Page 81 of Close Match
“Think what?” I demand. Because last night, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I slept through without a damn nightmare. Who knew if or when that would happen again.
She wasn’t the only one who’d begun to think—to need.
“I’d begun to think you cared about me. That’s impossible though, isn’t it.”
“That’s true.” I edge closer to the tissues. Caring is such a politically correct, pansy-ass word for what I feel for her. I need her more than my next breath. And if Ev fucked this up by making me hold back from her, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.
Her face pales before she squares her shoulders. “Then tell me what it is you want,” she demands. She’s practically dancing in place. She’s on the balls of her feet, rocking back and forth in her anger, her pain.
Her passion.
“There’s exactly one thing I want. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted since the minute I saw you.” Deliberately, I let my foot crush the fragile tissue barrier between us.
She holds her ground. My nostrils flare.
“And what’s that?” she hisses. God, she looks like a warrior ready to do battle, refusing to surrender. Only there will be no white flag.
“This.” And I tug her hand to pull her close. Wrapping my arms around her, I lower my head.
Dimly in the back of my mind, I’m a little in shock to realize the stars let their most precious one go so she could light up in my arms as her arms slide around my neck to return my kiss. Passion flares between us, switching despair and anger to hard-core yearning and need in the time it takes for my tongue to slip between the seam of her lips. I tilt her head back to make sure this is what she wants. Her lips curve in a sensual smile as my tongue dips out to capture our combined taste. To memorize it. To hold it deep in my soul.
But I have the answer I need.
My hands roughly slide into her thick hair as she slides her arms under my sweater and begins shoving it up as our lips collide. My eyes drop to half-mast when she rakes her nails over the lower edge of my spine over my pants.
Dropping my head forward, I scatter kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, trailing them down her neck until she lets out a breathless moan in my ear. “Monty, don’t let go.” Then as she arches her throat, she murmurs something incomprehensible to everything but my heart. It’s a plea to hold on.
In my own, I promise to kiss her every morning, every night, and every moment in between. While my hands skim under the tight-fitting running shirt, over her smooth skin, I swear to be a better man—a man worthy of skin kissed by the moon, hair drenched by the dark sky, and eyes shot through by magic.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the sun gleaming off the leaded crystal, and I swear to myself before I drop to my knees to pull off her running shoes that I’m through with dulling my pain.I’ll find a way, I swear to the three souls in the room: Linnie, myself, and the specter of the alcohol that’s been tying me to the past. No more.
After quickly removing one of her sneakers, then the other, I reach for the elastic waistband of her running pants. They fall prey to my shaking hands as I hear the seams rip in my haste. Leaning forward, I can inhale her pure, clean scent from this angle. I run my nose along the seam of her panties. She gasps, her hands, which had been braced on my shoulders, sinking deep against my scalp. “I didn’t like these pants much anyway,” she says, her voice husky.
I can’t help but smile. Shoving to my feet, I grab the hem of her shirt, leaving her clad in nothing but a sports bra and panties. My hands carefully trace the alabaster beauty of her skin. I know I could sip a thousand kisses from it and become drunk from every one.
“This is just the beginning,” I murmur. “All I need is you.”
Contorting her arms through the straitjacket-like contraption women have to suffer through to exercise, she whips it off. “Then show me,” she dares.
I’m not entirely sure if I’m talking about Linnie and me, her and Ev, or the conclusion of my drinking, but whatever combination, I mean what I say. In response, I pick her up and stalk over to my bed before tossing her lightly upon it. She bounces a few times before edging up on her elbows as I begin to strip off my clothes.
I’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful.
I’ll never taste anything quite so smooth.
And I know as sure as I’m about to touch her, no moment will be as life-altering as this one.
Not a single one.
Forty-Five
Evangeline
He’s the most rugged-looking man I’ve ever seen, muscular yet graceful. His body is ropes of muscles woven together to form a twisted pattern that makes my hands itch to run my fingers up and down it. Long legs, slim hips leading to an almost overly trim stomach. He’s lean almost to the point of thin, but knowing how hard he works, I’m not surprised. Unclothed, there’s nothing holding back the power that everyone, including me, relies heavily upon. It’s much more apparent without the barrier of clothes to hide it.
His jeans are riding low down on his hips so I can just see the band of his underwear. My lips part as he bends down to unlace one boot and then the other; I get a fantastic view of his traps and deltoids rippling. I don’t know if it’s his years of service, the shape he had to remain in for his job, or the work he’s done on the farm, but I could combust looking at his back. A dreamy sigh escapes my lips.
When he stands, I know he’s heard it by the hungry look on his face. An answering growl leaves his throat. Quickly, he unsnaps and lowers the zipper on his jeans before moving toward the bed with the grace of a cat—quiet, stealthy, predatory.
