hers, though without the tinkly silver wind chime near the front door. “As requested, mademoiselle. Welcome to Chez Wolfe.”
She arched her brows at him. “You speak French?”
“I think Frenglish might be the more appropriate name.”
“Frenglish?”
“Oui, oui.”
“You better stop talking and get me into that cabin before every bit of my interest dries up, monsieur.”
With a hearty laugh, Gunnar hurried out of the cab, ran around to her side of the truck, gathered her in his arms, and carried her to the front door. Then, realizing his hands were occupied, he looked at her with such concerned ambivalence she burst into giggles. “Put me down. That door key is clearly the most critical part of this equation at the moment.”
He followed her directions like a man possessed, and Katy’s feet hit the ground quickly but gently. She watched with bemusement as he sifted through his keys, then struggled with the lock, and finally flung the door as wide as it would go. “The famous wooden tent, at your disposal.”
She stepped inside like she’d never been there before, took a second to note that his striped comforter also looked a bit lumpy and that every surface in the cabin sported a coffee cup. Either he considered them a stylistic touch or he wasn’t so great at picking up after himself, either. Most of all, the honesty pleased her—no fuss and exactly as represented. Those were difficult qualities to find, in life and in people.
Saying nothing, she turned and grabbed him, wrapping him in the same sort of embrace he’d used on her in the woods. He smiled—surprises clearly pleased him—and stared into her eyes, waiting.
“I get to lead, huh?” Katy breathed.
“Most definitely.” He slid his hand along her back and pressed her closer. “This time.”
Peering up at him, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. When it hung open, his broad, chiseled chest hers to touch, she pulled back and slowly unbuttoned her own shirt, eyes never leaving his.
His breathing intensified, and she felt the eager energy in his hands as they softly kneaded her back. With a tiny smile, she stepped away from him and, eyes still fixed, carefully removed every item of clothing separating her skin from his. He gasped and licked his lips but waited, just waited.
Unable to keep from touching him, Katy reached out and peeled his shirt back. She pressed her palms against his chest, then kissed the skin between her hands. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she gently held him back. Lifting up on her toes, she kissed the base of his throat, breathing in his musky, woodsy scent. Then she kissed his chin, and, finally, his lips.
They touched lightly at first, and then, just as the lines between their bodies had blurred in the forest, atoms and molecules took over, bonding and blending into a new chemical compound. Katy gasped at the feeling, at the power of simply being next to him, and a small anxious tremor sprouted deep within. What if this consumed her? What if she completely lost control? What if she wasn’t ready?
She peered up into his eyes and her soul settled. She wanted this. With every bit of her, she wanted this. And to lose control in something desired, in something shared and equal and real, meant acceptance, not consumption. She was safe here, with him. They both knew it.
Aflame with certainty, Katy undid Gunnar’s belt as she backed him toward the bed. He smiled down at her, eyes blazing but still gentle. Who was this beautiful, wonderful, patient phoenix of a man? He definitely needed to be rewarded, and she trembled at the thought of the pleasure his reward would give her.
“Now,” she whispered up to him.
His left brow rose, just a touch, as if to ask if she was sure. She raised hers in response, then pushed him back onto the bed. The blending began anew, as hungry fingers explored every curve, every hollow. They kissed until they couldn’t breathe, bodies arching to be closer and closer. How had she ever feared this?
“I don’t have words for how beautiful you are,” Gunnar murmured, rising up to gaze down at her with devotion.
Katy smiled. “Words aren’t exactly what I’m after at the moment.”
His brow questioned her again, the arch higher and more lustful this time. His fingers danced across her skin, gliding lower and lower. “So, tell me. What are you after, exactly?” he said, just as those fingers found their mark.
A husky sound—part sigh, part gasp—rolled from her lips,