The second thing was lust. His movie! Him on the screen! How much she’d missed him!
She took a step toward the door, her only thought of jumping on him. Ravishing him. Lips and tongues, bodies together. She reached for the buttons on her pajama top, but then she stopped.
No, this was a fantasy. It was being replayed for her, and she wasn’t going to ruin it with reality.
Without taking her eyes from Tate’s beautiful naked body, she stepped back and fumbled for the electric kettle. As she poured boiling water over the loose tea leaves in the silver strainer, quite a bit missed the mug, went onto the granite countertop, and ran down to the tile floor, but she didn’t notice.
She sat down on the stool and studied his body from the toes up. Slowly, taking in every inch of him. But this time, she knew what was to come.
When she got to his face, she looked at his dark eyes under the heavy brows, his lips that she’d grown to know so well. She could remember the feel of his hair when she buried her face in it.
When he got to her door, she drew in her breath. Was he coming inside? But no, he reached out to turn on the water, and his body flexed. Since she’d first seen him, he’d put on more muscle, had trimmed down even more. Casey could feel sweat breaking out on her.
Picking up her mug of tea, she sipped it while she watched him lather himself. He soaped his legs, between them, then moved upward. When he had trouble reaching the entire width of his back, as before, Casey thought of slipping out of her pajamas and joining him.
But she didn’t. She wanted this delicious, divine fantasy to play out for as long as possible.
He reached up to the showerhead on the wall, pulled it down, and sprayed water over his entire gorgeous body. Casey was beginning to smile now. Just thinking of what was coming was making her vibrate. Would the electricity between them be in full force? Make all the hair on her body stand on end?
When he turned off the water and looked around for a towel, Casey’s smile broadened. This time, would he come inside and keep searching? In one of his movies he’d grabbed a woman’s dress and torn it open. Buttons flew everywhere.
Since Casey didn’t want the pajamas her mother had given her torn, she unbuttoned the top. Saves time, she thought practically.
When Tate stepped toward the house as though he meant to enter, her heart seemed to stop. He put his hand on the door handle, and her breath halted. She couldn’t move. But he dropped his hand and went back down the steps, and she let out her breath. And frowned.
No. This isn’t the way it was supposed to go. Tate was to come inside. Didn’t he know she was there? Watching him?
Still nude, he picked up his sweatpants. He was about to put them on when Casey flung the door open and ran. Dropping the pants, he opened his arms to her. When she reached him, he held her to him, the two of them clinging together so closely they were like one person.
For minutes they were content to do nothing but feel. Electricity went through them, a soft hum of what was almost peace.
It was Tate who moved first. His lips came down on hers, at first sweetly, but at the touch, the charge that went through them ignited. His kiss became deeper.
Casey’s top was already unbuttoned, so her breasts were against the bare skin of his chest.
He backed her against a tree, and as much as she wanted him there and then, she
was aware of where they were. She managed to get out one word. “Emmie.”
It didn’t take more than that to remind Tate that his niece had a way of appearing where she wasn’t expected.
To Casey’s delight, Tate swept her into his arms and carried her up the steps to her house. With what she knew was a rehearsed gesture—it was in movie number two—he opened the door and carried her inside.
He set her down in the living room. She could see that he was ready for her, but before she could touch him, he had her against the wall, the pajama bottoms off, and entered her quickly.
Passion. That feeling of being desired, wanted, needed by a beautiful man was as glorious as the actual sex.
It was as though Tate would die if he didn’t have her—and she felt the same way.
She put her head back against the wall, her throat exposed to his lips, as his strokes became harder and more urgent.
When they at last came together, it was a release, but it was also a relief that their separation was over. Anger, misunderstanding, lack of trust, went away. Withholding of secrets and deeper feelings were released.
They clung together, skin to skin. Casey’s legs were wrapped around Tate’s waist, locking him to her, and his arms held her just as tightly.
When he fell out of her, she felt his smile against her neck. He didn’t say anything but carried her up the stairs to her bed.
For a moment he looked down at her in her open nursery pajama top.