that point, she probably could have stood on her head and it would have turned him on.
He closed his eyes, then realized that if he left things up to his imagination they’d only get worse. But when she threw off her shirt in a gesture straight out of a strip show, he had to close them again.
***
Sarah didn’t know if she wanted to screw Lane or strangle him. For the first time in her life she had a man she really wanted, right where she wanted him. He was so aroused he was shaking. She’d been about to have the best sex of her life.
And he’d decided to go all conscientious about her level of inebriation.
“I’m fine,” she said. “And if you don’t touch me again I’m going to go over there and find a kitchen knife.”
“Yikes,” he said. “How do I know you’re not just a mean drunk?”
“You don’t. But how pathetic is it that I have to threaten you before you’ll have sex with me?”
“I don’t want to take advantage.”
“Take advantage, all right?” She realized she was screeching and took a deep breath. “Stop making me beg. Let’s just pretend we can’t help ourselves, okay?”
He smiled. “Okay. If we can’t help ourselves, that would mean we have to help each other.”
“Right. You rip off my clothes and I’ll rip off yours.”
“Yours are already gone.”
“Then catch up, cowboy.”
She heard a distinct tearing sound as she tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. Well, maybe she should rip off the other sleeve too. That was kind of a cowboy thing, wasn’t it—wearing a shirt with the sleeves ripped off? It should be, anyway, if the cowboy had muscles like Lane’s. The preppie types she’d dated the past few years hadn’t even come close to this.
She pulled him down on top of her and then they were both naked and he was kissing her and she was sinking her fingertips into the hard muscles of his haunches and steering him right where she wanted him.
“There,” she said. “Go. Please. Go.”
The muscles flexed and she felt him there, right there.
Still there. No further.
She opened her eyes to find his face inches away. His gaze was so intense she closed her eyes again.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
She didn’t want to do it. If she looked into his eyes there’d be more than a meeting of bodies going on; there’d be a meeting of minds, and that was the last thing she wanted.
“Just go,” she whispered.
He started to pull away and her eyes flipped open like a doll’s. “I’m here,” she said.
“Good.” He moved into her, then out, watching her face. His gaze was tender and hot all at once, and she felt her shield slipping. She could almost believe this meant something to him, but that wasn’t possible. They barely knew each other. This was a one-night stand, a brief, hot interlude of mindless sex, a slaking of both their appetites and nothing more.
Besides, he was Lane Carrigan. He could have damn near any woman he wanted. A small-town girl turned spinster businesswoman was hardly what he’d choose.
“Nobody ever felt this good,” he whispered. “Nobody.”
She tried to say something witty, but what came out was a pleading animal noise as she pulled him into her again. After that she stopped thinking and simply moved. It was like music, the way they dipped and soared, asked and answered, over and over, until she cried out again with a scream that released all the darkness inside her and let his light flood in to take its place.
When she opened her eyes again, the moon had slid into the small skylight and was looking down at her with its blank, serene face. It felt like a blessing. Lane lay beside her, sleeping. She hadn’t noticed what long lashes he had. They softened the masculine planes of his face, making him look less like a mythical outlaw and more like a man.
A man who made love to her like there was actually love involved. But then, Lane did everything all-out. When he rode, he rode wild animals; when he made love, he chose a woman determined to resist him. Even when he slept, he slept hard. She shimmied out from under the arm he’d tossed over her waist and slipped off the bed, gathering her clothes. When she’d finished dressing, she tapped him on the shoulder.
“Lane, I need to go home.”
He rose and dressed without a word, as if he was still asleep—or maybe