Zach nodded. “It’s ‘Back in Your Arms Again.’”
“I know.” She hummed a little of it. “I love that song.”
He laughed. “It must be almost as old as you are.”
“Not even close,” she said, laughing along with him.
“But I admit, I grew up on this stuff. I have older brothers. One of them is a big Springsteen fan.”
She shut her eyes, hummed softly with the music, head back, shoulders gently swaying.
He watched her for a few seconds. Then he reached for her hand.
She looked at him.
“Dance with me,” he said softly.
Time, the very universe, narrowed down to this moment. He held his breath until, slowly, she rose to her feet and put her hand in his.
He drew her into his arms. She came to him willingly on a soft, sweet sigh. He drew her close, closer still until her could feel the beat of her heart merge with the beat of his.
He pressed his lips to her hair.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, put her head against his shoulder.
They moved slowly to the music. After a while, it faded. Died. Still, they swayed together as the candlelight painted their silhouettes on the walls.
An eternity went by. Then Zach put his hands into Jaimie’s hair and raised her face to his. He knew he would never forget the smoky blueness of her eyes.
“Jaimie,” he said his voice low and urgent.
“Zacharias,” she whispered back.
And then his mouth was on hers, her lips parted to the stroke of his tongue and, in a heartbeat, the night turned to magic.
CHAPTER SIX
He’d wanted to take her right here.
No time wasted.
Standing, her legs around his hips, him thrusting, thrusting, thrusting deep inside her until she came and then he would let go and find his own release.
He was hard, painfully hard, so ready for claiming her that seconds ago he’d felt as if he might explode.
Now, with Jaimie in his arms, her mouth sweet as honey against his, Zach knew that as much as he needed to be inside her, he wanted more.
Jaimie, in his bed, naked, all of her bared to his eyes, his hands, his mouth, her cloud of golden hair spread over his pillow, her breasts uptilted, the nipples pouting for the sweep of his tongue. He wanted to see her raise her arms to embrace him, wanted to part her thighs and see the feminine heart of her, stroke her with his fingers, taste the essence of her on his lips.
But, God, he ached, he ached…and she was moving against him, her pelvis against his, and if he got any bigger, any harder…
What he had not considered was her own impatience.
“Please,” she said, “Zacharias, please,” and he swept everything aside, bowls, silverware, placemats and napkins sliding away on the wide granite counter as he lifted her onto the edge of it, stripped away her sweats, stroked her, found her hot and wet and, God, ready for him, so ready…
“Jaimie,” he said, and he unzipped his jeans, clasped her hips and drove into her.
She screamed his name.