CLOTHES CAME OFF in a confusing rush, and they both laughed a bit manically when Eli couldn’t get one boot off. It took both of them to wiggle his foot free.
Then, suddenly, the laughter dissolved into the kind of anticipatory silence that built before a storm broke. And it would be the kind of storm that leveled outlying buildings and sent both man and animal running for cover. Eli held no false illusions about what coming back together with Reagan would be like...or would mean.
Laying her down on the blanket, he started with her jaw, kissing her tenderly before nipping the soft skin and soothing it again with little kisses, small licks and murmured words of affection and encouragement. He wanted to draw the little noises out of her that drove him wild, evidence he’d done the same, was doing the same, to her. She was passionate. She was responsive. She was so alive compared to the handful of lovers he’d been with over the years. Not a one of them could hold a candle to this amazing woman.
He was lost to her all over again, to the smell of her shampoo, the taste of hard-earned sweat on her skin, the musk of her undeniable arousal. She was everything to him in that moment—his sunrise and sunset, every minute of his day and every hour of his night. She was the one thing that had ever been right about home.
Slipping down her body, he pressed her legs open and ran his tongue along the seam of her sex. It thrilled him when her hips bucked involuntarily, lifting her off the blanket.
She cried out.
“Shh,” he said, breathing against her cleft.
“Eli,” she begged.
He didn’t stop. Settling in, he tasted her deeply, reveled in every shudder of her body as he drew closer and closer to her clit.
She moved in fits and starts, trying to force him to get to that magical place that would send her over the edge.
He resisted. At least initially.
Then it was too much—her reaction, her arousal, her unarguable need for him. Dragging the tip of his tongue over her clit, he circled it rapidly, then suckled it. Gently, he built the pressure and at the same time he flicked his tongue over the hard knot.
Her shoulders rose off the blanket as she came. Eyes wild, Reagan bit her lip fiercely. Every breath came fast. She clutched his hair and rode his mouth as the orgasm took her higher, soft whimpers escaping despite her best efforts.
Gripping her wrists, he pulled her hands free of his hair, dug a condom from his wallet and sheathed himself to the root with shaking hands. “Lie back,” he commanded softly. “I want to see your face when I take you.”
She slumped down, her breathing heavy, her eyes alight with expectation.
He covered her body with his, planting his forearms next to her shoulders and settling his raging erection against her. Adjusting his approach, he gripped his cock. “Spread yourself for me.”
She complied.
His heart lodged in his throat. She was beautiful. Perfect. Raising himself up, he settled one hand against the blanket and the other on his rigid shaft. He fed the head into her slowly, shocked at her channel’s narrowness, thrilled with how wet she was. He had to take his time—feed in an inch, retreat. Feed in another half inch and retreat.
Then she took control, lifting her hips and taking him to the hilt with a gasp.
He grunted as he hit the end of her channel. She was so tight it almost hurt.
“Move,” she commanded, voice straining. When he hesitated, she began to draw herself off him.
“Don’t you dare,” he nearly growled. Holding himself on his forearms, he used his knees to spread her legs wider. She followed his silent direction, bending her knees more and lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. He began with a slow in and out movement, rolling his hips to insure he covered her G-spot with every entry.
She moaned. “More. Please, Eli. I...I need...”
“What, beautiful? Tell me, Reagan.” Shaking her head, she tried to force herself back down his length, but he gripped her chin. “Say it.”
“Raw. I want this raw and real.” She gasped, pushing against him. “Please, Eli. Please.”
And in giving her what she needed, a little bit of him fell into the mix. He fumbled the rhythm when he realized he’d offered part of himself to her, but she couldn’t possibly understand, refusing to let him slow down.
Pushing against him, she moaned low but clear. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”
The unguarded pleasure in her voice pushed aside his intention to make this a matter of gentle lovemaking. Instead, he rode her with increasing roughness, the sound of slick skin slapping slick skin creating the most erotic sound he’d heard in...fourteen years.
She met his every stroke, refusing to let him have the upper hand. She was so different from the gentle lover she’d once been, and he was crazed by the woman she’d become. Her demands drove him higher, made him ride her harder. His fingers dug into her firm flesh as the burn of release began near the base of his spine. “Not yet,” he ground out.
Reaching down, he pinned her hips down and shifted higher so he scraped her clit with every drive forward. One stroke, two, three...and she came apart in his arms with a shout.
Curled over her body, Eli rode her harder, his own release bearing down on him with unapologetic force. He came with a shout, gripping her so tight he feared she’d bruise. But damn if he could stop himself.
Slowly slipping down from that precipice of ultimate release, he stroked her pinked skin and ran a fingertip down her neck.
Eyes closed, breathing fast, she managed a small smile.
“What?” he panted as he withdrew and shifted to lie by her side.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that getting to know the man you’ve become is going to have some serious perks. Unless that’s all you’ve got going on, Esquire.”
He rolled her onto her side, following the motion with his own as he draped an arm around her waist. “Not even close, Doc. Not even close.”
* * *
THE MOMENT REAGAN pulled herself together, she left the Covington place in a cloud of dust. She’d been so worried that everyone could tell what she and Eli had been up to that she’d nearly left Brisket behind.
That had been the litmus test of her emotional well-being. Her life’s stability had crashed and burned within twenty-four hours of Eli’s return. She didn’t even want to think about what that might mean.
