as he came between her knees.
"Not without a condom," she said, the last word ending in a moan as one of the stroking fingers between her thighs brushed high, teasing the pleasure center of the rose. There was still a chance to bring him back to her mercy.
Cursing, he reached down to the tangle of denim around his ankles.
She rose up on her elbows. "You have one with you?"
"Only every moment for the last two weeks." He cut her a look at the same time that he drew a foil-wrapped package from his pocket. "Call me psychic. Hell, call me hopeful." It took just a minute for him to slip the condom on.
Then he turned back to her, his eyes hot, his mouth grim. "Now," he said.
"No." Kitty remembered this was supposed to be hers. For her. "This is mine."
He laughed, his teeth flashing white. "Hell, yes." His body lowered.
"Dylan." She braced her hands on his shoulders. "I'm not kidding. I - "
He brushed the tip of his arousal against the wet petals of her body. She moaned.
When he pushed inside, she couldn't protest. It felt too good.
"And you're mine," he said.
He slid so deep, she thought he'd found her heart. For that instant before surrender, she worried that there was no such thing as making love to Dylan without it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Late the next afternoon, Kitty stood in the small pharmacy section of an air-conditioned aisle at Kemper's Market. She avoided all thoughts of past, present, and future by giving her complete focus to what type of headache remedy to buy. Aspirin? Ibuprofen? Did she want time-release capsules, caplets, or tablets?
Undecided, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her overalls. Even the easiest of decisions didn't seem so clear-cut anymore.
After hesitating for another few moments, she reached toward the time-release ibuprofen. As her fingertips touched her choice, she glimpsed the top of a dark, glossy head above the goods on the aisle's highest shelf. In guilty reaction, her hand jerked, sending the boxed bottle of ibuprofen and four larger boxes of whatever was stacked beside it sailing.
The box of capsules belly flopped to the floor. Three of the other four items fell beside it without further incident. The remaining box launched by her sudden panic took a more unfortunate trajectory, dropping into another shopper's unattended cart. The force of the landing of the bonus-sized box of condoms - yes, that was what it was, size large, heavily ribbed - rocked a roll of paper towels. As the roll swayed left, the condoms slid into the newly revealed niche beneath them, snuggling a carton of eggs at the bottom of the basket. Then the paper towels fell to the right, completely covering the surprise item.
Kitty cast a nervous glance in the direction of the adjacent aisle, then scooped up the condom boxes on the floor to shove them back on a shelf. When she stepped toward the additionally burdened cart, she recognized another body part - Dylan's foot - turn into her aisle. Leaving the last box of condoms where it lay hidden, she whipped around the end display, and from there into the aisle he'd just vacated.
She couldn't let him find her.
If he did, he'd realize she'd made up the excuse about a mega-important, not-to-be-missed Hot Water Preservation Society meeting. After readjusting their clothing the day before in The Burning Rose, he'd told her of a planned evening out with his friends. They'd finally roped him into a social event and he'd asked her to accompany him.
But she'd thought not. No way. Uh-uh. It was bad enough that she couldn't resist him sexually, but she wasn't going to start seeing him socially. That wasn't smart. Besides, Kitty and Dylan? The people of Hot Water would split their sides at the very idea of the town's legendary hero spending time with a Wilder.
She moved quickly to the end of the aisle, eyeing Kemper's automatic doors and the freedom they promised. Deciding to make a break for it, she darted into the open area by the registers just as those doors went whoosh. Judge D. B. Matthews stepped through.
Argh. Coming face-to-face with the judge would be nearly as bad as bumping into Dylan. If he mentioned to his son that he'd seen Kitty, the jig would definitely be up. Kitty leaped back.
"Careful," a sharp voice said.
Kitty turned to face Pearl Morton, pushing a cart and frowning at her in like-mother-like-daughter disapproval. Despite the censure, Kitty smiled in apology. "Sorry."
Pearl didn't soften.