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“Those beds are back breakers,” he growled. “When I get inside you, Sarah, I don’t want you sinking to the floor. I want you in place beneath me.”
He heard her breath catch. Her breasts rose sharply, whether in shock or arousal he wasn’t sure.
“This is so unreal.” She shook her head on a disgusted sigh. “I just don’t understand how this stuff always happens to me.”
Brock glanced over at her with a slight frown.
“You and your husband need to schedule better,” he grumped testily, wondering if he was insane.
What the hell was he doing messing with a married woman? They were trouble and jealous husbands could literally be a pain in the ass. Mark Tate wasn’t known for his intelligence anyway, especially in regards to keeping his little wife tucked away at home while he dallied with the local talent. But first chance Brock had, what had he done? He went for her. Now he had her and he would be damned if he would let her go back to that son of a bitch.
“He’s not my husband.” She surprised him by flashing him an angry look. “We’re divorced. And why don’t you have better sense than to be messing with a married woman?” She threw his thoughts in his face.
That flare of assertiveness, the flash of independence made his erection throb like a toothache beneath his pants. Damn, he bet she would be a firecracker in bed. Hell, he knew she would be. She had damned near burned him alive six years before. He hadn’t even penetrated her with his cock and he had felt as though he were holding live fire.
“It depends on who the married woman is,” he told her softly. He would have fucked her anytime, anywhere, no matter how many husbands she had. “You, Sarah-love, I would have had no resistance to, married or not. But remember the fact, I waited until you seemed receptive.”
“Receptive?” She questioned him incredulously. “I was not receptive. I was minding my own business—”
“You were eating me up with your eyes.” He grinned, remembering that shy, hungry look she had given him across the smoky bar.
“I was not,” she gasped, shocked.
When he looked over at her, her soft, golden brown eyes were widened in shock, her face pale in the dimly lit confines of the jeep. The silken sweep of honey gold hair was in disarray around her face, falling to her shoulders in tawny waves of splendor that begged him to reach out and touch.
“Oh yes, you were,” he growled, fighting the need to touch. “With those lashes lowered just so much, and your golden eyes begging me to fuck you. I’ve stayed away from you for years, just because you were married and didn’t seem willing. But you were more than willing tonight, baby.”
So willing the pulse of her release to his oral ministrations flowed soft and sweet into his hungry mouth. The taste was addictive. Like nectar. Like the sweetest honeyed drug. He had spent six years trying to forget her taste and he still awoke with the essence of it in his mouth, his cock throbbing in response to the memory of her heat.
“You’re insane.” Anger lined every curve of her body and vibrated in her soft voice. “I refuse to go any further with you. Take me to the motel.”
Flushed with indignation, he could feel the waves of anger pouring off her. He couldn’t understand why she should be so angry. She wanted him. It was something he had waited on for a long time, so what was the problem?
“You’ll come back to the ranch with me—”
“I refuse to go to bed with you now,” she told him furiously.
Frustration had him casting her a frowning look as one hand raked impatiently through his hair.
“Okay, so we’ll do it on a couch, the kitchen table, whatever. I’m adaptable.”
Actually, the thought of either place was more than satisfactory. As long as he could hold her to him and take her in the ways he had dreamed.
“Kitchen table?” He wanted to smile at the amazement in her voice, but he had a feeling that would just invoke her ire once again.
He looked over at her again, barely containing a groan at the reluctant fascination in her voice.
“Yeah. We have a pool table, too.” He grinned, wondering if she knew how pretty she was with that deep blush mounting her pale cheeks. Then a sudden thought hit him. “You are on the pill. Right?”
She shook her head. Disappointment raged through him. There was nothing he wanted more than to pound into Sarah until his cock exploded, filling her with his sperm.
“The motel,” she breathed out roughly. “Just take me to the motel, Brock.”
Brock frowned at the aroused rasp in her voice, versus the request. She wanted him, he knew she did. Why would that suddenly frighten her now?
“You don’t want to go to that motel, Sarah,” he told her gently. “You want to come home with me. Why not admit it?”
“Because. This is a mistake,” she whispered. “A terrible, awful mistake. I told you before, you’re way out of my league. I should have remembered that.”
