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Cecily basked in the glow of a delightful evening. Good food, good wine, and surprisingly, good conversation. It wasn’t the wine causing the glow, either. They’d taken things slow, spending a generous two hours over their meals.
The ride home was spent in companionable silence, although Cecily felt an unwelcome sense of shame that she’d assumed Bryce would have been out of place at the Lucky Duck. His wine selection had been excellent. A Colorado wine, to boot. She’d have to add that one to her own collection.
As they drove through Pinon Crest, Cecily wondered if Bryce was thinking the same things she was. How to handle the inevitable goodnight. A first date simple kiss on the porch? It was late after all, and Bryce no doubt had to be at the ranch bright and early.
They’d gone past the simple kiss already. Why should she be the one to decide how much sleep Bryce needed? If he said it was too late, that was his call.
Of course, if he did, she’d lie awake all night wondering if it was because he had to get up early, or because he’d decided he didn’t want to take things any further.
You think too much.
When there were no parking slots close to her house, she said, “Garage is around back. You can park in the driveway.” More thinking. Should she get out and use the code for the garage door, which meant entering through the mud room—hardly an elegant end to what was still a perfect evening—or take the path around the house to the front door?
You’re still thinking too much. This is Bryce. He won’t care.
He pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition. And faced her, an unreadable expression on his face.
Say it.
She took a breath. “I had a great time. Would you like to come up for a few minutes? I mean, I know you have to be at work early, so if you can’t, I understand—”
He silenced her babbling with a kiss tasting of coffee and the triple chocolate cake they’d shared. A heady combination when added to the way her entire body temperature had spiked at least ten degrees, and her insides were as molten as the chocolate on their dessert.
Her tongue sought his, her lips demanded more. She yanked her scarf off, placed one of his hands on the swell of her breast. This kiss was different from their others. Every kiss with Bryce was different. They’d all been good—better than good—but this was an entirely new universe of kisses.
His lips left hers and nibbled at her ear. Was he saying something? She found a few unoccupied brain cells and tried to process his words. “Hmm?” she murmured.
He cradled her cheeks in his hands. Met her gaze. “I said, if I come up, it’ll be longer than a few minutes.”
Her heart stopped. This was not one of the outcomes she’d prepared for. No slow seduction. No hints. No wondering. This was Bryce. Direct and to the point.
“I’ll get the door.” She dashed out of the car, opened the latch on the code box and stared at the buttons as though they displayed an alien language. Stop. Breathe.
Her fingers trembled as she punched the keypad. Relief—and anticipation—flooded her as the door rumbled upward. She realized Bryce stood near her—not close enough to read the code. Always the gentleman.
She crossed through the garage, remembering to hit the button to lower the door before she opened the interior door. He followed her up the narrow wooden stairs until they stood on the tiled entry inside her front door.
“I’ve thought about kissing you goodnight on your front porch all day,” he said. “I like being inside better.”
“I’m counting on a good morning kiss,” she said. Good lord, where had that come from?
“Plenty of time before then.” He cupped her rear end and pulled her against him. No denying his arousal.
Her new silk panties were already wet. She dropped her purse on the floor. “I want you,” she whispered. She shoved her hands inside his blazer, trying to shove it off, shrugging out of her jacket at the same time.
“Whoa,” he said and backed up half a step. He took off his blazer and hooked it over one of the pegs by the door. He’d left his Stetson in the car. Good. One less thing to deal with. She removed her jacket and tossed it in the general direction of her couch, then grabbed his hand and put it on her breast again.
“I need you to touch me,” she said.
He stroked the curve of her breast, kissed her neck. She reached for his shirt, thankful for the snaps instead of buttons, and yanked it open. Pop. Pop. Pop. When had the sound become so erotic? She ran her fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest. Thumbed his nipples, hoping he’d take the hint and do the same to hers. They ached for his touch. Every part of her ached for his touch. She tottered on her high heels trying to position herself closer to him.
He gripped her shoulders and stared her in the face. “Bedroom? Or do you want to stand here awhile longer?”
Clinging to him, she tried to maneuver them both to the bedroom. Her heels threw her off balance, and attempting to kiss, walk, and keep her body parts in contact with his wasn’t working. She grasped his hand in hers and led him down the hall.
Who’d come in while they were gone and added six miles to its length?
She reached the doorway, brief thoughts of the new red nightgown hanging on the hook inside the bathroom door penetrating her muddled brain, which wanted nothing to do with anything other than maximizing the sensations Bryce’s touch created.
Another time, nightgown. Sorry.
Backing toward the bed she knew was in the room somewhere, Cecily tilted her head, exposing her neck for more of his kisses. At the same time, she reached for his belt buckle, fumbling with the metal. By the time she had the leather worked out of the prong, he’d lowered his mouth to her breast, his teeth working at the lace of her bra, his tongue toying with her nipples.
Slow, lazy seduction was far overrated. It was as if this moment had been building every minute, every hour, every day over the years she’d known him. She yanked at his pants. He stayed her hands.
“Wait.”
“Can’t wait,” she said.
“Two seconds.” He reached into his pocket and held up a square foil packet. He tossed it onto the bed. Positioned his lips close to hers. “Where were we?”
Had she been so obsessed, so carried away, so overwhelmed with need she’d forgotten protection? She hoped she’d have remembered before it was too late. Right now, she wasn’t sure. “Here,” she whispered, and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to her feet. She stepped out of it, kicking off her sandals while she pulled her sweater over her head. “You. Pants. Off.” She reached for the button at his waist. “Those better have a zipper.”
They did, and the rasp as he lowered it was as exciting as the popping snaps had been.
“I don’t normally do this with my boots on.” He sat on the edge of the bed and yanked them off. His socks followed, and he parted his knees, inviting her closer.
A faint glimmer of light from the living room lamp she’d left on cast him in half-shadow, but not so dark she couldn’t see his erection standing at attention behind his boxers. She reached for it, her fingers encountering silky-smooth fabric. Another surprise. She’d expected tighty-whities.
He gripped her hands. “No touching there yet. You first.”
“But—”
He swallowed her objection with another kiss. “Don’t want it over before we start.”
“Then let’s start.” She reached behind her for the clasp of her bra.
“Let me.” Instead of unhooking it, he lowered his mouth to the lacy cups. He nipped at the fabric, finding her nipples, his warm breath fanning them, his tongue swirling around them. They puckered into tight nubs at his touch. She squirmed as pleasure jolted to her core.
Bryce’s finger slipped under one of the straps, lowering it past her shoulder. Then the other. More kisses. He popped the clasp open. She wriggled out of the garment. His work-roughened hands teased and tormented, first one breast, then the other. Then both.
A hand moved lower, a finger slipped inside her. She widened her stance, giving him room as he stroked her slick wetness, found her center.
“Bryce.” She moved her hips, unable to control the need for release spiraling through her. She gripped his shoulders. He stroked. She rocked. Convulsed around him. Her world shattered. Bells rang.
The ringing continued, but not in her head. From the floor. From Bryce’s pants. His cell. Another chiming from the living room. Her cell.
Bryce swore, but picked up his phone. His brow furrowed as he checked the display. “Text from your brother.” He swore again, louder.