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“Tessa,” he whispered, barely lifting his head, his eyes glazed. “Don’t do this to me.”
“I—I haven’t done anything.”
He groaned and kissed her again, his lips stealing down the length of her throat, past her collar, to the V where her blouse met over her breasts.
He still cares, she thought for a wondrous moment, ignoring the part of her that thought he might be using her. Her fingers laced through the coarse strands of his hair and she let her head loll back.
Nuzzling lower, he pressed wet kisses to the hollow between her breasts, and she arched closer to him, her braid nearly dragging to the ground, her arms twined around his neck.
Her breasts strained upward, through two thin layers of cloth, and his mouth closed over one rounded mound.
Tessa’s mind whispered a thousand warnings. She refused to hear any. Eyes closed, feeling the coming night shroud them, she was conscious only of the play of his lips across her breast.
She felt her blouse open, knew tiny buttons were sliding free of their bonds. Fresh air touched her skin, and then his tongue, quick and sure, stroked against the lace of her bra, torturing her so that she pressed her hips urgently upward.
“Sweet Jesus,” he murmured just as his mouth closed over her breast, suckling gently, teasing with his teeth, leaving a wet brand against the patterned lace.
Tessa’s fingers dug into his shoulders, past his shirt, deep into the corded muscles hidden by rough cotton. “Denver, please—” she cried, trying to tame the desire running like a swollen river out of control. A small needle of pride pierced the rapturous splendor fogging her mind. Don’t let him hurt you again! This time you may never get over him.
“Please—what?”
She struggled with the words clogging her throat. “Please, stop,” she begged, her voice hoarse and rough. “For God’s sake, don’t do this to me!”
His head snapped up, and the hand at her back dropped so quickly that she landed on her rear near a puddle. His face was white and lined, his eyes smoldering hot and blue. “Don’t do this to you?” he choked out, wiping a shaking hand across his mouth as if her kiss revolted him. “Don’t do this to you? Oh, Tessa, if you only knew!”
Without another word, he vaulted the fence, landed on his feet on the other side and, hands thrust deep in his pockets, strode toward the house.
“Bastard,” she hissed, though the delicious salty taste of him lingered provocatively against her lips. A small part of her had hoped that he couldn’t stop, that he had been as caught in that roiling river of passion as she had been. But she’d been wrong. She was just a distraction for him. Whatever he’d felt for her had died long ago, and she had no recourse but to face it.
She buttoned her blouse, and her fingers grazed the tender skin of her breasts, still moist where he had so recently suckled. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she pushed them back. Standing, she dusted off her rump, squared her shoulders and shoved aside any trace of sadness. It won’t happen again, she told herself. She wouldn’t let Denver McLean tromp all over her pride again!
* * *
Denver shoved the back door open so hard that it banged against the wall.
“What in the world?” Milly asked, nearly jumping out of her skin. She was pulling a chocolate cake from the oven. “Mr. McLean, is everything all right?”
“Just fine,” he snapped, his black brows pulled together in a single line of frustration. “And call me Denver.”
“All right,” she said nervously. “Will you be eating with us in the dining room?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But you didn’t take time off for lunch,” she pointed out, her lips pursing.
“I had a big breakfast.”
“Did you, now?”
He didn’t bother to answer her. With long strides he headed straight for the den and closed the door behind him. The sooner he dug through the mounds of paperwork on this damned ranch, the sooner he could take off for Los Angeles and the sooner he would leave Tessa to rot here if she wanted to!
Furious with himself and his stupid impulse to kiss her, he shoved his hand through his rumpled hair and was disgusted to find that his fingers were trembling. So that’s how he reacted to her!
“Bah!” Grimacing, he dropped into the chair and stared at that damned, traitorous hand. He noticed the scars running across his skin, remnants from the fire.
“Damn it all to hell,” he swore, thinking of the bottle of Scotch in the desk. He reached for the handle of the second drawer and pulled hard. There it was—half full, amber liquid sloshing against the clear glass.
But he slammed the door shut again. Alcohol was no answer to what ailed him. He needed a woman. And not just any woman. His blood ran hot, desire burning feverishly for just one woman—Tessa.
