To Seduce a Rogue (31 page)

She smiled, trying to deny the warm tingle his silent approval gave her. “I have a creek behind my house, remember?”

He nodded and sighed. “I’m not going back to Edgemont, Charlie.”

She was silent for a moment as she bent to gather another rock. “I know.”

He turned to her, his eyes as dark and wide as the muddy river bottom. “How?”

She flicked her wrist, the rock flying. Tap, tap, tap, plop. “Last night, I just knew. I could see it in your face, hear it in you voice. You were drunk and” —she drew her hand in a small circle— “I just knew.”

“Why, then...why did you let me—”

She took two steps forward until they were nose to chest. She glared at him, her face hot. “I did not
let
you. Is it so difficult for you to imagine that I may have done what I wanted to?” She jabbed a finger in his shoulder. “You let
me
!”

He took a step back.

“Are you so unaccustomed to a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it?”

“No. I’m not.”

She squeezed her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms. “What is it then?”

His gaze dropped from her eyes, to her lips, to her chest and back again. He opened his mouth, then shut it with a frown. An image of his hands on her breasts jumped into her mind. Was he thinking about that, too?

She advanced a step, pressing against him. She sniffed. Leather. He had been riding this morning. There was also a spicy scent she could not identify. “You smell good. Something new.”

“Bay rum,” he said as he took another step back. His flat expression revealed nothing, but she noticed his eyes darken as his gaze crawled the length of her.

She grinned. A step forward.

Brown eyes pinned blue. Another step back.

“An arrangement. Just like the ones you described in the Four Leaf.” She skimmed her palm over his chest. She hoped he was going to relent. Soon. She was sure she couldn’t physically overpower him, but she was willing to try other measures to win her case. “You won’t even have to buy me flowers. An even exchange. My enthusiasm for your experience.”

He coughed and stumbled back. “Are you
delusional
?”

He was weakening. His uncharacteristically awkward movement told her so. “I never would have marked you a prude, Chase.”

“A
prude
?”

“I’m old enough to know what I want. Old enough to take care of myself.” She noticed a light sheen of sweat glazing his brow. Had that been there before?

“But—”

“I
want
this.” She wanted to kiss him. Touch him. Her fingers itched so badly that she had to curl them into tighter fists. “I want
you
.” To think she had made it twenty-four years without making love, and then to realize how amazing it was!

The best part of all, she got to share it with her best friend.

Adam stepped back, into a tree trunk. She smiled. He had nowhere else to run. The pulse at his throat was tapping against his skin. Beautiful skin. Soft lips. Firm chin. Wide chest. Flat stomach.
Oh
. He looked as hard as the tree he’d shoved himself against.

“Chase” —she leaned close until her breasts brushed his chest— “I’m naked under this dress.”

He snapped his head up, his eyes blazing with hunger and anger. “Stop playing with me.”

“I so want to play with you. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Moving faster than she could have expected, he grasped her shoulders, turned and pushed her up against the tree. The rough wood bit into her back as he pressed into her from chest to hip. He moved his hands to either side of her head, imprisoning her between his arms.

She didn’t speak, only stared up at him.
Finally
.

Submission

The act or instance of submitting.

Defeated, he leaned in to kiss her. It was not a battle worth fighting. She issued a breath of relief as his lips settled on hers. He almost smiled. Obviously, she had been running out of ideas to get him to touch her.

She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She tried to pull him closer, but he resisted, digging his fingers into the bark. Her taut body was so inviting. He wanted to sharpen himself against her like a dull knife.

Christ, he wanted her.

If only she had not mentioned her lack of underclothing.

Had she lied? Running his hands down to her waist, he pulled her dress up in fistfuls. With the material wadded in a sloppy roll at her navel, he slid his hands to her buttocks. Skin and muscle, smooth and tight, met his roving fingers.

Oh
...she had not lied.

He seized her hips, lifting and nestling her against his hard length. Instinctively—she was a damned intuitive creature with respect to lovemaking—she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips, “I like this.” Of course
she
would. They liked the same things, it seemed.

Her skin was warm and the air between them thick, just like the night before. A kaleidoscope of colors had begun to spin before his closed lids. Everywhere he touched her, his skin tingled. He slanted his head, inviting her tongue to engage his in play.

Her arm dropped to trail between their bodies. He sucked a sharp, surprised breath in and tore his mouth from hers as he felt her reaching for him. Her fingers carefully undid his trousers. She released him from a tangle of cloth and surrounded him with her fingers.

“Does this hurt?”

He lifted his head from her shoulder, where it had dropped when she had first touched him. “No...no.” Corrupt contemplation he knew, but he hoped she left the scent of roses upon him.

