Chapter Fifteen
The kiss went from comfort to fire between heartbeats. Ayana’s lips parted, and she leaned into him, spearing her fingers through his hair and tugging him close even as she leaned over the Jeep’s console.
Her sigh encouraged him, to explore her mouth, her sexy collarbone that had been tempting him when the shawl she’d worn in the arena would slip down low on her back, exposing her off-the-shoulder lacy T-shirt with the little buttons and poufy sleeves.
Her clothes teased and revealed even as they covered.
Visually, she was a distractingly sexy feast, but her spirit was what reached out and grabbed him by the throat—punched into his chest and planted something he’d never thought possible.
Connection.
She could wrap him around her body, her heart, her soul, and he would feel part of something again—but more of a side-by-side walk and run through life rather than following.
She’s only yours for a year.
If that. The thought jarred him, and denial rose fast and hard. He held her tighter, burying his face into the hollow of her shoulder and inhaling her intoxicating scent.
“I want you,” he said. He bit back the word forever before it exited his mouth. “I want you now.”
“Yes,” she said, her lips teasing his, “although I’m not sure we want to test our nimble acrobatic skills at the end of your family’s driveway. Never know when a sheriff’s deputy will be cruising by.” She laughed, a little edgily.
But he was getting a double message because her hands had already unzipped his chore jacket—ridiculous name as he hadn’t done any ranch chores since he was eight—and untucked his T-shirt.
She kissed the hollow of this throat, then down his sternum.
“I want to see what’s mine.”
Her words and touch lit a challenge in him.
Did their marriage have to have a time limit?
Could he make her want to stay with him?
He looked into her eyes that were luminous in the muted moonlight.
He was an expert in negotiating deals, getting what he wanted.
Wouldn’t making their marriage be one more negotiation? One more deal to close?
There was so much he wanted to learn about her, but perhaps his best chance would be to persuade with his body, which would have more power than his stilted words. He cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb under her jaw.
“Thank you for taking this unexpected journey with me. And if we chose to take our partnership to a physical level …”
“Have sex.” Ayana nipped his thumb and smiled cheekily.
“Sex,” he repeated, relaxing some, “was not part of the contract. I hoped, but, whoa—” He cut off as she cupped him through his new jeans.
“That feels a lot more than just hope, Telford. We’re both adults. I wanted to get your clothes off over our first lunch that you didn’t want to have with me.”
“That was the champagne talking.” He pushed back.
He knew he was physically attractive. But he didn’t have Cam’s easy personality or banter. His money too was likely the bigger draw than he was.
But Ayana didn’t seem to find his lack of charisma off-putting. She was honest. Upfront about her goals and needs, but she also seemed invested in his work and goals to create a legacy for his friend. She’d asked insightful questions, taken notes, probed him to share his ideas and feelings.
She would often join him in the suite while he worked, quietly knitting or crocheting or working on her online shop and website. But she also didn’t let him get lost in his work—urging him to join her at the gym or a walk or grabbing a coffee.
“I invited you to lunch before the champagne,” she reminded him. “You intrigued me. I was up for an adventure, and I felt like you were holding everything back. You have so much in here …” She kissed his forehead. “And you hide so much in here …” She touched his chest.
“And while the idea of marriage was”—she made a face, and an expression he couldn’t describe chased across her features before she shrugged—“not in my plans ever, but my curiosity got the better of me.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to get married?” He imagined she’d get hit on daily.
Who could resist her?
She looked down at her now folded hands on his thigh, and he wondered if he’d ruined the moment. Of course he had. He should drive back to the hotel. He shifted into drive.
She covered his hand on the gear shift.
“I know you are curious about your family and ready to explore your past. I want that for you, Telford. I want to help. But I don’t want to ever look back at where I escaped from. I want to only live in the present.”
Escaped. The word upset him. Raised his protective instincts.
“And the future?” He forced himself to ask.
“We have now, Telford.” She lifted her hands to his cheek. “That’s enough. The future’s never promised.”
He looked at her—the tousled, shaggy pixie cut, the wide set almond eyes, high cheekbones, heart-shaped face, with a generous, quick-to-smile mouth above a pointed chin, slim, almost androgynous body and colorful, multi-textured clothing. All of it said free spirit.
