A Town Called Valentine(84)

She set down her wine. “Then we should play another game.”

He put down his own glass. “I’ll win,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her bare shoulder, just a fingertip that gently traced.

She shuddered and briefly closed her eyes at the electric sensation. “You won’t be the only winner.” She grinned at him. “So rack ’em up, cowboy. But first take off your shirt.”

His smile was briefly interrupted with surprise, and she took satisfaction in that. No point being too predictable since she was becoming a new Emily.

Nate sailed his hat onto the glass coffee table, leaving his black hair tousled, then slowly pulled off his shirt, his gaze fixed on her. Her mouth went a little dry at all that lean muscle earned working hard for a living. Even though he had the faintest farmer tan on his lower arms, it was obvious he worked without a shirt when he was overheated.

Speaking of overheated . . . she felt suddenly too warm beneath his smoldering regard. She didn’t want to play pool; she wanted him to sweep her into his arms as if he couldn’t resist her anymore. Instead, he sauntered to the pool table and racked the balls, just as she’d stupidly asked. Ah, but he had to bend over the table . . . and reach for things . . .

“Emily?”

To her surprise, she realized he’d been holding out a cue to her, and she’d barely noticed, so focused was she on his broad chest scattered with dark hair.

“Oh . . . sorry.”

When she reached for the stick, he closed his hand over hers, bringing her closer, until her bare arm brushed his bare chest.

“I think you need a lesson,” he murmured against her hair. “May I?”

“Please.”

Then started the most pleasurable, slow-building foreplay of her life, as he used his hands to position her body, to guide her arms, to lean her over the edge of the table to position her cue just right. Her pulse pounded so hard she could barely hear the music. When she was trying to make a shot, he was right behind her, and she gasped when his hips brushed her backside.

“Concentrate,” he whispered evilly.

She glared at him over her shoulder, then her trembling hands ruined the shot. But it didn’t matter, for he leaned his hips into hers, pressing her against the table. He buried his face in her hair, kissing her neck, caressing her arms and back, then pulling her shirt up over her head. He reached around to cup her breasts and guide her back against his body. She sagged in his arms as he gently rubbed her nipples through her lace bra, playing with her, tormenting her. Her moans were plaintive, and his answering groans let her know he felt just as turned on as she did. When he unsnapped her bra, she let it fall down her body. He turned her about and stared down at her with so much hunger she felt like a sex goddess. Feeling provocative, she leaned back on the table, bracing herself with her arms behind her, her breasts practically lifted in his direction.

With another groan, he gathered her against him, skin to skin, her nipples gently abraded by the hair on his chest. Then, just like before, he lifted her until she sat on the edge of the table. When he pressed between her thighs, this time her skirt rode up. And then they were kissing, his hands filled with her breasts, his tongue taking possession of her mouth. She lost track of everything but the feel of him beneath her hands, the sleek heat of his skin, the ripple of muscle down his stomach, the roughness of his face at the end of the day.

He kissed his way down her neck, arching her back, and she wantonly let her hair spill all around the table, crying out when his lips found her nipple. He nipped and licked and drew her deep within his mouth, leaving her shuddering and gasping, pressing herself hard against the long ridge of his erection.

“Let me take you to bed,” he whispered harshly.

“Why not right here?” she whispered back, still arched and offering her breasts.

He groaned and shuddered, and she felt him cup her buttocks with both big hands. The slide of her panties down her thighs was erotic, until the feel of his fingers lightly stroking her made her realize that everything before had led up to this, this burst of sensation and need and desperation.

“Nate, please,” she whimpered.

But he seemed in no hurry, staring down at her half-naked body with hooded eyes, his fingers moistening the deeper he played with her. With his other hand, he caressed her breasts. She trembled and shuddered with each touch, holding her breath as he came closer and closer to what she really wanted.

He circled her clitoris, making her practically sob. She came at once, shuddering in his arms as he reached down to hold her.