Fancy Pants (Wynette, Texas #1)(141)

“I feel stupid making a big show out of taking off my clothes,” he grumbled as he moved toward the center of the room.

She let her fingers trail delicately over the triangle of silk. “That's just too bad. As far as I'm concerned, men like you were put on this world to entertain women like me.”

His eyes followed her fingers. “Now, is that so?”

She toyed with the little string. “All brawn, no brain, what else are you good for?”

Lifting his gaze, he gave her a lazy grin and slowly began unbuttoning his cuffs. “Well, now, I guess you're about to find out.”

Francesca felt a surge of heat flow through her blood. The simple act of unfastening a shirt cuff suddenly struck her as the most erotic thing she had ever seen. Dallie must have noticed her breath quicken, because a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth and then disappeared as he began to play her in earnest. He took his time unfastening the rest of his shirt buttons and then let the garment hang open for a moment before he took it off. Her lips parted slightly. She studied the play of muscles in his chest as he reached down to pull off his boots and his socks. Dressed only in jeans and a wide leather belt, he straightened up and linked one thumb in his waistband.

“Slip down that bra,” he said. “Nothing more comes off here until I see something good.”

She pretended to think it over and then slowly reached behind her back to open the small clasp. The straps drifted down along her shoulders, but she held the shells in place over her breasts. “Take off your belt first,” she said, her voice deep and throaty. “And then unzip.”

He pulled the belt from the denim loops. For a moment, he let it hang at his side, the buckle curling from his fist. Then he surprised her by tossing it over to the bed, where it fell across her ankles. “In case I need to use it on you,” he said, his voice full of sexy menace.

She swallowed hard. He pulled open the top snap on his jeans and pushed the zipper down a scant few inches, revealing his flat abdomen. And then he rested his hand lightly on the slide, waiting for her. She eased the silky shells off her breasts, delicately arching her back so he could look his fill. Now he was the one who swallowed hard.

“The jeans, soldier boy,” she whispered.

He pulled the zipper down the rest of the way, then tucked both his thumbs inside the waistband, snagging the jeans and his briefs together, and slid them off. He finally stood naked before her.

Without any pretense of shyness, she looked her fill. He was hard and proud, sleek and shiny and beautiful. She let her head drift back on the pillows, her hair spilling out in a corona around her, and watched him as he walked to the side of the bed. Reaching down with his index finger, he stroked a long line from her throat to the top of the triangle of her panties. “Open the ties,” he ordered.

“You do it,” she replied.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached toward one of the satin ribbons. She stilled his hand. “With your mouth.”

He chuckled, then leaned over and did as she had ordered. As he pulled the silky triangle from between her legs, he kissed her and then began stroking the insides of her thighs. She took off on an exploratory mission of her own, her hand greedy to touch him. After a few minutes, he groaned and broke away to reach into the drawer of the bedside table. When he turned his back to her, she laughed and lifted herself up on her knees to nuzzle his neck. “Never send a man to do a woman's job,” she whispered. Reaching around him, she took over his task, dallying and teasing until his skin was damp with perspiration.

“Damn, Francie,” he said huskily, “you keep on like that and you're not going to get anything out of this encounter but a boring memory.”

She smiled and slipped back onto the pillows, parting her legs for him. “Somehow I doubt that.”

He took advantage of what she was offering him, tormenting her with expert caresses until she begged him to stop, and then kissing her breathless. When he finally entered her, she dug her hands into his hips and cried out. He reared up, driving himself deeper. They began talking in breathless little words.

“Please...”

“So good...”

“Yes... hard...”

“Sweet...”

Each was accustomed to being a cool lover—considerate, giving, but always in control. Now they were hot and wet, strung out on passion, oblivious to everything but the mad cry of one beautiful body reaching out for the other. They came, seconds apart, spilling open in gushing, noisy abandonment, filling the air with cries, moans, and breathless obscenities.

Afterward, neither could have said who was the more embarrassed.





Chapter

29



They ate a tense meal, with both of them cracking jokes that weren't all that funny. Then they went back to bed and made love again. With their mouths glued together and their bodies joined, they couldn't talk, but talking was something neither of them wanted to do much of. They slept restlessly, waking in the wee hours to find that they still hadn't gotten enough of each other.

“How many times was that?” Dallie groaned after they were finished.

She nuzzled closer under his chin. “Uh—four, I think.”

He kissed the top of her head and muttered, “Francie, I don't think this fire burning between us is going to be as easy to put out as we figured.”