Country Roads (16 page)

He flicked the ball into play. Dave got control and slammed it into their goal so fast and hard Julia flinched.

“My fault,” Paul said, putting his hand over hers where she clutched the rod with white knuckles. “There was no way to stop that one.”

He walloped two goals past his opponent in short order and the game was over.

“Yessss!” she said, pumping her fists in the air. Paul was being pounded on the back by enthusiastic supporters. He winked at her with a wry smile, although his eyes blazed with triumph.

The heat from his gaze spread over her skin and flashed deep inside her. Focusing on him as he played the game—feeling the shift of his body beside hers—made her feel intensely attuned to him.

On the other side of the table, Dave crowed, “I got three goals off him! First time he hasn’t shut me out.”

“So who’s your pretty goalie?” someone shouted to Paul.

“That’s our cue to exit,” he said, seizing her hand.

She gasped at the touch of his palm against hers. That was all it was, yet she felt a vibration through her entire body.

The crowd began to chant, “Hail, the king of foos! Hail, the king of foos!”

Paul plowed forward, pulling her close in behind him to shelter her. He kept going until they burst out into the cool night air, where the sudden silence seemed almost deafening.

“I should have known better than to go there,” he said.

“Are you kidding? We won!” She danced a triumphant jig.

He laughed and pulled her into his arms to dip her in a continuation of the dance. She could feel the waves of energy rolling off him.

“I want to learn how to play foosball,” she said, as he set her upright. “Not that I could ever be as amazing as you are.”

“If you tell me again I have good hands, I can’t answer for the consequences,” he said, still holding on to her.

Her eyes flew to his as a flush washed up her cheeks. Watching the swift flex and release of his long fingers on the foosball handles had set her to wondering what it would be like to have all that skill focused on touching her.

“Looking at me like that is even worse than telling me I have good hands,” he said. He pulled her around the corner of the building so they were standing in a shadowy alley. Then he slid his fingers along her jaw and into her hair, tilting her face upward as he bent to brush her lips with his.

She closed her eyes to concentrate on the texture of his mouth on her skin as he skimmed over her cheek to nuzzle a sensitive place just below her earlobe. “Oh yes, Paul,” she breathed, the ripples of pleasure widening from where he touched to skitter down her neck to her breasts, making her nipples tighten. His contact was featherlight, yet heat bloomed all over her body. “God, yes.”

“What are you saying yes to?” he asked, pulling back and looking down at her. His face was in shadows, but she knew what caused the rasp in his voice because she was feeling it too.

“To you. To—” She hesitated, hoping she wasn’t misinterpreting what he meant. She swallowed. “To us doing what we both want to…together.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I think I understood that. But I’m a lawyer, so I want to spell it out.” He moved them both forward a step into the yellowish light cast by the street lamp. He framed her face with his hands and locked his eyes on hers. “I want to make love to you, Julia. Is that what you’re agreeing to?”

She nodded, making his hands move with her head.

“Say it again,” he grated, the lines of his face taut with controlled desire. “Say yes.”

“Yes, I—” She had no chance to finish before he spun her back into the shadows and sandwiched her body between his and the shingles of the Black Bear’s wall. His mouth came down on hers as he thrust his hands into the mass of her hair. There was nothing gentle about his touch this time, and instead of a delicate blossom of heat, she felt a bonfire roar to life deep inside her. The pressure of his thighs on hers, the compression of her already aching breasts against his chest, and the feel of his obvious arousal in the vee of her legs made her moan and writhe.

His fingers slid out of her hair and down to her hips, holding her still as he broke from the kiss. She could feel the expansion and contraction of his chest as he dragged in a deep breath. “I didn’t mean here,” he said with a flash of a smile. “Let’s go find a nice comfortable bed.”

H
E WRAPPED AN
arm around her waist and led her to the Corvette where it sat gleaming under a streetlight. As she slid into the leather seat, she gasped out loud. She was so aroused that even that bit of friction made her squirm. He accelerated into a tire-squealing U-turn and sent the sports car hurtling down the country highway back toward town.

“Um, are we going to your place or mine?” She tried to decide which she would prefer.

“Mine.” He glanced sideways and shook his head. “No, yours would be better. That way you can kick me out anytime you want to. There’s a back stairway we can use so no one knows I’m there.”

At first she was disappointed and a little hurt. She wanted to be invited into his home. But then she followed his logic: if things didn’t go well or she changed her mind, she was in control. She didn’t have to depend on him for a ride back to the hotel. His gallantry made her reach out to touch the back of his hand on the steering wheel. “Lawyers make good dates.”

“Well, now that’s a unique perspective. My profession is generally considered a negative when it comes to relationships,” he said, downshifting as he turned the ’Vette into a side street. “We’ll park back here where no one will see the car. I don’t want you caught in the gossip mill, since it’s already grinding.”

“I guess Mrs. Bostic’s sister would notice if it sat in the parking lot all night,” Julia said.

“I keep meaning to get a minivan for my trysts,” he said, killing the engine and swinging out of the driver’s seat.

After helping her up out of the car, he bent down for a quick kiss that lingered when she wrapped her hand around his neck. Nervousness was starting to intertwine with her excitement, so she beat it back by plastering her body against his to savor the feel of hard muscle and the scent of starched cotton and warm male.

