The Liar

A long kiss this time, slow and long and deep. Like the first time, and like the first time, her body melted like a candle in the sun.

All these feelings, she thought, all these shivery little sensations. She’d forgotten more than she remembered, she realized, about being one of two.

She let herself flow with it, just flow and float like a dandelion puff on a summer breeze. There was a storm coming, oh, she could feel it building in her, but the soft and quiet came first.

She brought her hands to his face when he changed the angle of the kiss. And shivered with anticipation as she felt him lower the zipper on the back of her dress.

He traced a finger up her spine, down. The light touch had her arching toward him, purring in her throat before he brought his hands to the straps of the dress, brushed them off her shoulders.

The dress slid down and away.

“Pretty,” he murmured, and ran that finger, erotically rough with callus, along the lacy edge of her bra.

“My heart’s beating so fast.”

“I can feel it.”

“Yours.” She laid a hand on his heart, relieved when she felt it beat fast and hard under her palm. “Yours, too.”

She started to unbutton his shirt, let out a breathless laugh when her fingers didn’t seem to work right. “I’m shaking inside. Outside, too.”

He lifted his hands to help her, but she brushed them away.

“No, I want to do it. You’ll just have to tolerate some fumbling. I want . . .” She felt him quiver as she finally managed to open his shirt, lay her hands on flesh. And look up into his eyes. “I want everything.”

She broke him, snapped the last link on the chain of control. She gasped when he hefted her up, dropped her back on the bed. Covered her.

She was willow slim, and part of him fretted over hurting her. But even that dropped into the dark when she bowed up, gripping his hips, holding him against her center to center.

The sun bled away to dust, and a whippoorwill began its call for its mate.

The storm broke in her, a hot, whirling tempest. Greed rose with it, for more.

He had muscles like iron despite that rangy, swaggering build. His back rippled with them. Oh God, the feel of them under her hands. The weight of him pressing her down into the bed.

And hard hands, rough, impatient hands, all over her body. Not awakening needs—awakening seemed too tame a word.

It felt more like resurrection.

When his mouth closed over her breast, a scrape of teeth, a flick of tongue, and his hand slid between her legs, the orgasm tore through her, left her shocked and shuddering in its wake.

He didn’t stop, didn’t pause, but drove her up again.

And she was a pebble in a catapult, flying. Helpless and quaking. Her body was his now, open, and he took it, gave her more so sensations tangled together, needs became a single throbbing ache.

Then he was inside her, and pleasure ran through her in a flood.

She rode with him, beat for beat, her heart racing as his raced. Her sunset hair spread wild over the sheets, and her skin glowed in the smoky light of dusk.

“Shelby. Look at me.” His body screamed for release, for that last leap. But he wanted to see her eyes. “Look at me.”

She opened them, dark and dazed, looked into his.

“It’s everything,” he said, and let go.

17

Shelby’s first coherent thought when the haze cleared from her mind was: So this is what it’s like.

She felt heavy and light and limp, hulled out and filled up again all at once. She thought she could run a marathon, or sleep for a week.

Most of all she felt utterly and completely alive.

Griff lay flat-out on top of her, and that was just fine. She liked the weight of him even now, the sensation of his skin against hers, everything still hot and damp like after a strong summer storm.

In pretty contrast, the breeze fluttering through the open doors cooled her cheeks, made her smile. Everything made her smile. If she wasn’t careful, she’d burst into song.

“Gonna move in a minute,” he mumbled.

“You’re fine. It’s fine. Everything’s just really, really fine.”

He turned his head enough to brush his lips over the side of her throat. “I was a little rougher than I meant to be.”

“To my way of thinking you were just rough enough. I can’t figure if I’ve ever felt this used up or if I’ve just forgotten the feeling. You’re sure thorough, Griffin. You sure do good work.”

“Well, anything worth doing.” He levered up to look down at her in the flickering of the fire. “You weren’t rusty, by the way.”

Pleased, languid with it, she touched his cheek. “I forgot to worry about it.”

“I wondered what you’d look like, lying here like this. It’s better, even better, than I imagined.”

“Right this minute, everything’s better than I imagined. That might be due to that long dry spell, but I’m giving you credit for it.”

“I’ll take it. It’s cooling down. You’re going to get cold.”

“I don’t feel cold.”

“Yet. And I haven’t fed you.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “I need to finish off dinner. But first . . .”

He rolled, and as he did, scooped her up. Her heart did a stuttering roll as he just lifted her right up as he stood.