When the vendors started packing up their wares for the evening, Zach guided Dusty out to the parking lot to the Jaguar. They drove to her hotel, laughing together. When he walked her to her room, they stood for an awkward moment. Dusty thanked him for the dinner and the spurs, and they made plans to meet in the morning to work with Diablo.
“But don’t get your hopes up, darlin’,” Zach said, winking at her. “I still ain’t gonna let you ride him.”
Dusty stomped her foot perilously close to Zach’s expensively shod toe. Clearly, he’d hit a nerve. Again.
“I told you, I’m not your darling. And why do you say ain’t all the time? You went to Harvard, for God’s sake!”
Zach arched his eyebrows and grinned. “Now you sound like my mama. I’ve been talkin’ this way my whole life, and I ain’t gonna stop now, darlin’.”
Dusty exhaled sharply as she fished in her purse, presumably for her key card. She looked up at Zach. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t go yet.” His heart slammed against his sternum as he placed his palms on the wall, trapping her. “There’s something I need to do first.”
“What?”
Her chocolate eyes widened, and he swore he could see her soul.
“This.”
He crushed his lips down on hers.
Chapter Three
Infuriating. Sexist Pig. Idiot genius who didn’t care about proper English usage.
But oh, could the man kiss.
From the first second, refusing wasn’t an option. The unimaginable sensation of his mouth pressed to hers overrode the rational part of Dusty’s brain. His lips were warm, unexpectedly soft, and laced with the robust boldness of his after-dinner Irish coffee. The bewitching friction as he nibbled at her mouth enticed her lips to open.
And then—magic. The woodsy spiciness of the coffee, the tangy storm of the Irish whiskey, and something else…something unique and indescribable. Zach. His tongue danced around hers, and her legs trembled beneath her. As if on cue, he wrapped one strong arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Every cell in her body screamed at her to drive into him, to deepen the kiss, but she was frightened. She barely knew him. So she began to pull away.
His strength defeated hers. “Kiss me back, darlin’,” he whispered against her chin. “Please.”
The please did it. Somehow, she knew instinctively that Zach McCray didn’t utter that word very often, if at all. Weak-kneed and aroused, she thrust her tongue into the moist warmth of his mouth, and she was lost.
She’d done her share of kissing in the past, but never had she felt such an adventurous surge of need and desire. The frantic necking in parked cars, the careless good night kisses, the lazy exploration—nothing compared to this urgency, this demand. As their tongues tangled together, she moved her hands upward, framing his face. She toyed with the roughness of his night beard, the sleekness of his jawline. Part of her was barely cognizant of him cupping her cheeks, his thumbs caressing her, yet another part was hyper-aware of his touch, his mastery of her.
When the frenzy between them slackened slightly, he removed his lips from hers and trailed them across her cheek, down her neck, and to her ear, tracing it with his tongue, nipping the soft lobe. She kissed his neck and inhaled his scent. Cloves. And pine. The outdoors. Heavenly. Faint moans met her ears, and she realized they were coming from her throat.
“Dusty.” Zach’s voice was husky, smoke-filled.
She moaned again as his mouth found hers. Unrestrained desire took her over, and she thrust her hips against him, feeling the strength of his arousal. She imagined him inside her, filling her, pleasuring her with that gorgeous body. She had never wanted a man like this. She wanted him naked, on top of her, doing things no man had ever done to her.
She let out a disappointed rasp as he broke the kiss and headed for her ear again.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Let’s go inside.”
“Oh yes, yes.” Dusty tunneled her fingers through his silky hair, leading him back to her mouth.
He pushed his tongue into her again and retreated. “Now, darlin’. Or I take you right here.”
“Yes, yes.” Then, “Oh! I mean no. No!” She placed her palms on his chest—oh, how she wanted him to lose the shirt—and pushed.
“What’s the matter?” He fingered a stray curl that had come loose from her braid.
“I…that is, you…can’t come in.”
“Please.”