Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(65)

Whoosh. There went what little breath she’d managed to catch. “I think you still have me beat in the sexy-talk department,” she managed through parched lips, followed by a sigh. “Always a bridesmaid.”

On top of Rita, Jasper’s big body shook with laughter and she sucked in the moment, because nothing had ever felt better in her life. Being laughed on by someone who knew how to make her laugh back. “I’ll let you borrow my gold medal, long as I can lie here a few more minutes.” He reached down and used a fist to drag himself from her body with a throaty groan, removing the condom and setting it aside. Then he granted Rita another long slide of their bodies, his muscled, hair-covered thighs making her feel even more light-headed. “There. I can feel all of you now.”

Rita ran the arches of her feet up and down his calves, massaging his lower back with kneading thumbs. “Are you planning on doing this until you’re ready to go again?”

“Should only be another minute or so.” His teeth flashed in a smile, but it faded in degrees. “I’ve never done this after part. I’ve never wanted to.”

Rita’s hands stilled on his back before resuming their exploration of his muscles. “I’ve never done it, either.”

“Good. So you can’t tell if I’m doing it wrong.”

When his lips skated up Rita’s throat, she gasped, pinpricks traveling up her spine. “If what you’re doing is wrong…”

His head lifted when she didn’t continue. “You don’t want to be right?”

“Yes, sorry. I drifted off.”

Jasper’s body vibrated on top of hers again and Rita didn’t think, she simply threw her arms out once again—and made a snow angel. In the grass. With a sexual dynamo pressing her into the earth. And she laughed.





Chapter Thirty



Jasper leaned back against his kitchen counter, listening to the sounds of Rita taking a shower in his bathroom. Using his soap, his water, his towels. If he didn’t think she needed a second alone, he might have asked to watch. Although that scenario would have led to them remaining upstairs for the remainder of the night, and he wasn’t ready to turn out the light just yet. There would be plenty of time for sleeping when she left.

I’m in love with you, Rita. Would she hear him in the shower if he yelled it at the top of his lungs? With the head of steam he had built up? Damn straight. Probably best to keep the words ringing in his head instead.

What the hell kind of cruel fate was in play here? He finds the woman of a lifetime on the side of the road, gets just enough time with her to hand over his soul—and then she gets snatched away.

No, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? She was leaving of her own accord. Not being snatched away by some evil, unseen force. Before bringing Rita into his home, he’d been determined to be unselfish. Determined to understand that Rita needed to walk along the path of her own choosing. Yeah, he was still clear-headed enough to believe that. In his mind. The life-giving organ in his chest, however, had landed on another conclusion. If Rita was intent on leaving, hell, he would make it as hard as possible for her. Didn’t he have that right? When a man loves a woman, didn’t he fight tooth and nail to keep her?

Christ, yes. Yes. She’d crossed the threshold of his home and now everything would be laid at her feet like an offering, whether she liked it or not. He couldn’t live with the stark prospect of never having her there again. Waking up in two days’ time without the possibility of finding Rita beside him, downstairs, or in the backyard? Jasper would fight against fate to keep from having to live that nightmare.

And it was just possible he might be worthy of the dream, instead. The dream being Rita. Rita being the one who’d convinced him his presence meant something. It mattered. She was here now, wasn’t she? In his house, being with him—happy with him—even though they’d gotten physical, even though he’d fucked up, made her angry. Still here. But not for long? Can’t let it happen.

Hearing Rita exit the bathroom, Jasper reached into the cabinet and added a belt of whiskey to his coffee. He had less than twenty-four hours to convince a woman he’d known for three days to cancel every plan she’d made for her future—and stay in Hurley. For him. A man who’d never been on a second date. Not even with Rita yet. So he needed all the help he could get.

Rita walked into the kitchen wearing one of his flannel shirts; his coffee mug froze in midair. The sleeves went so far past her hands that she’d rolled them up in giant bunches at her elbows, the hem dangling somewhere below her knees. Jesus. How could anyone ask him to withstand the sight of watching her drive away after she’d worn his clothes?

“Find everything okay?” Shit, it sounded as if he’d eaten a porcupine.

She nodded, twirling her damp hair into a bun at the top of her head, keeping it there with a rubber band. “You have a lot of flannel.”

Jasper poured her a cup of coffee, hoping the task would lower his pulse so he could concentrate. “I’ll have to pick a different get-up now. You look a damn sight better in it than me.”

“That T-shirt-and-jeans look is working pretty well. Might want to go with that.”

The husky tone of her voice, the golden-brown eyes checking him out, made Jasper’s tongue feel thick. Among other things. He gave his worn-in, gray T-shirt a cursory glance before handing Rita her coffee. “Keep looking me over like that, beautiful, and you’re going to see what’s underneath real fast.”