Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Harper was pretty sure she was going to go up in flames. Her throat went dry and she seemed to have lost the ability to speak and worse yet, to move. Thank God the table was behind her, holding her up because the way Ross was looking at her made her knees useless.
Her pulse kicked up a notch as he stepped closer, his wide shoulders blocking the light. Her grip on the table tightened. She didn't want to meet his penetrating gaze, but found herself doing it anyway.
As soon as their eyes locked, a wave of blatant need rushed through her body. Only an inch or two separated them now, and Harper couldn't deny she wanted that space gone, obliterated, wanted him to press that sexy as sin, hard body against hers.
Finally, he closed the gap. Butterflies erupted in her belly.
One of his hands came to rest on the table by hers, the other slid past her jaw and neck, through her hair and cupped the back of her head.
Intensity poured off him. Her lips tingled.
She couldn't look away. It was like he wanted her to know it was him, like he was giving her the chance to stop this, to speak up. Not that she could.
His gaze flicked to her lips and Harper thought she'd died right then and there. The need in his expression made her shiver.
Then, his mouth descended, a sigh of pleasure escaping her as she parted her lips and felt that first warm brush of his mouth, like a feather, as though it wasn't real, a sultry erotic dream.
A contrast to the hammering of her heart and the flood of blood rushing through her veins, making her feel wanton and so turned on, she was halfway to seeing stars.
He scrambled her senses, his big body dwarfing hers, the torment of his lips playing with hers, never really kissing, just teasing her with his closeness, just content to share breath, to ever so slowly wait and build a fire by anticipation.
Unable to stand it, Harper released the table, grabbed his hips and pulled him close, as close as he could get. His groin pressed against the juncture of her thighs, sending spasms of pleasure through her.
Ross' deep groan told her he'd felt the same. She slid a hand under his shirt, sighing at the hot skin over hard, tensed muscles. "Ross," she whispered against his mouth.
"Harper," he muttered, his control finally snapping as he angled his head and slid his hot tongue into her mouth. Slow and deep and steady.
His hand tightened in her hair, and he kissed her like he was trying to pull her inside of him and consume all she had. Harper's hands were everywhere, trying to do the same damn thing, pull him in, wanting it all, overwhelmed.
He ground his hips against her and she moaned into his mouth, pulling back and gasping for breath, looking him in the eye and unable to think clearly, lost in a heavy sexual haze.
She grabbed the ends of his shirt. He lifted his arms and ducked his head, as she pulled it up and off, tossing it aside.
Greedy, she ran her hands all over his back, over his shoulders, and down over his biceps. Dear Lord. It was better than she remembered. He was so . . . hard, so fit. So male. Her hands went to his flat stomach and she reveled at the feeling.
"Your turn." Ross fisted her shirt and yanked it over her head, then unclasped her bra and bared her the way she'd bared him.
Cool air hit her skin, making her shiver but then his hot hands were on her sides, gliding up, so rough and sure.
He ran his palms over her breasts, kissing her deeply as he did, and Harper's eyes crossed behind closed lids.
He muttered something that sounded like a curse of appreciation, slid his big hands behind her back and crushed his body against her, taking her mouth harder.
The feel of his skin on hers, the way he kissed her, like she was everything, Harper knew she wouldn't stop.
She wanted him. Even if she found the notebook and left, even if he said it was a mistake later, she wanted this now, wanted to feel again.
It had been so long. Tears burned her eyes even as her desire mounted.
She hadn't felt like this since the first time with Ross.
Always, with the other men she'd allowed into her life, it had been muted, somehow missing . . . something.
How often had she, over the years, tried to remember him, to remember the feelings. How often had she thought of him when she was with someone else? To hell with consequences. She wanted him. For twelve years she'd wanted him and damned if she'd deny herself now.
Hand shaking, she found the button to his jeans. His hand clamped over hers and he broke their kiss. Breaths ragged, she knew he was just as overwhelmed as she was. "You started it," she managed to say. "Don't back out now."
He removed her hand and unzipped his pants. "The only thing that could make me stop now is you, Harper." He grabbed the condom from the pocket before she shoved his jeans off his hips.
Ross tucked a finger beneath the waistband of her jeans and gave a sexy tug, his thumb pushing the jean's button through the hole. He paused, his face so determined and beautiful it made her heart give a painful lurch. "No regrets, Harper," he said, unzipping her jeans and kissing her shoulder.
"No regrets."
He dropped down, pulling her jeans over her hips and down to her ankles.
As she stepped out of them, he kissed her bare stomach.
Harper threaded her fingers through his hair as he lifted his head and looked up at her.
