Turning her hands in his grasp, she held on for dear life when he slid his tongue into her mouth to twirl and dance with hers in an erotic symphony that had her hips unconsciously seeking to mold her body to his.
Every nerve in her lower body was on fire, spreading heat throughout her. She started shaking, as if she had just come down with a flu. Then she realized it wasn’t the result of sickness, but something she had never experienced before and hadn’t been able to recognize as to what was going on in her body.
Desire.
It was the urgent need to give him whatever he wanted and to take every single thing she wanted from him until they were fused together in every way possible.
Matthew pulled his mouth away from hers to slide it down her neck, his tongue touching her erratic pulse.
“You taste like sunshine,” she was able to get out once she had enough oxygen to spare.
“How does sunshine taste?” he murmured.
“Like a blood orange. Citrusy. The longer you kissed me, the more it made me think of an orange grove on a sunny day.”
“Do you want to know how you taste?”
Uncomfortable, she nodded, not used to exchanging sweet talk with anyone, much less a man who looked as if he were an over six-foot-three living, breathing Greek statue.
“You taste as if you swiped one of those little bottles of honey we got yesterday.”
“I didn’t swipe it. Silas gave me one.”
“God bless him,” he moaned, lifting his head to smother her again.
Alanna couldn’t help it; she started laughing. Her laughter was short-lived, though, before she was caught back in the golden glow of the fire that was consuming them. Matthew released her hands to slide his under her thin sweater.
“Dammit,” he swore, breaking away from her.
Her arms, which had been clutching his shoulders, were now clutching air. Embarrassed, she dropped them back to her sides. He didn’t want her after all …
With his hand, he bracketed her chin. “I stopped because your sweater is wet, not because I wanted to. I don’t want you to get sick.”
She frowned, not quite believing him. “I was pressed against your chest; how did you not feel it until you touched it?”
He gave a wry smile. “Because you have me so hot that I didn’t notice. My hands are more sensitive when something is wet.”
The strangeness of what he was saying had her believing him. Why would his hands be so sensitive to something wet? Understanding dawned. Maybe they had been burned badly in the past from working at his forge.
Goose bumps rose on her arms. Shivering, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“You’re freezing.” Matthew moved to where there were three stacked bins. Lifting one, he set it down on the ground thensnapped off the lid. “We keep some of our extra winter clothes stored here.” Sifting through several shirts and sweaters, he selected a gray and black flannel and handed it to her. “Here, change into this.” Going back to the bin, he continued to rummage through the clothes.
Hastily switching tops, she quickly buttoned the flannel shirt and fell in love with the heated warmth.
“How is it so warm?” Rubbing her cheek against the warm material, she watched Matthew shrug into a dark blue hoodie.
“The bin was against the wall where the sun is shining outside. It must have heated them.” Closing the bin, he set it back on top, turned around, and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
Did he mean resume where they had left off?
She was getting ready to tell him that she wasn’t ready for more when he lifted a bushel of apples to place it by the door.
“I’ll take them to Ginny when we get the rest of the stuff organized.”
Pfft. Kissing was no longer on his mind. Why was she so piqued he was able to switch off so easily from their heated embrace?
She stiffly picked up one of the bags containing the pie fillings. “Where do these go?”