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“You can’t help. You’re the problem.”
“I’m the problem?”
She shook her head in exasperation. Why did she say that? It was dumb to say that. No, he wasn’t the problem. She was the problem. This—the attraction, the situation—it was her problem. She couldn’t handle her feelings, or her response. He’d kissed her—big deal—but God help her, she wanted more.
And the intensity of her feelings made her feel like an ignorant schoolgirl. She’d loved the kiss. But she wasn’t a schoolgirl. She was a spinster. A spinster leveled by a kiss.
“You haven’t told me why I’m the problem,” he said.
Sam glanced out the window toward the driveway as if Gabby would just magically appear and save her from this. “Ignore me. I’m being irrational.”
“You’re the least irrational woman I’ve ever known. Tell me. Let me try to help.”
Then that would require kissing me again, she thought, looking up at him, into the hard angles of his face and eyes that held her, mesmerized her. “Please don’t be charming,” she whispered, only half-jesting. “I don’t think I can handle it. Not from you, not today, not after last night.”
“What about last night?”
So he didn’t even remember. The kiss hadn’t meant anything, or made an impression.
Sam whimpered, she hadn’t meant to, she couldn’t keep the hurt in.
But suddenly he was closer, or she was closer, and the heat between them was scorching. Sam felt hot, her clothes too tight and suddenly she couldn’t breathe anymore.
And then he was reaching for her, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her against him creating a riot of sensation. Just that one touch of his body against hers and it was like New Year’s and fireworks, sparks exploding everywhere. She felt him everywhere, too—chest, ribs, hips, thighs. He was hard, strong, male, and it was the most delicious feeling in the world, her body alive, her body aware of his, her body feeling warm and real and good.
His hand was in the small of her back, urging her even closer and she felt the throb of him against her, his body’s heat and how his body strained.
She’d thought when it came to this, she’d be afraid. She’d thought if a man ever held her so close, teased her with his body like this, made her aware of his desire, she’d thought she’d panic. Hate it. Run.
Instead she wanted to slide her hands beneath his shirt, feel the warmth of his skin beneath her palms, reach for his waistband and let the clothes fall away.
And then she did reach for his belt and waistband, fumbled with the clasp, gave up to touch his flat abdomen and the warm firm muscle banding his ribs.
His hands were against her hips, shaping her, caressing her, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to have him touch her.
I think I could love him, she thought, wrapping one arm around his neck, standing on tiptoe. I think I could love him. And maybe it was only lust, but it felt right and honest and for the first time in years she felt right, too.
She’d finally given in to need, to want, to hunger. She’d finally admitted she craved touch, love, pleasure. And as Cristiano stroked down the outside of her thigh, and then up the inside, his fingers between her legs, touching her where she was most sensitive, she knew that in this respect at least, Cristiano had been made for her.
He was the right man to take her virginity.
He was the right man to teach her about making love.
A loud horn sounded outside, not a normal car horn but a beeping blaring sound that jolted Sam and Cristiano apart. They jumped and looking up they saw the yellow tractor and Gabriela bundled in borrowed winter clothes, jumping down.
Gabby was back and for the first time ever, Sam wished the little girl could have stayed away another hour.
Gabby came bursting into the house, laughing and breathless while the white-haired farmer climbed off his tractor to follow Gabriela.
Sam and Cristiano met the farmer on the doorstep. “We got you your girl back,” the farmer said, cheeks ruddy with cold. “Later today we’ll try to get your driveway plowed.”
“When you’ve time,” Cristiano said, thanking the farmer and sliding a folded bill into his hand.
