Thunder Canyon Homecoming (10 page)

She had to hurry to keep pace with him because his fingers were still firmly clamped around her wrist, but he wasn't hurting her. She also knew he
wouldn't
hurt her. Not physically, anyway.

He was a man who was used to taking charge and accustomed to getting what he wanted. But the other night, when he'd had her so aroused she'd almost begged him to make love with her, it had only taken a single word to have him backing off.

He helped her into the truck, then went around to the driver's side. Neither of them said anything during the short drive to her condo, leaving Erin with no escape from her own thoughts. And those thoughts kept taking her back to the intimate encounter in her kitchen.

He must have known that he could have changed her mind. Another kiss, a single touch, and she would have been putty in his hands. But he'd respected her need to put a halt to things; he'd accepted that she wasn't ready.

She was ready now.

She was shocked to realize it was true, but she was unable to deny it. She wanted him. Maybe it was the realization that she would be in control, that this incredibly strong and sexy man would accede to her wishes, pleasure her as she wanted—

Corey killed the engine. As they approached her front door, Erin drew a deep breath and reached for the door handle. Her fingers fumbled with her keys, but she finally managed to locate the right one and insert it in the lock. She was all too aware of Corey standing right behind her,
so close that she could feel the heat from his body, and her knees trembled.

She set her purse and keys on the table, then stripped off her coat and hung it carefully on a hanger in the closet. Corey shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it over the arm of the sofa. When she turned to face him, he was standing with his arms folded across his chest, watching her. He was still angry, she could see it in his eyes. But there was something else there, a glint that hinted at the same heat that was churning through her own veins.

Her heart was pounding, her throat was dry. She had to lick her lips to moisten them before she could talk, and she noticed that his gaze zeroed in on the movement, and his already dark eyes grew darker.

“You said you wanted answers,” she reminded him.

“Answers are the least of what I want, darlin', but that's probably a good place to start.”

“Are you going to come in? Or did you want to finish this standing in the hall?” She started toward the kitchen. “I could put on a pot of coffee.”

“Don't.”

She halted in mid-step. “You don't want coffee.”

“I don't want to have this conversation in the kitchen.”

And suddenly she knew why—because he was thinking of the last time they'd been in her kitchen together, when she'd been half-naked and whimpering in his arms.

“Okay.” She swallowed and pivoted toward the living room. “No coffee.”

She needed to tell him about Grant, she wanted him to understand the true nature of her interest in her boss, but first she felt compelled to respond to the accusations he'd made outside of the restaurant.

“Before I explain about Grant, you need to understand that you were way off base when you accused me of having
any kind of romantic interest in him. I was shocked and offended by the suggestion that I could be thinking of him while I was with you, but then I realized you don't really know me any more than I know you, and it's important to me that you believe I could never be with one man if I wanted another.”

He took a step toward her. “So you were thinking of me, when I was kissing you and touching you and—”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I was thinking of you.”

“And you were wanting me?” he prompted.

She swallowed. “Corey—”

He touched his fingers to her lips, halting her protest. He traced the shape of her mouth. His touch was gentle now, infinitely seductive. And that quickly the mood changed.

The anger that had snapped and crackled in the air between them was something different now. But somehow the desire she saw was even more dangerous than the anger because she knew that her own desire was just as powerful, and that neither would be denied this time.

His fingertips skimmed over her cheek, traced the outline of her ear, making her shiver. “Corey, please, I need to explain—”

“I don't want to argue about this anymore,” he told her.

His fingertips slid down her throat, over the curve of her breast. Her breath caught, her legs went weak.

“Corey.”

He dipped his head to brush his lips against hers. “Tell me what you want, Erin. If you tell me to go, I'll go. But if that's truly what you want, you better say it loud and fast because what I'm seeing in your eyes is something very different.”

“I don't want you to go,” she said.

“Then what do you want?”

“You,” she said, and lifted her arms to link them around his neck, drawing his head down so that she could kiss him. Long and slow and deep. “I want you.”

He pulled her tight against him, proving that he wanted her, too. “Should we go upstairs?”

She shook her head. “I want you here. Now.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed.

But he took a moment to set the scene. He found the remote and started the fire, then he removed the blanket from the back of the sofa and spread it on the floor by the hearth.

“Should I get a bottle of wine?”

“Later,” he said, and reached for her again.

He kissed her, gently at first, as if wanting to ensure that this was really what she wanted. She could hardly blame him for his doubts. Only a few days earlier, she'd told him she wasn't ready—but that wasn't entirely true. Even then she'd wanted him, more than she'd ever wanted any other man, but the intensity of those feelings had scared her.

She was still scared. She wasn't the type of woman who gave herself easily to a man. In fact, she'd only ever had two lovers, and both had been men that she'd believed herself in love with, men that—at the time—she'd believed she was building a future with. She had no such illusions about Corey, but she could no longer deny the inevitable. The attraction between them had been escalating to this point since their first meeting.

He nibbled on her bottom lip, tugging with his teeth, teasing with his tongue. His kiss was hot and demanding now, and when his tongue stroked the ultra-sensitive skin on the roof of her mouth, sparks shot through her body and her knees nearly buckled.

She yanked his shirt out of his pants, her fingers fumbling just a little as they made quick work of the buttons that
ran down the front. Then her hands were on his skin—hot and smooth—tracing the hard ridges of muscle. The man had the kind of body she'd only ever fantasized about.

She could have spent hours admiring those rippling muscles, exploring all that taut golden skin. But he was still half-dressed and she was suddenly desperate to see all of him. To touch and taste every inch of him.

He was so strong and hard—so undeniably male—and everything that was female inside of her responded to his nearness. When he walked into a room, she could barely tear her eyes away. Now she had him in
her
living room, and she wasn't even going to attempt to keep her hands off of him.

