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He chuckled, gripping her tighter, forcing her against him until her spine pressed tight to his chest and abdomen. His hands slid the length of her arms, to her wrists, then closed over her stomach, holding her so close that she felt the hard bulge in his jeans.
Bending a little, he placed his chin over her shoulder. His cheek was warm against hers, and she felt like moaning. Her fingers dug deeper, knuckles white, rigid in their grip of the railing as his lips, warm and inviting, soft and gentle, touched her neck, sweeping slowly from her shoulder to her earlobe.
“Denver, please,” she said, trying to think. “Don’t.”
“You don’t like it?” he teased, his fingers lacing under her breasts.
Was he crazy? “I-I just don’t think it’s wise ... Oh!” His teeth nibbled on the shell of her ear and it was all she could do to hold on to the balustrade. Her knees went weak, her heart beating a wanton cadence. “Denver—” Turning in his arms, hoping to convince him that what they were doing was insane, she caught one glimpse of the passion smoldering in his eyes before his lips captured hers in a kiss that cut off any further protest.
His mouth molded against her skin, coverin
g her parted lips anxiously. His tongue darted and flicked between her teeth. Bittersweet sensations raced through her body. Like wildfire through prairie grass, passion seared through her, until she couldn’t think, and didn’t want to.
Her arms lifted, circling his neck, holding him closer still as she returned his fever. Pulsing white-hot between them, the smoldering ashes of desire ignited.
His hand stole upward, strong fingers surrounding one breast. Tessa moaned softly, weak inside as he kneaded her flesh, causing her nipple to harden and protrude against the lacy confines of her bra.
Still he kissed her, his hips thrust hard against hers, her back now supported by the railing.
The front door banged open. “Tessa?” Mitchell’s voice shattered their intimacy.
Tessa froze in Denver’s arms and reluctantly dragged her mouth from his.
“Hey, Tess? Where are you?” her brother said, his voice booming up the stairs.
“Up here,” she choked out. “I’ll be down in a second.”
“Good! I’ll be in the kitchen. We need to talk.” His footsteps echoed through the house and Tessa, forcing her unsteady legs and arms to work, pushed away from Denver.
“We’re not finished,” he insisted in a hoarse whisper that hissed through the upstairs hallway.
“I think we are.”
His arm reached forward, jerking her around. “We’re not finished by a long shot, Tessa,” he said, his eyes glinting like newly forged steel. “Get rid of him.”
“Just like that?” she mocked.
“Just like that.”
She yanked her arm away and started for the stairs. “Don’t hold your breath!”
He was leaning over the rail, watching her descend. “It’s not my breath I intend to hold on to,” he said suggestively.
Denver McLean had to be the most despicable man on earth!
And you love him.
“Fool!” she ground out, stalking toward the kitchen, her steps echoing through the old house with the same ring as Denver’s amused laughter.
Chapter Eight
Mitchell was waiting. The heels of his boots propped on one chair, he leaned back in another and cradled a cup of coffee between his hands.
“Where’s McLean?” he asked when Tessa entered.
Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t lie. “He’s here,” she replied, keeping her voice low.
“In the house?”
