He pressed a kiss into her palm. "I wanted you to wear it and think of me."
She swallowed. "I didn't need a bracelet for that."
"Did you think of me, sweet Spring?" He pulled her closer, his hands sliding around her waist as he asked the question.
"Yes," she murmured through suddenly dry lips.
"A lot?"
"Yes."
"Good," he muttered into her hair. "Because I haven't stopped thinking of you since you left. Or missing you. Or wanting you."
"Oh, Clay." She didn't consciously place her arms around his neck, but suddenly they were there, and she was crowding close to him with all the hunger that had built up in the months since she'd seen him. He groaned and gathered her into his arms, holding her as if he'd never let her go again. She prayed that he wouldn't.
"Spring, there's so much I want to say to you, but all I can think about right now is making love to you. God, it's been so long."
"Yes, Clay, please. We can talk later." Trembling in anticipation, she pressed dozens of little kisses on his jaw, his neck, his cheek, anywhere she could reach.
His hand removed her glasses and placed them on a nearby table, then went to her hair, scattering pins across her cream-colored carpet. "You're wearing it up again," he complained.
"There's been no one to wear it down for," she answered, shaking her head slowly so that the tresses he'd loosened fell in a tumble around her shoulders.
"Thank God." He lifted her into his arms, swinging her in a full circle before stopping to kiss her.
"Where's your bedroom?" he demanded when he released her mouth.
"Upstairs, first door on the left," she answered, snuggling into his shoulder.
"Too far." He lowered her to the carpet, following immediately to capture her mouth again. Before the kiss ended, he had her plum cotton shirtdress unbuttoned and halfway off. She cooperated eagerly, as anxious as he to be rid of the barriers between them. When her clothing was gone, they both began on his, tossing the colorful garments into a careless heap beside them. "Come here," he muttered, when nothing was left to separate them.
He pulled her into his arms, then rolled so that she was stretched on top of him, her hair falling around their faces. "This is what I've needed for the past four months," he told her, his fingers sliding slowly down her back to cup her bottom and hold her to him. "Nothing between us. No miles, no arguments, no clothing. Just you and me."
She lowered her head to nibble on his lower lip, wriggling a little to settle herself more comfortably against him. He was hard and hot against her, eliciting a warm, throbbing response from deep within her. "What took you so long to get here?" she asked, amazed at the sultry sensuality of her own voice. She was so different with Clay. Sexy and uninhibited and playful. She loved the way he made her feel. She loved him, but she wasn't ready to tell him. Not until he gave her some indication of his own feelings.
God, he loved her. He pulled her mouth firmly to his, kissing her as if to make up for four months of deprivation. She felt so good on top of him. Holding her, he twisted onto his side. She felt so good beside him. He rolled again. She felt so good beneath him.
"You feel good everywhere," he told her huskily, relishing the little laugh he received in response. "Am I too heavy for you?"
"No," she answered, looking up at him with an adoring expression that made him want to shout in masculine triumph. Or cry. He kissed her instead.
"Love me. Clay. Please love me."
"I will, Spring. I do. I love you so much." And then he was moving, slipping inside her to lose himself in the dark velvet depths of her, and she was curling around him to hold him and he thought he'd never felt such pleasure in his entire life. Or at least, he amended on one last, rational fragment of thought, not since the last time he'd been inside her.
Then he couldn't think at all but could only close his eyes and let instinct drive him, shuddering as she lifted to meet each deep, desperate thrust. He'd wanted to take it slowly this first time after their separation, to savor each moment, but his needs had flared out of his control. He struggled fiercely to ensure that Spring found her own pleasure before he gave in to the need for release, deeply satisfied when she convulsed beneath him, crying out brokenly. Only then did he let go, her name leaving his lips in a gasp as he went rigid for a long, pulsing moment, then collapsed heavily on top of her.
Almost immediately he rolled to his side to relieve her of his weight. But he refused to let her go. He'd never willingly let her go again.
Spring took a deep breath and then another, willing her heartbeat to slow, her thoughts to clear. She found it almost hard to believe that she was lying on her living-room floor, that it was a Monday evening after a fairly typical day at her office. All comprehension of time and place had left her while Clay had made love with her, and now she was forced to entirely reorient herself. She hadn't really been to paradise.
Or had she? Had Clay really told her he loved her?
She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. "I can't believe you're actually here. I'm afraid I'll wake up and you'll be gone again."
"No, sweetheart. I'm here. I can't believe I stayed away so long."
She wanted to ask why he had, but she didn't know if she was ready yet to spoil the mood by bringing up that stupid fight they'd had. Instead, she toyed lazily with one of the few golden curls scattered across his chest and asked, "Why did you tell Andi and Kelsey that your name was Mr. Crowe?"