“It’ll be fun. And we’ll probably need you on board for the lights.”
“I’ll pay for the band.”
“Emily, you’re not paying—”
She cut Zane off with a look. “It may be your house, Zane, but this is a Walker-Keller-Norten-McCray operation. Now, as I was saying before, people will bring food because that’s what they do, but we’ll finish up our menu, our supply list, then hand out assignments.”
Outnumbered, definitely outgunned, Zane retired from the field of battle.
After the women in his life rolled over him, Zane sat with Darby on the patio. He contemplated his beer.
“What was I thinking in the first place?”
“Kick-ass party,” Darby reminded him.
He gave her a long look. “My definition of ‘party’ doesn’t seem to be in the same universe as the rest of y’all’s.”
“It’s going to be great. You can’t have a house, grounds, a view like this and not throw an awesome party.” She smiled as he brooded. “How about I make mac and cheese?”
He gave her another long look, this one considerably less broody. “From scratch, like before?”
“You look like you need a little comfort.”
“I do. In fact…” He tapped his list of assignments. “I need more than a little. It calls for an appetizer.”
“My two no-fail appetizers are opening a jar of olives or spraying Cheez Whiz on a Ritz. If I go all out, I put an olive on the Cheez Whiz on the Ritz.”
“We can do better.” He rose, tugged her to her feet.
As he backed her into the house, her smile turned sly. “My Spidey sense tells me you’re not thinking about food.”
“I don’t know. You’re pretty tasty.”
“That’s true. I am.” Willing to prove it, she shifted, began backing him toward the great room sofa. “And it’s a good thing I am, because dinner’s going to be late.”
He started to mention the patio doors were wide open, but then he was on his back on the sofa with Darby straddling him.
He decided a man’s home was his castle.
“We’re going to find out if sex whets your appetite or sates it.” With that, she pulled off her work tank.
Before she curled down to him, he trailed his fingers over the fading bruises on her shoulder. “Still sore?”
“Not enough to worry about.” But since the look in his eyes clearly said worry, she cupped his face. “Don’t go there,” she murmured. “Come here instead.”
She laid her lips on his, taking the kiss deeper, still deeper, degree by degree.
Just us, she thought as his hand slid over her. Just you, just me while the late evening breeze slipped over the skin, with the light a gilded sparkle.
What she’d intended as a quick bout of fun turned slow, turned tender as they comforted each other.
Even as pulses quickened, they took time to give, to let the moments spin out as they touched, as they tasted.
She unbuttoned his shirt, spread it open to glide her hands over his chest. Then to press her lips to his heart.
A good heart, she thought, generous and open despite all he’d been through. Or maybe because of it. She wanted to tend that heart, to help the deep, underlying scars heal.
He rose up to meet her, to watch her eyes as he slowly, carefully peeled her bra away. He skimmed his lips over the bruises. He, too, wanted to heal.
She was strong and fierce, but he understood the hurts buried inside her. He needed to show her, above all, he’d always protect her, always defend her.
And now, in this moment, he’d give her peace in pleasure.
He cupped her breasts, thumbs whispering over her until those depthless eyes closed. Her body moved against his, slow, sinuous, as sensations layered and built with the stroke of hands, with the brush of lips.
She shifted, moaning, as he slipped her clothes away, as he paused to take her mouth. Her breath caught as she took him in, as their eyes met, then again their lips.
He filled her, body and heart, so beautifully she wondered how either of them could bear it. They moved together, riding slow, undulating waves. Giving and taking in equal measure while the light sparkled and the air spilled over them warm and sweet.
And holding fast to each other, caught in each other’s eyes, they crested.
Tears stung the back of her eyes. She couldn’t say why so she lowered her head to his shoulder until she’d fought them off. She tried to think of something fun and flippant to say, but couldn’t, and stayed curled to him while his hands stroked