That Reckless Night

“Yeah, well, right back at you. I value a man with a strong work ethic,” she said, placing the glass in the bathroom before shucking her robe and returning to bed. She slid between the covers and made a show of giving him her backside to communicate that she was ready for some shut-eye rather than small talk but it seemed he wasn’t quite ready to sleep. A strong arm hooked itself around the front of her stomach and pulled her against him, his nose nuzzling the back of her neck. Her first reaction was irritation and she let him know it as she flipped around to stare up at him as he positioned himself above her. “Listen, fun times are fun times but I have to work in the morning, so unless you want to find yourself sleeping on my old sofa, I suggest you settle down and keep your paws to yourself. Got it?”

He surprised her with a sexy laugh that set off a trip wire of crazy shivers shaking down her spine and she had to fight to remember that she was ready for sleep. “Going by first impressions, I didn’t take you for such a lightweight,” he teased, moving to caress her neck with the soft touch of his lips traveling across her skin. “A one-and-done kind of woman.”

Lightweight? “I am no lightweight,” she said, indignant. “I could wear you out in a heartbeat and ruin you for other women.”

“Strong words.” His tone was faintly disbelieving, but before she could offer an argument, he took away her ability to remember why she was irritated in the first place. His tongue delved deep in her mouth, tangling with hers, sliding in and out in a practiced move that kindled a fire as surely as a spark ignited dry tinder. Within moments she was gasping against his mouth, lost to the wonder of this beautiful, talented stranger as he coaxed pleasure from her body in ways that she never imagined possible. For the first time, she was the one left gasping and babbling, as every muscle tightened in a wonderful chorus of mind-bending sensations. By the time she crashed back to earth, she was wrung out like a washcloth after a sinkful of dishes.

A satisfied sigh sounded from her left and she smiled at the irony that she may have found her sexual match in a man she was destined to never see again by morning. Ah well, that was life, she supposed. She couldn’t help the welcome drag on her eyelids as every ounce of her strength fled in the warm wake of her extreme sexual satisfaction. She didn’t even protest when he pulled her close, manhandling her in a way that she never allowed, much less enjoyed, but somehow, when done by this man...it was okay. Actually, it was more than okay; it was sublime.

* * *

SLEEP DIDN’T FIND Jeremiah as quickly as it did his gently snoring partner but he wasn’t complaining. There were worse things than to be cuddled up to a beautiful naked woman on a frigid cold night. But his mind was moving in dizzying circles even as his body was heavy with sated pleasure. The tension that continually corded his shoulders and kinked his neck—no matter how many times his chiropractor back in Wyoming had tried to pull it out—was gone, and for that, he was inordinately happy.

However, no matter how sated his body, his mind refused to give up the images he was doing his best to run away from. Maybe he should’ve picked a tropical climate instead of a place where it snowed like it did in Wyoming, only ten times heavier.

Tyler had loved the snow; the kid had been fearless on his snowboard. The memory of his eleven-year-old son shredding the slopes elicited a brief smile that faded almost as quickly as it came. Fearless...maybe that had been the problem.

Maybe if he’d cautioned Tyler to be less fearless, the boy wouldn’t have been crushed beneath his ATV in a rollover that had happened faster than a rattlesnake strike. Maybe. Maybe. God, he hated that word.

Shake it off, Jeremiah. Nothing you say or think is going to bring him back. His own counsel always sounded so pathetic in his head whenever he tried to pull himself from that ledge of depression and grief. It’d been a year since Tyler died. Eight months since his wife had left him. Seven months since he’d been served divorce papers. A lot could happen in a year.

The woman in his arms stirred and curled her arm around his stomach, pulling him closer as she buried her nose against the side of his chest. She fit against him as if she were made to.

He touched her hair lightly, enjoying the texture of the dark strands against the pads of his fingers. He didn’t know how a woman like her wasn’t attached, but for selfish reasons, he was glad. He couldn’t imagine a better person to break the seal on his self-imposed celibacy than a hot stranger who wanted nothing more than a dirty, sweaty good time.

He sighed and allowed his eyelids to slowly shut. He was here in Homer for a fresh start with a new job. Tomorrow, he’d put a clean brush of paint on the old and battered walls of his life.