Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(137)

She gathered up the skirt, fluffing it. Gave him a sultry glance up under her lashes that made a shiver ripple up his spine. “I’m wearing gartered hose under it and nothing else. For old time’s sake.”

“You’re bare-assed, with garters, and hiking boots?” He was grinning like an idiot. “God. You’re going to give me a stroke. Show me.”

Her laughter was breathless, indistinguishable from her violent shivering “Here? In the snow?”

“Just a glimpse,” he pleaded. “Go on, torment me.”

His head swam, watching her hike up the filmy flounces. There was a lot of it, multiple layers of teasing froth, but she finally got it all up bundled in front of her so he could see the celestial vision; her pale, perfect legs, swathed in ribbed brown stockings up to mid-thigh, held up by the garters. And her sweet, dark, curly muff up there, yummy shadowy concave woman parts that just beckoned and pulled him.

He placed his shaking hand between her legs. Slid it up, to feel her softness, her warmth. The humid seam of her *, hidden in springy ringlets, just hinting at the juicy hot pink parts. He couldn’t believe this was for real. Her, right here, in his grasp. Wanting him.

She clutched his shoulders for balance, her thighs clamping tight around his hand like she wanted to trap him there. Fine by him.

But she was shivering, hard. “You’re cold,” he said.

She shook her head. “Hot,” she corrected him. “Very hot.”

“We should get you someplace warm,” he said, but still he teased his finger deeper, to feel her muscles clench and pulse around him.

“I’m fine right here,” she said.

He withdrew his hand, sucking on his finger. Oh, God, yum. Heaven’s balm. So good. “Not here,” he said, resolute. “It’s too cold. You’d freeze your ass off, and besides, we have to keep this dress nice.”

She was laughing again, a high pitched vibration. “We do?”

“Yeah. We take it someplace dry, and wrap it in plastic and hang it up carefully. I want you to wear it on the day that you marry me.”

Her teasing smile softened to a look of startled wonder.

Suddenly, they were locked in a desperate kiss, with all the explosive power of fireworks, all the melting tenderness of coming home. But the kiss had a thundering agenda of its own, as usual, and Miles had to stagger back from it, face hot. Brain fogged with lust.

“Not here,” he repeated, more to himself than to her.

“Where, then?” she asked. “The trailer?”

“No. The bed’s not soft or warm or clean enough for you, and I don’t have anything fit for you to eat there.”

“I’m not fussy,” she said. “Or hungry. All I want is you.”

“I’m thinking of this lodge up at the lake,” he said. “I stayed there while I was buying this place, and I fantasized about having you there, in that big four-poster bed with me. Clean white sheets, patchwork quilts. An old-fashioned clawfoot tub in the bathroom, big enough for us both. A good restaurant downstairs, for after. When we’re hungry.”

She hid her face against his chest. “As long as you’re there.”

“Hell, yeah. You could not pry me away with dynamite.”

As soon as he could lift his head from the tight, trembling hug, he prompted her. “So, uh. You didn’t actually respond to my formal proposal of marriage.”

Her laughter rang through the trees. “Come on. You just told me what you wanted me to wear. That’s not a formal proposal.”

He jerked her coat closed, and started to button it. “How many ways do I need to declare myself? I declared myself in the diner, too, before you got on the bus. Remember? The days and the nights? The meals and the talks, and the winters and the summers?”

“I remember,” she whispered. “I thought it was all lost forever.”

He bent to finish buttoning, and since he was down there already, what the hell. He dropped to his knees. Which was right where she’d had him since the moment he’d first seen her anyhow. “It’s not lost. I’m offering it to you now, formally. All my tomorrows. They’re all yours.”

She dug in her coat pocket for a tissue, dabbing at her eyes, her nose. “Oh, get up. You’ll get your knees soaked,” she said. “Of course I’m yours. Of course I’ll marry you. You’re making me cry. Stop it.”

He rose, running his hands over her slender, perfect body all the way up. She seemed so frail, so fragile, as if she’d snap, but she was anything but fragile. God, how he loved that. So sexy. So freeing.

“Just making it official,” he said. “Tomorrow, let’s take off. Go on a road trip, someplace warm. We could go down the coast, see the Grand Canyon. Or head down into Mexico. Do you have a passport?”

“I’ve been back to my place in San Francisco,” she assured him. “I have all my documents again.”

“Good. Let’s go. Anywhere you want.”

She snuffled into the tissue again. “It sounds so wonderful,” she said. “I just can’t quite believe it’s real. My fantasy come true.”

“Nah.” He grabbed her hand, pulled it up to stroke over his beard stubble. “If this were a fantasy, I would have showered and shaved, and I’d be wearing a clean shirt. What you have here is nude, crude reality.”