"Sara's a plastic surgeon like Dad. Bree's a newscaster, a weather girl working her way up. Celia's a fashion consultant." Perfect people with perfect lives. No messy divorces or failed relationships. "They're all married with kids. Real superwomen."
"So's their sister." His fingers continued their never-ending trek up and down her spine.
"Hmmm. Keep doing that." His hands offered a great distraction from disagreeing with his assumption. No need to argue with him, anyway, as it would sound like she was angling for compliments.
Already Tanner had said words she would have once given anything to hear from Andrew. Sure, she'd become accustomed to the fact that she just didn't click with the rest of her family. But she'd expected better in the way of acceptance from Andrew. He should have understood she felt the calling to serve her country as strongly as he did.
Worse yet, he'd doubted her. Her sisters might be able to manage it all, but Andrew hadn't had faith in her ability to do the same. Somewhere along the line, she'd begun to doubt herself. Too bad marriage didn't come with a nice safe treehouse to hide out in when things went bad.
Kathleen let herself accept the comfort of Tanner's arms for a full minute, then shut off the past.
She shifted to safer and more pressing matters. Food. "Enough about me. I'm starved. Let's scout around for someplace that's open and get something to eat. There's a Quick-Mart not far past the main gate. Maybe if we get there before midnight, we can find something edible."
"Microwavable sandwiches and supersize sodas while we talk shop. Hmmm. Not much of a first date, but I'll make it up to you later. What do you like, Italian? Greek? I know this great seafood place back in Charleston, right on the water, great view. You pick."
Date? Is that what they were doing now, and later back home? Dating? He sounded genuine, not like some cornered guy spouting what he thought she wanted to hear just because they'd had sex.
She didn't regret what they'd done together, and she wasn't one to delude herself into believing good sex equaled a relationship. However, while he might not be Mr. Commitment, she should have remembered he wasn't the one-night-stand type, either.
He was a good man, so passionate, an incredibly generous lover and she was…
Scared.
What did she want in the morning? Once they returned to their rooms with those microwavable "date" sandwiches? She honestly didn't know, except that she wasn't ready to discuss any of the options yet.>Slanting his mouth over hers he tasted apples, cider, cinnamon—warm honeyed flavors he would never be able to sample again without thinking of her. And he wanted more than a sample now.
Apparently, so did she.
Her tongue tangling, twining with his, she scooted closer. Her hip nudged insistent pressure against him, hot friction that left his jeans uncomfortably tight.
Too much. Too soon.
Grasping her hips, he stilled her restless movements, only to find the feel of her beneath his hands stirred him all the more. How could one woman be so toned and soft all at the same time?
Just like Kathleen. Tough and curiously vulnerable.
His hand tucked under her shirt and found more of that velvety softness as he stroked the small of her back. Kathleen's breathy moan filled his mouth just as she filled his arms, warm, difficult to capture but so incredible when he did.
Suddenly the enclosed airplane became a torture chamber as he yearned to see more of her. Two of her buttons later, his mouth explored her fragile collarbone and discovered those freckles he'd wondered about. A light dusting, but every one begged to be tasted, followed until he reached the gentle curve of her breasts.
Air whispered across his chest, and he couldn't even remember when she'd unbuttoned his shirt. Not that he cared as long as she kept touching him.
And, man, was she touching him. A pleasure he fully intended to reciprocate. Trailing a finger along the waistband of her pants, he gauged her reaction, not wanting to rush her, needing to make this as un-freakin'-believable for her as it was for him.
Her fingers vise-gripped his wrist. She stared straight into eyes. "No more playing around, hotshot."
She urged his hand inside her waistband as she nipped his bottom lip. She kicked her shoes free, each one thudding to the floor.
The lady didn't have to tell him twice.
His hand dipped inside, cupping the warm curve of her bottom, edging aside the stretchy fabric of her pants. With an extra tug from Kathleen, her pants and underwear slipped, rolled, peeled down her legs and off.
Swinging a leg over, she straddled his hips, a bare knee on either side searing through his jeans. For twelve years he'd wanted her, had imagined this moment more than once, yet he'd never even come close to the reality.
His eyes feasted on her, as greedy as his hands. Wild red hair tangled around her face. A lone strand fluttered to rest on her full, damp lips. The vee of her shirt plunged low, white cotton pooling around the tops of her thighs.
Her deft hands popped free the button fly on his jeans. The temperature in the cabin rose at least ten degrees.
Nudging aside his boxers, she clasped him in her soft hand, flicked her thumb over him. His eyes slid closed as his head thudded back against the seat. He inhaled, blinked, scavenged for control as he captured her wrist. "Slow down, hon. No rush on this."