Mine,the kiss says.
From the first instant, it’s not enough. I have her lips, but I want her tongue. I tease the seam of her mouth, and she opens to me, our tongues tangling and jousting. She moans into my mouth, and my cock hardens so fast that I get lightheaded.
I angle my head, chasing the silk of her tongue, trying to tell her with this kiss—in case it’s the only one, the last one—how much I need and want her.
Her body is slim and willowy but surprisingly strong. She presses herself to me like she’s trying to get as close as she can, and her eagerness lights me on fire. I palm her—slender shoulders, the small of her back, the sweet, modest curve of her ass. She arches into me, seeking more, and when I raise my hand, she gives a soft moan of relief and presses her breast into my palm.
The gesture almost destroys me—it’s so needy and so trusting at the same time. All I can do is give her what she wants, cupping my hand around the small but perfect curve of her breast, finding the needy tip with finger and thumb and teasing until she’s half-riding my thigh, while I keep kissing her, the kisses getting deeper and messier, broken up with moans and nips and soft curses.
I can tell that if I keep going, I’ll make her come, right here in?—
I freeze. And slowly draw back. I close off the kiss. I gently peel us apart, setting her back from my overheated body, putting space between us.
Her eyes comb over my face, fearful and hopeful.
“I’m staying in Quinn and Sonya’s guesthouse,” I say. “Want to come inside for a drink?”
Her sudden grin is a spark in the dark, and in the firelight, she is disheveled and hazy eyed and unbelievably beautiful.
“Thought you’d never ask,” she says.
31
Eden
After making sure the campfire’s out, we go inside. Rhys pours me a glass of red wine and himself a tumbler of whiskey, and we sit together on the couch. The guesthouse at Sonya and Quinn’s new house is lovely—cathedral-ceilinged great room, big stone fireplace, windows that right now are big black rectangles but I’m guessing, from the location and direction, look out on the three mountain peaks we affectionately call the Triplets.
“I should have told you sooner how I felt,” he says. “But I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want it to be true when I was representing Teller, and I didn’t want it to be true when you were marrying Paul. Then you weren’t marrying Paul but I needed you to be marrying Paul, and?—”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It was a fucking mess, and it was easier to keep ignoring my feelings. It had worked for me up to that point, so why wouldn’t it keep working?”
“Because we were stuck in a car together?” I hazard. My chest has filled with a light, buoyant feeling that I think might be happiness. “And in hotel rooms?” I take the glass out of his hand and set it on the coffee table, set mine beside it. I throw a leg across his thighs and straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs. It feels so good to have him there, between my legs.
“The piggyback ride almost killed me,” I say.
“It almost killedme.”
“Mutually assured destruction.”
Rhys sighs. “That’s about the shape of it.”
I jack my hips closer to his, and he makes a rough sound deep in his chest. I feel it everywhere. My body is hungry, and the only way to ease the craving is to press myself closer to him.
“God. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he grits out.
“Me, too.”
“I wanted this the first time you walked into my law firm’s conference room.”
“You did not.”
“I did. I swear it.”
“You wanted to squash me like a bug.” I hold a thumb and forefinger up to demonstrate.
“I wanted to squash you between my body and the wall.” He tugs my hips closer.
“You looked at me like I was the gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.”
