I run my hand up her back to her hair flowing in long waves around her shoulders. Grasping the back of her neck, I direct her toward me to taste her mouth again. My free hand glides up the front of her body, but I stop on the soft skin under her breast.
She groans. “Touch me. Please.”
With deliberate care, I cover her with my hand then trace my thumb around her nipple in a slow circle.
She breaks our kiss, moaning again, her hips moving erratically.
My erection pushes against the zipper of my jeans, begging for relief. I take a few quick seconds to undo my pants, tugging everything down far enough so that when Finley presses against me again, the only thing separating our bodies is her thin yoga pants.
Our gazes clash as we connect.
“Yes.” The sound is hissed through her teeth.
I capture it with my lips, trailing a line from her mouth to her jaw then her neck, nipping and licking.
My hands reach up, cupping her breasts. She arches, stretching toward me. I duck my head down to take one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently.
Her hips falter, her mouth falling open as desperate, needy sounds emerge, sounds that drive me closer and closer to an inevitable breaking point.
Her hands grasp my head, holding me in place while she seeks her release. I tease and pluck at her breasts, using my mouth, my hands, nipping and sucking. Her movements become increasingly frantic.
She shudders and gasps, calling out my name into the night air.
Satisfaction pulses through me at her release, the sensation beating along in time with my rapid heart.
Her body slumps against me, all warm, sated, sweet-smelling flesh, and even though my erection is pounding with need, the moment is too blissful to disturb. I hold her, brushing my lips against the top of her head. I take a moment to breathe and enjoy the quiet, cool air and the slight weight of the relaxed woman in my arms.
“Take me to bed.” Her voice is a sexy, raspy promise of mutual pleasure.
Every cell in my body tingles with desire. I’m on fire with want, with yearning for everything that sleepy, sultry voice promises. I’m hard as a rock. I want nothing more than to do exactly as she suggests and spend the rest of the night sating our urges, exploring every curve and corner of her body. The craving is overwhelming.
A thread of integrity reaches up and smacks me in the face. I can’t. Not without telling her the truth.Maybe it won’t matter, a naïve, drunk-on-arousal voice says.
“Finley.” My arms tighten around her, a bigger instinct conscious of the fact that this might be the last time she’s in them willingly. I nuzzle into her neck, inhaling her scent. She smells like soap and sweet arousal. “I’m here because of Oliver Nichols.”
Her slow and easy breaths stutter to a stop. Her body grows tense in my lap, all the lethargic pleasure being erased one stiff limb at a time.
Before I can explain or say anything to excuse my behavior, she slides off me. I follow her movements as she picks up her shirt, covering herself while she pads to the door, the movement all but breaking my heart.
She doesn’t slam inside like I expect. Instead, she shuts the door with a gentle click, then the lock slides into place, deliberate and quiet. It might as well be a hammer blow.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly, trying to calm my racing heart. I need to leave. She might be in there grabbing a gun right now, buthell. Images of the last half hour flash through my mind. I can’t think straight.
The way she looked at me when she delivered her proposition—direct, daring, and so incredibly attractive. The feel of her body, the responsiveness, the unrestrained passion . . . I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head as if it will dislodge the images pounding inside.
I keep breathing, in and out, calming my body.
After a few long minutes, I stand, stopping for a second outside her door. What is she thinking? What is she going to do tomorrow when I don’t leave as she expects? I don’t think she’ll actually shoot me or run me over. What would she do if I knocked? If I tried to explain . . . but how?
I jog down the porch steps to my car. I should have told her.
A minute later, I park outside my dark cabin and head up the steps.
Music floats on the breeze from the bungalow next door, along with voices and laughter. There’s a couple staying there. I ran into them earlier when I checked in. The sounds of their merriment are a stark contrast to the isolation surrounding me like a frozen cloak.
Once I’m inside with the door shut behind me, the silent darkness threatens to swallow me.
I flick on the lights to reveal the open floor plan, kitchenette with breakfast bar, and two still-made queen beds.