Lily Love (25 page)

Hey, knock it off! This is not a threesome.

I shake my head; I don’t need to be thinking about Peter right now. What I should be thinking about is whether I can emotionally handle a physical relationship with Tate. I need to figure that out before I find myself in an awkward position, like pinned beneath his hard, naked body. I close my eyes as images of Tate’s nude form assault my imagination. He’s hovering over me, with his hips pressed against mine. His lips brush my neck as his hand cups my breast—

“Caroline.”

My eyes fly open at the sound of my name. I find Tate’s eyes burning into me. My face flushes with heat as I look away. I am so busted, and from the look on his face, Tate knows
exactly
where my thoughts were. He stays silent as he guides us out of the building into the parking lot. When we get to my car, I muster the courage to look at him again. Big mistake. His soulful eyes bore into me, and I swear they can see every thought I’ve ever had.

“Follow me,” he says, and all I can do is nod in agreement.

He reaches around me to open my door, making sure not to touch me. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s thinking the same naked thoughts that I am, or if he’s afraid of mine. Either way, it’s unnerving. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him senseless, just like he’s done to me, but we’re in the parking lot of a hospice. Talk about inappropriate.

I slide into the driver’s seat and force myself to smile casually at Tate. “See you there?” is all I can think to say. Some wordsmith I am. I wait for him to step out of the way so I can close the door, but he doesn’t move. Instead he rests his forearms on the doorframe and leans into my space. He surrounds me, his presence consuming me. “Tate,” I whisper. I want to tell him that I need to go home, that I’ll see him some other time, because I’m all out of self-restraint.

“Follow me,” he repeats, like he knows I’m wavering. “You’re killing me, Caroline.” He squeezes his eyes closed, like the sight of me is too much. I want to die; he must have whiplash with all my back-and-forth. “If you don’t stop looking at me that way, we’re not going
to make it out of the parking lot.” He smirks at my expression, which I can only imagine must reflect something between “mortified” and “horror-stricken.” A quick flick of my neck and I’m facing my lap. The curtain of my hair shields me from Tate’s penetrating stare.

“Well, if you don’t let me close my door, we won’t be making it out of the parking lot, either.” I lift my eyes back to his and grin. A little humor to cut through this tension. I really hope it works, because I might burst into flames if he keeps looking at me like he wants to climb on top of me right here.

Taking a step back, he chuckles under his breath as he closes my door. He taps my window and gestures for me to roll it down.

“Your smart-ass sense of humor doesn’t make you any less sexy.” He arches his eyebrow and winks his dimples at me. Damn. “Just sayin’.”

In my rearview mirror I watch him cross the parking lot. I can’t believe I’m following him back to his house, knowing what might happen. Better yet, hoping that it does. While this newfound boldness is shocking, I find it far more startling that I’m okay with it.

desire

I
watch in fascination as Tate disappears into a black Toyota Highlander. I think he really enjoys knocking me off my game. Can’t a girl just lighten things up a bit? Oh, no, the tenderness of our connection is heating and fostering a whole different set of feelings in me. Tate just stokes the flame until I feel like I want to climb out of my skin. I roll my head in circles on my shoulders, but it does nothing to help me relax.

I follow Tate for about ten minutes, to the edge of town. The tiny rectangular land-lots of urban living give way to open acreage. We pass the horse farm where Lily has equine therapy and turn left on one of those little dirt roads you’d fly past unless you knew what you were looking for. Eventually we pull up to a small Craftsman-style cottage, set against what looks to be tobacco crops on the right and open land on the left. I follow Tate around the side of the house and pull up between him and a second building. My curiosity is piqued when I step out of the car and look around.

“Mechanical engineer, photographer, and tobacco farmer?” I tease. “Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Michaels?”

He comes to a stop at the back bumper of my car, leaving just enough space for me to think I’m safe.

“Come here.” His voice is as rich and warm as his caramel eyes. I stand completely still, terrified to take a step toward him and terrified not to. “Caroline.”

His tone commands me to focus on him as he walks toward me. I hold my breath when he reaches around me, waiting for his body to come into contact with mine in some delicious way. Only when his hand closes over mine do I realize that my arm is folded behind me, white-knuckling the door handle. He peels my fingers away from the car, and begins rubbing them until the circulation comes back. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?” I try to smile, but my lips quiver to betray my nerves.

