Christine Rimmer - The Man Who Had Everything

Thank God it wasn’t like that anymore.

But still, what if she spooked him by laying it right out there, bold as you please? She didn’t want to scare him off.

A sudden gust of wind stirred the trees around them and tried to blow the paper plates away, with only chicken bones to hold them down.

“Oops.” Swiftly she gathered up the remains of their meal, stuffed it in the trash bag she’d brought and weighted the bag down with a rock. “There,” she said unnecessarily when that job was done. He was sitting so still, watching her, kind of narrow-eyed, waiting for her to explain herself.

She stalled some more. “Hey. Want a beer?” She started to rise.

“Stay here.” He reached for his boots. “I can get it.” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the trash bag from under the rock. “You want one?”

She didn’t much care for beer. “No.”

She watched him go to the horses, something inside her kind of aching in a joyous way. His shoulders were so broad, his waist so hard and narrow. And he truly did have one fine butt.

And how could she tell him—that she knew he wanted her though he didn’t want to want her? How could she make him understand that she didn’t expect anything from him?

Except maybe his kisses and his eager embrace. Just this…wonder. And this joy.

And as for the rest? Well, why not just let the rest take care of itself?

He stuffed the trash in the saddlebags, got a beer and returned to her. She stewed some more over what to say to him as he set the can on one of the rocks and pulled off his boots all over again. He popped the tab and took a long drink. She watched his Adam’s apple bounce up and down and continued her internal debate: What to say?

How to say it?

Finally he set down what was left of the beer. “Well?”

“Um. Yeah. Okay. I…” The words were right there, inside her mind, so clear. I know that you’re attracted to me, but you’re thinking it’s not right because you’re not looking for anything permanent. You’re telling yourself you won’t take advantage of me. But oh, please. Take advantage. Take advantage right now ….

So clear. And so much easier to think than to actually say.

“What?” His gaze locked on hers. “Say it.”

“It’s…a beautiful day, don’t you think?” Oh, Lord. How lame could she get?

“Steph…” His eyes said he couldn’t make up his mind between reaching out and grabbing her—or jumping up and running clean away from her as fast as he could go.

“A beautiful day…” She said those lame words again and that time, she swayed toward him. He stiffened. She landed against his chest and looked up at him longingly. “And it’s just you and me, all alone on this blanket under the trees…” She put her hand over his heart. Oh, it felt so good. So perfect, just leaning against him. Her breath was all knotted up in her throat. She wanted to stay right where she was, forever, yet she was absolutely certain that any second now, he would push her away.

But he didn’t. With a low groan, he gathered her close. “Damn it, Steph.”

She laid a finger against his wonderful mouth. “Shh. Okay? Just…shh.”

He stared down at her. She could feel the warmth and the strength of him, the shape of him, so hard and manly. And cradled close against him like this, she could feel his heart, too, beating away in there, firm and deep. He said gruffly, “I can’t…think, when I touch you.”

“Good,” she told him, feeling braver now, her love and her yearning leading her on. “Because you don’t need to think. I don’t want you to think.”

His lip twitched. It was almost a smile. “Always so damn sure of yourself.”

“Oh, no,” she cried. “I’m not sure of myself at all. But I am sure about how I feel. Sure about…what I want.”

“This is crazy.” But his arms tightened around her.

“Oh, no. Not crazy. Right. Exactly right.”

“You smell like sunshine,” he whispered, the sound rough, as if it hurt him, just to get those words out. “And the way you feel, in my arms, when I touch you…”

“Just kiss me,” she whispered back, lifting her mouth to him. “Just kiss me and the rest will take care of itself.”

“Shouldn’t…” The single word came out on another groan.

“Oh, yes. You should…” So…heady. This magic. This power she was finding she had over him. The magic of wanting. The power of desire.

Who knew it could be like this between a man and woman? She never would have guessed. Every nerve in her body seemed to be singing. She was shivery—but with wonderful, heavy, lazy heat.

“Damn. You’re killing me, you know that?”

“Oh, Grant…”

He took her by the arms then, and she was sure all over again that he would set her away from him.

But in the end, he only grabbed her closer as his warm mouth swooped down and covered hers.

Oh, it was amazing. Her senses swam at the feel of him, pressing her close, his hands stroking her back as his tongue traced the seam where her lips met. With a sigh, she let them part for him.

He speared his tongue inside. She sucked on it, boldly, and when he retreated, she followed him, into the warm, hot cave beyond those wonderful lips of his.

She clutched his shoulders as he guided her down onto the blanket. He kissed her more deeply, still, his tongue delving in, sweeping along the edges of her teeth, stroking her own tongue in a long, wet glide.

Oh, it was heaven.

Just as she’d dreamed it might be.

His hand cupped her breast. Beneath her shirt and bra, her nipple hardened, aching. She moaned and lifted her body toward him, wanting more.

Wanting everything. Ready to have it all, at last, right there, on that blanket, in the lovely, shadowed, private place beneath the birch trees…

To have it all with Grant, as she’d always dreamed. To be fully a woman at last, with the only man she’d ever loved.

He kissed her chin, nipping it, whispering her name against her eager flesh. He kissed the side of her neck, opening his mouth there, licking her skin, making her shiver in the most delicious way…

He kissed the hollow of her throat and she stretched her neck back, spearing her fingers into his hair, cupping his head and cradling him close, urging him to kiss her some more, to keep on kissing her.

To never stop.

“Oh, Grant,” she whispered, “Oh, Grant. Yes. Please. Yes…”

His warm hand trailed downward. She wanted… more.

To be closer, to have his hand there , where she was aching and yearning, hot and eager. To have him , completely. To be with him in the most passionate, intimate way.

She moaned his name again.

And then, out of nowhere, for no reason at all…he tore himself away from her. With a low groan, and a guttural, “No!” he was gone.

“Grant?” She opened her eyes to see him sitting back on his bent legs, his strong hands on his knees, face flushed, mouth swollen, eyes heavy with the same need that made her legs and arms feel weighted, that made her body so lazy and hungry and hot. She lifted yearning arms to him. “Come back here. Back here to me…”

He swore. “No. This is all wrong. I didn’t come here for this.”

“But I don’t…”

“Damn it, Steph. Listen. Listen to me.”

Stunned, punch-drunk with longing, she dragged herself to a sitting position. “I don’t understand. What’s the matter? What happened?”

He rocked back on his stocking feet and rose above her. She stared up at him, so tall and strong, glaring down at her, the leaves of the birches rustling above his head, the blue, clear sky beyond…

A sudden chill swept through her. She wrapped her arms around herself against a cold that came from deep inside. “What? Say it. Whatever it is, just please, say it. Now.”