She got to her knees, and so did he. Pulling and tugging, they wound up rolling in the grass, both clinging to their lifeline.
“I touched it first,” he insisted.
“My ass, you did!” she retorted.
“You bring your ass into the conversation, I might not be responsible for what happens next,” he warned.
“You know that’s not what I meant!” She yanked on the balloon. He yanked back. And then the inevitable happened. A mini-fountain of water sprayed over both of them. “Look at what you did!” she chastised.
“Me! You should have let go!”
She could have replied, but she realized she was lying on her back in the grass, soaked to her skin, and Dustin was sitting astride her hips, pinning her down. She wanted desperately to get up, shove him off, but her legs were too weak. Her arms were too weak.
Her resolve was too weak.
When he kissed her, she didn’t resist. She felt her mouth upon hers and any thought of shoving him away was chased out of her head by the jarring sensation, the wild excitement, and the almost instant boiling of her already heated blood.
She lifted her head off the grass to kiss him back properly, and Dustin cradled her head in one hand and her torso in the other, so she couldn’t withdraw again.
Not that she wanted to. “Dustin….” She heard the murmur escape her mouth, and any attempt at further speech was silenced but the tip of his tongue piercing her lips.
Then he laid her gently backwards, so she was prone again, freeing his hands to cup her breasts, swelling under his touch through the soaked silk. One thumb gently stroked a hard pebble of a nipple, causing her to groan, squeeze her eyes shut.
She lifted her hips, no longer feeling trapped under him, but welcoming her imprisonment. Feeling the clear signs of his own arousal.
Then Chantelle surprised herself by reaching up to stroke his chest through a cotton tee that was equally soaked, hating the fabric for the way it adhered to him. Why didn’t it just rip off under her hands? She wanted to see him bare-chested, hungered for the sight of that toned body bared to her.
The sun pounded down on them, even though it was late in the day, turning the sky around his head white, making his face a dark silhouette.
She found her grip on coherent thoughts slipping away; all she wanted right now was to strip off everything. Get bare-assed naked with this gorgeous man right here in the wet grass, among the litter of bright colored, busted balloons, and beg him to have her.
Except that this wasn’t what they’d agreed upon. Hands off, she had instead. A marriage in name only. And furthermore, he was leaving her in two days…. No, wait. That didn’t come out right. Not leavingher.Just leaving. Going home where he belonged.
She sighed in anguished frustration and turned her gaze away.
Immediately, Dustin was off her, sensing her withdrawal. Getting to his feet, and offering her a hand to get up. She considered refusing it, but then politely took it and came to stand before him. His expression was unreadable.
She was about to say she was sorry, but knew there was nothing to be sorry for. And the look he gave her confirmed that.
Soberly, and with great gravity, he said to her, “I enjoyed that. And, I think, so did you. Remember, Chantelle, my offer still stands. One night of pleasure, no strings attached. If you want that as much as I do, you know where my bedroom is.”
As he walked off, the surrounding air seemed to change. The temperature seemed to drop. And Chantelle felt a chill roll through her soul.
Chapter 19
“Ready,” Dustin heard Chantelle say. He was standing in the lower foyer, near to the main stairs, shrugging on his jacket. He was looking and smelling rather nice, if he did say so himself.
And he did.
He turned in the direction of her voice and froze. From his perspective, the first thing he saw was a pair of smooth, almond-toned legs, shapely and bare; none of the pantyhose she always seemed to wear with her severe business suits… even sometimes when she was working in her home office.
No, this evening, the dress that was slowly revealed as she descended was airy and light, gold-toned, in a fabric that one would expect to clash with the color of her skin, but instead made her and the garment seem to be a single, seamless glowing light.
As she took another step, and another, the hem of the dress flowed, kissing her knees before wriggling back up her thighs.
Dustin stood there, immobile, as if he’d been struck at the back of the head with a sledgehammer. It came to him with great force that although he’d known this woman for nearly a month, this was the first time he was seeing her knees.
Her knees,in an era where underwear was indistinguishable from outerwear, and the imagination no longer had to struggle to fill in any gaps, when it came to barely covered body parts. He realized that the least formal thing he’d ever seen her in was a pair of jeans, and even that fully protected her modesty.