"No." His brows steepled. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"
Laughing, she flung her arms behind her head and fell back onto the bed. "And spoil the masculine myth? I wouldn't dream of it."
"Good." He sat on the edge of the bed and smiled down at her. "The point would be moot anyway, because it wasn't long after that night that I really became a man with a girl in my algebra class."
Devon's smile faltered; she averted her eyes. "Women have always been easy conquests for you, haven't they?"
She started to sit up, but Lucky slid his palms against hers and exerted enough pressure to keep the backs of her hands lying supine on the cheap bedspread beneath her.
"All but one, Devon. Nothing with you has been easy."
"Let me up."
"Not yet."
"I want to get up."
"So do I," he whispered hoarsely before covering her lips with his.
Their mouths came together hungrily and clung. He thrust his tongue between her lips, between her teeth, into her mouth. Their fingers interlocked as he moved his body above hers and used his knee to separate hers. He released her hands and drove his up through her loose hair. They held her head still while his mouth gently ate hers. All resistance gone, she closed her arms around his torso, hugging him to her tightly. Her hands ran up and down his back, gripping the firm musculature.
Overhead the fan droned, fanning their bodies, which burned hotter by the second.
From the stable came an occasional snuffling sound made by horses. But the throaty sounds of want and need were all that echoed through their heads.
He tore his mouth from hers and peered deeply into her eyes. "I want you, Devon. Damn, but I want you…"
He kissed her again, ravenously, while he grappled with the buttons on her plain white shirt. When they were undone, he pushed the fabric aside. The front clasp of her bra fell open at a flick of his fingertips. He caressed her. His eyes adored her. His mouth drew in her sweet flesh and sucked it tenderly.
"Lucky," she breathed, half in anguish, half in ecstasy. Her fingers tunneled through his hair and clasped his head to her chest. Her thighs parted. He nestled his middle in her cleft, moved against it, rubbed it.
He kissed her breasts again and again; using his tongue to excite them. When she thought she couldn't be drawn any tighter, any higher, he brushed her nipples with rapid flicking motions of his tongue until they were tingling.
For weeks he had tried convincing himself that he wanted Devon Haines merely because he couldn't have her. He had told himself that his imagination had run rampant and that their one time together hadn't been as unique as his memory had made it out to be. One taste of her, however, had shot that theory all to hell. He wanted her. He wanted her right now, and later today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, forever. He wanted the sight and sound and smell of her, the taste and the textures of her.
He wanted her laughter and her temper.
He'd grown fond of her feminist defensiveness, her clever, analytical mind, and the delightful and annoying little surprises she constantly pulled on him. He wanted everything and all that Devon comprised. As his lips kissed their way down her smooth belly, he unfastened her jeans and worked them past her waist. The open wedge fascinated him and he continued to explore it until he felt the softest hair against his lips.
"Devon," he murmured with longing. "Devon."
Pressing deeper, he parted his lips and kissed her earnestly. There was moisture and heat and need, which he wanted to probe.
"No!" Suddenly she shoved him off, rolled away, and drew herself into a ball. "It's wrong. I can't. I can't."
Lucky stared down at her, gasping for breath, trying to clear his head and make sense of a senseless situation. He saw her tears, but even before then he knew this wasn't some trick. She was suffering spiritual torment and emotional hell, and he couldn't bear it.
"It's okay, Devon," he said with soft gruffness, laying a hand on her shoulder. He made ineffectual attempts to draw her blouse together over her breasts, the tips of which were still rosy and moist from his caresses.
"I'd never want you to do anything that would make you feel bad about yourself or about me. Never."
She turned her head and gazed up at him through eyes shimmering with tears. "I'm married, Lucky." Her voice trembled with desperation. "I'm married."
"I know."
The ancient bed rocked when he flung himself off it and stamped through the door. He paced the length of the stable a couple of times, cursing fate, gnashing his teeth in an effort to cool his passions and his temper. However, when Devon appeared, his temper dissipated. Her despair killed it as nothing else could have. There were still tears in her eyes. Her lips, which were swollen from fervent kissing, made her look like a victim. What did that make him? The culprit?
Yes.