He glanced down. Bare legs tied like a string about his waist, the dark triangle of hair between her thighs mixing intimately with his own. As he stared, incapable of speech, barely able to breathe, she placed him at her entrance.

Before she let go, she ran her hand along his length. An inquisitive touch. Gentle, arousing. He literally pulsed in her hand.

He threw his head back and closed his eyes as he raised her hips and slowly, slowly eased into her. She arched in an impatient movement, drawing him in with a hard, long thrust that left them both gasping.

“Charlie.” He lowered his head and kissed her.

She moaned against his lips as he began a vigorous rhythm. He wrapped his arms around her, to protect her back from the rough bark. Each thrust chafed. But the hot points of pleasure coursing through him, her soft skin surrounding him, was more than enough to defeat the small dose of pain.

Her sweet breath caressed his neck, his ear. He squeezed her bottom as his tongue moved in rhythm with his thrusts. He could not get enough of her. He had never been with a woman and experienced so much. Strangely a mental picture, far different than what he was actually seeing, sprang to his mind.

He saw her hunched over her desk in the
Sentinel
office, her pink tongue tucked between her teeth. He saw her striding along the boardwalk as though President Fillmore was awaiting her arrival. He saw her snapping her fingers and clicking her tongue, talking to that damn orange cat. He saw her running through a cornfield, her sable hair whipping like smoke.

He pressed his face to the side of hers as all those images intertwined in his mind, in his heart. He squeezed her as he drew closer to his desire, sliding into her, again and again.

She shivered and twisted, asking him to help her, telling him she was burning up.

He kissed her neck and whispered, “Close your mind. Don’t think.
Feel
.”

Her muscles clenched. She must be close.

He turned with her in his arms and laid her gently on the ground, sinking on top of her, never breaking their connection. Her arms flopped behind her, thrusting her chest up. Her eyes were shut, words slipping from her lips in an incoherent flow.

He placing one hand at the juncture of her thighs, the other at her breast, and began to caress her. Even through the cloth of her dress, her nipple hardened, puckered.

“Jared...I’m dying.”

He groaned and shuddered above her. “Then I’m dying, too.”

They moved together, sweat from their bodies mingling, the tangy aroma settling over them like a sheet.

A tide of fervent response consumed him. She curved against him as his name slipped from her in a loud cry. Her muscles clenched like a brace about him. It was more than he could take. He thrust into her, then held himself still as everything he had, everything he felt, flowed into her. He shut his eyes, allowing the world to fade into nothing but his strong heartbeat.

And hers.

Gasping, he lowered hid body to hers. Her harsh, quick breaths lifted the hair from his neck. He heard her swallow.

He rolled, pulling her with him. She descended like a feather against him. As he flung his arm over his forehead, he wondered if he would be able to stand and walk from the secluded clearing.
Damn
. It had been even more phenomenal than last night. And more frightening.

She tilted her head, then he heard her giggle. He had not heard her giggle before. Not once. Charlie Whitney was not a giggling girl. Helpless, he rolled his head toward her and flicked his eyes open. Hers were wide and blue. So blue they brought an ache to his chest. “Why are you laughing?”

A mischievous glint entered her gaze. “I was thinking about writing an editorial on the public school system.”

“School system?” She had been pondering an editorial while...

She lifted her hand to her mouth and laughed behind it. “No, silly.” She tapped her finger against her temple. “I was imagining the places a resourceful person could find to make love. I mean, if it works so well with clothes
on
.”

His mind flipped through a vast array of locales suitable for just such a passionate encounter. Charlie was there, in all of them—under him, over him, beside him, in front of him, bending, pulling, licking, sucking. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Charlie, you’re killing me.”

She touched his face. Helplessly, he leaned into her touch. “Chase, I’ve never been a modest, prim model of correct behavior. It used to upset me that everything I did was perceived as being so” —she paused as she searched for the right word— “so inappropriate.”

Adam opened his eyes, mindful of the sincere expression that would be sitting on her face. He had never known anyone to be so sure and, at the same time, be able to understand—even laugh—about the way the world perceived them.

“My mother once told me she was amazed she had been a part of creating a child so very different from herself. She was
pleased
. Can you imagine? Such a wonderful, wise, elegant woman...and here
I
was, lagging along her side, barefoot often as not. Dirty face, torn clothing. She allowed me to do too much, I suppose, to make my own decisions. Even then. She wanted me to be able to think for myself.”

She trailed her hand down his chest, stopping when she came to the patch of hair that showed through the open neck of his shirt. She slipped her fingers through it, absently, never imagining how even this very simple touch upset his equilibrium. “I know who you are, Adam Jared Chase.”