She gazed into Dylan’s dark face. Could she go through with it? Could she spend a night with him and feel good about herself in the morning? “Were you that sure of yourself?”
He shook his head. “No. I was hoping you’d let me sweet-talk you out of your clothes, but I wasn’t sure of anything. I’m still not.” His hand moved from her back to her bare shoulder. “I wasn’t planning on coming here today. I wasn’t planning on coming back to town for a couple more weeks.”
Could she? Could she get past all the emotions and treat an affair like men did? Could she be a man?
“Remember when you asked me if I have an uncontrollable desire?” he asked, sliding his palm down her arm to squeeze her hand. “Well, I do. I have an uncontrollable desire for you.”
Yes, she could, and the last of her pitiful restraint melted right there in the middle of the Idaho wilderness. Right there in her fake tattoo and beer helmet. “Okay,” she whispered. “I want to go home with you.”
“Thank you, God,” he whispered back.
She thought he might kiss her. A romantic little kiss under the moon and the stars, but he didn’t. Instead, he about jerked her out of her sandals. They walked through rows of cars, station wagons, and Jeeps. He pulled her behind him until they reached the passenger side of a dark blue truck. Opening the door, he practically shoved her inside. In under a minute, he had fired up the engine, shoved the truck into drive, and they were heading away from the grange. Complete darkness filled the cab, and only the weak dash lights illuminated the bottom half of Dylan’s face. Hope looked across the bench seat at his profile. He stared straight ahead, deadly serious about something.
He had a death grip on the steering wheel, and she wondered if he was having second thoughts.
“Dylan, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you staring straight ahead?”
“I’m just sitting over here trying to keep the truck on the road, but it’s damn difficult because I keep thinking about sliding my hand down your panties.” He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the black highway. “I don’t want to pull over and jump on you before we make it home.”
She laughed and he shook his head. “It’s not funny,” he said.
“Maybe you should recite something in your head.”
“I’ve tried that. It never works.”
“I’ll help you.” Hope tossed her helmet on the floor and slid across the seat. “Let’s try something that isn’t sexual.” She rose to her knees beside him. “Like, ‘Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation.’ ” She tossed his cowboy hat next to her helmet, then tugged at the front of his shirt, popping the snaps one at a time until the shirt lay open. She slipped her hand inside, and he sucked in a breath. His muscles flexed and turned hard beneath her touch. “ ‘Conceived in liberty. Dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.’ ” She ran her finger through the short hair on his chest. Abraham Lincoln had been wrong. Not all men were created equal. Some just possessed more. More than charm and good looks, they had that certain elusive something. Whatever it was, Dylan had more than his share.
He reached for her hand, flattening it against his chest so she couldn’t move. She kissed the side of his neck and slid her open mouth to the hollow of his throat, tasting his aftershave and warm skin.
“Hope, I can barely see.”
“You don’t need to see.” She moved his hand from on top of hers and placed his palm on her breast. “You’re a big boy, feel your way,” she breathed right before she sucked his neck.
“Jesus.” His fingers closed over her and the whoosh of air he’d been holding rushed from his lungs.
Hope’s breasts grew taut, her nipples puckered, and she pulled at the ends of his shirt from his jeans. She looked down at the hair on his chest, the gold light from the dash caught in the short curls and shined across his tight skin. As the truck motored down the highway, she combed her fingers down the thin line of hair to his flat belly. “Am I helping?” She moved her hand to his zipper and, through the heavy denim, pressed her palm against the impressive length of his rock-hard erection. “You haven’t answered my question,” she said, her insides turning liquid, responding to him.
“When you touch me like that, I can’t remember what you asked.”
She kissed her way across his collarbone. “Are you still having trouble keeping the truck on the road?”
“Hell, yes.”
She had a vague sensation like the truck was turning. Then the next thing she knew, they’d stopped and she was on her back on the bench seat, staring up into Dylan’s dark face. And he kissed her. Long and hard, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. The bottom of her skirt was up around her waist and he knelt between her legs. He shoved his pelvis snug against her crotch, and he might have hurt her if she hadn’t wanted him so badly. She wrapped her legs around his waist and placed her hands on the sides of his head, kissing him like he kissed her, like neither would ever get enough. Enough mouths or tongues or the hot, liquid juices flowing through their bodies.
Dylan hit the horn with his foot, and he pulled back, gasping for air. His shirt hung open, his gaze wild within the shadowy cab. “Let’s get out of here,” he said and somehow managed to get them both out of the truck. He grabbed a box of condoms from the jockey box before heading across the driveway to the back door.
Hope looked over her shoulder at the truck, parked sideways, like it had skidded to a stop. She couldn’t remember if they’d skidded or not. She couldn’t remember much beyond the taste of Dylan’s skin beneath her tongue.
As they walked into the kitchen, Dylan hit the switch by the back door and his keys and the box of condoms slid across the counter. Hope squinted against the overhead light, catching glimpses of blue walls, white floors, and appliances. Marble counter-tops and a wooden table in the middle of the room. Seeing a white cake with slices of candied peaches on top, sitting on the table, surprised her, but then Dylan tore at his shirt and she forgot all about the cake. He balled the shirt up and tossed it on the electric stove. Without a word, he pulled Hope against him. Her hands landed flat on his bare chest, her palms covering his nipples. She looked up from his golden-brown hair curling about her fingers to the dip in his throat. She placed a kiss on the mark she’d left there earlier, and she lowered her hands to his big belt buckle.
“You could kill someone with this,” she said as she unhooked it and pulled it from his pant loops. She glanced up at him and added, “It could be considered a lethal weapon in some states.”
His green eyes looked at her from beneath lids heavy with desire. A blatantly sexual smile pushed the corners of his mouth upward. “You got that right,” he drawled, and she had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the buckle. The belt slipped through her fingers and hit the floor with a thud.