Homecoming Ranch (27 page)

“Hey,” Madeline said as country music began to fill the room. “How did you do that?”

“Backup battery.” He stepped across the pillows and reached out his hand. Madeline eyed it suspiciously. “Come on, give me your hand. Let life happen.”

He smiled so charmingly that Madeline hesitantly slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“I’m going to show you one very easy way to loosen up.”

“I don’t need to loosen up—”

“Madeline.”

She sighed. “You sound just like Trudi, you know that?”

His smile deepened. He slipped his hand inside the jacket she was wearing, around her waist, and pulled her into his chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked, stiffening, panicking slightly. “My God, I don’t
dance,
Luke.”

“Yeah, you do,” he said easily. “Everyone does. It’s just that everyone has their own rhythm.” He pulled her closer, tucked her hand and his between them, and put his chin against the side of her head. “Relax,” he said softly. “It’s just a dance.” He swayed with her to the right, then to the left, and back again. “Move your feet.” He guided her again, moving her slowly one way, then the other, moving just enough to force her to take steps.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, but the truth was that it was nice.
Very
nice. She was moving on a cloud, her eyes closed, nothing but the strength and feel of Luke against her, the music washing over them and mixing with the sound of the rain. She could not remember the last time she’d felt so soothed, so mellow, so
relaxed
.

Around the room they languidly went, the music mixing in with the sound of the rain on that dark, fire-lit evening. Madeline let herself go down the path of desire that steadily built. She was floating along with very little thought; she didn’t think about Julie or Stephen. She didn’t think about DiNapoli. She didn’t worry about complications or where this thing with Luke was going, or what it meant. She just allowed herself to exist in that very pleasant, slightly magical place.

She rested her cheek on his shoulder and allowed him to move her along until the song ended. Even then, he didn’t stop right away. He continued to sway a little bit until Madeline opened her eyes and looked up at him.

His gaze was warm, shining from somewhere deep, mesmerizing her. She felt fluttery again, just like the first time she’d seen him on Sometimes Pass. Madeline didn’t flinch, she didn’t look away as was her nature. She knew he would kiss her again. She knew before he lowered his head, before she lifted hers, that she would forget her private vow not to let it happen again.

When he did kiss her, Madeline was not prepared for the kiss that it was. She would not have guessed that a kiss so warm and gentle on
her mouth could be so arousing. Her reaction was purely visceral; her mouth opened, her tongue met his. He pulled her tighter against him, pressing into her, and Madeline’s hands found his shoulders, his neck. His kiss was deliberate, and she found it to be devastatingly sensual, exciting to the point that it seemed to spill over its edges and splash around them, filling the space in that cottage, filling her lungs and eyes and ears and heart with it.

It seemed to last only moments before he lifted his head and left her wanting more. Her hands were still on his shoulders. Her lips were still wet. “I thought we agreed this wasn’t a good idea.”

“Did we?” he asked, his gaze traveling her face.

“I don’t remember,” she lied.

Luke smiled and lowered his head to hers once more, but this time, Madeline kissed him back. She kissed him like she had never kissed another man, like she had never imagined kissing anyone in her life. She could feel him in every pore, could feel her body soaking him up like a big ocean sponge. She felt full to bursting with want and hope and… and
giddiness.
Something in her snapped free and let go. Her inhibitions began to melt away like tiny little snowflakes. The blood in her veins began to turn to fire; she was erupting with desire so strong that she’d lost control of it before she realized it was there. It pushed against her, demanding release. The feel of his hard body beneath her hands was fanning the burn in her; she put her fingers in his hair, traced his ear, brushed her palm against his shoulders and chest.

His hands were moving, too, cupping her bottom, sliding up her ribs, to her breasts. She made a cry of surprise into his mouth when he lifted her off her feet and took them both down to the pillows before the hearth. He came over her, draping his leg across hers, and kissing her so fully that Madeline couldn’t help but cling to him and inhale the heat from the fire burning through her now.

