Chapter 3      

Rhett awakened bone-tired the next morning. He and Mac had told tall tales into the night after a disquieting dinner over slightly burned flapjacks. Abbie had barely said a word, her inhaler resting next to her silverware. He still felt like shit for pushing her. What had he been thinking to abuse her friendship and hospitality?

But she’d looked so eager the night before, standing in the soft light outside the guesthouse. He’d never doubted a woman wanting him, but he was filled with second guesses now. Mac hadn’t said a word, which meant he likely didn’t know about the kiss, and Rhett decided the best he could hope for was for everything to blow over. He would make an excuse to leave today. He hated to think about Dustin’s disappointment—or his own—but he’d do anything to avoid making her more uncomfortable.

Checking the time, he groaned. It wasn’t much past six o’clock in the infernal morning. For a man who played poker and partied late, he was never up with the sun. But he couldn’t simply lie here brooding.

A fast, lung-burning run would be just the thing. He pulled on some shorts, followed by his shoes and socks, and walked out into the dry heat. Being a country boy, he preferred nature trails, but he’d run on the sidewalk in a pinch. 

He ran, pouring all of his frustration into it. The neighborhood was lined with greenery, and he found himself marveling at how much water people used to turn a desert into a paradise. Seemed like a plumb crazy idea, if you asked him, but it wasn’t for him to say. Of course Abbie had to use a butt load of water to keep her gardens thriving. She was a woman who cultivated flowers like some women cultivated their dance card at cotillion. 

Not your kind of woman, he tried to remind himself. She deserves better.

After more than an hour, he headed back, sweaty as a horse ridden hard and put up wet. Letting himself in through the back fence, he made his way down the meandering garden path.

When he reached the guesthouse, he stopped short. Abbie was hacking at weeds in a small patch of earth in front of the porch. She was wearing a loose yellow cotton shirt that hugged her petite body and some tan shorts that were hiked up her golden thighs. He’d never seen her in shorts. Lord have mercy. His mouth went dry, and he took a massive inhale.

She jerked around on her knees, clenching the trowel in her hands. “Oh…I…”

Her eyes traveled across his body. He knew because every hair seemed to raise on his skin despite the heat. And he grew hard, hard enough for her to see. Clearly she did because her eyes widened. Her chest rose with her own shallow breathing, and he feared she would have another asthma attack.

She dropped the trowel and rose from the earth, looking like some fertility goddess who gave life to barren places. Her hands were dirty, he realized, and he marveled that she wasn’t wearing gardening gloves. Very un-Abbie of her.

“I was waiting for you to come out to apologize for last night, but now I…”

Darn it all if she didn’t lick her lips then, making him even harder. “You what?”

“I can’t deny it,” she whispered, edging closer until she was inches away from his body. “I wanted you to kiss me last night. To…touch me.”

He swallowed.

“And I want it now,” she said, reaching out her hand slowly until it touched his chest. “Rhett, I’m tired of denying what I want.”

Her fingers grazed the hard planes of his pecs, leaving streaks of dirt behind, mixed with his sweat. Oddly arousing, he realized, like they were already mixing what they were made of.

“What do you want?” he asked, certain she needed to say it as much as he needed to hear it.

Her eyes locked on his, and she placed her hand right over his heart. “You. Put your hands on me, Rhett.”

Some voice of his was yelling for attention in a distant part of his mind, but his balls were gripping, and his muscles were locking, and all he wanted to do was lay her down in the sweet grass and pleasure her until she screamed his name.

He closed the distance between them and kissed her, fitting his hands around her body. She stumbled back, and he cushioned her as they both fell to the ground. Then her mouth was opening under his. He fell into the power of his desire for her, her heat, and the urgency between them.

“I want you to be sure,” he said harshly, breaking free.

She placed her hand flat on his naked chest. “I’m sure.”

He levered them up and swung her into his arms, walking to the door of the guesthouse and opening it with one hand. “Then you have me. I’m going to love you like crazy, Abigail Maven.”

Kicking the door closed behind them, he made sure to turn the lock. Then he headed to the master bedroom in the back of the cozy house. The shades were still drawn, and since he wanted to see her, he carried her over to open them a touch.

“You’re as light as a feather,” he said, liking the feel of his hands under her bottom.

“Kiss me, Rhett,” she whispered.

“Yes ma’am.”

His mouth descended on hers. Her lips were eager and unskilled, so he nestled her closer and cupped her cheek, showing her the angle they both needed. The hand that had clutched the weeds earlier clutched his hair, and his tongue speared her lips. She gasped, but soon she was squirming against him.

