Savage (Wolf Ranch 4)

And, oh damn, a kiss never felt so good. Because the moment I made contact, Clint took over, kissing me aggressively, plowing his tall, firm body into mine and pressing me against the car. One of his thighs slid between mine, and I rocked my pubis down on it, finding friction for my clit as he slanted his mouth with a searing intensity.

I had no idea how long we made out in my driveway, but I was sure all the snow around us had melted by the heat we were putting off.

“Clint!” The startled cry came out of my mouth when we broke apart, our breathing ragged.

I may have initiated, but hell, I’d surprised myself, and then, he’d surprised me even more with his response.

Damn, did we have chemistry. We might be the definition of chemistry.

But no matter how wet that kiss made my panties, getting involved with Clint would be a major, major complication right now.

And the pregnancy muddled things too much. When I’d decided not to tell him about the baby, it was because I never really expected to see him again. But twice in less than twenty-four hours was proving I’d been stupid. And the kiss? He’d been just as into it as I was. That was a really big problem. Now, not telling him about the baby made me out to be… a total bitch.

But I didn’t want to rush into a new relationship when I hadn’t signed the papers on the old one. Sure, the stupid divorce had been in the works for years, so it wasn’t rushing, but it wasn’t over. The tire proved it. I still had to deal with Todd.

On paper, I was married!

When Clint learned I was pregnant with his child? Well, he seemed like the kind of guy who’d want to “do right by me and the baby” and marry me before I gave birth. Just like with my parents. I’d been an accident and so was the baby I carried. I refused to be an obligation. He wouldn’t want me to have a bastard. He’d probably be all chivalrous and save my reputation or some old-fashioned crap like that. That was what made my parents’ lives miserable.

One thing I knew for sure—I wasn’t rushing into marriage again. And definitely not for the wrong reasons. Not even with a guy as hot and dick-skilled at Clint.

The longer I stood here with my lips tingling from Clint’s kisses and the need to beg for more of them, the worse this was going to get.

“Clint, listen.” I set my hand on his chest. His rock hard, broad chest. Bad move! “I really like you—a lot.”

His brow furrowed, wariness replacing the lust I’d seen there a moment ago.

I rushed on before I could take the words back. Because God only knew, I didn’t want to say them. “We obviously share a mutual attraction.”

He frowned.

“But I’m married.”

Clint reared back as if I’d punched him. “What?”

I glanced around to see if his roar brought out the neighbors. The word sliced through me like a hot wire, leaving me in two pieces—the one piece that desperately wanted to take my words back and the other that knew this was the right thing to do.

I swallowed. “Separated two years ago but still legally married,” I explained because I didn’t want him to think I was a cheater. “I’m not… not an adulterer. I’d have been divorced eighteen months ago if Todd hadn’t blocked all my petitions.”

I looked down at the wet driveway. It almost hurt to see the look on his face now.

“So, you see, I’m not really in a position to enter a relationship or keep kissing you. Whatever you want to label it. It’s just... bad timing for me.”

When he didn’t say anything for a long time, I glanced up. His expression changed to stormy. “Bad timing,” he repeated, taking another step back. His hands clenched into fists then released. Over and over. I didn’t get the impression he was trying not to punch me, but it seemed like he was holding himself back from grabbing me. Holding me close. “Definitely.”

I swallowed the urge to apologize. Sorry wasn’t going to fix this—it just was what it was.

I’d done the right thing. We couldn’t get involved now. My life and world were far too complicated, and Todd was going to continue to ruin everything. I had to wonder if I was divorced now, if Todd had signed, if I wouldn’t push Clint away. If I would tell him about the baby. Too many ifs.

As Clint tipped his cowboy hat at me and walked to his truck, I knew the answer would be yes. I felt the strange urge to cry at the loss of something that never really got started.

That was the hormones talking.

It wasn’t real.

Just like this thing between me and Clint could never be real.