The fire was so bright and intense that she did not feel uncomfortably exposed when he dipped his hand into her dress and freed one breast. Her head did not fill with questions of what she was doing, of warnings to flee when he took her in his mouth. On the contrary, she ignored who she was and lifted one arm overhead and closed her eyes,
giving into the lush sensation of his mouth and his hands and his body on hers.

When his hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress, she didn’t fight the urge to close her legs as she had in the past. It was as if that Madeline had been left behind in the Grizzly Lodge, and this Madeline was letting herself go, letting herself ride this storm, letting herself openly forage in the garden of sex.

He stroked her between her legs, his fingers dipping inside her. When she thought he would plunge into her and take her like a man who could only be sated by a woman’s flesh—and yes, she would have liked that very much—he suddenly slowed. He kissed her tenderly, his hand cupping her face, his lips pressing against her temple, her cheek, her mouth. He was almost reverent, certainly caring.

She understood why he was so careful with her. She was so uncertain around him, about so many things. But in this, she was surprisingly certain. In a few days, she might never see Luke again, so tonight, she was going to let the mountains pull her to them. She was going to let herself off her leash.

Madeline pushed Luke, forcing him onto his back. He laughed with surprise, but when Madeline straddled him and began to unbutton his shirt, his smile faded. His hands went to her arms, pushing the flannel jacket off of her. “Hey—” he started.

Madeline kissed his mouth before he could say anything, then traced a wet line down his chest, nibbling him. Luke’s eyes darkened; she could feel his body responding, hardening and pressing against her. She felt completely outside of herself, as if she were someone else entirely—a sexy, desirable woman.

Luke sat up, his arms around her, holding her tightly and kissed her fiercely. She dropped her head back so that he could devour her neck. “You’re driving me wild,” he growled into the hollow of her throat.

“Then we’re even,” she said huskily.

He made a sound deep in his throat and easily flipped her onto her back, kissing her as he unfastened his jeans and kicked them off. He sat up and removed his shirt, then braced himself above Madeline, his arms taut. He gazed down at her, dark-eyed, his jaw clenched as if
he was holding himself back. The fire cast shadows across his face that made him look even more powerful. Like a warrior, Madeline thought dreamily. She smiled and touched her fingers to his face. “You are amazing.”

Luke groaned and lowered himself to her, kissing her, his hands on her breasts, on her waist, between her legs.

Madeline felt herself sliding onto a little raft, floating on her own private sea of sensation. He moved between her legs and entered her so fluidly that she gasped with the pleasure of it. She opened her eyes and did not shy away from his gaze as he watched her, moving inside her, stroking her hair, kissing her mouth, her face. Madeline kissed him, too, his shoulders and chest, her hands sliding over rock-hard hips, then touching her fingers to his mouth.

They made love before the hearth, their breath hot and hard, their caresses urgent, their bodies slick with the intensity of their lovemaking. When Madeline’s body did at last erupt with the sensation of his touch, she felt herself showering down with the rain in that little bungalow.

He followed her, burying his face in her hair as he found his release.

Sex with Luke went beyond the pale of pleasure—it was New Year’s Eve, Fourth of July, and the Super Bowl all wrapped up in one moment. It was spectacular.

She and Luke lay there together side by side afterward, her leg now draped across his, their fingers interlaced, a throw rug loosely covering them. They talked about silly things, about houses, laughing as they compared the strangest houses they had ever seen. It felt to Madeline as if they talked about everything and nothing. It was easy. It was familiar, comfortable. His body was warm, his hands strong, but surprisingly gentle in their caress and when he ran a strand of her hair through his fingers.

Madeline didn’t know when the lights came on, because she had drifted to sleep. She didn’t know that Luke had gotten up to stoke the fire and find a heavier quilt, which he tucked up under her chin. Or that he had a last beer, watching her sleep in the soft glow of the fire, her hair spilling around her.

Madeline didn’t know anything except that it had been one of the most splendidly shimmering evenings she’d ever known.