Pulling up to her small log cabin, she put the truck in Park and sat staring blankly through the windshield over wide, barbed-wire-fenced fields. Somewhere nearby, a calf bawled, calling for its mother. Reagan could relate. If her mother weren’t still so hung up on Luke’s memory, she’d give the woman a call and ask her advice. But her mom believed in Luke Matthews’s sainthood, and if she suspected her daughter had defiled his memory, let alone with the reviled Elijah Covington, she’d probably have a heart attack. Or a seizure. Or both.
Neither would stop her from condemning her daughter’s actions, though, and Reagan couldn’t take that. Not right now. But if Eli would hold to his word and keep the affair a secret, Reagan hoped she would never be put in that position.
That was the only downfall to living in such a small town. Everyone took an interest in everyone else’s business, and no one hesitated to volunteer their two cents—to your face or behind your back. She hated being talked about. Hated being the object of speculation, be it curious or malicious. Hated that she had to remain above it all in order to keep her business healthy. Her livelihood was contingent on the very people who gossiped about her, and it sucked.
She pulled her hat off and ran a shaking hand through her hair. Brisket licked her wrist, and she turned her attention to him. The dog had never known Luke, but she had no doubt he would have loved the man.
Still, the Border collie’s loyalty would have been to her and her alone. It was her gift, building these wordless relationships with animals. It was what had, in part, led her to pursue veterinary medicine. It was also a decent career that had allowed her to come back home with a solid job in the otherwise unstable communities of northeastern New Mexico. No one could leave her or force her to leave. She would be responsible for herself and only herself, and that was exactly what she’d wanted in the wake of Eli’s abandonment.
Eli’s abandonment.
And she’d just willingly set herself up to be abandoned again. Soon.
Making love with him in the barn had convinced her that having a private affair had been as asinine a choice as her decision to marry Luke.
She’d known she wasn’t in love with Luke when he’d asked, but he’d presented her with what seemed to be, even in retrospect, a hundred excellent reasons why they should make the ultimate commitment to each other. He’d told her then he was well aware she’d always love Eli, but he had been so convinced he could make her love him, too. It would just take time, and he was willing to give her that. All she’d needed to do was say yes, to step out of the shadow of history and live in the light of the present.
So she’d said yes.
But what she’d found with Luke hadn’t been living. Because it hadn’t taken her any time at all to realize Luke had been the perfect husband...for someone else. She’d done him the greatest disservice by marrying him.
From the first, she’d tried to be a good wife, to be a companion and responsive lover. She’d never quite pulled it off. She’d believed herself more a fraud every day, the layers and layers of guilt building a thicker and thicker wall between her and Luke. Then he’d died. And those layers, those walls, had become unsurpassable.
Because while she had cared for Luke, had truly loved him in the dispassionate way of a steady, nonsexual companion and had mourned his loss, she’d never been brokenhearted over it. Not like she’d been when Eli left her.
She was a horrible person, and if anyone ever realized the truth about how she’d felt at Luke’s death, she’d be shunned as the county pariah. She’d have to leave.
She threw the driver’s door open and hit the ground at a run. She made it to the edge of the porch before she lost the meager contents of her stomach.
The problem? No matter where she ran to, she couldn’t get away from herself or her past. Eli had proved that with amazing efficiency. A hard shiver skipped down her spine. He’d owned her body this morning, taking her to heights she’d forgotten a woman could reach. And he’d done it with a finesse he’d lacked as a teen. The realization he’d learned to be such an accomplished lover by being a lover to other women made her hands ball into fists. It wasn’t as if they’d had a commitment to each other, but she’d been faithful to his memory, had held out hope he’d return for her even though his parting words had been so decisive.
“One of these days, I’ll be back,” he promised gruffly, moving out of reach as he snatched his duffel bag up and hoisted it over his shoulder. “This damn two-light town will see exactly what I’m made of.”
What she’d heard was that he’d be back.
What he’d meant was things between them were through.
Until now.
Brisket whined from the open door of the truck, waiting her command that would allow him to hop down.
“Out,” she said softly.
The dog leaped from the truck and nearly belly crawled to her. Canine intuition told him something was very wrong, but the environment gave no clue as to what it was. Being Brisket, though, and loving her the way he did, he sidled up to her and pressed against her legs.
“It’s fine.” She stroked his head.
His feathery tail wagged, stirring up the dust.
She climbed the stairs and walked across the porch, pushing into the house and tossing her bag on the seat of the hall tree. Stripping as she went, she crossed the living room and went straight to the shower. The water was hot enough to scald, but it didn’t faze her when she stepped under the aggressive spray. She craved the benediction of the cleansing heat. Water sluiced over her head, over her face and down her body.
The one thing she couldn’t deny was that being well used by Eli had left her with delicious tiny aches and tenderness. It had been years since she’d had sex. Even more years since she’d experienced desire so raw it left her body demanding more than a creative imagination.
She stepped out of the shower and toweled off, wrapping her hair up and pulling on her T-shirt and boxers. The answering machine by her bedside blinked, advertising eight messages. They were probably clients. Maybe her neighbors. Regardless, those callers were going to have to wait. She’d been up for more than thirty hours.
Pulling her quilt back, she fell into bed. Sleep crowded her consciousness before she got the towel off her head.
And for the first time since Luke had died, she went to sleep unafraid of dreaming.