"Stella. "
He didn't know what he might have said, the words were jumbled in his brain and tangled with so much feeling he couldn't translate them.
But she smiled, slow and sultry as her eyes. "Why don't I help you with that?"
She flipped open the button of his jeans, yanked down the zipper. Her hand closed over him, a velvet vise. His body was hard as steel, and his mind and heart powerless.
She arched up to him, her lips skimmed over his bare chest, teeth scoring a hot little line that was a whisper away from pain.
Then she was over him, destroying him. Surrounding him.
She heard birdsong and breeze, smelled grass and damp flesh. And heliotrope that wafted on the air from the pot she'd watered. She felt his muscles, taut ropes, the broad plane of his shoulders, the surprisingly soft waves of his hair.
And she saw, as she looked down, that he was lost in her.
Throwing her head back, she rode, until she was lost as well.
* * *
She lay sprawled over him, damp and naked and muzzy-headed. Part of her brain registered that his arms were clamped around her as if they were two survivors of a shipwreck.
She turned her head to rest it on his chest. Maybe they'd wrecked each other. She'd just made wild love with a man in broad daylight, outside in the yard.
"This is insane," she murmured, but couldn't quite convince herself to move. "What if someone had come by?"
"People come by without an invitation have to take potluck. "
There was a lazy drawl to his voice in direct opposition to his grip on her. She lifted her head to study. His eyes were closed. "So this is potluck?"
The corners of his mouth turned up a little. "Seems to me this pot was plenty lucky. "
"I feel sixteen. Hell, I never did anything like this when I was sixteen. I need my sanity. I need my clothes. "
"Hold on. " He nudged her aside, then rose.
Obviously, she thought, it doesn't bother him to walk around outside naked as a deer. "I came here to talk to you, Logan. Seriously. "
"You came here to kick my ass," he corrected. "Seriously. You were doing a pretty good job of it. "
"I hadn't finished. " She turned slightly, reached out for her hairband. "But I will, as soon as I'm dressed and - "
She screamed, the way a woman screams when she's being murdered with a kitchen knife.
Then she g
urgled, as the water he'd drenched her with from the hose ran into her astonished mouth.
"Figured we could both use some cooling off. "
It simply wasn't in her, even under the circumstances, to run bare-assed over the grass. Instead, she curled herself up, knees to breast, arms around knees, and cursed him with vehemence and creativity.
He laughed until he thought his ribs would crack. "Where'd a nice girl like you learn words like that? How am I supposed to kiss that kind of mouth?"
She seared him with a look even when he held the hose over his own head and took an impromptu shower. "Feels pretty good. Want a beer?"
"No, I don't want a beer. I certainly don't want a damn beer. I want a damn towel. You insane idiot, now my clothes are wet. "
"We'll toss 'em into the dryer. " He dropped the hose, scooped them up. "Come on inside, I'll get you a towel. "