She wasn't usually impulsive or reckless, and she knew that getting naked with a man she hardly knew—a man who obviously had questions and doubts about her—was both impulsive and reckless, but she couldn't continue to deny what they both wanted. What they needed.

Though she hadn't even been aware of him unfastening her skirt, she felt it drop away, pooling at her feet. Her blouse was dispensed with as quickly, leaving her clad in only her bra and panties and stockings. His hands curved over her buttocks, his fingertips skimming down the backs of her thighs before they encountered the lace band at the top of her stockings.

He pulled back, holding her at arms' length to look at her. His eyes glittered in the light of the fire, but it was the heat in their fathomless depths that stoked the flames burning inside of her.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” he asked, his voice hoarse with desire.

“Hopefully as much as I want you,” she told him and reached for the button at the front of his jeans. She struggled a little with the zipper that was straining over his erection,
but when she managed to slide it down and slip her hand inside, she almost moaned with pleasure. Even through the cotton barrier of his briefs, she could tell that he was rock hard and huge, and the discovery made her knees weak.

She slid her hand down the length of him, felt him respond to her caress. A low growl reverberated in his throat and he scooped her off of her feet.

Her heart fluttered inside her breast, though she knew his action wasn't a romantic one so much as a purposeful one. He was the type of man who was used to taking what he wanted, and right now he wanted her.

He lowered her onto the blanket, then straddled her hips with his knees. The gaze that raked over her was hot and hungry and as intimate as a caress. Her whole body ached for him, but now that he had her mostly naked and horizontal, he didn't seem to be in any hurry.

When he did touch her, it was only to push the thin, pink straps of her bra off of her shoulders. Then he lowered his head and nibbled gently along the ridge of her collarbone.

She enjoyed foreplay. Although her experience with sex was admittedly limited, she'd usually found the “before” parts more pleasurable than the “during.” But now, with Corey, she wanted nothing so much as she wanted him inside of her.

“Corey.”

He lifted his head, and the glint of amusement in his eyes told her that he'd heard the plea in her voice, that he knew exactly what she wanted. And the slow, sexy curve of his lips warned that he was going to enjoy torturing her a little bit more.

“I thought about what you said, darlin',” he told her. “About rushing things. And I've decided that I don't want to rush anything now.”

“At this point, I wouldn't object to rushing things a little.”

He chuckled softly, then brushed his lips against hers. “Relax.”

Relax? How the heck was she supposed to relax when every nerve ending in her body was aching with wanting?

But she let her head fall back and her eyes drift shut.

His fingertips skimmed the curve of her breasts, then dipped into the hollow between them. He unhooked the clasp, then stripped the bra away. Her nipples immediately pebbled, begging for his attention. He didn't disappoint. He bent his head to one breast, taking the rigid peak in his mouth and suckling deeply. The other he palmed, rolling the nipple between his thumb and finger. Sparks of white, hot pleasure shot through her, seeming to bombard her from every direction, arrowing toward her core.

His mouth moved from one breast to the other, laving and suckling and teasing her right to the edge of ecstasy…only to leave her dangling.

With a wicked smile, he abandoned her breasts and took his exploration lower. His mouth left a trail of hot, wet kisses as he made his way down her belly. He hooked his thumbs in the sides of her panties, slowly drew them down her legs, tossed them aside.

“These are nice,” he said, his tone almost casual as he stroked his fingertips lightly up the length of her stockings, from her ankles to the inside of her knees to the bands at the top. He traced the lacy edging, slowly, his gentle touch making her shiver.

“Very nice,” he amended. “But I think your bare skin will feel even nicer.”

She couldn't speak. He had her so completely and des
perately aroused she was speechless…and very close to whimpering.

He took his time removing the stockings. He bent one leg at the knee, then traced the lace border again, all the way around this time. Then he slowly rolled down the band, just to her knee, then his fingertips drifted upward again, a feather-light touch against her bare skin. She bit down on her lip to keep from moaning aloud. He lowered his head and kissed the inside of her thigh, then kissed his way down to the sensitive spot at the back of her knee. He rolled the stocking down to her ankle, following the path of the silk with more hot kisses. Then he repeated the same routine with the other stocking, treating her other leg to the same close, personal attention until she was quivering and aching and ready to beg.

His hands stroked over her, from her shoulders to her breasts to her hips, and she trembled everywhere that he touched.

“Corey—please.”

He drew away from her only long enough to strip away the last of his clothes and put on protection, and when he lowered himself over her again, she sighed and thought,
Now—finally now.

Corey had pictured her like this, wanted her like this. Her eyes were glazed, her skin was hot, and she was breathless and trembling, as desperate for him as he was for her.

He could take her now—he could plunge into the slick, wet heat between her thighs and give them both the release they craved. He wanted to take her now, to finally ease the ache that had been building inside of him for weeks, an ache that only she could lessen. But he was determined to give her more. To give her more pleasure than anyone else
had ever given her, to be more than anyone had ever been to her.

He knelt between her legs, and she sighed. His hands stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs, and her knees fell open a little farther, silently encouraging his exploration. His thumb stroked over her nub, and she shuddered. He slipped one finger, then two, inside of her, the slick wetness confirming that she was ready for him—more than ready. His erection throbbed painfully, urging him to take what she was offering.

Instead, he curled his hands around her bottom, lifting her hips off the blanket, and lowered his head to take her with his mouth.

She gasped and arched, as if to pull away, but he held her fast and feasted. She tasted as he'd imagined—sweet and seductive—and he savored her feminine flavor. Her shallow, breathless pants assured him that she'd stopped fighting and had surrendered to the pleasure. With his lips and his tongue, he teased her back to the edge where he'd left her teetering so precariously before, but this time, he pushed her not just to the limit but beyond.