FATHER IN TRAINING (14 page)

She glared at him as if he'd asked her to dance naked in church. "I'm not interested in a relationship."

At least she hadn't said she wasn't interested in one with him. He thought about backing off and simply saying good-night, but he'd always had more curiosity than sense. Right now, he was noticing how fast
Sandy
was breathing and the way her nipples had hardened and were pressing against her shirt. According to the signals her body was sending, she wasn't as immune to him as she would like him to think. It was kind of like standing in front of a growling, tail-wagging dog. Which end did you believe?

Which
Sandy
was telling the truth? "If you're not interested in a relationship, how do you feel about passion?" he asked, rising to his feet.

"What?"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up next to him. "You heard me."

Wide eyes stared at him. Her mouth trembled. That mouth. Damn it all to hell, he remembered being fourteen and thinking he would die if he didn't know what her lips would feel like touching his. Those old longings overwhelmed him. Or maybe they were new longings. Or maybe he was just an old man playing a kid's game. He told himself to step away. He would have, too, if
Sandy
hadn't placed her hand on his chest. If she hadn't leaned forward slightly, inviting him.

It was stupid. It was inevitable. He bent down and kissed her.

Chapter 7

«
^
»

S
andy
wasn't prepared to be swept away. She wasn't prepared for the need that crashed through her. Like a wave from the sea, it broke over her body and tugged at her feet until she was sure she would fall and go under. She already couldn't breathe; what difference would it make if she found herself drowning in sensation?

Kyle's mouth pressed against hers. She told herself to pull back, but after the first moment of contact, she was lost. Lost in the passion, the heat and the need. Lost to feelings she'd long thought dormant. Lost to the excitement of being joyfully alive.

At the first brush of his lips, her body surged toward him. She wanted to be next to him, around him, feeling everything, touching everywhere. His mouth was firm, yet yielding, his breath sweet and warm. He didn't invade her or conquer her, he simply touched her. He didn't try to hold her still, or in any way keep her from turning away. He didn't have to. Perhaps he already knew how her heart thundered in her chest and her palms grew damp. Perhaps he was used to consummation by fire, but for her, it was the first time.

He stood one step down from her, so they were closer in height. If she had the strength to open her eyes, she would be able to stare into his. But she had no will, no power, nothing but need and passion. From the faintest of kisses, from the barest whisper of his mouth on hers, the tide lapped at her feet, tugging, pulling, until her self-control slipped away and was lost.

Lips on lips, chest to chest, thighs brushing thighs. Her hands clutched at his upper arms, as much to hold him in place as to keep her balance. His hands rested on her waist, comfortably, easily, as if he'd held them there a thousand times before. As if he knew she would not—could not—withdraw from him.

Her eyelids fluttered as she became lost in a world of sensual intensity. She told herself it was just a kiss. Nothing more. But she hadn't been kissed in so
long,
she could have wept from the wonder filling her. She could have perished from the hunger. His mouth pressed against hers, promising more, leaving her quivering. She clung to him as her world disappeared, leaving only the darkness and the feel of him next to her.

He moved back and forth, reminding her of the familiar movements of love, of the dance between a man and a woman. He was broader than Thomas had been, taller and more muscled. But his touch was softer, slower and more controlled. The contrasts and similarities filled her senses. She wanted him to kiss her forever. She wanted to forget all but this moment.

His mouth parted slightly and his tongue swept across her lower lip. She gasped as fire or electricity or lightning leapt between them, burning her skin. Her breasts tightened and her knees began to shake.

When he tilted his head, she prepared herself for the sensual assault. He didn't disappoint her. He brushed once more against her lips,
then
moved lower, trailing damp, openmouthed kisses along her jaw, then her neck. She arched her head back, groaning softly as he found the pulse point by her collarbone. He circled the throbbing vein with his tongue,
then
blew on the damp skin.

She slipped her hands up his arms, to his shoulders, then around to his back. The muscles there were thick cords, flexing and releasing under her touch. Sweeping her fingers up to his short hair, she let the silky strands tease her sensitized palms. Then, as she pressed her body more fully against his, she reveled in his strength and male hardness.

He slid his hands down her hips to her rear, where he cupped the full curves and drew her tightly against him. Instantly, her woman's place began to ache. She could feel herself swelling, dampening, readying for him. She wanted him to lift her up against him, moving her back and forth until they'd both found their release. Instead, he taunted her with
a mimicry
of the pleasure they could find.

His mouth returned to hers. She parted her lips without being asked, needing to know him, to take all of him inside. He tasted hot and sweet, as if his flavor had been fashioned for her alone. His tongue thrust against hers, strong and sure. She danced around his assault, teasing him, tempting him, wanting him. His hands moved up her back, then around to touch her breasts.

He cupped her curves, taking the weight in his palms. Through her shirt and bra she could feel the imprint of each of his fingers. Her breasts swelled. She arched toward him, silently asking for more. He squeezed gently and whispered her name. She clung to him as her legs buckled.

He brushed his thumbs against her hard nipples. Fire shot through her, down to her feet, then up to center in her woman's place. As he teased her nipples, he brought his mouth back to hers. This time, she was the aggressor, thrusting her tongue past his lips. She explored him and tasted him. Every cell of her body was aflame, humming with desire.