“Because you’re looking at me like you’re scared to death of me.” He brushes my cheek with the side of his hand. “I just want to spend time with you. The last thing I want is for you to be scared of me.”

“I’m only scared of how badly I want you.” I cover my mouth with my hand, shocked that I spoke out loud. Tate’s lips part, and his eyes burn into me with so much intensity, I’m sure I’ll burst into flames. He tugs my hand away from my mouth, letting his thumb drag across my bottom lip.

“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re killing me, Caroline. I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want you.”

Knowing that the desire is mutual leaves me feeling dizzy and drunk. Inhibitions long forgotten, my tongue darts out to graze the pad of his thumb. His breath hitches as he watches me taste him. Suddenly his thumb is gone, and his mouth is hot on mine. He nips at my lip at the same time he reaches around and grabs hold of my bottom. I moan at the sensation, giving his tongue room to explore my mouth. He pulls us around the front of my car and lifts me onto the hood. I gasp as the heat from the engine seeps through my shorts, but it’s nothing compared to the fire Tate’s generating in them. Nudging my knees apart, he steps between them and grabs my face in his hands.
Passion ignites his kiss, making me tremble at his touch. When he pulls back, I whimper at the loss of him.

My eyes drift open to Tate unfastening the Velcro straps of my sling, sliding it carefully from around my neck. When his eyes lift to mine again, I’m struck by the reverence I find there. Not just lust from wanting me, but something more, something deeper that gives me hope that maybe he could be falling, too.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” he pleads.

He doesn’t need to ask twice; I drape my arms around him, and at the same time he pulls me flush against him. His erection is hard and hot between us; it makes me feel wanton and desperate for more. He lifts me with ease, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His lips are back on mine as he crosses the yard. Once he clears the front steps of his house, he lets me slide down the front of his body so he can pick his pockets for his keys. He mutters a curse as he fumbles with the lock, until the door finally swings wide.

He hesitates at the threshold and looks back at me. “I swear I have something for you. This isn’t why I brought you home with me. We can wait; I don’t want to rush you.”

I didn’t know I could be more turned on than I was already, but I am. I couldn’t stop myself from having him if I wanted to—and God knows I don’t want to. I want in his bed. Now.

I lean in close to his ear, so the touch of my lips and my breath can punctuate my words. “Where’s your room?” I run my nose along his neck and kiss his pulse point, where the frantic thrum of his heartbeat vibrates against my lips. Tate lets out a growl and then the world goes completely upside down. I squeal as Tate tosses me over his shoulder and makes a break for the hallway. I can hardly breathe, I’m laughing so hard.

I smack his ass. “Whatever happened to ‘I’m not really a Neanderthal’?” Then, as quickly as I was upended, I’m flat on my back in the middle of Tate’s bed.

“I do seem to go a little Cro-Magnon around you.” He smiles devilishly. The bed dips as he climbs his way toward me, nudging my feet apart as he goes. Any hope I had of stopping vanishes as he leans his body into mine. I gasp when Tate’s hand brushes my bare skin where my tank has ridden up. He stares down at me with piercing eyes, asking permission to continue. I feel beautiful and sensual under his scrutiny. Without any nervousness, I lift my arms and arch my back in invitation.

He takes his time, kissing every inch of skin he exposes as he lifts my shirt higher. It’s driving me crazy. He’s unwrapping me like I’m a gift. Savoring my skin, murmuring words of gratitude and awe as he goes. My breasts strain against the lace of my bra, begging for Tate’s touch. Sensing my need, he frees me from the rest of my tank and pulls down the cup of my bra. When he takes my nipple into his mouth, my hips buck into his. I’m too lost in the way his tongue is licking fire across my skin to care that I’ve grabbed fistfuls of his hair to bring him closer.

Soon we’re nothing more than a tangle of limbs and clothing we’re desperate to shed. The need to feel Tate’s skin against mine is as keen as my next breath. Somewhere between my head and my heart, wanting him has morphed into a need so powerful, I don’t know how I’ve lived without him so far. My hormones are waging a war of their own, ready to stake their claim where Tate is concerned.

“You are so beautiful,” Tate groans, shaking me from my reverie.