And yet.
She was as alone as he was. Independent. Cautious in a different way than he was.
He took her hands in his, willed his body to settle.
Sex had always been easy. A physical pleasure and release.
But with other women, he was always ready to leave.
Close the door, go home and shower. Be alone again.
It wouldn’t be like that with her. But more importantly, he didn’t want it to be.
She was special. And he intended to show her.
*
The pub was fairly full when they arrived back at the Graff, and Telford—holding Ayana’s hand—quickly crossed the lobby.
Anticipation bubbled in her blood, even as a small voice warned her that she should go slow—that intimacy with Telford wouldn’t just be an impulsive fun dive into pleasure, easily forgotten when the sun rose.
They were married. Sex was bound to change things between them.
But Ayana, was tired of playing it safe and looking over her shoulder—even as she did an automatic scan of the lobby.
She saw him tucked back in the shadows—a slim man, dark Wranglers, long-sleeve tee and barn jacket and dark hat.
Her feet slowed, and she stumbled. Was that …
Telford steadied her, already pulling his key out of his pocket as they headed toward the wide staircase.
“Second thoughts?”
“No.” She was being paranoid.
She’d only seen Telford’s biological father that one afternoon for a few minutes. She wasn’t going to let him or the thought of him ruin their night.
But guilt niggled. They hadn’t warned Cash or any of the others that he said he’d come for the wedding?
Drama much?
For all she knew he’d been invited to the wedding. She was just jumpy.
“Not a one.” She ran up the stairs, breathless when they reached the top floor, laughing a bit.
He unlocked the door, and she kicked off her boots, peeled off her skirt and shucked her silky T-shirt and cashmere sweater off with her crocheted vest before he’d closed the door.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, staring at her like she was something sacred.
She reached out her hand to his to lead him into the bedroom.
“Show me.”
He paused them before the bed, turning her so that they faced the antique mirror.
“Ever since we spoke, and I saw the beautiful long line of your back and your bottom in the mirror, I’ve been fantasizing about watching me touching you.”
Her breath snagged in her throat.
“You have such an elegance in your body. Delicate, beautifully made, and yet you have power, strength, grace.” As he spoke his nimble fingers stroked down her spine.
She shivered in pleasure. Heat bloomed down low, hidden by her lacy navy panties. He nudged her matching tank up and spread his hand over her taut abdomen.
“Such a generosity of spirit,” he murmured. His voice tickled her ear; its low register poured into her ears like honey. “You radiate kindness. Sweet as honey. I wonder what you taste like.”
His whisper was wicked temptation, and his fingers matched his words, dipping below the waistband of her panties. He parted her silky folds and stroked softly.
“I wondered if your stunning eyes would deepen in color to amber if I touched you here.” His finger stroked, circled her stiff little nub that slickened and quivered with the attention.
“You have a light in you, a beacon that shines and guides others, and I don’t ever want anyone to ever try to steal your light, dim it. I want you to shine.”
It was such an unearthly experience to hear the things he said to her—Ayana who had tried to leave everything behind except her first name because she felt the meaning behind the name was the only thing that fit her, that belonged to her, gave meaning to who she was.
And the truth that was stamped so deeply in his voice was as seductive as his touch.
The little moan that escaped embarrassed her. It felt so vulnerable. She’d been with a few men before, but never like this. Never with words that were deeper than the physical words of sex.
His rhythm increased, the pressure deepened, and yet his touch was gentle. With one finger he slipped the strap of her tank down and exposed one breast.
“So beautifully made. Exquisite. You could make me believe in God, Ayana. That there is good and a plan under all the scheming and chaos of the world.”
He cupped her breast so gently like it was special, when she had heard repeatedly that she was too small, too boyish.
He kissed her shoulder, his lips trailing up her neck.
His tongue drew soft circles along her jaw just as his finger drew over her clit.
Her breath was loud in the quiet of the room, and her lips parted, eyes glittered.
She looked like a stranger. Passionate, undone, exposed as he palmed her panties over her hips where they pooled at her feet.
“Glorious,” he murmured. “Like a flame. Your beauty and purity of soul are scorching.”