And then came morning. Bright sunlight and chirping birds awakened her.

It took her a moment or two to remember where she was—oh yes, he’d awakened her in the night, had urged her to his bed. And then they’d made love again.

Again?

Madeline pushed up on her elbows and turned her head. Through her tangled hair, she could see Luke lying beside her, his body as magnificent in the morning light as in the murky darkness of a storm. He was sleeping soundly, one arm draped across his chest, the other above his head. He was gorgeous, magnificent. Trudi would drool if she saw him.

Madeline moved slowly, carefully disentangling herself from the bedsheets. When she stood beside the bed—a little sore and a little light-headed—she grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, and quietly made her way out. She darted down the small hall to the living area. There was her bag, her phone still on top. Madeline picked them up and stepped into the hall bath, locking the door behind her.

She sank down onto the edge of the tub, ran her fingers through her hair as she stared at the black-and-white tiles of the bathroom floor. She felt a little queasy. She wanted to believe it was hunger, but she knew herself too well. She had exposed herself, had lost control, and what she was feeling was anxiety, full-blown anxiety, that would lead to cracks in her façade and leaks in her foundation. It was unsteadiness and fear that came from letting any light in through those cracks, any light that could warm her, strengthen her, and ultimately destroy her if it was extinguished without warning.

Intimacy made Madeline feel ragged and chopped up on the inside, like a bunch of tiny nicks that were liberally salted when she was least expecting it. But this anxiety felt like a thousand knives dragging through her. She’d had bouts of anxiety, but she’d never felt it quite like this. It felt as if there was so much of her internal wiring at risk! It made no sense, she recognized that. She only knew that she couldn’t
control
this. She couldn’t organize herself out of attachment to him, or keep from getting hurt. She couldn’t keep from being rejected and left behind.

This was why she didn’t have casual sex, Trudi’s advocacy of it notwithstanding. Sex was
never
casual for Madeline. That wasn’t to say she regretted a moment of last night, God no, quite the opposite. It had been surreal, and she’d felt… she’d felt so
happy.
So damn free from all the rules and expectations she put on herself.

Which only meant the cuts would go deeper, and the fall would be that much harder. Because now she had to deal with the inevitable aftermath of last night. In spite of the feelings she had for Luke Kendrick, nothing had changed: Her life was still in Orlando. She’d spent time yesterday meeting with the realtor who would give her a valuation of the ranch and bring them clients, just so that she could go back to Orlando.

Luke’s life was here, and his heart was still attached, in part, to someone else. It was true—Madeline had seen the look on his face last night when he realized Julie’s picture was there. There was something about that woman that was still rattling around in him.

The trick, Madeline told herself, was to detach from an extraordinary night calmly, rationally, and without bothersome emotions. And she was the last woman who knew how to do that with any finesse.

When Luke awoke, he stretched long, ran his hand alongside him.

The bed was empty.

He lay there, his eyes closed and a lazy smile as memories of a very special night drifted back to him.

Madeline’s voice filtered into his consciousness, trailing down the hallway to him like a ribbon of smoke.

Luke sat up, rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his hair. Last night had been beyond excellent, because something about Madeline had shifted off center. He’d always thought her pretty, but she’d been alluring on a whole other level. She’d let herself go, had let herself exist entirely in the moment, and it had been incredibly sexy. It had made Luke forget an otherwise awful day, forget everything but her.

He loved the charming vulnerabilities in her, but last night, he’d seen a glimpse, however brief, of a wounded little girl still lurking somewhere deep inside. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to get that Grant’s absence in her life had done a number on her.

Luke empathized with her. He guessed he had some issues of his own, because her vulnerability had made him want her something fierce. That first kiss had knocked him to his knees. Madeline had stoked an unholy yearning in him and then had responded so openly and passionately that he’d been completely undone by it.
Completely
.

She intrigued him—she was full of twists and turns and little surprises, and Luke hadn’t been captivated quite like this in… maybe in forever.