Page 41 of Wyoming Cowboy Undercover

He pulled her to him, the kiss primal, absolutely raw and hot.

All her thoughts melted away. There was only him and desire and greed, tangled in her need to have his hands on her. His mouth.Havinghim...any way that she could.

He slipped his hand between her legs, his fingers caressing her, working to open her, and sent her desire soaring. She writhed helplessly, swept up in a wave of wild hunger that overwhelmed her completely, that she had no idea how to satisfy. His strokes were gentle and confident, brushing, teasing over and over at that part of her that was most sensitive.

She turned liquid, molding to the hard contours of his body. Pleasure was an ocean she wanted to drown in. Flooded with breathless sensation and something close to euphoria, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it, or if she wanted to. Then he took her even higher, even deeper, at the very same time. The swell built, the pressure mounting, aching for release. With every breath, every caress, she felt herself, every responsibility, every anchor in her life slipping away. A bittersweet riptide of ecstasy inundated her, reducing her to mindlessness as she came apart in his arms—the first time.

Chapter Eleven

They were a tangle of limbs. All heat and a slow, desperate need that threatened to snap his self-control. He had touched every inch of her exposed skin and she had done likewise, with no hint of shyness. She was a woman on a mission. And he was a man seeking forgiveness with his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, every body part that brought her pleasure.

At last, when he couldn’t hold on to his restraint any longer, he gave into his release. She quivered around him again, her nails digging into his back. He groaned at how incredible she felt. Tight, wet, heat. Shuddering, he dropped his face to her neck. Kissed her pulse.

His heart hammered, his breath shallow. Rolling off her, he put his head back on the pillow, drugged with satisfaction. He brought her against his side, nestling her into the crook of his shoulder.

She was perfect. Lean, soft and supple. She’d been so open. So responsive, as if drinking in his touch. Without even trying, she pulled something from him, a tenderness he’d never shown to anyone else. Being with her exceeded his wildest fantasy. Like she’d been made for him.

He’d never made love to anyone like that, feeding off the sight of her in the throes of pleasure, happy to bask in sensation and teeter on the edge. A sweet, terrible form of torture.

Every detail of her pressed close to him struck new chords of desire in him: the lithe lines of her body, the tempting curve of her breasts, the sunny blond hair that spilled over his chest, catching the light like liquid gold. And most of all, her beautiful face.

Before he’d fully caught his breath, she disentangled herself from him, slipped out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. Every movement was graceful and careful like a cat finding her way across slippery, uneven ground.

The door closed. The toilet flushed. Water ran.

He discarded the used condom in the trash bin, double-checked the chain on the door and crawled into bed.

Minutes later, she came out, but didn’t meet his eyes. She climbed into the other bed, switched off the lamp and turned her back to him.

An odd pressure churned in his chest.

“Mercy...” His voice failed him, his brain staggering at his inability to come up with the right words. He thought she’d get back into bed with him. That she’d want to be held. Or talk. “Are you sore?” he asked in concern, remembering how delicate she was, how tight. He’d done his best to tamp down his urges and go slowly, gently, so as not to cause her any pain. “Mercy, are you okay?”

“Thank you for giving me what I wanted.”

To be thanked felt odd.Wrong.

He waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he assumed it was because she was still upset with him despite what had just transpired between them. With a hot stab in the pit of his stomach, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you with the truth sooner. I never meant to hurt you. If I could go back and handle it differently, I would.”

But then he realized that if he had told her he was an ATF agent that night in USD, after her panic attack, he still would’ve driven her away.

“I’m tired,” she said. “Good night.”

The knot behind his sternum tightened and spread. Tendrils of anxiety coiled through him like choking vines.

He’d never be able to separate the months of lies from all the moments of honesty.

As a consequence, he feared losing her for good.

WHENROCCOAWAKENEDthe next morning, he was unsure of the time, a rarity for him. The situation didn’t look any better in the light of day. If anything, things were worse.

They got ready in silence. She wasn’t being modest, not hiding her body, but they had moved around each other, with her going to great pains to avoid any physical contact. He took her cue and kept his distance.

Not knowing how long they might need the room he didn’t check out. They climbed into Charlie’s muscle car. He brought the engine roaring to life. “We can stop and grab breakfast,” he suggested as he pulled out of the lot.

With her arms crossed, she stared out the window. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then we can get some coffee at a café and talk.”

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