Barbara McCauley - Blackhawk Desires

“What if I did?”

She stilled at his words, not certain if she should be insulted or excited. “What if you did what?”

“For starters—” he reached down and took the knife from her hand, laid it on the cutting board, then reached for her “—this.”

His mouth covered hers. A hot, hungry kiss that stole her breath, sent her pulse racing and her mind spinning. And there it was again. Absolute pleasure, intense need. It streaked through her like liquid lightning, setting her skin on fire. She met the moist heat of his tongue with her own, slid her hands up the rock-solid wall of his chest. A moan rose from deep in her throat, hummed through her entire body. She was powerless to stop it, so she gave herself up to the feeling, let it melt through and consume her.

Wonderful , she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck.

So wonderfully wonderful.

He dragged her closer, deepened the kiss, maneuvered her between him and the Formica counter. She reveled in the feel of his hard, powerful body pressed tightly against hers. No one had ever kissed her like this before. Had ever made her feel such raw, wild need. It frightened and thrilled her at the same time. The kiss this afternoon had simply been an appetizer, she realized, a precursor to the main course.

She clutched at his back, rose on her toes to get closer.

Shifting his weight, he slid his hands down her spine and cupped her bottom. She heard a deep, low growl in his throat, then gasped when he suddenly lifted her up onto the counter and stepped between her legs. The paper bag behind her spilled over, and through the blood pounding in her head, she vaguely heard the oranges she’d bought roll onto the floor and bounce. She didn’t care. With Sam’s kisses spinning her world out of control, how could she?

His mouth left hers and she whimpered, drew in a sharp breath as his lips blazed kisses over her jaw to her ear. She rolled her head back, bit her lip when his teeth nipped her earlobe, then moved to her neck. Fire raced over her skin, pulsated at the juncture of her thighs. His lips and teeth teased and explored, but his mouth wasn’t the only part of him that was busy. His hands worked her shirt from her waistband, then quickly slid underneath.

She quivered, lost herself to the mind-numbing sensations of his skin on hers. His palms were rough and when they cupped her breasts, she arched her back. He mumbled something, lowered his head to nuzzle. Gasping, she braced her arms on the counter behind her, and in some dim recess of her mind felt the small, plastic-wrapped box under her fingers.

And remembered what she’d bought.

When she stiffened, he raised his head.

“What?” he asked, his voice husky and deep.

“Nothing.” She closed her hand around the box, tried to push it back into the paper bag, but the bag moved away and fell on the floor.

Oh, hell.

With a frown, he straightened and glanced behind her back.

She watched his eyes narrow, then his mouth press into a hard line when he saw what was in the box.

A pregnancy test.

His gaze shot back to hers. “You’re pregnant?”

If the situation—and the look in Sam’s eyes—hadn’t been so intense, she might have laughed at the absurdity of his question. She certainly didn’t want him to think the test was for her, but she couldn’t very well tell him that Clair had asked her to buy it, either. No matter what Sam thought of her, Kiera wouldn’t break that trust.

When she didn’t reply, he stepped back and dragged a hand through his rumpled hair. “Dammit, Kiera, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

She slid off the counter, picked the bag up from the floor, then dropped the box inside. “I didn’t ask you for help, Sam.”

His eyes dark with anger, he stared at her for what felt like a lifetime.

“Fine.”

He ground the single word out through gritted teeth, then turned and headed for the door. He yanked it open, stopped, spun around and leveled his gaze at her.

“Just tell me this,” he said tightly. “And dammit, tell me the truth. Are you married?”

That she could honestly answer . “No.”

A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw. She watched him turn and slam out the door. Slowly, she released the breath she’d been holding, then leaned against the counter and closed her eyes.

She heard a car engine rev, then the squeal of tires.

Men!

With an irritated groan, she pushed away from the counter and bent to pick up the fruit that had rolled on the floor. Why should he be mad at me? she thought, picking up an orange and tossing it back onto the counter. And why were the men in her life who mattered to her most so damn demanding?

She scooped up another orange and glared at it. “I refuse to be bullied.”

Why the hell did she have to fall for a guy who had the same ornery, the same intolerable, the same insufferable temperament as Trey?

She spun around at the sudden knock on the door. So he’d come back to interrogate her further, she thought and marched toward the door, ready to argue if that’s what he wanted. She threw open the door.

But it wasn’t Sam standing there. It was Clair.

“I—I’m sorry,” Clair said hesitantly, obviously startled at the unexpected force of the door opening. “I must have come at a bad time.”

“No, no. Of course not.” Kiera felt the heat of a blush scurry up her neck onto her face. “I’m sorry. I thought you were—never mind. Please, come in.”

Kiera closed the door when Clair stepped inside, then moved to the counter and picked up the box sitting there. “I hope I bought the right one. There were several to choose from and I really hadn’t a clue.”

“I wouldn’t have known, either.” Clair stared at the pregnancy kit with a mixture of wonder and amazement on her face. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. “Oh, I hope you’re right. I really, really hope you’re right.”

“Then I really, really hope I’m right, too,” Kiera said, then stiffened when Clair moved forward and hugged her. Just a brief hug, a simple, I’m-just-so-happy-I-want-to-share-it hug.

But to Kiera it was so much more.

It was a hug that had the power to topple defenses. To break through walls. To answer questions.

If there was anyone she dared trust, anyone who might be able to answer those questions, Kiera knew it was Clair.

But she couldn’t. Not only because it was terrible timing, but because now that she had established this connection she was terrified of losing it, afraid that the joy shining in Clair’s eyes would turn to doubt. Maybe even to hatred.

When the time is right , she thought, praying it would be soon.

“I’m sorry.” With a sniff, Clair stepped back and wiped at the tears in her eyes. “I’ve just been so emotional these past couple of weeks.”

“That’s another sure sign.” Kiera blinked back her own threatening tears, then shifted uneasily, not sure what to do now. “Can I—ah, would you like something to drink? Some water or iced tea?”

“Iced tea would be wonderful,” Clair said distantly, still staring at the box in her hands. “I think I might need a couple of minutes to calm down before I drive home.”

“Sugar?” Kiera asked, pulling a pitcher out of the fridge.

“No, thanks.” Clair moved to the counter, glanced at the groceries and the chopped basil. “You cook?”

“I like to,” Kiera said, filling a glass from the cupboard. “Do you?”

“Never learned, and now I’m too busy.” Clair nodded at the pan with butter in it. “What are you making?”

“Chicken marsala.” Kiera handed the tea to Clair, then threw caution to the wind. “You’re welcome to stay and eat if you’re hungry.”