Emergency Attraction (Love Emergency 3)

“If you keep doing that, it’s going to be me shooting six days’ worth of pent-up longing all over your spectacular ass.” And with that threat hanging in the air, he closed his eyes and mentally recited the oath of enlistment, taking that crucial five seconds to get himself under control. “Your suggestion would qualify as a first for me in this room, but no, that wasn’t what I had in mind.” Just to punish her a little for being such a stickler on this “first” business, he tacked on, “But if you want it to be…?”

“Uh, sure. I can’t get enough of that action.” She dropped her head back down to her wrists and with manufactured nonchalance that fell far short of the mark said, “Go for it.”

Yeah, right. No lube. No prep. Just go for it. Little miss voice-of-experience didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. He flexed his hips a millimeter, and when every muscle in her body braced, he worked his cock down those tight cheeks, bypassing the uninitiated territory her pride had offered up without consulting her common sense, and continued to his original destination. She trembled when he slid his head around her soft, slick folds—giving her enough to tease her clit and then pulling back almost all the way to the place she claimed couldn’t get enough attention. “You’ve never had it before, have you?”

“Umm…” She rocked her hips up, back, side to side, keeping up with his roaming cock. “Not in this room, no.”

“Not ever.”

“Okay, no.” Frustration got the better of her. “But I’m dying here. It’s been six days for me, too, Shane. Whatever you’re going to do, you need to do it.”

“I appreciate the option, but…”—he sank into her softness—“you’ve got your favorite toy, and I’ve got mine. This is what I’ve been dreaming about for the last six days.”

She moaned her gratitude, and her internal muscles quickened around him in a flurry of welcome. He clamped his hands on her hips and started to move in slow, controlled strokes.

“Well, the offer stands, just so you kno…ooh…oh,” she gasped as he drove deep, letting her have every inch.

“Tell you what, Sinclair, when I take that particular virginity, I’ll do it just as carefully as I took the other. I’ll lay you down on a blanket under our tree. I’ll use my mouth first, and then my fingers, to get you primed, and ready. Once you’re there, I’ll sit you on my lap and let you take me in—as much as you can, as slowly as you need to. When you’re squirming around, when you can’t keep still, can’t think beyond finding some relief for yourself, I’ll put you on your knees, just like this.” He braced an arm by her elbow, skimmed his other hand down to cover her quivering sex, and increased the pace and force of his thrusts. “And give it to you good, just like this.” His hand became her backstop. She grinded against it every time he slammed into her. The breathless sounds she made when she was about to come punctuated each slap of their bodies. “I won’t stop until you press your face into the blanket and come so hard you cry tears of joy.”

She arched up, and her body went stiff an instant before her broken sob assured him he’d gotten her there. That’s all it took to send him over. The bedroom, the house, hell, the entire world receded to just one thing—him, moving inside her like lightning and then coming in a long, violent rush so profound he felt like he surrendered everything inside him. Body, and soul.

This was his. Not the town, or the house, but the woman. He loved her. Maybe he’d never really stopped loving her and he’d just allowed himself believe letting her go had been the right thing to do. This time around he wasn’t letting go. Nobody, including Ricky Pinkerton, could tell him he didn’t belong.

Chapter Fifteen

Sinclair took a sip of wine and glanced around Beau and Savannah’s apartment, well aware her sister was giving her the eye from across the table. Hoping to maintain control of the conversation, she pointed to the wall behind Savannah and said, “I love that painting you picked up on your honeymoon.” The small watercolor from Bora Bora fit in well with the eclectic mix of art in her sibling’s large and uniquely varied collection.

Savannah didn’t even bother glancing behind her. She nudged her dinner plate away, rested her elbows on the table, and propped her chin across her linked fingers.

The blown-glass pendant lights suspended overhead showered gold highlights in her blond curls and made her look like a younger version of their mother.

“Well, that about covers all your topics, right? We’ve talked about how the baby’s coming along, how your trade show went, and what you have lined up for the jewelry expo next week in New York. You’re up-to-date on Beau’s schedule—he’s sorry he’s missing tonight, by the way—”

“Me, too.” Something told her she was about to be really sorry, because Savannah shared more with their mother than looks. She would only be put off for so long. Sinclair had held her sister’s curiosity at bay for almost a month, thanks to her ability to dodge phone calls and keep her texts short and baby-focused.

“Now it’s my turn. For my topic, I choose you and Shane. You decided to give things a second chance, and it’s going well.”

“Um…is that a question?”

“Not really. Your face tells me as much.”

“What’s up with my face?”

Savannah laughed. “Have you seen yourself lately? Nobody glows like you unless they’re getting it good. I don’t care how well the trade show went.”

At one point in her life, she’d managed to keep a big secret for a pretty long time. When had she become such an open book? Seeking to stall, she got up and cleared their plates. “I can’t discuss this withou

t pie.”

Savannah pushed back from the table and stood, smoothing the flannel shirt she’d obviously stolen from Beau over her stomach and unconsciously giving Sinclair a glimpse of baby bump. “I’ll supply the pie.” She walked to the small, galley-style kitchen. “You supply the details.”

“There’s really not much to tell,” she demurred and put the dishes in the sink, while Savannah cut generous slices from a home-baked Dutch apple pie. She handed one to Sinclair, took one for herself, and led them back to the table.

“Your perma-smile says different.” She settled herself in her chair and waited until Sinclair did the same. “Soooo, what’s the deal?”

Sinclair raised a forkful of pie to her lips. “We’re taking a second chance. So far, so good.” There was really nothing else to add, so she took a bite of the warm, lattice-crusted treat. Savannah’s Dutch apple was her favorite.

“He’s staying in Magnolia Grove?”