That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(49)

She shimmied out of her jeans and panties, then reached for the hem of his sweater. She slid her hands over his chest, which felt like a furnace in the chilly room.

“One of us has way too many clothes on,” he said in a husky growl as he tried to push her hands aside to relieve her of the task of ridding him of his sweater.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I get to do this my way,” she challenged.

A smile curved his lips. “By all means,” he said. “Just hurry it up, will you?”

“Some things should never be rushed.”

“And some things can’t be stopped,” he said, drawing her to him, bending down to circle each throbbing nipple with his tongue in a way that had her gasping.

The gesture pretty much destroyed her intent to torment him. Instead, she began to rush the task that only moments before she’d planned to draw out until he felt the same urgency she felt. Within seconds, they were both na**d and moving toward the bed, knees weakened by exploring hands, desire ratcheted up to a height Savannah had never before experienced.

When Trace finally entered her, she was already crying out with the first explosive cl**ax. He stilled while the pulsing sensations slowly died away. Then he began to move deep inside her, stirring her all over again, turning restless need into a demanding urgency that stretched every muscle taut with anticipation, until at last, with one sure, deep stroke, he took them both tumbling into a whirlpool of shuddering sensation.

Finally, still cradled in his arms, she fell into the first dreamless sleep she’d had in months.

Trace’s heartbeat was easing, his pulse slowly quieting as he gazed down at Savannah. Such a sweet, innocent face to pack so much heat. If he hadn’t been enthralled before, the last few hours would have been a revelation. She had a wicked, wanton streak that could lure a man into the fires of hell. Who would have thought it?

The strength and resilience he’d seen in her from the beginning took on new meaning when it came to making love. She’d all but exhausted him, yet he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her—touching her—long enough to fall into desperately needed sleep.

Her porcelain-fine skin was still flushed, her hair tousled. Her chest rose and fell with each breath she took, drawing attention to br**sts so perfect they took his breath away. Amazingly he wanted her again. In fact, he suspected that after tonight there would never come a day when he didn’t want her.

Forever? The word he’d always avoided like the plague popped into his head and wouldn’t go away. Forever meant commitment. It meant compromising, joining his life with someone else’s, putting her needs above his own. Was he capable of such a thing? Or was he his father’s son in that regard? His father had certainly never considered for a second what his irresponsible choices meant for the rest of the family. Trace had always made sure that there would be no one in his life to be affected by the choices he made.

Oh, really? This time when he heard the voice in his head, it was Mae’s. More than once she’d scolded him for such self-deprecating comments. She’d pointed out that he had hundreds of employees who counted on him for their livelihoods, that he’d never once let them down, that he’d never let her down.

He let his gaze linger on Savannah. Was it possible that he could give her everything she needed? Everything she deserved?

And what about Hannah? Being a stepparent wasn’t easy. Oh, they got along well enough now, but what if the rules changed? What if he were here all the time? Would she balk at any attempt by him to take the place of her father…in her life or in her mother’s?

He chided himself for getting way ahead of himself. Just because he and Savannah were compatible in bed, just because they’d spent a couple of incredible days that felt magical, didn’t mean there was a future for the two of them. She might not even want that. Hell, he might not want it. If ever there was a time for clear, rational thought, for not looking beyond the moment, this was it.

Just then, Savannah sighed deeply and snuggled more tightly against him. Heat shot through him. Heat and need. The need went beyond sex, he realized. He needed what she represented—steadiness, love, family—things he’d never imagined himself wanting.

It was his turn to sigh then, his turn to tuck his arms more tightly around her. Maybe morning was soon enough for answers. Maybe tonight was simply meant for feeling fresh, new, enticing emotions.

He breathed in her scent—flowers with a hint of musk—then pressed a kiss to her shoulder. In minutes, he was asleep.

Savannah lay perfectly still, her eyes closed against the brilliance of the sun and against whatever she might discover in Trace’s expression. It had been so many years since she’d experienced a “morning after” that she had no idea what to expect. Awkwardness topped the list of possibilities, though.

“You’re playing possum,” Trace teased, his voice low and husky and warm as it whispered against her cheek.

“Am not,” she denied, feeling a smile tug the corners of her mouth.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty, wake up. We have a million things to do today.”

“I don’t suppose any of them include staying right here in bed?” she asked wistfully.

“Afraid not.”

To her relief, he sounded as disappointed about that as she felt. “And once Hannah’s back under this roof, I suppose any more nights like this are out of the question, too.”