Riding the storm - By Julie Miller Page 0,49

ear. “But men don’t—”

“This man does.” The words seemed to shrink the air between them. She shivered, and the motion vibrated through his thighs and gathered in his swollen heat. He kissed her again. Her lips trembled this time, and her fingers curled into his chest. “This man wants you.” He kissed her a third time. Her other hand joined the first. “Tell me no, you don’t want this, and I will stop. I won’t rush you into something you’re not ready for.” He fingered that silky strand of wayward hair himself. “But don’t even think about questioning the way you’ve got my body primed to explode.”

“That wouldn’t be very nice of me.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

He cupped her cheek, savoring the soft, smooth curve. He traced the contour of her mouth with his thumb, then pressed into the lush fullness of her bottom lip. Her mouth opened in an evocative gasp, and moist heat blew across the tip of his thumb and skittered along every highly charged nerve ending.

“Are you going to listen to me this time?” he asked, zeroing in on that beautiful mouth. “Or do I need to keep talking?”

Now she was watching his mouth, and the wistful, wishful yearning in her eyes sapped the last of his patience.

He swallowed hard. “Jolene?”

“I don’t know about talking.”

She kneaded her hands against his chest, plucking loose a hair. Nate cringed at the nip of pain, suspecting it wouldn’t be the last trial she’d inadvertently put him through before this day, this encounter, this assigned partnership was over. But he held himself still, waiting for some sign in those searching eyes that she’d made her decision. That she believed he found her sexy and attractive. That it was okay for a man like him to feel those urges for her.

Then her hands stilled, and her eyes met his. She smiled. “Wouldn’t you rather just kiss me?”

Nate breathed a mammoth sigh. Normally he had the patience of Job running through his veins, but he’d really hoped he wouldn’t have to go through with that talking part. “If you insist.”

He thrust his fingers beneath her ponytail and pulled her in for a leisurely kiss. Her sweet, full lips blossomed beneath his gentle exploration.

“Mmm.”

Her soft, contented sigh was music to his ears and a balm to his soul.

But Jolene Kannon-Angel had yet to grasp the whole leisurely concept. Whatever doubts she had about herself or his interest, she bulldozed her way past them. She threw her arms around his neck, knocked him back against the arm of the sofa and pulled herself right into his kiss.

“Whoa.” Catching her around the waist, Nate shifted his balance to keep them from falling overboard.

“Too much?” Her arms stiffened. She frowned against his mouth.

The instant she began to retreat, he tightened his hold and pulled her squarely down on top of him.

“No. More than I expected.”

Nate quickly got up to speed and joined her.

Reclining halfway, he smoothed his hand down her back, palming a handful of her bottom to align her lower body with his. He nipped at her lips, teasing, tasting. Their legs tangled together. And if her foot jarred his knee, he didn’t care. Her hands were on his hair, her breath was in his mouth. And somehow she managed to get her hip nestled against his groin, protecting the baby from too much pressure and driving him crazy.

“Just right.” He pulled the band from her ponytail and let her hair fall loose around his hands, over her shoulders. The silky tips brushed against his chest and tickled his jaw. “Absolutely right.”

Nate kissed her—soundly, thoroughly. It was a greedy affirmation of life, a reward for cheating death, an outpouring of passion and heart he’d never really allowed himself to tap into before.

And Jolene, bless her eager impulses, was there with him every step of the way. She kissed him back with her own untutored, uncensored, go-for-broke style he was learning to love.

She ran her palms across his beard stubble and giggled in delight. She followed the same path with her mouth. Her teeth closed around the jut of his chin.

“Is that okay?” she asked.

“Mmm.”

“How’s that?”

“Shut up, woman.” She pulled one hand between them, skidding over his wound. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” Pushing herself up, she kissed the spot.

Her hand skimmed lower, catching a taut male nipple. Nate groaned at the lightning strike of pure pleasure that jolted through him. Misreading his agony, she shifted and kissed him there. “Angel,” he protested, “you’re killing me.”

In the very best of ways.

Jolene’s hands