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He swiveled on the stool to face her. “I did the wrong thing last night.” She shook her head and he touched her forearm to stop her walking away. “I wanted you. I wanted to be inside you. I wanted to make you come till you passed out.”
She made a noise of frustration. “Why didn’t you do something about it?”
Afraid he’d like it too much. “Stuck on my rails. You’re a detour to an uncertain destination.”
She pulled her hand out of his grip. “You think I’m this big risk, that I’m going to play games with you, mess with your head.”
He knew it. “I think you’re a challenge. I don’t take anything I said back. It’s not a good idea to get involved. But how I withdrew, distanced myself, that was a bastard act.”
“Like wrestling a tree.”
“I wasn’t careful and it side-swiped me.”
“I’m not going to side-swipe you.”
She already had. “I’ll survive.”
“We could both win.”
A tie. “I want you to know I’m sorry.”
“I want you to know this is going to hurt.” She scraped the needle across the open end where the rough edge of the splinter showed and broke the skin, making blood well and then dribble down his arm. She stopped the flow with a cotton ball. “I have to do that again, otherwise it’s going to break up into pieces and I’ll be digging at it forever.”
“Do what you gotta do.”
She worked at it, picking and squeezing, using her fingernails and then tweezers to work at the splinter. It did break up and came out in pieces, and they were both relieved when it was all over.
“Thank you.” His arm was red, angry and sore. The antiseptic ointment she switched to and slathered on would help.
“Do you have any more anywhere else?” She moved around to his back and walked her fingers over his shoulders. “You’re scratched up.”
He’d had a pack on, it’d protected him somewhat, but caused the welts she could feel. She rubbed the cream in there as well, fingers drifting to the back of his neck. “Tight.”
He had the makings of a headache behind his eyes. He dropped his head forward and let her work on the column of muscle in his neck. “This is now officially the best part of my day. How did you spend yours?”
“Went to see my family.”
He straightened and turned, moving his knee so she stood between them. “How did that go?”
“It was overrated.” She put her thumb to the bruise on his cheekbone. “That sting?”
Not as much as whatever she wasn’t saying stung her. He’d attributed her earlier tension to frustration with his behavior; now he saw there were layers to it that had nothing to do with him. “Tell me.”
“All spark and no fireworks. It was a day, okay. I wrestled trees as well.” She put her hands to his shoulders and leaned in, kissed the bruise. His hands had gone to her waist. He expected her to pull back, but she hesitated, and when he moved his head they bumped noses.
She nuzzled. “I’d like to forget about the splinters, how deep they can go and the ones that never come out.”
It was an invitation he didn’t expect and couldn’t give up again. He slipped his hands to her ass and moved her closer; she draped her arms over his shoulders. “We kiss this time, I’m not going to stop at kissing. I’m not stopping at clothing, getting my hands on your skin or making you come. Is that the kind of forgetting you’re talking about?”
The answer was a groan and an openmouthed kiss that started deep and went down fathoms, pulling from the muck of stalled expectations a surge of feeling intense enough to heat Tom’s chest from the inside. He put his teeth to her tongue, grazed over its surface, making her moan. His headache was gone. He didn’t feel muscle-sore or weary to his bones. A new flood of adrenaline hit, excitement and desire. Almost overpowering.
“What do I need to know, Flick?”
“There’s nothing I don’t like.”
That left it wide-open. There were things he didn’t like. His preferences were simple enough. He didn’t like to dominate, though his size made women think he would. He didn’t want to immobilize her, or mark her, or play rough.
“I want to put my mouth where my hand was last night. I want to come inside you.”
