Marly's Choice (Men of August 1)

“Cade.” Her hands rose to his shoulders, then his head, her fingers spearing into his hair. “Kiss me right. Please, Cade.”

“Shush, Marly,” he whispered, licking the small bite sensually. “A little bit at a time, slow and easy, until we find out where we’re going. Okay?” He rubbed his cheek against her upper arm, and Marly wanted to scream out in frustration.

“Just once,” she pleaded desperately. “Please, Cade. Just once.”

Cade cursed harshly, then his lips were covering hers, his tongue driving deep and hard, the kiss so carnal it made her blood pressure skyrocket. Her hands tightened in his hair as his lips slanted over hers. Her body arched against him, her inner flesh melting in a heated plea. And his hands weren’t still. His fingers caressed her waist for just a moment, then cupped the firm weight of one thrusting breast.

“Son of a bitch.” His curse rang through the room as he pulled back quickly.

“No,” she moaned as he pushed back from her, taking his heat and passion, leaving her bereft.

“Easy, baby,” he groaned roughly, holding her hands as she reached for him. “You’re in no shape for kisses, let alone what I could do to that hot little body of yours.”

She watched him drowsily, seeing the flush that mounted his cheekbones, the swollen fullness of his lips. She wanted those lips against hers again, tasting her, taking her.

“Cade—” Love welled inside her, nearly bursting her heart with hope.

“No, Marly.” He laid his fingers against her lips, halting the outpouring of devotion. “Don’t say it, don’t say anything. We have to talk first.”

Marly stared up at him, breathing raggedly, seeing the flare of desire in his eyes, in the way he watched her heatedly.

“Rest for now,” he told her gently, moving away from her as he pulled the light blanket from the back of the couch and laid it over her. “Rest. We’ll talk when you’re better.”

Chapter Fifteen

Cade watched her sleep. He wasn’t getting any work done, the accounts lay forgotten before him on the desk, but he was content to watch Marly. Watch her and ache and worry. And try to find a way out of the damned mess he found himself in.

The touch and taste of her was intoxicating. He should have never kissed her, should have never touched her in the shape she was in. But he had seen her need in her eyes, felt it in her body. The drugs took away her inhibitions and she watched him like she craved the touch, the taste of him.

He leaned back in his seat, his eyes never straying from her pale face, her relaxed body. She had kicked the blanket off her, leaving her clad in the long shirt she had stolen from him at least a year ago. Damn girl wouldn’t sleep in the hundreds of gowns he bought her over the years. She stole his t-shirts, his flannel shirts, and even the damned silk dress shirt to sleep in.

Charcoal gray silk now covered her body, and should have gone to her knees. The shirt could have wrapped around her three times at least it was so big on her, but as she lay there, the silk conformed to ripe breasts, her flat stomach, and rode along her silken thighs. He had covered her twice already, trying to hide the sight of her. He wasn’t getting within touching distance of her again.

He blamed himself for that accident. She was going out with Dillon to get to him, she had admitted that while delirious with concussion. To make him jealous. To make him want her as desperately as she wanted him.

Cade wanted her. His body was so hard and hot for her; he could barely stand the constriction of his jeans. But did he love her the way she needed him to love her? Or had he just gone so long without a woman that he was going crazy for the only one that seemed readily available? Was it love, or lust?

He sighed wearily, dragging his hands through his hair in a gesture of desperation. He couldn’t take her until he knew. Not until he could make sense of the sensations and needs storming his body. She would be going back to school soon. He would have three months to weather the storm inside his body, to figure out what he felt himself, to be certain she knew what she wanted. Three months was a damned long time, but the rest of their lives was even longer. If he took her, he would have to marry her. He had to be certain of her because Cade knew he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

Marly shifted in her sleep, a low moan coming from her lips as her body protested the movement. One arm curled gracefully above her head, emphasizing the full breast thrusting against the material of the silk. Her long, silken curls fell from her head to the floor. Her head was too tender to braid the mass, and it flowed around her, making her appear wanton, inviting. As though she needed the hair to contribute to the overall picture. He was going crazy as it was.

Letting her go was going to be next to impossible. Somehow, someway he was going to have to stay away from her until Sunday. Until she left for school again. If he took her, he would never be able to let her go, and he knew it. And the thought of it terrified him.

She whispered his name in her sleep. Cade swallowed hard as her nipples hardened beneath the silk, a fine sheen of perspiration suddenly coating his skin. Things had changed too damned fast, and he wasn’t comfortable with it. He had hid from his desire for her for two long, lonely years. Pushing it back where he didn’t have to examine it, didn’t have to see it for what it was. The dark, pulsating monster of need that made his flesh harden and ache, made his soul weary and tired.

For years he had feared she would fall in love with one of the pimply-faced little brats she dated. Young men too filled with themselves to care about her, to know how to touch her and to please her. And he knew now that was why he hated every young man that fought to secure a date with her. Hated them. Glowering at them and doing everything he could to frighten them away. Even the ranch hands knew better than to approach Marly. Several had found themselves without a job after trying. He didn’t tolerate it. He wouldn’t tolerate it.

Cade was possessive and brooding, and had fought to assure himself for years that it was because she was so special. He had raised her. Fought battles for her. Tended to her illnesses and her scraped knees, and once even played Santa Claus for her. Just to see her eyes light up, to see the joy that crossed her face. And God, he would die right now to see her expression lost in passion, the awe and wonderment when he brought her to climax. He wanted that so much he could barely stand the need.

He had given her all her firsts in her life since she was twelve. Her first bicycle, her first car, her first prom dress, her first prom. She had been without a date, and he had been unable to stand her tears. She swore she was the envy of every girl there when he danced that first dance with her. He had been as uncomfortable as hell. But he couldn’t stand to see her cry. Now he wanted to be her first. Her first lover, her only lover.

She was watching him. Her eyes slumberous, dark and inviting. She hadn’t changed position; she hadn’t moved a muscle as his gaze roved slowly over her body.

“We’re in trouble, Marly.” He was breathing roughly, on the verge of doing something he knew he would regret.

Her breasts were rising quicker, her breathing accelerating. He could see the excitement in her eyes, in the flush staining her cheeks.

“Am I dreaming?” Her voice was husky, calling him to her in a way he could barely resist.