and he wondered why she hadn’t turned on the heat. Maybe the power was out. That would explain the candles.
But it seemed as though all the heat and light in the room emanated directly from Sarah. She turned to face him, a reflection from the candles flickering in her eyes and making them more compelling than ever.
“I said we need to talk. We don’t have to argue every time.” He was using the same soothing drawl he used with uppity animals, but he knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation. Once she found out he’d told Eric she was from Two Shot, she’d be furious. She’d probably think he’d done it on purpose. He’d argue that point, but he wouldn’t fight her when she told him what an idiot he’d been.
She seemed to have accepted his apology for his stupid accusation outside her apartment. But he knew her anger would return once he told her he’d spilled the beans about her hometown. Something in her life had made her as defensive and quick to kick as an abused filly. If only he could find a way to explain what he’d done that would help her understand he hadn’t meant to do her harm.
Small talk, he told himself. Just make small talk until you figure it out.
He said the first thing that came into his head that didn’t involve her clothes or her body. “Smells like birthday cake in here.”
“I just blew out some candles.”
“Did you make a wish?”
Now her normally pale skin was rosy with embarrassment from the swell of her breasts to her smooth forehead. Suddenly, he knew what she’d wished for.
He brought one hand up and brushed her cheek, smoothing her hair out of the way. When she didn’t flinch, he bent and kissed her, closing his eyes and letting his own wishes flow into the kiss. He wished he didn’t have to tell her what he’d done. He wished she knew how he felt about her.
Somehow, despite all his wishing, the kiss broke and they stood just inches apart, Sarah looking up into his face. She looked slim as a sprite in the firelight, her eyes bright as the flames. He stroked her cheek again, but this time he kept going, running the back of his hand down her neck, tracing the curve where it met her shoulder, drifting down to laze over the swell of her breast. He let his hand slide off into the air just before he grazed her nipple.
He could see her body wanted him, but she was poised to flee any minute. She’d pull away if he went too far.
***
Sarah knew she wasn’t going to make it through this encounter unscathed. Lane had looked good in the rodeo ring—rugged and handsome and tough. He’d looked striking at the office, masculine and hot and wonderfully alive. But here, in the warm light from the fire and the candles, he looked… human.
He was giving her that intense stare again, and she could feel all her barriers falling. It happened every time. Why couldn’t she resist him? She should turn away. Go up to the loft, and sleep off whatever weird effect he had on her.
But his collar was crooked. She reached up to fix it, and somehow her fingers ended up nested in the hair at the nape of his neck. Then his lips were on hers. She was pressing her breasts to his chest, looping her arms around his neck, and when he deepened the kiss she was lost all over again.
Suddenly he hefted her up into his arms with about as much effort as if he’d lifted a bag of groceries. Still kissing her, he edged around the coffee table and kicked the legal papers aside, then fell back onto the sofa with her in his lap. The impact made their mouths mesh together even harder, and he pulled away and ran his thumb over her lower lip as if checking for damage. Finding none, he kissed her again, once, twice, three times, each kiss brief and gentle enough to make her ache for more.
He lowered his arm and tilted down onto the cushions. Suddenly she was sprawled out like a wanton Cleopatra, Lane’s body pressed to hers. He rested on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush her, but there was nothing to keep his hips from pressing against hers. The yoga pants didn’t provide much of a barrier and she could feel him growing hard against her belly as he carefully