Her sex clenched around him, and she lifted her hips. He pushed them down to the mattress without missing a beat with his magnificent tongue. He grazed his teeth over her nipple, sending darts of exquisite pain to her core.
“Zane,” she panted out, and he began rocking the broad head of his cock in and out, ever so slowly, driving her out of her flipping mind.
He captured her mouth, kissing her roughly as his slow tease continued. His hands pressed harder, his kiss intensified, and she heard herself whimper. Five minutes would never be enough. A week would never be enough. Loving Zane Walker would take a lifetime. And then some.
“I love you, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me you love me. I need to hear it.”
“I love you. I’ve always been in love with you,” she answered, but she knew he felt the part of her that was holding back.
He touched his forehead to hers. “I’ll take it, and I’ll love you so hard you won’t be able to remember why you were scared of me in the first place.”
“I don’t need you to love me hard or to buy me ten dozen roses. I just need you, Zane. Plain and simple. I need to know that the Zane I love right this second is the same man who will fly back to California in a few weeks.”
“I can’t promise you that.”
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.
“My love for you has grown every moment since I told you how I felt, and it’s going to get even bigger.” He touched his lips to hers. “Deeper,” he whispered, trailing kisses over her mouth. “So much so, I’ll need all the seats on the plane just to bring it along.”
His mouth came coaxingly down over hers, and emotions swamped her. She disappeared into the sensual, sweet tenderness of the kiss, and when he thrust forward, filling her completely in one powerful motion, her body shuddered in ecstasy.
A few hours and two orgasms later, Willow was wrapping up a scone for the last of the morning rush. Zane had come down with her at five thirty and helped her with an hour of baking before his jitteriness had driven her crazy and she’d sent him out of the kitchen. He was tied in knots over sharing his screenplay with Sam. She hadn’t had a chance to read the whole thing, but she couldn’t imagine anyone thinking it was anything short of stellar.
“Here you go, sweetie. Have a great day.” She handed the bakery bag to her customer and poured a fresh cup of coffee for Zane.
He looked up from the table where he was poring over his screenplay. He’d run his hand through his hair so many times it stood on end. Willow set down the coffee and finger-combed his hair.
“I love the just-romped look,” she teased. “But maybe a little less wild will go over better with Sam.”
“Thanks, babe.” He glanced at his watch for the millionth time.
“He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“I don’t want to push myself on him,” Zane said.
“Zane Walker.” She put her hand on his forehead. “Pushiness is your middle name. Are you feeling feverish?”
He pulled her in for a kiss. “Just for you.”
“I get off work in a few hours. But my fiancé might kick your ass if he finds out you’re hitting on me. We’d have to be very covert.”
His eyes narrowed, and she laughed.
“Really?” She sank down to the chair beside him. “You’re jealous of yourself?”
“Just nervous, baby.”
“I can see how much this means to you, but you have nothing to worry about. From what I read, it’s an amazing story.” She sat back and crossed her arms, taking in his dark T-shirt, his golden tan, and his knee bouncing like a jackhammer under the table. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “You weren’t even this nervous your first time.”
His hand coasted through his hair again. “I was, but you needed me to be confident. And I trusted you, Wills. I had read enough about sex and watched enough porn to know I’d be pretty good at it. This is totally different.”
“You researched sex?” That shouldn’t surprise her, but it did.
“Think I wanted to screw up your first time? No way. You trusted me, and that meant the world to me.”
“Aw, Z. That’s so romantic.”
He scoffed. “I also jerked off twice before I met you so I’d last longer. Not so romantic, sweetheart. A necessity.”
Laughter burst from her lungs. “Seriously? That’s . . . oh my God. Do all guys do that? Do you do that now? Geez, what other things is the male race hiding from us?”
He was laughing as Sam Shearson shuffled past the front window.
“Here he is now.” Willow squeezed Zane’s hand. “You’ll love him.”
ZANE TOOK IN the large elderly man entering the bakery. His checkered button-down shirt didn’t quite go with his cargo shorts. Dark knee-high socks and black orthopedic sneakers rounded out his quirky outfit. Wrinkles mapped his deeply tanned skin like rivers coursing around a thin-lipped mouth and slightly hooked nose. Smiling eyes surveyed the bakery from behind wire-framed glasses resting on the type of ears mothers grew their children’s hair long to hide.
Sam stuck a finger up toward the ceiling. “One banana nut muffin, a cuppa coffee, and a hug for my newly engaged friend.” He opened his arms, and Willow walked in, embracing the man as if he were family.
“Aw, thank you, Sam.” She glanced over her shoulder at Zane, and Zane’s nerves went haywire. She took Sam’s hand and led him to the table as Zane rose to his feet.
“Sam, this is my fiancé, Zane Walker. Zane, this is Sam Shearson.”
Sam had a good two inches on him and probably thirty pounds. A fluff of white hair circled his bald crown, and Zane couldn’t help but notice several fine white scars on his hands and forearms. The marks of a fisherman.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Zane held a hand out in greeting.
Sam pushed his hand away. “Get on in here.”
He tugged Zane into a tight embrace, slapping him on the back harder than expected. “You hurt my Willow, and I’ll take you out on my boat and drown you in that lake. Got it?”
“Sam. That’s illegal,” Willow teased.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” Sam pulled out a chair at Zane’s table. “I’ll take him out into the ocean. Ocean floors don’t tell your secrets. You don’t mind if I sit and chat with your gentleman friend, do you, Willow?”
Willow raised her brows. “I’ll get your breakfast, but be good to him, Sam.”
Sam waved her away and set a serious glare on Zane, then dropped his eyes to the empty chair by Zane’s side.
Zane sat, feeling like he was about to get reamed. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to hurt her.”
Sam’s eyes roved over his face. “No, son. I don’t expect you do. But hurt comes in many forms, and I’ve read the papers.” He slapped the newspaper down on the table so hard, coffee splashed from Zane’s mug. “Not that I believe all the garbage. You Hollywood types got no privacy. It’s not like it was in my day. Hell, I’d go out on the fishing boat before dawn and be gone until dark. Come back stinking so bad no woman wanted to be anywhere near me. No expensive colognes for me. No, sir.” He pointed at Zane, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I don’t care what the papers say. I know enough about you from when you lived here.”