Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,55
and her blood had already turned molten. His tongue flicked in and out of her mouth quickly, darting and parrying, touching but not lingering. “We—we’ve got to get up,” she whispered, but already her traitorous body was arching closer to his, her hips thrusting upward, demanding more of this delicious torment.
“Why?”
“Dad—and Mitchell. They’ll be here any minute—”
“So you give, right?”
“No!”
His eyes darkened seductively. “Good.”
She could see the cords highlighting his shoulder muscles, the washboard of his flat abdomen, the soft hair clinging to his legs. He touched first his tongue and then his lips to the tip of one breast and she groaned low in her throat.
Tessa writhed beneath him, but her struggle was not to break free, but to close the gap that separated their bodies. He rubbed against her, molding his hips to hers, letting her feel how much he wanted her.
Her throat was hot and swollen, desire a living thing, stalking through her blood, hungry and wild. Only this one man could satisfy her. She realized with sudden, time stopping clarity that she loved him more than she had all those years ago.
His lips found hers again and she knew that he’d lost all self-control. His hands slid down her arms, caressing her skin. The game of wills was over.
She sucked in her breath as he thrust into her. The lava within her roiled, spreading through her limbs, moving faster and faster, hot and liquid at her very center. Her soul seemed to burst in a glorious explosion of passion that rocked the earth.
“Don’t leave me,” she cried, arching upward to be closer to him, her fingers digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders.
“Right here, love,” he vowed, his hands on her hips as he spilled himself in her. “Tessa, oh, God, Tessa.” His arms surrounded her. His breath was ragged against her skin, his lips still moving as he murmured her name over and over.
If only nothing would ever change, she thought dreamily. If only Denver and I could stay here, entwined, bound as man and woman forever. If only we could shut out the rest of the world.
Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, Tessa shed her cloak of afterglow and the passion-dusted dreams of a woman desperately in love. “I have to get up,” she said reluctantly.
Denver’s arms tightened around her, but she slid quickly from his grasp.
“Why?” He glanced up at her from the bed, and she almost changed her mind. The rumpled sheets, the scent of lovemaking lingering in the air and the misty light of dawn stealing into the room were hard to push aside.
“One of us has to keep up appearances,” she decided.
“We’re adults—”
“I know.” She was already braiding her hair. “And I’m not ashamed. But let’s not announce the fact that we spent the night together—at least not yet.”
“You’d rather hide like a teenager caught in the backseat?”
“I’d rather keep my private life private.” She snapped the braid into place and pulled on a clean denim skirt and cotton sweater. “I’ll deal with Dad and Mitch when I’m ready.” Besides, she thought to herself, what would she tell them—that she’d fallen into bed with Denver McLean? That she was in the middle of an affair—a one-night stand—what? How could she explain that despite all the accusations and lies, regardless of the fact that he’d left her without a word, she loved him so desperately that she would rather have one night alone with him than salvage her pride?
“I wouldn’t mind breakfast in bed,” he said, watching as she tugged on her boots.
“In your dreams.” But she laughed.
“Eggs Benedict, fresh grapefruit, sectioned of course—”
“Of course,” she mocked.
“Toast with honey, coffee and—”
“And this!” Snatching a pillow that had fallen to the floor, she hurled it across the room and smack into Denver’s chest. Before he could exact any retribution, she slipped into the hall. “Fresh grapefruit!” she repeated, laughing as she clambered down the stairs. “You wish!” She knew her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling outrageously as she entered the kitchen, but she didn’t care. Though she half expected her father to be seated at the table with the newspaper spread in front of him, she squared her shoulders.
Luckily no one had arrived yet. She managed to put on the coffee, snap some toast into the toaster and melt butter in the frying pan by the time Denver sauntered down the stairs.
“I guess I should’ve waited,” he said, standing behind her and slipping his arms around her waist.