He knew what she needed. Abbie Maven needed an orgasm. Not just a plain ol’ vanilla one. She needed a raw, earthy one, as raw and earthy as the sweat on his body and the dirt on her small hands.

He set her on bed and sunk to his knees before her, kissing her neck with his open mouth. She tensed when he pressed her knees apart and settled between them.

“It’s okay, Abbie,” he whispered, pausing to meet her eyes. “Let me take care of you. Do you trust me?”

She nodded quickly, but he could see the anxiety in her eyes. 

“Ignore me,” she said. “I’m being foolish.”

If he’d thought her inexperienced with men before, this confirmed it. “You could never be foolish. Let’s keep kissing for a spell, and when you’re ready, we’ll go a little further. Okay?”

Another brief nod, but he was pleased when she snuggled close and lifted her mouth to his. The kissing was as exciting and nerve-racking as a newly dealt hand of cards. Every move she made told him whether he needed to check, call, fold, or raise. Some touches she arched into. Others she withdrew from, almost as though they were too much for her to endure. He patiently kissed her, stroking her in mutually-agreed-upon zones: her back, her hips, the sides of her waist, and a few sweeping passes over her bottom.

When she squirmed again, he knew it was time to test the waters. He raised her shirt, kissing her flat stomach. While her breath stopped short, she didn’t tense up, so he lifted that yellow shirt until it rested against her collarbones. He kissed the delicate mounds of her small breasts, cupped in a simple white bra. But it was when he ran a single finger over that soft rolling skin that she moaned and closed her eyes.

He wanted to shout for joy and whistle Dixie.

Reaching under her, he undid her bra and slid his hands around to caress the undersides of her breasts. More tortured moans sounded from her lips. “Oh, honey, make music for me.”

Then he lifted her bra and set his mouth to her breasts. She jerked under him, but moaned again and continued moaning as he experimented with what she liked: soft or hard suction, gentle or urgent kisses. She liked them all, he discovered.

She lurched up and tugged her shirt over her head. Next went her bra. Her mouth gave an uncertain smile. He gave an answering grin. Covering her so their bare chests connected, he brushed their bodies back and forth until she was running her feet over the backs of his calves. Pressing back, he reached for the button of her shorts and opened them.

She was tensing against him all over again, but he knew how to assure her. More kisses. More caresses to her breasts. Soon she was opening on a new level, and he was sliding her shorts down her luscious legs. He took off her sandals, cupping her arches in his large palms. She lay before him like a feast.

“You are so beautiful,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Let me show you how much.”

He kissed his way up her legs. The closer he came to the core of her, the more tense she became. He eased back, focusing on giving her more kisses. He even turned her onto her stomach and kissed his way down her delicate spine. Taking her bottom in his hands, he kissed her there too. She gasped again, but since she was still squirming, he didn’t stop. Whatever was holding her back was dissolving, and he was proud to be a part of toppling the wall she’d surrounded herself in.

His hand reached around her body until he could touch her core. Out of some primal instinct, he knew it would be easier this way. She was shy about her pleasure, and so he stroked her gently at first, kissing her neck until she lurched hard against his hand. Sliding a finger inside her, he realized she was as tight as a virgin. He would need to take extra care not to hurt her when he entered her. Again, he experimented with touches to see what she responded to, increasing the pressure and speed until she quickened and cried out under his hands.

He turned her over, determined to heighten her pleasure. Parting her legs, he stroked her lightly until she started moaning again. Only then did he leave her to grab a condom from his wallet. 

Urging her legs to bend at the knee, he pressed slowly inside her. He ground his teeth at the fierce pleasure of being encased in her warmth. Holding onto his control took effort, especially when she made another tortured sound.

“Oh, Rhett,” she whispered, her head pressing back into the pillows, her face flushed.

He filled her, and as they moved together, his heart filled up with tender emotion. This was Abbie, the unattainable lady he’d always admired and wanted, but his strokes seemed to summon up a rarely expressed part of her. She clutched his back in passion, urging him on with grunts and little cries, like she wasn’t used to pleasure like this and didn’t know where it would end.

He set himself to the task of pleasing her with his body. Long, deep strokes seemed to work the best for her. His body was flush with sweat again, and he was pleased to see hers was the same. They glided together until she started to quake under him, and when she cried out again, he let himself join her.

The pleasure shot through him, and when he was spent, he rested his forehead on her shoulder. “My God, Abbie.”

She made a soft sound, utterly feminine, the kind God must have designed with the sole intention to disarm a man. In that moment, he would have done anything for her, become anything to stay with her.

Because he had to see her, he raised up on his shaking arms. “Abbie.”

“Oh, Rhett,” she whispered.

When she raised her hand and touched his face, he knew his life would never be the same.