp on her bra, and suddenly his hands were on her breasts, molding them and bringing them to his lips. Kitty cried out and arched her back, while she clung to his arms to keep from falling. He shifted to brush her clothes aside, and placing one strong arm around her back, he gently lowered her to the bed. Coming down over her, he straddled her thighs and reached for the zipper at the side of her skirt. Once it was down, he peeled the soft fabric and her silky slip down over her hips and away.
“Well, well, well,” he murmured when he saw what she was wearing underneath.
Kitty struggled to remain in control, but she couldn’t stop her hips from rising and falling in a frustrating attempt to rub against him. Her legs were trapped together by his strong thighs, though, and he seemed content to simply look at her. She knew what he was seeing—she wore stockings and a garter belt, because it was cooler in the summer than pantyhose, and her scrap of lacy panties hid nothing.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?” he asked, taking both her wrists in one hand and raising her hands up over her head. He used his free hand to explore her, touching her in all her secret places but one, coming closer and closer to that goal, but never quite touching her there.
“I need…” Kitty panted.
“Need what, darlin’?” he asked.
She heard the laughter in his voice and hated him for it.
“You know!” she gasped.
“Could be.”
She strained against him, pumping her hips in a frantic motion that was severely limited by his grasp of her thighs with his own.
“Damn you!” she cried.
“Tell me what you want, Kitty,” he said, his voice turning hard.
And she suddenly knew. He wasn’t going to give her what she so desperately wanted—needed—until she admitted it to him in so many words. But she had no more room for pride.
“You!” she cried. “I need you!”
“Looks like you have me, darlin’,” he said, his voice sounding suddenly rusty. “What do you want me to do?”