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Every muscle in his body pulled tight, like brake lines straining to stop a speeding truck. For half a second she thought—hoped—he wouldn’t, but he dropped his head to her shoulder, and drew in a deep breath.
“Your call.” He raised his head, and she got caught up in an unflinching green gaze. “But you know I would make it so good, Sinclair.” He tugged gently on her nipple as he said her name, and she felt the pull of both in places she’d locked away years ago. Over her reluctant moan, he murmured, “Remember those nights we parked at the Lookout? I learned your body like a treasure map. I learned if I touched you here,” he tugged her nipple again, harder, and another moan snuck out from low in her throat as heat twisted inside her, “you’d make that sound. And if I kissed you here,” he feathered his fingers over her other breast, “your breathing would get fast and shallow. You’d wrap your arms around my head and hold onto me like your life depended on it, and I’d bite and lick and suck those gorgeous tits of yours while you straddled my lap and got the both of us so wet. Remember?” The hand in the back of her jeans edged around the waistband of her underwear. “Your panties would be drenched.” He slid his fingers down the front of her jeans. “I’d be so hard it hurt, and you’d be so sensitive, as soon as I so much as grazed your little—”
“Shane.” Even she couldn’t tell if that was an invitation or a warning. His fingers paused, but his voice continued stroking her need.
“Are you wet now? If I touched you, would you come in your panties for me, just like back then? I bet you would.”
She damn well would, and the awareness was enough to scare her into putting the brakes on for real. “Shane.” She gripped his wrist, but didn’t quite rouse the determination to drag his hand out of her jeans.
“Not so immune to m
e, are you?” The corner of his mouth lifted, but something hungry burned in his eyes.
He looked smug and dangerous, and the combination lit the fuse on her temper. She brought her knee up until it menaced his balls. “Want to find out?”
“Careful.” One dark brow winged up. “That used to be your favorite toy, baby girl. You never know when you might want to play with it again.”
If he expected her to laugh at the old joke, he was going to be sorely disappointed. She shoved him away. “I’ve outgrown it. You honestly think you can waltz into town and pick up where you left off?” Anger propelled her. She turned and started walking back the way they’d come, but after a few steps she stopped and swung around to add, “I hate to shatter your ego, Shane, but I haven’t been sitting around waiting for you to come back and toy with me.”
Dark brows lowered over flashing eyes. “You’re involved with someone.”
Okay, no. You do not get a secret thrill out of that possessive look. “I’m involved with my life. With my work, my home, my family—”
“Not a man.” His expression cleared.
“You’re not hearing me, Shane.”
“I heard every word. You’ve got work, and a home, and your family. I want to know about all of it. Wednesday at five thirty. I’ll pick you up.”
She opened her mouth to tell him no, but he cocked a brow and kept on talking. “Or are you backing out of our deal?”
Pride took control of her voice. “I’m not backing out of anything.” Then she spun on her heel and stomped away rather than face his “I win” smirk.
Dammit.
Chapter Four
Tiny leaves from the canopy of willow limbs overhead spiraled down in a lazy breeze. Sinclair tipped her head up to let the faint stirring of air cool her face. The sweet, fruity taste of Arbor Mist sangria lingered on her tongue, along with a hotter, smoother, far more addictive taste. Both made the view above her spin just a little. She definitely didn’t need any more sangria, but she never seemed to get enough of Shane.
His fast, reckless mouth moved up her throat while maddeningly careful fingers stroked between her thighs. His touch lit up every cell in her body. His kisses set her on fire until she glowed white-hot. The intensity in his stormy green eyes quickened her heart. Made her feel wild and invincible. She sank her hands into his hair—thick and soft and in need of a trim—dug her knees into the fleece blanket she’d brought to cushion them from the packed earth within the curtain of the willow, and plastered her trembling body against his lean, hard, surprisingly powerful one.
“Please,” she whispered. She was his in every way except this, and time was running out. To urge him on, she snuck her hand between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around a part of him she’d explored to her heart’s content with her hands, lips, and mouth over the last few weeks. The thick, hard length pulsed in her grip—reassuring and intimidating at the same time.
He groaned, and raised his head to look at her. A flush tinged his cheeks and did fluttery things to her stomach. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Sin…”
Whatever he was going to say faded into the humid evening air as she dragged her fist up, tugging velvety skin over a core of smooth steel. His flush deepened. His eyelids battled gravity for a moment, but ultimately his long, dark lashes fell, casting shadowy wings across his cheeks. Another, deeper groan rumbled up from his chest. “Uh-oh. Baby girl’s found her favorite toy.”
So true. She loved touching him—everywhere—but especially here. How could she resist such a fascinating set of contradictions? Strong, but vulnerable. Hard, but fragile.
Big.
Maybe bigger than anything nature intended for her to accommodate? The imposing shaft surged to new dimensions as she stroked, and her courage flagged a little.
As if he read her mind, he cupped her head and tipped her face to his. Labored breaths fanned her cheek. The strength in his hands, the sheer power of his body might have scared her, because she was about to put herself at the mercy of all that strength and power, but the way he banked it for her, and looked at her as if she was the most important thing in the world, chased away the fear.
He swept hair back from her sweaty temples and held her gaze. “You can play with me all night. Just like this. I guarantee it will be the best birthday of my life.” Lips caressed her temple, and one of his hands swept down their bodies to cover her fist where it held him. “It already is.”
The glint of the infinity symbol on his wrist caught her eye. She’d shaped the platinum wire herself and woven it into the black leather bracelet—a birthday present she’d made especially for him. She’d cut her thumb on a pointy sliver of wire in the process. The pain had been a fleeting thing, and worth enduring in order to give him something so heartfelt. The rest of his gift fell into the same category—one moment of pain to give him something special. Something she could only give once, and she needed to give it to him. Now. Besides, at this point, the torture of holding back far outweighed anything physical she might have to withstand.