Then he slid his big hands up the outsides of her thighs and kissed the skin just above the white bow on the top band of her underwear.
"Might want to hold on to the table, lass" he said in a husky, confident tone, as he pulled down her underwear inch by inch.
Harper grabbed the table as Ross bared her to his mouth.
Pleasure tore through her as he licked and worked her into such a state of lust that she felt drunk, surreal, like nothing else mattered but him and his beautiful tongue, and the rise of hot, silky pleasure that overtook everything, and then making her come harder than she'd ever had in her life.
They definitely hadn't done that the first time.
Ross rose in front of her and kissed her parted lips. He shoved his boxer briefs down and rolled on the condom. "Still with me?" he asked, waiting for her nod before he hooked his hand beneath her knee and brought her leg around his hip.
And then he was pushing into her, sliding in with a slow, sure thrust, seating himself deeply. Her entire body sighed in pleasure. The feeling of him filling her up, connected like this, was more than she remembered and so much more than she'd ever fantasized.
He kissed her, then let out a ragged shaky breath, giving her time to get used to him. His forehead came to rest against hers. "I have to move, lass."
She couldn't speak; she was too overwhelmed by emotion and sensation, so she wrapped her hands around his shoulders, slid them down his back, and then squeezed his perfect ass.
With a groan, Ross lifted her to sit on the table, held her tightly, and moved.
What followed was the hottest sex Harper had ever had. Ross moved like the devil and kissed like an angel. And she could only hang on for the ride, awash in one carnal sensation after another until pleasure built in one powerful, volatile wave that crashed over her so hard she screamed.
And she never screamed. Never had her heart beat that hard. Never had her body shatter like that.
Their breaths came out like they'd just run all the way from Balmorie to the distillery. Their skin was damp. She could feel Ross' heart hammering strong against her breast.
After a minute he lifted his head and leaned back.
This was the moment where embarrassment usually crept in, where she'd suddenly remembered she actually did possess some modesty.
But as she met his unreadable gaze, a smile split her face before she could stop it, and she wanted to laugh like a damn fool.
The lop-sided grin that came over Ross' face made her heart constrict.
Ross gave her a quick kiss and then left her to deal with the condom as Harper wiggled off the table.
"Hold on," he said before she could get down.
He pulled up his boxer briefs and jeans, grabbed her underwear from the table and held them out so she could put her feet in.
"I got it," she said, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh.
Ross left his jeans unbuttoned as he went for his shirt. Harper paused to watch him stroll away. A sigh rose inside her. The man was way too good-looking for his own good.
After she dressed and Ross put on his shirt, he went onto the patio, down the bank to the burn, and splashed water onto his face, rubbing it around to the back of his neck.
The sudden urge to run hit her, but she stayed on the patio, biting her lip hard to make herself stay where she was. She didn't run from things, that wasn't her M.O. She wondered, watching him, if it was still his. Would he run from her again? Not that she expected anything from him this time.
The choice had been hers. She'd gone into it with eyes wide open, and she'd never trade what just happened for anything. No matter if he gave a damn or not. All that back there in the studio was for her. Because, damn it, she deserved to take what she wanted from him and be the one to walk away.
Not that she'd come here for that kind of revenge.
No. It wasn't revenge, she thought, frowning. That hadn't even factored into her decision to be with him.
Ross ran a hand through his hair and straightened, turning toward her and taking her breath away as he strode up the bank with an easy lumber.
His damp hair was mused in a just-out-of-bed kind of way.
His eyes appeared bluer and brighter, framed as they were by wet, spiky eyelashes.
His lips were a shade redder than usual, too.
If he was anything like her, it was probably due to all that blood still flowing around.
Surprised filled her as he walked right up and kissed her, his lips wet and cool and soft. Damned if it didn't make her stomach do somersaults. "Ready to stop screwing around and get back to work?" he asked, his lips spreading into a smile, his voice low and intimate.
"Ha ha."
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and then walked into the studio, leaving her feeling like she'd just been run over by the sexy train.
One that carried way more than just a good time.
Worry, fear, hope, regret, and the stirrings of old, repressed emotions barreled straight through her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Harper bit her lip as she stood there, staring at the open doorway, her blood pressure climbing. She swallowed, unsure of what to do.
But maybe nothing needed to be done. Maybe she could be mature about this. They'd gotten it out of their systems. No need for anything to change. No need to keep revisiting the past and injecting those old feelings onto the present.
Sounded like a plan to her. She could do this.
Deep breath in, refocusing, Harper lifted her chin a notch and headed back into the studio.