I could say the same for him; his tall, lean frame is mapped with dips and valleys of toned muscle. A dusting of hair spans his wide chest and gradually narrows over his stomach. The faint trail that’s left leads to the unabashed evidence of his desire for me. It makes me heady with power, knowing I made him feel that way. He brushes his lips along my collarbone and up my neck. I undulate my hips, so his erection slides deliciously between us.

“I want to be inside you so badly,” he growls. He
growls
, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Please, Tate,” I beg, not caring how shameless I sound. He rolls away to root through his nightstand, producing a foil packet. Softly panting, I shift my hips in silent invitation as he rolls the condom down his length.

“Look at me,” Tate demands, and I’m helpless to resist. The intensity of his stare holds me captive as he pushes into me. My eyes flutter shut at the divine sensation of my body opening up for him. “Open your eyes, Caroline.” Tate’s tongue sweeps the seam of my mouth. “I want to see your eyes when I’m buried in you.”

Up until this point in my life, I didn’t think I was one of those girls who liked bedroom talk. That was until Tate started talking about being buried inside of me, and now I can’t wait to hear more declarations just like that from him. I open my eyes to his lust-filled gaze, and I know that Tate feels every bit of what I’m feeling. He wants me just as much as I want him. He lifts his hips to ease out of me, his eyes burning into mine when he thrusts forward again.

“Oh, God, Tate,” I moan, as pressure begins building deep in my belly. I lift my hips to allow him deeper, savoring the way he fills and stretches me in a way I’ve never felt before.

“You feel so good . . . Jesus . . . so good,” he pants, finding a rhythm that drives us both wild.

Just when I feel like I can’t take any more of his sweet torture, my body clenches down on him as an orgasm explodes through me. Our eyes still fixed on each other, Tate watches as I come apart underneath him.

Never in my life have I felt so wholly enraptured by anyone.

“You’re. So. Sexy,” he grunts between thrusts, as his own need reaches a fevered pitch. Gripping his pumping hips, I pull him even harder against me. “Ah, Caroline!” My name comes out on a strangled cry as his body shudders and empties inside me.

into the mystic

I
have no idea how long we lie sweat-slick and panting. I’m in a haze of postorgasmic bliss and don’t really care anyway. I grumble my dissent when Tate rolls off of me.

“Did I hurt you?” He shifts his weight onto his side so he can take my broken wrist in his hand.

“The last thing you did was hurt me.” I smirk.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, kissing the tips of my fingers. “Still, I should be gentler with you.” He hovers at my ring finger, which trembles worse than the rest of my hand. It’s easy to forget that the hemiparesis still affects me when my hand is immobilized in a brace. Instinctively I curl my fingers into a fist, wanting to hide it from Tate. He kisses my knuckles before he asks, “Why does your hand shake, Caroline?”

Instant mood killer.

“You don’t really want to talk about it now,” I insist.

“Tell me; it doesn’t change anything,” he swears, “I just want to know.” His eyes are so sincere; it makes me want to believe him.

“When I was in labor with Lily, I had a stroke.” It felt so nice to be desirable and sexy, but that changed the second I said “stroke.” Now the only thing I feel is like an invalid.

“Preeclampsia?” he asks. I can only nod. “Tarryn had that with my niece; she went on bed rest for her last trimester.” He reaches for my arm, encouraging me to lie back down with him. He tucks me against his chest and waits for me to continue the story.

“I didn’t present with it until late in my pregnancy. The day we found out, my labor was induced, and then everything went crazy.” I gasp in surprise when Tate’s hand slides across my stomach. My instinct is to shy away further, but I force myself not to pull away.

“It amazes me what a woman’s body is capable of,” he murmurs reverently as he flattens his palm between my belly button and my pubic bone. With great tenderness, he traces a heart where Lily grew inside my body, kissing its center in adoration. The need to tell him that I love him overwhelms me, but I can’t. Not yet.

“Do you want to have children someday?” I inwardly curse myself for bringing it up. It’s questions like these that can quickly remind me how little promise there is for a future with Tate. He isn’t going to want to take on the care of a special-needs child or share the spotlight with one. And what if he
does
want children? That’s definitely a deal breaker, considering my body wasn’t very good at being pregnant. Understatement of the year.