Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,72
he said, letting his tongue rim her lips.
She moaned, wanting more. Heat coiled deep within.
Denver slid lower, capturing the tip of one breast with his lips then circling the firm bud with his tongue. “Make love to me, Tessa,” he whispered. His breath was hot against her wet, taut nipple. “Make love to me all night long.”
She had no choice.
* * *
The next morning Tessa was up before Denver and had dashed down to a local market for groceries. She’d already poured beaten eggs into a pan and grated cheese for an omelet before she heard his familiar tread on the stairs.
“What’s going on?” he asked, poking his head into the kitchen. Sleep still clouded his eyes, his chin was dark with beard and his jeans hung low on his hips. His chest was bare and muscled and she had trouble dragging her gaze from him.
“When in California . . .” she said, motioning to the table, where fresh slices of oranges, melons and berries filled fruit cups and warm muffins were piled high on a small plate.
She was working at the stove. Slowly he sauntered over to her, slid his arms around her waist and clasped his hands over her abdomen, pressing her buttocks into his hips. She felt the bulge in his pants and her throat went dry.
“You should wear shorts more often,” he growled into her ear, his hands reaching upward to cup a breast through her T-shirt. The scent of recent lovemaking still clung to him and she felt like a bride on her honeymoon.
“Not very practical on the ranch.”
“Maybe you should stop being so practical,” he rasped.
“Maybe I already have.”
Twisting her in his arms, he slid his hands down her ribs, feeling each small indentation and watching as her T-shirt stretched across her breasts, displaying beneath the cotton fabric the hard buttons of her nipples.
“Hey, wait,” she breathed, her mind swimming under his magical touch.
“Breakfast—”
“Can wait.” He turned off the burners and hoisted her upward, balancing her back against the wall, forcing her legs to wrap around his hips. Her arms circled his head as he pressed his mouth over her T-shirt and suckled, wetting the fabric and drawing on the sweet nubbin hidden deep in the cloth.
“Denver, please—ooh—” she gasped as his hands cupped her bottom and she felt her shorts being dragged over her hips. Together they tumbled to the floor and she forgot about breakfast as he stripped them both of their clothes and made love to her with a passion that tore through her soul and left her trembling in its wake.
* * *
For two days, Tessa learned the secrets of Denver’s life in Los Angeles; she saw the wonder of Western sunsets blazing magenta and violet as the sun settled into the ocean. She smelled the salt of the sea and felt the ocean’s spray against her face. They walked hand in hand through the streets of Venice, exploring the shops and boutiques, sipping drinks in shaded patios or walking barefoot near the ocean, playing tag with the waves.
“You love it here,” she finally said as they trudged through the warm sand and up the steps to his deck.
“It’s peaceful.” One black eyebrow cocked. “Though some people have the impression that I live in a pressure cooker—that my life in Southern California has to be hectic.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing and holding up her palms. “I’m guilty.”
His arms circled her waist and he kissed her eyelids. “Guilty and beautiful,” he whispered. His lips promised so much more.
The phone rang. “Go ’way,” Denver growled.
The ring seemed more shrill the second time.
“You’d better answer it,” Tessa said, pushing him away. “It might be Colton.” Or Mitch—or Dad.
Grumbling, Denver threw open the French doors, crossed the room and picked up the living room extension by the fourth ring.
Tessa strolled to the far end of the deck and placed her palms against the railing as she stared for one last moment at the sea. Salt air pushed her hair from her face and she breathed deeply of the tangy air.
Her flight back to Montana left in three hours.
“Second thoughts?” Denver asked as he reached her. From behind, he wrapped his arms around her waist and balanced his chin on her crown.
“Second and third and fourth and so on,” she admitted.
“California’s not so bad, is it?”
“It’s wonderful.” As long as I’m with you.
“You could stay longer.”
Torn, she shook her head. “I have to go back. Everything I’ve ever worked for is there.” She smiled wistfully.