Skin Deep (13 page)

Some feminine part of her was thrilled to watch Nate ride, to see his skill in the saddle, his command of the stallion. She was so entranced watching him that it took her by surprise when he reined Chinook to a walk and then a halt in front of her.

“Come on.” He reached down for her.

Unafraid, Megan took his hand and, with his help, climbed into the saddle in front of him. He gave a little cluck, and Chinook started off again at a walk. Megan could feel the horse’s power beneath her—and the mastery of the man sitting behind her, Nate’s hard thighs pressing against hers, controlling the stallion’s every movement.

He nudged Chinook to a trot, his left arm going around her waist, drawing her back against the hard wall of his chest. “Relax, honey. Just because he’s big and aggressive doesn’t mean he’s going to hurt you.”

And Megan understood that Nate wasn’t just talking about the horse.

N
ate backed Megan up against the wall, her tongue twining with his as they kissed outside the bathroom where Emily played in the bathtub. The two of them had been making out like teenagers all day. But Nate wasn’t a teenager. He was a grown man, a man who’d been celibate for four long years, and his body had some very adult ideas about where all this kissing should lead.

He slipped his left hand beneath the soft cotton of Megan’s shirt, his palm sliding over the satiny, warm skin of her belly. He moved slowly, giving her time to take in the sensation, to decide whether she liked it. Her eyes flew open, then drifted shut again, the muscles of her belly jerking at his touch, her body shivering, her reaction giving him the answer he needed.

His fingers found the bottom edge of her bra, traced a line where hard underwire met tender skin. Gratified by her quick intake of breath, he cupped her breast, squeezing gently, a layer of rough lace separating his hand from the hard little bud of her nipple. She arched her back, pressing her breast deeper into his palm, her fingers digging into his back.

God, he was on fire for her. He didn’t think he’d ever been this aware of a woman’s response, his senses fixed entirely on Megan, her every breath, every sound, every tremor. His blood burned for her, his mind buzzing with lust, his cock aching with what was probably his fiftieth erection of the day.

He tugged her bra down, took her naked breast in his hand, the soft, lush feel of it sending a jolt of heat to his groin, making him moan. He fought the urge to push against her with his hips, willing himself to focus on the velvety texture of her pebbled nipples, the silken weight of her breast, the thrum of her heartbeat beneath his hand.

“
Nate.
” She sighed his name, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parted.

And Nate wondered if he would survive the night.

No one ever died from a hard-on, jarhead.

He wanted to peel off her clothes and make love to her with his hands, his mouth, his cock. He wanted to make her come again and again, wanted to lose himself inside her. He wanted to make her forget the men who’d hurt her, to replace memories of pain, violation, and fear with memories of shared pleasure, to give back to her every bit of herself that those bastards had stolen.

But things were moving so fast, maybe too fast. They’d known each other for a week, had spent a little more than forty-eight hours in one another’s company. And not only was Nate about to suffer a testosterone meltdown, he’d also cared for her.

She
seemed
to want him as much as he wanted her, responding to every touch, every caress, every kiss as if she, too, wanted to get naked and put his mattress to good use. But making out with him was one thing. Out-and-out sex was something else.

The only solution as far as Nate could see was to keep kissing her, keep touching her for as long as it took until she was truly ready for more.

And if that day never comes?

Well, there were always cold showers.

He lowered his mouth to her exposed throat, licking and nibbling the spot where she was most sensitive, his left hand busy teasing her nipple. Her fingers curled in his hair, her head turning to give him access, her breathing ragged.

“Mommy?”

Megan stiffened, gave a little moan. “Y-yes, sweet pea?”

“Can I come out now?”

Nate withdrew his hand from Megan’s shirt and rested his forehead against hers, struggling to rein himself in.

“Okay. I’ll be right there.” Megan looked up at him, her pupils dark, an expression like pain on her face. She adjusted her bra, then reached up, cupped his scarred cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He could barely walk with this much wood in his jeans, but he didn’t say that. He smoothed his hands down her slender arms. “Hey, we have all the time in the world.”

