Lover Beware 03 - After Midnight

contact fleeting and unexpected, and totally unfair. Her eyes closed, and her palms flattened on his chest. She could feel the hard points of his nipples, the rapid slam of his heart, and the faint panicked urge to push him away dissolved as every bone in her body turned to jelly. He felt hot and muscular and wet, and God help her, After Midnight
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    she wanted him. "There's nothing wrong with my clothes."
    She caught the flash of his grin. "Just that you're wearing too many."
    His lips brushed hers again, unexpectedly soft and gentle, when everything else about him seemed hard as nails—tough and uncompromising. She drew in a shivering breath, tasted Rider, then his tongue filled her mouth, hot and unutterably male and every nerve ending in her body melted.
    After the emptiness of the past years, the antiseptic smells of medication and hospitals—the curious stillness of waiting for death—he tasted like fire and heat and rain, as earthy and powerful as the rugged hill country that enfolded Tayler's Creek.
    His hand settled in the small of her back, urging her closer, until her breasts were pressed against his chest, the contact hot, electrifying. He was wet, his T-shirt soaked, his skin burning through the dampness.
    He broke off the kiss as he peeled off his soaked shirt, then his hands clasped her waist and shifted upward, sliding her shirt and the cotton singlet up in one smooth, slick sweep.
    When he didn't find a bra, his hands curved around and gripped her breasts, holding them firmly, his thumbs stroking over her erect nipples, making her shudder as he leaned forward and captured her mouth again.
    Heat rolled through Jane as she wound her fingers in his wet hair and held on, drinking in his taste and scent, the heady feel of his skin against hers. Her breasts were swollen and tight, her lower belly throbbing, and rain and moisture filled the air, making even the simple act of breathing difficult.
    He bent and took one breast in his mouth. One hand cupped and gripped her bottom, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and abruptly liquid heat spasmed through her so that she shuddered and arched, her mind blanked out by the exquisite rill of pleasure.
    Vaguely, she logged the short, sharp word he said, but her mind was still swimming, caught up in a curious stasis where light and sound faded. She had the dizzying sense of movement, felt the cool sharp shock of wet grass against her back.
    She registered the rough slide of her shorts and panties being drawn down her legs, the abrasion of denim as he slid down his jeans and between her thighs, and vulnerability assailed her 220
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    even as she tilted her hips in automatic reflex, the slight movement opening her fully to him.
    She felt the stroke of his fingers, the bolt of pleasure from even that simple touch, then he shifted upward, making a low sound of satisfaction as he completed the job of stripping her shirt and singlet from her torso. The blunt shape of his naked sex lodging between her tender folds tipped her over some invisible edge, and she arched, straining against the pressure, the hot, ridged muscles of his belly. Her fingers sank into the heavy muscles of his back. He jerked beneath her touch, then his mouth came down on hers and he shoved deep. For an endless moment she clung to him, her body quivering at the hot shock of penetration.
    He said something low and indistinct, then withdrew and slid home again, forging deeper, the pressure relentless as del-icate inner muscles stretched taut.
    He groaned low in his throat, his gaze locked on hers.
    "How long?"
    She didn't pretend to misunderstand. The second she'd realized that she was attracted to Rider, she'd been incapable of making love with her husband. Whenever Patrick had touched her, she had frozen. Patrick's cancer had been both a hell and a saving grace in that respect. It had kept her tied to him when honour demanded she give him the honesty and respect of the truth—and a divorce—but it had also meant separate rooms.
    She briefly closed her eyes. "Seven years."
    He went still and suddenly the unreality of lying naked and entwined with Rider on the wet ground in the middle of a cyclone hit her. He was large enough that he took the brunt of the wind, and protected her from most of the rain, but they were both soaked. Rider's shoulders glistened in the faint glow from the kitchen, water trailed from his hair and dripped from his nose, but wet or not, where his skin touched