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“Be serious,” he suggested, his voice low and raspy. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”
Tiffany laughed softly. “Now it’s time for you to be serious.”
“I am.”
“You don’t even know me—”
“I know you well enough to realize that we’re good together.”
“In what way?”
“All ways.”
“Just because you helped Ebony Wine and you . . . saw to it that I fell asleep last night, it isn’t enough to—”
“Shh.” He tugged on her arm, forcing her closer. As he looked down upon her she felt as if he were stripping her of the barriers she had so carefully placed around herself, around her heart. She smelled the clean, masculine scent of him, felt the warmth of his body, knew in a minute that he intended to kiss her and that she wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.
When his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and couldn’t withhold the moan that came from her throat. Both of his hands reached upward to cup her face. Strong fingers held her cheeks while his lips moved slowly, provocatively over her mouth. He touched the underside of her jaw, gently stroking the delicate pulse in her neck. When he lifted his head, his eyes had grown dark with unspoken passion.
Tiffany swallowed with difficulty, and her blood began to throb wildly in her veins. Feminine urges, long dormant, began to heat and swirl within her, captivating her mind as well as her body.
“Tiffany,” he whispered hoarsely against the shell of her ear as his hand slowly found and removed the band at the end of her braid of hair. His fingers worked the shimmery golden brown strands until her hair tumbled free of its bond to frame her face in soft brown curls.
Her arms wound around his waist as his mouth dipped once again to the invitation of her parted lips. This time the kiss deepened, and Tiffany felt the thrill of his tongue as it sought out and mated with hers.
Liquid fire seemed to engulf her as desire flooded her veins and throbbed in her ears.I can’t want this man,she reasoned with herself, but logic seemed to slip away.He’s using me. . . .But she found that she didn’t care.
Beneath the still-naked branches of the towering oaks, she returned his passionate kiss and sighed in contentment when he pressed up against her and the evidence of his desire strained against the fabric of his cords.
Dear God, I don’t want to love you,she thought as his arms encircled her and held her tightly to him.I can’t let myself fall foryou. . . .I don’t even know who you are or what you want from me. Is this moment just a diversion, an intricate part of your plan, or are your feelings real?
Logic began to cool her blood, and he felt her withdrawing from him. “Let me love you,” he whispered, refusing to let her go, his powerful arms holding her a willing captive.
She shook her head and tried to deny the traitorous feelings burning in her breast. “I can’t . . . I just . . . can’t.”
“Because you still love your husband.” His voice was low and damning. Dark fire smoldered in his eyes.
Her clear eyes clouded and her teeth sunk into her lower lip. When she shook her head, sunlight caught in the honeyed strands of her hair. “Because I don’t know you well enough,” she countered.
“You never will, unless you take a chance.”
“I am. Right here. Right now. With you. Please . . . try to understand.”
His arms dropped. “Understand what? That you don’t know me?” He stepped away from her, granting a small distance between their bodies. “Or is it that you’re suspicious of my motives?” His dark eyes searched her face. “Or maybe it’s because you think I might be just slightly off my rocker.”
She laughed despite the tension in the crisp morning air. “That just about says it all,” Tiffany admitted, tossing her tangled hair away from her face. “Except that I think things are moving a little too fast for me,” she said, her breathing still irregular. “Yesterday we were strangers, earlier this morning, ‘friends,’ and now you’re suggesting that we become lovers. I’m not ready for all of this—not yet.”
“Don’t play games with me.”
“It takes two to play,” she reminded him, holding her head high, her gaze steady.
“You’re a mature woman, Tiffany, not some seventeen-year-old girl. You’ve been married—”
“And I don’t have casual affairs.”
“There’s nothing casual about what I feel for you.” His arms encircled her waist, his warm hands splaying naturally against the small of her back.
“Give it time, Zane,” she pleaded in a raspy whisper. He was so near she could feel the warmth of his breath in her hair, sense the desire heating his veins, witness the burning passion in his eyes. Her expression clouded with the indecision tormenting her mind.How easy it would be to lie naked with him in the morning sun. . . .