As he watched her disappear into the bathroom, he found himself hoping what he’d just said was true.

# # #

Megan lay in the dark beside Emily, her body burning with arousal from the hour she and Nate had spent making out in his bedroom. Oh, but the man was good with his hands! He’d brought her to the brink of orgasm without even getting inside her jeans, the way he’d teased her nipples, driving her to the very edge. Now she was wet and aching—and several rooms down the hall from him.

How are you ever going to get to sleep?

She tried to force her mind off the throb between her thighs, turning onto her side to watch her daughter sleep. Emily looked so peaceful, not a worry in her little world, the sight of her making Megan’s heart swell. Her life was so different from Megan’s—and for that Megan was grateful. She never wanted Emily to know the loneliness, fear, or violence that she’d grown up with, never wanted Emily to doubt for a moment that her mother loved her, never wanted her to view every man as a predator.

That’s how it had been for Megan—never trusting, never being able to let down her guard. A man was a threat simply by virtue of being a man. Until Marc had come back into her life, it hadn’t occurred to her that some men might be good people. It was a terrible thing to say, but given what she’d been through…

And now there was Nate. Not only was he a good man—a decorated veteran who donated thousands of dollars of meat to Denver’s hungry—he also knew everything there was to know about her and accepted her. She couldn’t say why, exactly, but she trusted him. More than that, she wanted him.

She’d never imagined that any man would make her feel the way he made her feel—her blood hot and alive, her skin craving his touch, her body so aroused that she actually wanted him
inside
her. The only thing she’d ever longed for this intensely was heroin, but this wasn’t the dark, desperate craving of addiction.

This felt pure and bright and clean.

Megan rolled onto her back and clenched her thighs together, wishing the ache inside her would go away. She’d already taken a hot bath, hoping it would make her drowsy, but it hadn’t. She closed her eyes, tried to clear her mind, drew slow, even breaths. But she was no closer to drifting off ten minutes later.

Did Nate want her, too? He certainly seemed to. If the way he kissed and touched her wasn’t enough to prove that, the hard bulge he’d had in his jeans was. But rather than asking her to sleep with him tonight, he’d walked her to her room, kissed her—and left her to sleep alone. Maybe he wasn’t as interested as he seemed.

What would he do if she went to him—knocked on his door, walked inside and asked him to make love to her? Not that she would or even
could
do any such thing. She hadn’t known Nate for very long. She wasn’t on the pill. She couldn’t even be sure she’d enjoy having sex. If she ended up hating it, she would embarrass both of them and perhaps ruin her relationship with Nate. And the last thing she needed was an unplanned pregnancy or a messy relationship to complicate her life.

Besides, she wasn’t that brave.

There would be no turning back from this. In her life, there would always be before Nate and after Nate. He had awakened something inside her. He’d shown her that it was possible for her to enjoy a man’s touch, to trust a man. He’d given her something she hadn’t even realized she was missing, stripping off the armor she’d built around herself, exposing the longing she’d tried to suppress for so long.

Would it be so wrong of her to go to him, to tell him how she felt? After all she’d been through, didn’t she have a right to claim some happiness?

She found herself getting out of bed, slipping into her bathrobe, opening the bedroom door, walking barefoot down the hall. Heart racing, she stood outside his closed door for a moment, reminding herself of all the negative things that might happen if she did this. This was followed by the realization of what would happen if she
didn’t
.

Nothing.

Nothing would happen.

Her life would remain the same as it was now—loveless, sexless, ruled by memories, by fear, by loneliness. She didn’t want that, not when Nate was here. Not when he made her feel the way she felt.

You can do it. Be brave.

She raised her hand and knocked.

# # #

Nate was about to come, his mind wrapped around thoughts of Megan, his hand wrapped around his cock. His heart was beating hard enough that for a moment he thought he’d imagined it, but then it came again.

A knock on his bedroom door.

Fuck!

