Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(44)

“Rachel!”

She’d left her shoes in the laundry room, but she didn’t care. She’d climb Heartache Mountain barefoot before she’d let another man treat her like she was some kind of sexually neutered icon.

Her hands knotted into fists at her side, and she realized she didn’t want to run away at all. What she really wanted to do was go right back there and tell him what an insensitive, unfeeling, imperceptive ass he was!

She spun around and stalked toward the deck, only to see him doing his own war dance right toward her. As he approached, his teeth were clenched. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit?”

She wanted to shout something really obscene at him, but she wasn’t too effective with obscenity yet. A few more weeks in his company, though, and she could probably turn pro. “Stuff yourself.”

In three long strides, he had her. He grabbed the front of her dress and began pulling open the top buttons. He looked annoyed, irritated, but not actually angry.

He peeled the dress apart. “You want kinky? I’ll tell you about kinky. Do you know there are men in this world who get their kicks by bringing a woman right to the point of orgasm, and then, at the exact moment she comes, strangling her to death!”

He jerked the dress down, baring her to the waist as he trapped her arms in the fabric. Then he bent his head and bit her on the inner slope of one breast.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Good. Any more trouble out of you, and I’ll do it again.”

His lips nuzzled her wet nipple, and her anger fled.

“Now where was I?” he asked.

She shuddered at the huskiness in his voice, the warmth of his breath on her cool skin. “Oh, Gabe . . . What if you screw this up again?”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to keep after me till I get it right.”

“I guess.” She sighed and rested her cheek against his chest.

“In the meantime, you might be thinking about exactly how wide you can spread those legs because I intend to spend a long time between them.”

She moaned. Maybe he’d gotten it right after all.





Just as she was starting to relax and think this might work out after all, he drew back again. “I know you’re going to tear into me for this, but it strikes me that, for somebody who wants to be a wanton woman, you should look out for yourself better.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve asked me a dozen questions since this got started, but not one of them had anything to do with whether or not I might have a condom on me.”

He was right. She hadn’t given a thought to birth control, probably because she’d never used it. It had taken her so long to get pregnant with Edward that she’d been afraid she was infertile.

“Do you have one? Stupid. Of course you don’t. Why would you?” She jerked the dress back over her breasts and regarded him glumly. “Sex is so easy for some women. Why is it so hard for me?”

His knuckles brushed her cheekbone and he smiled. “Actually, I do.”

“You do?”

He slipped his hand inside the collar of her dress and cupped her neck. “This past week the air between us has been hot enough to boil water, so I bought some on Monday. And don’t think everybody in town knows about it. I drove over to Brevard, so we could keep this between ourselves.” He paused. “I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, sweetheart.”

The endearment felt like warm syrup poured right over her heart. His voice grew soft and gruff. “Now are you ready to settle down so we can enjoy this, or do we have to keep talking for another hundred years.”

The unsteadiness inside her vanished. “I’m ready.” She smiled. “Let’s go inside.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. If you were a nice lady, I’d take you in the house. But a wanton woman like you doesn’t need a bed.” He slipped the dress back down over her shoulders and cupped her breasts.

The next thing she knew, they were kneeling in the wet grass and her dress had fallen down around her hips. Through the haze of her desire, she realized they hadn’t kissed. She wanted to see what it would be like to engage in one of those dirty soul kisses with him. She leaned back far enough to gaze at his obstinate mouth, then tilted her head toward it and closed her eyes.


Her lips brushed his, but a strand of her hair was in the way. She reached up to push it aside, only to feel herself tumbling backward.

He sprawled next to her, slipped his hand under her full skirt, and ran his palm up the inside of her leg. A lock of wet, dark hair curled over his forehead. His white T-shirt had gone transparent from the rain, and she could see his flesh beneath. His fingers brushed over the silky crotch of her panties.

“You feel so good,” he said.

She lay nearly naked in the high, wet grass, and she should have been cold, but she was on fire. She couldn’t speak as he tortured her through the nylon, almost, but not quite, touching where she most wanted to be touched. He set one leg across her knee, holding it open, as if there were any need.

“Too many clothes,” she managed, clutching a handful of wet cotton T-shirt in her fist.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Even as they rose to their knees, he continued to cup her, rub her, so her legs remained parted and her breathing grew shallow and rapid. She jerked his T-shirt from his jeans and dragged the wet fabric up over his chest.