His mouth fell open as he drank in the view. From where he was standing, waking up sleeping beauty no longer seemed like a mistake.
How had she hidden those curves earlier? When they’d talked and danced at the party, he’d never suspected her waist curved in such a way that it begged to be touched. Or that her low back led to an ass that would put most swimsuit models to shame.
Chad unbuttoned his shirt, stripped it off, and tossed it aside. Stepping closer, he debated how to wake her. Call her name? Or climb in bed beside her and wait until she felt him?
When he’d given Amber instructions on how to find the hidden key to the guest apartment over the barn, he’d expected to find her awake and eager to do all the naughty things she’d whispered in his ear at Eric Moore’s cookout. The bubbly blonde had made it clear she wanted him for one night—nothing more—before she returned to California.
But then Amber had left the party to stop by her cousin’s house and pick up a few things while he’d rushed home for a quick shower to rinse off the beer.
Chad shook his head, still stunned he’d had a beer dumped on him in the middle of a party. Maybe he deserved it for not calling Susan back. But he’d never made her any promises. He didn’t have to remember Susan to know that. He never made anyone promises beyond the here and now. And it sucked that Susan’s sister decided to seek revenge in front of Lena.
Lena. Hell. Chad closed his eyes, his hands frozen on the waistband on his jeans. If he was being honest, he didn’t want the passed-out, gorgeous, and eager-to-rock-his-world woman in his bed. He wanted Lena. With her blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect heart-shaped face, Lena looked as if she’d walked out of a Greek myth. Chad didn’t remember much from that class, but the story about the girl who launched a thousand ships stuck with him. Lena possessed the kind of beauty that would start battles, but instead she’d fought in them. And if the golden retriever that followed her around offered any indication, she’d come back with some serious baggage.
As a rule, he steered clear of women with issues. He liked a good time, plain and simple. Nothing that could tie him down, or bind him to a person who might walk away without a backward glance. He’d been through that once, watching the door slam behind his mother. As a kid, Chad had witnessed his father’s heartbreak. And he wasn’t eager to follow him down that path.
But with Lena, he felt a connection.
“Fuck me, I sound like a freaking girl,” Chad murmured, opening his eyes as he unbuttoned his jeans. “Worrying about connections.”
The woman on the bed moved as his if roused by his words. Without turning over, she stretched her arms overhead and pressed her palms against the wooden headboard. Her back arched, lifting her hips in the air, her breasts resting against the sheets.
His mouth went dry. The things he could do to her in that position. His hands on her hips, pushing into her . . . Or if she rolled over, his mouth on her, tasting every inch of her.
“That’s it, baby,” he said, his voice low. Without taking his eyes off her, he removed his pants and boxers. “Spread your legs for me. Let me see you.”
She obeyed, offering a glimpse at the one part of her body he planned to worship until the sun rose. And then she lowered back down, rocking her hips against the mattress. He swore he heard a moan.
“Just wait until I touch you.” His voice was a rough growl that spoke volumes about how much he freaking loved the way she responded to his words. “I want to find your sweet spots, running my hands over your shoulders, down your back to your perfect ass. I’m going to explore every wet and wanting inch of you. Taste you. Make you scream. And I’ll make damn sure you’re with me, begging for m
ore every step of the way.”
He heard a soft gasp and his gaze snapped to her head, watching as she rolled over. She kept her arms stretched above her head. The pillow shifted, but not enough to catch a glimpse at her face. Her back arched again, this time thrusting her breasts up, inviting him to tease her nipples . . . And yeah, he wasn’t trying to see her pretty eyes anymore.
To hell with holding back. Maybe this blond beauty wouldn’t start a war. But the sight of her on his bed, her long legs rubbing together as if seeking something to soothe the ache, dismissed his reservations. Common sense took a backseat to the need radiating from his lower half.
Chad knelt on the bed, half expecting her to toss aside the pillow and reach for him. The woman he’d met earlier, who’d teased him about bathing in beer hops as she’d moved closer, using every excuse to touch him—he’d expected her to be straightforward in the bedroom. The way Amber was moving, responding to his words without giving up the pretense of sleep, didn’t seem like her type of game. But then maybe she was still asleep.
Chad frowned. No fucking way.
“I’m going to touch you now,” he said, just in case she bolted upright when he reached for her.
A muffled moan was his only response, but it was something.
“Starting at your collarbone,” he continued, his finger running the length of the curved bone from shoulder to neck. Keeping his touch featherlight, he followed her sternum down to the valley between her breasts. His thumb brushed the side. “Baby, I swear, I could spend all night, right here, worshipping your breasts.”
Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he swore he saw her nipples tighten further. Earlier, he’d been pretty damn sure she was wearing one of those fancy push-up bras that made for mouth-watering cleavage, but often left him with a weird feeling that a bait and switch had taken place when the clothes hit the floor. He had nothing against small breasts, like the ones currently begging for his touch. Hell, he often preferred them, loving the way they responded to teasing.
He bent over, unable to resist a taste. His lips wrapped around her nipple as his tongue flicked back and forth. Oh hell yes, her breasts proved his theory. Smaller meant more sensitive. And if that wasn’t a scientific truth, well, he didn’t give a damn. Right now, the woman writhing beneath him, lacing her fingers through his hair as if determined to see if he’d meant what he said when he swore he could spend the night right here, tasting her, was his sole focus.
But he wanted so much more than a taste. Running his teeth over her sensitive flesh, he released her right breast and headed for the left, shifting his legs, positioning one on either side of her. Hovering above her, his body begged for more. He lowered down, letting her feel how she turned him on, his cock pressing against her thigh.
“I fucking want you,” he murmured, his lips never losing touch with her skin. “All of you. I want your legs wrapped around me, heels digging in, asking for more. I want you on your stomach, your ass in the air, my hand wrapped in your hair. I want to pull back and see your face, watch you come. I want to learn what makes you scream, what turns you on.”
REALITY AND CONSCIOUSNESS threatened, but Lena fought them, clinging to sleep. She’d spent the past year dreaming in vivid color. Some nights, when she closed her eyes, surprisingly real soundscapes and horrific sights haunted her. Images of men lying on the ground, their blood flowing over the dirt, their eyes vacant, or worse, pleading for a miracle, filled her nightmares. For some, she’d delivered that miracle, carrying them to safety while bullets sped past her. But knowing they’d lived didn’t change the fact that she usually woke up in a panic, as if she’d been in hand-to-hand combat with her memories.
Still, she hadn’t had a nightmare in months. They’d faded over time. But she never would have guessed that when the dreams returned, they would include the deep rumble of a man’s voice talking dirty to her, or the surprisingly real sensations radiating from her breasts.
The sleeping pill. She hadn’t taken one in six months. Not since she’d gotten her dog. But tonight she’d decided to keep Hero in the bathroom, knowing he’d try to sleep on the bed beside her. And this was not her bed. Not everyone appreciated golden retriever hair covering everything—or chew marks on their furniture. Hero was a well-trained service dog in some respects, but he still enjoyed a good chair leg when no one was looking.