He threw back the covers, flicked on his bedside lamp. He grabbed a T-shirt and his boxer briefs on the floor and drew them on. Tucking his throbbing dick inside his underwear, he walked to the bedroom door, wondering whether there was an emergency with the herd or whether Chinook had gotten out of his stall again. Hoping his T-shirt would be enough to hide his damned boner, he opened the door. “Megan?”

She stood there wearing a velvety dark blue bathrobe, her auburn hair tangled around her shoulders. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” He stepped aside, trying to keep his dick out of sight—a losing battle when it was pointing directly at her. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer, but reached down, untied her bathrobe, and let it slide to the floor, leaving her standing there in blue and white striped long underwear that clung to her body like a second skin. He was so busy letting his eyes feast on her—the curve of her braless breasts, the rounded shape of her hips, the cleft at the juncture of her thighs—that it took him a minute to realize what this meant.

His heart gave a hard knock. “Megan, I don’t think—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Shh.”

She stood on her tiptoes, rested her hands against his chest, and pressed her lips to his, her kiss taking him by surprise, making his mind go blank.

He drew her into his embrace, kissed her deep and hard, his conscience taking longer than usual to kick in. When it finally did, he tore his mouth from hers. “Megan, honey, wh-what are we doing?”

Her gaze met his, naked hunger in her eyes. “Making love.”

It was a good answer.

Riding a pure surge of testosterone, he crushed her against him, reclaimed the sweetness of her mouth, moving them both toward his bed in an awkward slow dance. Only when he’d drawn her onto the bed beside him did his conscience kick in again. “Megan, honey, mmm… We need to talk.”

She didn’t seem to want to talk, but kept kissing him. Only when he drew them both into a sitting position and pulled away from her did she open her eyes. She looked down at her hands, her hair spilling over her shoulder to hide her face. “You don’t want this.”

What she said was so patently untrue it almost made him laugh, but somehow he didn’t think laughter would go over too well right now.

He reached over, tucked her hair behind her ear, stroked her cheek with a scarred knuckle. He needed her to understand. “Oh, I
do
want this. More than you know. I just want to make certain this is what
you
really want. Sleeping together—that’s a big step. I don’t want to dredge up bad memories for you or give you another reason to be afraid of men and sex.”

There was more to it than that. He searched for the right words. “You’re too important to me to risk rushing this.”

Some part of him—the part that was pitching a tent—couldn’t believe what he’d just said, his more primal instincts telling him to shut the fuck up and kiss her. But he really didn’t want to screw this up.

“Rush it?” She lifted her gaze to his. “I feel like I’ve waited my entire life for this moment. No one has ever made me feel the way you do.”

Her words touched something inside him. So much had been stolen from her—not just her virginity, but her ability to view sex as something positive, a way of sharing trust, pleasure, and affection with a man. She’d suffered through having a baby, but she’d never enjoyed sex. That wasn’t just fucked up, it was brutally unfair.

But was
he
the man to do something about it? What if he made it worse?

He caught her chin, looked straight into her eyes. “If we do this, you have to promise me you’ll tell me if you start to feel uncomfortable or sick to your stomach, okay? Don’t force it.”

She nodded. “I promise.”

Nate found himself wishing they had planned this so that he could give her what she hadn’t gotten—the romance and tenderness a woman deserved her first time. He couldn’t give her roses. He couldn’t offer her romantic conversation over a candlelit dinner. He didn’t have satin sheets on the bed. But he supposed all that shit was superficial anyway.

He would give her the only thing he had—himself.

The question was how to go about it.

He decided to start where they’d left off. “Come here.”

She slid into his arms, the two of them stretching out on the bed side by side, soft kisses giving way to passionate ones until both of them were on fire, her body moving against his. He slipped his hand beneath her pajama top, claiming the lushness of her breasts without the annoying obstacle of a bra. Her nipples were pebbled and hard—and exquisitely sensitive. He pinched them, rolled them, tugged them, made slow circles over them with his fingertips, her whimpers and whispered pleas urging him on.

But they’d spent the entire day covering this territory. Enough of this teenage shit. Nate wanted to see and taste what he was touching.