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She leaned into him, but she didn’t put her arms around him. “I’m…I’m not used to having help with this. Tayra…once she got sick, it really had to be all about her. I…”
He took her shoulders and turned her toward the stairs. “Bedrooms and bath are on the second floor. I’ll have the wine open and breathing, and you come down when you’re ready. Don’t feel like you have to dress up. We’re eating in, so make yourself comfortable.” He couldn’t resist. He kissed the top of her head and swatted her butt.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Next time I’m making you buy me the most expensive dinner in town, buddy.”
A half hour later, she came downstairs with a towel wrapped around her head and a terrycloth robe wrapped around her body. She looked relaxed and pink-cheeked from the hot water. Slade poured her a glass of wine. The table was set, and he headed into the kitchen to bring out the seafood casserole their hosts had left them. Bethany dug into it as if she hadn’t eaten in months. Slade sipped the wine—a dry, oaky Cabernet. He approved of it.
He ate a little, but mostly he watched Bethany. One damp curl had escaped her towel and stuck to her forehead. He watched her eat, picking out bites of the seafood she loved best and eating those first—scallops seemed to be a favorite, sipping her wine, careful about everything.
That was Bethany, he thought. So methodical about some things, such a mess about others. She’d neglected making repairs to Tayra’s house—probably hadn’t even noticed them, the same way she hadn’t noticed her own ancient VW—but she was careful with people. Careful with her work, too, going by what Trent had said about her.
Finishing her meal, she pushed back from the table and smiled. “I needed that.”
Slade put down his wineglass. “Good. But if I don’t kiss you in the next ten seconds, I’m going to do something really stupid.”
* * *
Bethany watched him lean across the table, her heart beating faster and her breath stalling in her lungs. The only light in the room came from the sunset, filtering through the open drapes of the window. When he was mere inches from her, she looked up into his eyes and was amazed at the heat and intensity she saw.
Slade pulled the towel from her hair and pushed his fingers into the strands. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.
Her mouth parted in a gasp, as shivers traveled the length of her body. “Slade…”
He took her lips in a kiss that ignited desire under her skin. He framed her face in his hands and tilted her head, and the kiss shifted from sweet to passionate. She wanted him—had wanted him since she’d first laid eyes on him. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.
Slade bent slightly, wrapping her in his arms, never letting go of her mouth. He lifted her up and she gave a small shriek. He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed nothing, shouldering his way into the first bedroom he came to.
She wound her arms around his neck. “Is this smart?”
“Do we care?” he asked. He laid her down on the bed, following her down so that one knee rested on the mattress and his arms caged her body.
Pulling off the tie to her robe, he pushed it open and skimmed his hand down her side. She arched into his touch.
“Slade,” she said again, only this time he heard the need in her voice.
He dipped his head and kissed the swells of her breast. She gave a soft hum. He moved to her other breast, kissing, licking, biting. She groaned and said, “If you don’t get out of those clothes now, I’m not going to be accountable for rips and tears.”
Grinning, he pulled back. He stripped off his shirt, popping the buttons. Tossing it behind him, he reached for his belt, but she got there first. She unbuckled, unzipped, unfastened. He kicked off his pants, his loafers, and had to lean over to strip off his socks. She touched his back, tracing the tattoo on his upper arm.
Turning, he took her into his arms. Her breasts pressed into the hard muscles of his chest. “What’s the tat for?”
“Honor above all—our unit all got the same one. Now, less talk, more action.” He pushed her down onto the bed.
It was like being swept up in a windstorm, or a wave—she couldn’t control anything. He held her, stroked her, had her begging for more. He filled her senses with his scent, his touch, which seemed to leave a trail of fire over her skin. He moved away from her and rifled through a pocket in his pants. She heard the tear of a condom and grabbed it from him, smoothing it over his length with her fist. It was his turn to groan. He glanced at her, eyes dark.
She lay back and spread her legs wide. He leaned over, fit himself to her, and slipped in with one slow thrust.
Head back, she smiled. “Move!” she told him, raising her legs to wrap her ankles around his lower back. She arched up, forcing his body deeper into her own, giving him no choice. He wasn’t the only one who could be demanding.
The pressure built inside of her. He was so big, so…so everything. The room filled with the scent of her sex and his sweat. She gave a small cry as he hit deeper. She let go, lost herself to sensation, to the feel of his body against hers, to the hard pounding, to the heat, to the explosion that seemed to burst inside of her. Slade called out her name, tensing and then held still and used one shaking arm to keep his full body weight off of her.
With a groan, he rolled onto his side, taking her with him and pulling her against his side.
“Slade,” she murmured. Was it going to be like it had been with him and Tayra? One night and that was it? That was how it had been with most of Bethany’s other boyfriends. She’d never kept a guy around for very long. Why should she? She had her life, she liked her life—and Slade was the kind of guy who would take it over if she let him. She couldn’t do that. But, oh, he felt so good.
He brushed fingers over her face, and whispered, “Shush. Rest now. We’ll talk later.”
* * *
