Grant’s chest and rushed to meet the fire in his already hard cock.
He broke the kiss long enough to slide his confining coat from his arms, letting it fall into the mud—who cared? Christina was already coming up to him as Grant brought his mouth down on hers again.
He kissed her swiftly, needing her. Too long, too long without her.
Grant slid his hands to her thighs as they frantically kissed and shoved her skirt upward. She wore stockings with elastic tops, not pantyhose. Nice. Her underwear was a thin band of satin and lace, easy to move.
Grant’s fingers found her heat. Warm liquid flowed over his hand, and Christina made a soft sound against his mouth.
The alcohol Grant had consumed floated around in his brain, combining with his loneliness and need for this woman. He slid his fingers inside her and was rewarded with the jerk of her body, the growl in her throat.
“Christina,” he whispered against her mouth. “I love how you’re always wet for me.”
Her answer was to renew the kiss, a crush of lips, her mouth seeking his.
Christina’s questing fingers found the latch of the cummerbund and it followed the jacket to the ground. The button and zipper of his tux pants opened next. Christina shoved her way in, and then she was locking her hands around his cock.
“Damn, woman.”
Christina was sweet and hot, and what the hell had he been thinking, walking away from her?
They were hungry for each other. They always had been.
Christina knew exactly how to make Grant come alive. She knew how to stroke him, how to flick her thumb over his tip, which made him jerk.
He rubbed her in response, and she rocked against his hand, the two of them both giving and taking.
Their kisses were frenetic. Teeth scraped lips, mouths bruised. Christina suckled his tongue. Grant groaned against her as Christina’s hands moved on him, exactly matching the rhythm of his fingers inside her.
He was going to come standing up. But what did he expect with this hot, sexy woman in his arms, who knew exactly how to work him?
“You’re sweet, baby,” he said. “It’s always so good, you and me.”
Christina was moving against him, her excitement rising. Grant loved how she came—exuberant, totally into it, letting herself go without shame. The anticipation of seeing that again ramped his own excitement high.
“Grant!” The bellowing voice of Carter floated up the hill from the tent. “You out here?”
Shit.
Christina tore herself away from Grant, stumbling back before he could catch her. Her hand was gone from his cock, chill wind taking place of her warmth.
Christina shimmied her skirt down and took another step back, breathing hard.
“Damn it.” Grant choked on the words, coughed. “My brothers are so effing good at timing.”
His pants were sagging around his thighs. He did not need Carter jogging up here, finding him with his slacks falling down and his cock hanging out. Grant pulled up, zipped, buttoned, and then groped on the ground for his cummerbund.
Carter was heading this way, and he had someone with him.
“Christina,” Grant said, moving to her. He didn’t know if this had been a crazy one-off or a prelude to make-up sex, or the first step at reconciliation. All Grant knew was that he didn’t want to let her go. Not if there was a chance for them.
“Go on,” Christina said, her voice grating. “Go—he’s not going to wait.”
Grant stared at her a moment, trying to read her. Her stance said pissed off, her breathing and her tone said scared. Of what?
Grant lifted his coat, tried to brush it off, gave up, and folded it over his arm. When he looked up to tell Christina to come with him, she was gone.
Where she’d stood was empty moonlight, only a few scraps of pink tulle floating on the grass to say she’d ever been there at all.
“Fuck,” Grant said softly, and went to meet Carter.
Carter was with a woman Grant had not met, though he’d seen her at the reception. Not a date, he concluded—the woman wore a rather plain beige sheath dress, had blond hair tamed into a soft, pulled-back bun, and wore only a smattering of jewelry on ears and fingers. She was in her thirties, brown-eyed, pretty in that successful-woman kind of way.
Probably a new client, wanting trick riders for some show or one of her horses trained. Carter obviously had invited her to the reception, but Carter was ready to talk business with anyone at any time. He rarely let