She wanted more. She wanted to be naked with him, to touch him and have him touch her. The passion shocked her. She didn't remember it being like this before. Certainly not in the last few years of her marriage. She hadn't been attracted to anyone since Thomas had passed away. Why now? Why with Kyle? And why, for heaven's sake, on her front porch where any of her children could walk out and see them?

Still, she didn't pull back. She couldn't. She wanted all of him, this minute. On the porch, on the grass, it didn't matter. She needed him.

His hands moved from her breasts to her shoulders. His hips angled away from hers. His mouth moved from her lips to her cheek,
then
he firmly set her away from him. She blinked, as if awakening from a long sleep. The intensity of the passion left her stunned, as if she'd experienced something life-changing and couldn't yet make sense of it. She was surprised by her reaction, but not frightened. It was good to know she could still feel something.

Dark brown eyes stared into her face. She wasn't sure what he was seeing there, but she refused to be ashamed. Despite the flush she felt on her cheeks, she pushed her hair back and met his gaze.

"I'm not sorry," she said defiantly.

"Thank God," he breathed.

"What?"

"I thought you'd get angry at me or something. That was a hell of a kiss." He sounded as if he'd been running for miles. The thought pleased her. She would hate to have been the only one affected by what they'd just done.

Kyle drew in a deep breath and settled his hands on his hips. "It's a good thing your kids are only a few feet away, or I would have been tempted to make love to you right here on the porch and risk entertaining the neighbors."

"Really?"

He laughed. An unexpected spurt of embarrassment caused her to duck her head. She stared at the proof of his maleness straining against the button-fly of his jeans and felt a fierce longing. She wanted to touch him there, to feel him surge against her hand.

He pressed his forefinger under her chin and forced her to look at him. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, lowering his hand to his side.

Embarrassment deepened to mortification. "Nothing," she said, her voice coming out in a squeak. She searched her brain for a safe topic. "Just that, ah, we can't do this again."

He looked as surprised as she felt. Where had that thought come from? But as soon as she said the words, she knew they were true. She couldn't risk it, not with him. He was completely wrong for her. She wanted a different kind of man, although she wouldn't mind if he kissed just like Kyle.

But instead of getting angry, he simply nodded. "Okay, what can't we do anymore?"

"You know." She waved vaguely, motioning to the space between them. He was still on the step below hers, so they were almost at eye level. "No, I don't know. What?"

"Kissing. We can't kiss anymore."

"Sure we can. But what you really mean is you don't want us to make love."

Somehow it would have been better if he'd said "sex" instead of "make love." Sex was more impersonal. "Whatever. We can't."

"Why?"

It was a perfectly reasonable question. Unfortunately, she didn't have a reasonable answer. Why couldn't they have sex? Kyle was probably an expert at it, not to mention the fact that he wouldn't expect much from her—emotionally. They could have a fling. She'd never had one before. She wasn't sure how one went about arranging it. Did she ask specifically? "Gee, Kyle, how about some cheap meaningless sex for a few weeks. Just until I'm back on my feet?" No, she couldn't say anything like that. Could she? Maybe she was supposed to simply hint broadly.

She searched his face. By reputation, the Haynes brothers were interested in a good time and nothing else. She could take advantage of that,
then
get back to her regularly scheduled life. She could be just one of countless women.

Sandy
drew in a deep breath,
then
let it go slowly. Who was she kidding? She wasn't the fling type. She was far too responsible. She had her life planned out and Kyle Haynes wasn't part of her program.

"If you're trying to think of a good reason we shouldn't become lovers, you're taking an awful long time," he said.

She couldn't risk telling him the truth. "The list is so long, I don't know where to start."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

But he wasn't smiling as he spoke the words, and there was something in his eyes, something dark and undefined that made her feel unsettled. As if he had a secret he was close to revealing.
Sandy
wasn't sure if she wanted to know what it was, or if she should pretend she couldn't see it. Before she could decide, he blinked and the secret was gone.

"Your problem," he said, leaning close enough to make her want to kiss him, "is that you've forgotten how to have fun."

"You said that before. It's still not true." He had the audacity to laugh. "You've got your life so well
planned,
you wouldn't know a spontaneous thought if it bit you on the butt. Maybe if you stopped organizing the world for everyone else, you would have a little time to find some happiness."

He was right. She hated that. With a flash of insight that made her uncomfortable, she realized she could graciously agree with what he was saying and try to change, or she could get angry. It was easier to get angry. Easier because acknowledging how empty her life was would force her to face the truth.

She'd learned early she couldn't depend on anyone but herself. Trusting others left her open for heartbreak and loneliness. But Kyle didn't know that about her. He only saw Sensible Sandy who refused to have fun. He didn't see the way she worried about her children, her job and holding it all together. He didn't see how she hated always being the bad guy. He didn't see the fear.

"Who do you think you are?" she asked, stepping up onto the porch and backing away from him. "I don't need you or any man telling me what to do. I've been on my own for the last two years. The children and I have survived very nicely without your interference."

"Surviving isn't the same as living. You've shut yourself off from the best parts of life."