Desert Ice Daddy Marton, Dana (most motivational books .TXT) 📖

a self-deprecating smile. “You’ve never put a foot wrong.”

He gave a strangled laugh. “You’d be surprised.”

“Look at the business you’ve built. You are a success. What am I?”

“A beautiful woman, inside and out, who learned her lessons from life. Someone who had the courage to walk away and start anew. A great mother. The beginning of a spectacular success story.”

She looked surprised.

“The woman I still want,” he added, and found that her eyes could go wider yet.

She didn’t seem like she was used to compliments, so he decided to back up his words with action. He kissed her brows, her eyelids, kissed his way down the bridge of her nose, dragging out time before he brushed his lips over hers.

She was a woman to be savored.

She wasn’t hurt badly. He thanked heaven for that. He’d be able to protect her. Another thing in their favor. For the moment, he refused to think of the million other things that stacked the odds against them.

For the moment, he allowed himself to taste the sweetness of her lips, to run his fingers through the silk of her hair. The moon and the stars shined above them.

And it was all slow and easy and good for a while. Then an urgency crept between them again, just like it had at the guardhouse.

Things could not get as out of hand again as they had back there, he thought in the last coherent corner of his brain. Then reassured himself that they had been able to stop in time. They would stop again.

So he allowed his hands to caress her face, her uninjured arm, her breasts. And when she moaned into his mouth, he swallowed the sound.

She reached for his shirt to pull it up. He let her. Then held his breath as her slim fingers explored his abdomen and moved up to his chest. She set his body buzzing with need. A need he would ignore. All he would do was distract her for a while, relax her.

He, himself, was feeling far from relaxed.

Every muscle in his body was drawn hard, focused on the pleasure of her touch, the pleasure that came from him touching her. When she tugged off his shirt all the way, he didn’t protest.

The night breeze glided along his back, cool. Taylor in his arms, hot as fire. He was more than willing to let himself burn up in her flame.

He brushed aside her shirt and wanted badly to take her T-shirt off, but didn’t want to hurt her arm—he no longer felt his own pain. Her T-shirt would stay. A good limit to set to ensure that things didn’t get out of hand between them.

But he did want another look at that pale yellow bra, so he pushed the T-shirt up. He kissed the underside of her breasts, then found his way to the lace cups. She arched her back when he flicked his tongue against a hardened nipple.

Then he got carried away just a little.

When she made a sound like a woman who desperately needed release, it seemed like the logical thing to unzip her pants and slide his hand inside. His fingers combed through her silky curls, dipped into her moist heat.

She was going for his pants. Absolutely nothing was going to happen, but he had no heart to stop her. He let her do as she wished. And that was when things got dangerous. Because the frantic seconds that followed left him in his underwear. And her pants were tangled up in the pile with his, along with two guns and their knife.

Oh, man.

It only looked like something was going to happen, because it wasn’t. Going to. At all.

He started to backpedal to that end. Removing him self from on top of her seemed like a good first step. So he pulled back and sat on the ledge, his back to the outer wall, trying to catch his breath. And congratulated himself for having kept a cool head.

They would catch their breath, suffer some awkward silence, then it would be as if this had never happened.

Which really was the best outcome at this particular moment in time, although definitely not the one every cell in his body was begging for.

Nothing.

Was.

Going.

To.

Happen.

But then she came and straddled him. His hands might have gone to her hips to help her off, but they ended up holding on to make sure she stayed in place. And even as she lowered herself, his body rose on its own. And then he was pressing against her.

Heat.

Friction.

Desire.

They still had some clothes on. Very little, but at least it was something. As long as they had that, they couldn’t get carried away, could they? He put his hands on her underwear to make sure it stayed in place. That worked for about three seconds before his fingers slipped under yellow lace, dipped toward the center from where all the heat seemed to be radiating. She arched her back, and made a low sound in her throat, pressed harder against him. Pleasure spread through him in response, as they rocked against each other. An eternity passed with them lost in each other’s bodies. Old desires heated to a fever pitch, old fantasies coming true at last.

He buried his face between her breasts and pulled her tighter to him if that was possible. Control was slipping out of his hands. His body sought hers mindlessly. Everywhere they touched, pleasure seemed to seep into him through his very skin. Slow, he bade himself. And then moved faster.

Slim fingers teased the elastic band around his waist.

He held his breath.

Her fingers sneaked inside.

A tremor ran through his muscles. Control was what he needed.

Good luck with that.

“Taylor. I’m too—” His voice was so deep and raspy he barely recognized it. And as her fingers closed around him, he couldn’t finish the warning.

Breathe.

Sure, if only that were possible.

They held each other’s gazes as release claimed them at last, and he wished the moon was brighter so he could see her face more