Page 37 of Return of the Rancher

India kicked off her shoes. “It’s only the dress,” she said, her smile half mocking, half mischievous. “Nothing else.”

There was a ringing in his ears. His chest heaved. Could it be true?

Carefully, he cupped one breast through the fabric of her dress. The curvy flesh and taut nipple were unfettered. Damn.

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait another second. He pushed her back onto the bed, shoved her dress to her waist and mounted her with an aggression set free by his splintered control. “Tell me you want me,” he growled. “Tell me.”

She gasped when he thrust hard, all the way to her womb. “I want you, Farris. I want you.”

The words inflamed him. He rode her hard, groaning when her legs went around his waist. “This will take the edge off, Inkie. Then all night I’m going to f—”

She put a hand over his mouth, halting the torrent of words. “No promises, remember? We’re living in the moment.”

Farris knew he hadn’t made her come. He felt bad about it. But his body seized control and drove him toward completion. The end hit him hard. He wanted to say something to her. To tell her how he felt. But there was no time. Without protection, the sensation of being inside her was magnified.

He choked out her name, shuddered and emptied his essence into her welcoming body.

When it was over, he could hear his heart beating in his ears. His limbs were lax and weak.

India trembled in the aftermath. Farris’s hunger was more than she’d expected. For the briefest moment, she pondered whether or not he might really have been celibate since their divorce. Then she mentally chided herself. Her ex-husband was a highly sexual creature, a masculine animal in his prime.

She knew his appetite for sex. There was no way he had stayed out of other women’s beds. No way at all. To entertain that fantasy—even for a moment—would be opening herself up to unimaginable hurt.

Even so, her body sang with pleasure. Despite the lack of an orgasm, she knew Farris would make it up to her. The level of his arousal and desperation had singed her with fire. To know how badly he wanted her smoothed her bruised feelings.

The divorce had damaged her self-esteem. In the months afterward, she had questioned her desirability, her appeal. She had felt incredibly vulnerable.

Now, tonight, she knew the truth. Whatever else had happened, Farris hadn’t lost interest in her body or in theirsexual intimacy.

He stirred and laughed raggedly. “I’m sorry, Inkie.”

She tunneled her fingers through his hair. “I’m sure you’ll get to me eventually. I thought your urgency was flattering.”

“Sarcasm?” He rolled to his feet and helped her up, grinning.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Good news,” he said, unzipping her dress and removing it with impressive speed before scooping her up in his arms.

Her cheek rested against his chest. “Oh?”

With one hand, he flipped back the covers. Gently, he deposited her in the center of the mattress. “Now it’s all about you.”

“Oh, my.” She pretended to joke and flirt, but her heart hammered.

Farris joined her beneath the covers and sprawled on his side. “I hope I remember all the good spots.”

“I’ll help if you get lost.”

After that, there was no time for humor. She was too busy grabbing handfuls of the sheet and trying to wring every drop of delight out of this delayed foreplay. She arched her back and panted.

Farris slid one hand between her thighs and bent to lick her nipple. “So far so good?” he asked, his voice muffled.

She groaned as heat spread through her belly. “Definitely.”

He touched her lightly, teasingly. But she was so primed she knew her climax was imminent. She wanted this encounter to last.

When he entered her with two fingers and then three, she began to beg. Everything in her body focused on that one most sensitive spot. She was slick and needy, embarrassingly so. “Enough, Farris. I want you. Now.”

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