The Hero (Thunder Point #3)(55)

Devon relaxed. This gave her strange comfort, this familiarity. No one seemed suspicious of her; they all seemed very accepting. A couple of times she put in her two cents’ worth on football matters and that seemed to be met with surprise—a girl who knew a lot about football? Then they offered their approval that she should be so knowledgeable. Spencer was right again—these people were just plain good folks. They were a tight bunch, however, and if she did anything mean or damaging to their football coach, they’d behave very differently. Spencer hadn’t been here much longer than she had, but he’d clearly won them over.

And it appeared they’d be having coffee with these folks for a long time.

Her cell phone rang and she grabbed it in a panic. It was Landon. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Everything is fine,” he answered with a laugh. “Can Mercy have some ice cream before bed?”

She was speechless. “Oh, sure,” she said. “Not too much, though—we don’t want a bellyache. How is she behaving?”

“She’s good. We’re playing a little Candy Land. And eating ice cream.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling.”

She just gave a smile and nod to Spencer’s questioning eyes. And then the men continued to talk football. It made her smile to herself—any other woman would probably say, “Nice date, buster.” But Devon was so reassured by the easy acceptance and sincere camaraderie.

Finally, reaching for Devon’s hand across the table, Spencer said, “Much as I’d like to hang around, Devon’s got a sitter and we should probably get going.”

“Right. Sure.” Cliff pushed back his chair, the waiter stood up, one of the bar patrons gave a nod.

“Tell you what—I’ll stop by for a beer one of these days. We’ll carry on this discussion later,” Spencer said.

“You do that,” Cliff said, sticking out his hand. And then he nodded. “Take care, Devon. See you around.”

“You bet.”

She let him hold her hand on the way into the parking lot. He stopped beside his truck and put his hands on her waist. “You were a very good sport about that.”

“I had fun. I think you’re the most important person in town. At least during football season.”

“It was obvious right away the town gets behind all the school events. And they love their football.” He pulled her closer. “Walk on the beach? Feel the need to get home? My place?”

She touched his cheek with her palm. “How about your house.”

Thirteen

Spencer had left on only a dim kitchen light. He pulled Devon in the door and it was barely closed when he pulled her close and just held her for a moment. He looked at her in the faint light, touching her face softly, gently. The light bounced off her golden hair and her blue eyes twinkled. He touched her lips with a finger. “This is as alone as we’ve ever been, I think.”

She nodded, slipping her arms around his waist.

He kissed her lightly on the lips. Then her forehead, her chin, her cheek, her neck, her ear. Then he was on her lips again, but his touch was so tender, almost hesitant. And he was kissing her slowly, very slowly. His fingers were in her short hair, running it back from her face, sweet and tempting, kiss after kiss. And then he licked her lips open and took her mouth firmly, but his touch was still achingly slow, gentle.

He pulled away a half inch. “What do you think?”

“I think...yes.”

He smiled into her pretty eyes. His hands circled her waist while hers went around his neck and he lifted her off her feet, straight up, so that she was looking down into his eyes. “What do you think?” she asked him in a whisper.

“I was at yes a long time ago.”

She put her hands against his rough cheeks and kissed him, deep and hard. Tongues played and he reminded himself for the hundredth time, Easy, young man. It had been so long since he’d held a woman with the intention of making love. Years, possibly. He was already aroused. No surprise there, he’d been aroused since the first week he’d known her. In fact, the minute he’d seen her transformation from overalls and a long braid to more fitted clothes and that sexy, floppy short hair, he’d wanted to get his hands all over her.

He walked toward his bedroom while she clung to his neck. He put her feet on the floor, sat her down on the bed, then went down on one knee to take off her shoes. He kicked off his own and rolled with her onto the bed, claiming her mouth now with more power. “I’ll go slow,” he said softly. “We’ll take our time with this.” Then he wondered if he was saying this for her benefit or his own. Since he was desperately close to wanting to ravage her completely, he wondered if he would be able to make good on the promise he’d just made.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to even fantasize about taking her hard and fast. If he ever wanted to see her again, be with her again, he was determined to make her feel safe, good, right. Satisfied. Respected. Cared for. And with that in mind, he started touching her perfect br**sts on the outside of her clothing while the zipper in his jeans threatened to break wide open.

And God bless her, she began touching him, his chest, his hip, his denim-clad erection. And he groaned with equal parts misery and jubilation. She unbuttoned his shirt so she could caress his chest and he slid his hands under her shirt. He hadn’t lost his touch—he had that bra clasp opened in one flick.