My Kind of Wonderful(37)

She really hoped no one else was around, not that she would’ve noticed. She was very busy as he carried her, silently flirting with her hands, running them over his shoulders and arms, pressing in as close as she could get.

Hud was much more up-front. His hands teased, stroking over her back and hips, squeezing a butt cheek in each hand, his lips hot on her throat. From what seemed like far away she felt and heard him kick a door closed, and then they were alone in a large, open-style suite.

He shifted, holding her with one hand under her ass, using his other to slide the lock into place.

She lifted her head and stared at him as, with her arms and legs still wrapped around him like a monkey, he climbed onto a huge bed and lay all that luscious male weight on top of her. Wearing only a towel… “Hud,” she whispered.

He rubbed his jaw to hers like a big cat. Only this big cat had just the right amount of stubble to make her weak kneed. Good thing she wasn’t standing because God, he was just so big and hard—everywhere. And gloriously male.

That’s when her nerves set in. Maybe she should’ve set her sights lower, maybe on someone who also hadn’t done this in a long time. Yeah, that would’ve been smarter. A little practice never hurt anyone. She gulped. “Maybe we should have a drink first—” She broke off with a helpless moan when Hud found the spot where her neck met her shoulder and nibbled on it, melting her bones.

“After,” he murmured.

She made a noise that was half a laugh, half panic.

Lifting his head, he studied her. “You’re nervous.”

“No.” She swallowed. “Okay, yes.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“How is that good?” she demanded.

“It puts us on even ground.”

She stared up at him, her fingers somehow tangled in his hair. When had she done that? Oh, right, when she’d been holding his face to hers so that he couldn’t take his mouth away. “You expect me to believe you’re nervous?” she asked, heavy on the disbelief. “Hello, have you seen you?”

He smiled. “Maybe you won’t like my moves.”

She snorted. He was teasing her. He knew damn well she liked him and his moves. Way too much, in fact.

“Maybe I’m nervous that I won’t do it for you,” he said, and at that, she outright laughed. As if!

Having suitably distracted her, he went to lift off her sweater, but she put her hands over his. She had a scar above her right breast two inches long and red and angry from the port where she’d received chemo treatments. She wasn’t ashamed of it, actually the contrary. The scar represented her treatment—her successful treatment. But she understood that it wasn’t pretty and that it certainly wasn’t conducive to a sensual mood. “Um,” she said brilliantly.

His gaze met hers. “We stopping?”

She squirmed a little bit, knowing men were visual creatures. She didn’t want to talk about it nor did she want to watch him pretend to ignore it. “I’m… It’s just that—” She sucked on her bottom lip a moment. “No. I don’t want to stop. I really, really don’t.”

He smiled warmly. “I’m with you on that.”

She nodded but didn’t lift her hands from his. Hud didn’t push, just waited with a patience that made it easier for her to speak. “It’s just that I have this scar…” she started.

“Do you? Me too.” He lifted up a little, pointing to a slash on his left side from his highest rib to his lowest. It was an old scar, faded and white, but she could only imagine what pain it’d caused. “What happened?” she asked, running a finger along the tender spot, fascinated by the way his ab muscles bunched under her touch.

He cleared his throat but when he spoke, his voice still sounded rough. “Jacob and I tried to fly from the top of our storage shed when we were ten.” He lifted a shoulder. “Turns out we weren’t related to Superman.”

She laughed and then bit her lip. “Mine’s my port scar. From treatment.”

“I could kiss it all better.”

This sounded like a really, really great idea.

“Trust me,” he said softly.

She stared up at him. She’d known him for all of what, three weeks? So the idea should have been ludicrous. But the fact was that she did trust him. Way more than she was comfortable with, in fact. She nodded, probably like a bobblehead.

With a smile, he kissed her and again reached for her sweater. He pulled it over her head and they both looked down at the pale peach cami she wore beneath—which was when she remembered something else. No bra today. “I didn’t have a chance to do laundry before I left Denver,” she said quickly. “And—”

He let out a low, very male sound of approval at the sight of her thin, washed-a-million-times cami, apparently liking the way her nipples were trying to poke their way free to get to him. Then he encouraged the straps of the cami to slip, allowing his big hands to dip into the gaping front and cup her breasts.

“Oh,” she breathed on a shuddering exhale, her head falling back. She’d forgotten how good it felt to have hands on her for reasons that had nothing to do with saving her life and everything to do with sheer pleasure.

“Okay?” he murmured.

“Very,” she whispered, eyes closed. “More please.”