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“Oh, what the hell . . .!”
He swept her close, bent, and made a meal of her soft lips, pressing them back away from her teeth so that his tongue could flick inside her mouth and make the kiss even more intimate, more seductive.
She moaned helplessly, and he ground his mouth into hers, his arms swallowing her up whole, in a silence that exploded with sensation too long unfelt, hungers too long unfed, passion that flared between them like a wildfire.
Finally, when her lips were almost bruised, he eased her away from him. His heartbeat was shaking the jacket he wore with his T-shirt. He sounded as if he’d run a ten-mile race, his breathing was so labored.
She just smiled, all at sea, deliciously stimulated, feeling as if she’d finally taken the edge off a little of the hunger he kindled in her.
“Well, that was dumb,” he muttered. “Now we’ll have hot dreams of each other every night and I’ll wake up screaming.”
She laughed. “I’d love to see that,” she teased.
He laughed, too. “If I do, I’ll phone you.”
“You could text me,” she said. “Even when I’m at work. I wouldn’t mind.”
He smiled softly. “You can text me, too, even at two in the morning. I don’t sleep much.”
“I could?”
He nodded. He touched her cheek gently. “We have differences,” he said. “My culture is not the same as yours. Even though my father is white, I was raised a Crow, in a Crow community.”
“I’ll study.”
He smiled. “That’s the idea.”
“But whatever the differences, I won’t mind,” she said. Her face was radiant. “I’ll adjust.”
He nodded. “I know you will. Meanwhile, we’ll try to keep it low-key. Okay?”
She flushed. She’d started this. “I should probably feel guilty, but I don’t,” she added pertly.
“Neither do I. Some things are inevitable.”
“Yes.”
He drew in a long breath. “Well, I’ll go home and try to sleep. If I can’t sleep, I’ll text you, and you can call and sing me a lullaby,” he said outrageously.
“I actually know one,” she said. “I used to sing it to Teddie when she was little. It always worked.”
He brushed her mouth with his. “It will take a lot more than a lullaby to get me to sleep, I’m afraid,” he said.
“Bad memories?”
“Very bad,” he said. “And not all from combat.”
She wondered if his father had anything to do with those, but it was far too soon in their very new relationship to start asking intimate questions about his life. Still, there was one question that kept coming up.
“Do you have a first name?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Yes.”
She cocked her head. “Well?”
His dark eyes twinkled. “We need to keep a few secrets just to make ourselves more interesting.”
“Spoilsport.”
