Kiss Me (Fool's Gold #17)(78)

For an assortment of reasons, she often wished to avoid the whole postcoital chitchat. So she’d never once in her entire life had to lie there, flushed with an incredibly relaxed feeling while fighting growing humiliation over her body’s inability to stop having orgasms.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Zane shifted off of her. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?”

She heard the caution in his voice.

“I was too...you know.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Too, what?”

“Wanton.”

There wasn’t any sound. Not even a hint of sound. Then he laughed. It wasn’t a chuckle. It was a huge, from-the-belly laugh. The kind that made it impossible for the person laughing to move or breathe or even stop.

“Zane?” She shook his arm.

He continued to laugh. The sound seemed to echo all around them.

“Zane, stop. You’ll wake up everyone.”

That seemed to get his attention. She sensed his attempt to control himself, although a few guffaws escaped.

“This isn’t funny,” she told him in a heated whisper.

He leaned close. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him.

“Phoebe, you’re the most amazing lover I’ve ever had. You’re sexy, responsive to the point of being a lethal weapon, sweet, funny, caring and if I had a box of condoms, I’d use every single one before sunup. But you’re not wanton.”

His words made her feel a little better, but only a little. “I don’t usually, you know, climax that much. Or at all.”

“You did with me.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to please you.”

She smiled. “I could tell.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want you to think less of me.”

He touched her cheek, then outlined her mouth. “I think the world of you.”

Her concern faded like mist in sunlight. “Really?”

He kissed her. “Absolutely.”

Zane should have known Phoebe wouldn’t be like other women, he thought as he settled next to her and pulled her against him. Not out of bed and certainly not in it.

“Anything else you want to worry about?” he asked, sure there was.

“Well...” She sighed. “I know guys aren’t into the whole all-night thing. I should probably go stay with Maya until morning.”

They were lying naked on his sleeping bag, their legs tangled, his fingers in her hair. He could smell her and their recent lovemaking. After sex most women wanted to talk, and he didn’t doubt that Phoebe was in the mood for a lengthy discussion on emotions—particularly his.

Normally that would send him running for the hills. He liked his relationships easy, with well-defined rules. No caring, no commitments and definitely no spending the night.

Which meant it was crazy for him to say, “You can stay here if you don’t mind the cramped quarters.”

She shifted in his arms. He guessed she was peering at him in the darkness. “Really?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’d like that. But we have to get up early so no one knows I spent the night here.”

“Cookie’s going to figure it out when I don’t show up to share the wagon with him in this rain, but don’t worry. He won’t say anything.”

“Good.”

They made their way into the sleeping bag. It was crowded, and she was still naked, so it only took about three seconds for him to get hard again.

She reached between them. “Are you sure there aren’t any more condoms?”

He flexed at her words, then groaned softly. It was going to be a long night. “Positive.”

He was torn between asking her to stop tormenting him and begging her to keep on doing it. The outcome of the latter was inevitable, and in a sleeping bag, more than a little messy.

Just a few seconds more, he told himself as he closed his eyes and gave himself up to the steady stroking of her hand. He would stop her before things got out of control.

But Phoebe being Phoebe and his attraction to her being what it was, that point of “out of control” arrived a lot faster than he would have realized. Painfully aroused and right on the edge, he grabbed her wrist.

“You’re killing me.”

“So not my purpose.”

Then she stunned him by opening the sleeping bag, pushing it away and sliding down between his legs. As her fingers toyed with his testicles, her mouth settled on his erection. From there it was a thirty-seven-second journey to heaven.

Later, when he’d returned the favor and they were back in the sleeping bag and tangled together, Zane allowed himself to wonder what life would be like with Phoebe. Would she enjoy his world or would the wide-open spaces wear on her? He had a feeling she would hold genealogy classes for the goats and self-actualization classes for the steers. She would make him crazy, and she would make him laugh.

She would love him.

Phoebe was the kind of woman who, once she committed to a man, would give her heart completely. She would love with her whole being, and forever, unless the guy was a complete jerk and broke her heart. Phoebe was made to love and be loved.

She could never be for him. He didn’t want to love anyone—ever. Love was isolation and danger and pain. Which meant he should have told her to head over to Maya’s tent. Safer for him and for her.