“This way,” he said, breaking the kiss and grabbing her hand. He led her around the inn’s rose beds to a side door.

“Do mayors really get the keys to the city?” she whispered.

“No one ever locks anything in Sanctuary.” The knob turned in his hand, and he ushered her into a dimly lit entrance hall leading to a narrow staircase. “This comes out in the linen closet upstairs. It’s a highlight of the inn’s ghost tour,” he said, following her up the steps.

She swallowed the laughter bubbling up in her throat as he cracked open the closet door and checked the upper hallway for guests or staff. It was partly tension and partly delight at the silliness of sneaking around.

When he turned and nodded that it was safe, she said softly, “This is so much fun.”

He looked startled, and then the brilliant smile she had noticed the first time they met flashed across his face. “I guess it is.”

He was still smiling as they slipped through her door. He threw the deadbolt and turned around. The smile was gone. There was nothing in his face but intention and it was all focused on her.

Nervousness nearly swamped her. He wasn’t a college boy or a mildly attractive fellow artist, her only two experiences with sex. Paul was a grown man with an intensity and physical presence that both thrilled and scared her. She felt gauche and inexperienced when he looked at her like this.

He moved back, giving her space. None of the hunger left his face, but it was tempered by a tightly held control. “Having second thoughts?”

She looked into those silvery eyes, let her gaze trail down over his wide shoulders to the muscle-roped forearms exposed by his rolled-up sleeves, and finally to the long fingers drumming against his thigh, the only sign he gave of his pent-up impatience. She shook her head.

He approached her slowly, almost as though she were a skittish horse. “I’m not going to run away if you make a sudden movement,” she said.

“I’m not so sure. Wood sprites are notoriously shy,” he said, running his hands down her arms to twine his fingers with hers.

“Wood sprites?” She liked that.

He tugged her up against him. “It popped into my head on the shoulder of the interstate, and I can’t seem to get rid of it.”

“It fits right in, because I thought of you as one of those half-god, half-humans who were always running around in the forests of ancient Greece, chasing nymphs.”

Now the desire in his eyes was joined by amusement as he stood there, looking down at her, their bodies barely brushing each other. “A demigod? That’s a hell of a lot better than the king of foos.”

“I don’t think so. You earned the crown. The demigod thing is just genetics.” She was starting to relax under the influence of his banter. She swayed into him.

That was all the cue he needed. He bent and snaked one arm behind her knees while the other slipped around her shoulders. Scooping her up, he headed for the bedroom. “This is what demigods do when they catch a wood sprite.”

She looped her arms around his neck and held on tight as he turned sideways to get through the door. Her weight seemed to offer no challenge. “They generally get in trouble for it, though,” she pointed out.

“Some trouble is worth getting into,” he said, lowering her so she lay crosswise on the bed, her knees bent over the side and her feet dangling.

He bent and braced a hand on either side of her shoulders, staring down at her almost as though he was debating where to begin. She held her breath, willing him to touch her somewhere, anywhere soon. When he didn’t move, she reached up and unfastened the top button of his shirt.

She heard his breath catch, so she went after the next button and the next until his shirt was open to the waist but still tucked into his khakis. She yanked it out and finished her task, pulling it as far down his arms as she could. Then she spread her hands over his bare chest, fascinated by the way his muscles jumped under her palms. Her hands glowed almost white against his warm, olive skin as she traced the curves of his shoulders and biceps. She moved them lower to rest her palms on the cut lines of his flat abdomen, savoring the layered texture of skin over muscle.

The reality of him was so much more beautiful than her drawing.

“There’s plenty more to explore,” he rasped.

“I think it’s your turn.” She gave him her best come-hither smile, which probably wasn’t necessary considering how fast he pushed her arms upward and jerked her T-shirt over her head.

“You are so worth any trouble I get into,” he breathed, finally putting those long, clever fingers to good use as he released the front catch of her bra. All he did was cup his hands over her breasts so his palms just barely pressed against their centers, and a current of arousal flashed down between her legs, making her hips pulse against his thigh.

His mouth came down on hers as his fingers traced circles on her blazingly sensitized nipples. She couldn’t keep her body still when he touched her that way, so she held on to the hard curves of his shoulders to keep their mouths together.

He shifted position so he could trail his mouth downward over her throat, along one collarbone, and then over the swell of her breast until his tongue replaced his fingers. The heat and friction and dampness had her arching up so his teeth grazed her bare skin, adding a whole new sensation. “Oh yes, Paul! Please! Yes, there!”

She grabbed fistfuls of the quilted bedspread as he brushed his lips over to the other breast. His fingers teased over the wet skin where his mouth had just played, while the tension between her legs kept coiling tighter and hotter. “Paul, I want…I want to finish,” she panted. “Now.”

She could feel a vibration against her breast. Was he laughing or moaning? She tilted her head up to see him unsnap and unzip her jeans at lightning speed. He hooked his fingers in the waist-band to strip them and her panties off in one swift tug before he knelt between her legs. Oh dear God, he was going to give her an orgasm with his mouth.