Page 102 of Walking the Edge

He deftly unhooked her bra. “Then we should commemorate the occasion.”

“You think it’s that noteworthy, huh?” She unbuckled his belt.

“Definitely.” He tugged the string of beads from his pocket and displayed the stamped plastic medallion on his palm. “Only the brave are worthy of wearing this,” he said in an officious tone.

She looped the strand over her head. He trailed kisses down to the cleft between her small breasts, lifting and kissing the krewe’s emblem like a knight, the ring of his lord. “I am yours to do what you want with.”

She lowered the zipper of his pants and stopped.

“Change your mind?” Please say no.

“Of course not, but I could use some help.”

“A Southern gentleman is always glad to oblige.” He found some protection in a pocket and lifted his hips. She stripped him and got rid of her own jeans, running her hands up his calves, over his knees, along his thighs.

He rubbed his head across her stomach and pushed aside the beads to nip at her breasts.

“Let’s get rid of this now.” She pulled the strand over her head and dropped the necklace beside the mattress. “I don’t want any interference.”

Mitch slid his tongue over each peak before settling his mouth over hers, her gasp gratifying. She tasted so good, so vital, so hot. The foil ripped in his fumbling fingers, but she put a hand on his wrist. “Wait.”

He sucked in a breath. “Stop?”

“I want to look at you.” Cath braced herself on her elbows and ran her gaze from his head to his toes. His every muscle tightened to attention. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Between sweetness and beauty, I don’t sound like I have a masculine gene in my body.”

“Don’t worry.” She wrapped her fingers around his surging maleness, and his blood pounded clear off the Richter scale.

“I want you on top.” He caught her waist.

“If you say so.”

He lifted her to straddle his hips and rolled on his protection. She watched him. “You knew you were taking me to bed again?”

“More like I hoped. But I was afraid.”

“That I wouldn’t like you because of your past.”

“Jeez, that makes me sound like an outcast.”

“You thought so. Have you reconciled yourself to being a member of the human race?”

“I’m getting there.” Mitch drove into her. Her gasp matched his. “Thanks to you.”

She moved against him, spreading pleasure so intense he closed his eyes.

“You are a complicated man”—Cath rocked her hips—“but so perfect.”

The tension mounted inside, driving him harder. Faster. She shuddered and he cupped her buttocks, raised and lowered her. The edge rushing toward him, he tightened his grip and thrust deep. Shattering.

Sometime later, he tucked the covers around them to ward off the insistent cold.

Her breath fluttered across his chest. “We need to talk.”

An Arctic wind blasted through him. She was going to think he put her off the way he had at the auto pound, but he needed to ask, “Can this wait until tomorrow?”

She lifted on an elbow and slid a finger down his abdomen. “You never did take me downtown to see if my brother left a message.”

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