Fancy Pants (Wynette, Texas #1)(63)

He started to move toward her, but she looked up at him through the veil of her hair and bared her teeth. “Don't you dare touch me. I mean it. I'll do it myself.”

“We're not getting off to a real promising start here, Francie.”

“You go to hell!” Jeans hobbling her ankles, she hopped the three steps back to the car, sat down hard on the front seat, and finally extricated herself from the pants. Then she stood up in T-shirt, underpants, and sandals. “There! And I'm not taking another thing off until I feel like it.”

“Sounds fair to me.” He opened his arms to her. “You want to cuddle up here for a minute and catch your breath.”

She did. She really did. “I suppose.”

She curled into his chest. He held her for a moment, and then he tilted back her head and began kissing her again. She'd sunk so low in her own estimation that she didn't even try to impress him; she just let him do the work. After a while, she realized that it felt nice. His tongue touched hers and his splayed hand pressed against the bare skin of her back. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. He reached under her shirt again and his thumbs began to toy with the sides of her breasts and then slid over onto the nipples. It felt so good—shivery and warm at the same time. Had the sculptor played with her breasts? He must have, but she didn't remember. And then Dallie pushed her T-shirt above her breasts and began teasing her with his mouth—his beautiful, wonderful mouth. She sighed as he sucked gently on one nipple and then the other. Somewhat to her surprise, she realized her own hands were once again beneath his shirt, kneading his bare chest. He picked her up in his arms, walked forward with her curled into his chest, and then laid her down.

Over the trunk of his Riviera.

“Absolutely not!” she exclaimed.

“Give it a chance,” he replied.

She opened her mouth to tell him that nothing in the world would convince her to be mauled while she was stretched out on the trunk of a car, but he seemed to take her open mouth as some sort of invitation. Before she could frame her words he started kissing her again. Without quite knowing how it happened, she heard herself moan as his kisses grew deeper, hotter. She arched her neck to him, opened her mouth, thrust her tongue, and forgot about her demeaning position. He reached down and encircled her ankle with his fingers, then pulled her leg up. “Right here,” he crooned softly. “Put your foot right up here next to the license plate, honey.”

She did just as he asked.

“Move your hips forward a little bit. That's good.” His voice sounded thick, not as calm as usual, and his breathing was faster than normal as he rearranged her. She pulled at his T-shirt, wanting to feel his bare skin against her breasts. He peeled it over his head and then began tugging at her underpants.

“Dallie...”

“It's all right, darlin'. It's all right.” Her underpants disappeared and her bottom settled on cold metal dusted with road grit. “Francie, that package of birth control pills I spotted in your case wasn't just there for decoration, now, was it?”

She shook her head, unwilling to break the mood by offering any lengthy explanations. When her periods had unaccountably stopped a few months ago, her physician had told her to quit taking her birth control pills until they resumed. He had assured her that she couldn't get pregnant until then, and at the moment that was all that mattered.

Dallie's hand closed over the inside of one of her thighs. He moved it slightly away from the other and began stroking her skin lightly, each time coming closer to the one part of her that she didn't find all that beautiful, the one part of her that she would just as soon have kept hidden away, except that it felt so warm and quivery and strange. “What if somebody comes?” she cried as he brushed against her.

“I'm hoping somebody will,” he replied huskily. And then he stopped brushing, stopped teasing, and touched her... really touched her. Inside.

“Dallie...” Her voice was half moan, half cry.

“Feel good?” he muttered, his fingers sliding gently in and out.

“Yes. Yes.”

While he played with her, she closed her eyes against the slice of Louisiana moon above her head so that nothing would distract her from the wonderful feelings that were rushing through her body. She turned her cheek and didn't even feel the dirt from the trunk rub against her skin. His hands grew less patient. They spread her legs farther apart and pulled her hips closer to the edge. Her feet were balanced precariously on the bumper, separated by a Texas license plate and some dusty chrome. He fumbled with the front of his jeans and she heard the zipper give. He lifted her hips.

When she felt him push inside her, she gave a small gasp. He bent over her, his feet still on the ground, but drew back slightly. “Am I hurting you?”

“Oh, no. It—it feels so good.”

“It's supposed to, honey.”

She wanted him to believe she was a wonderful lover—to do everything right—but the whole world seemed to be sliding away from her, making everything dizzy, wavery, and mushy with warmth. How could she concentrate when he was touching her that way, moving like that? She suddenly wanted to feel more of him. Lifting her foot from the bumper, she wrapped one knee around his hips, the other around his leg, pushing against him until she had absorbed as much of him as she could.

“Easy, honey,” he said. “Take your time.” He began moving inside her slowly, kissing her, and making her feel as good as she'd ever felt in her life. “You with me, darlin'?” he murmured softly in her ear, the sound slightly hoarse.