Close Enough to Touch (Jackson Hole 1)

“Yeah.”

“I’m not usually. Maybe you inspired me. Should I apologize?”

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes as dark and unreadable as they’d ever been. “Do you think you should?”

Did he? He studied her. Her face was still pale. Her hair still wild. And her dark eyes watched him as if she’d never trusted anyone. But her cheeks and mouth were the prettiest pink he’d ever seen.

Cole turned, easing her down to lie on her side, facing him. He dipped his head to kiss her, and for a moment she seemed startled and pulled away. He met her gaze, then tried again, moving slower, and this time, she held still as he pressed a kiss to those pink lips. After a few moments, he felt her body relax against him and her mouth offered a kiss of its own.

He trailed his finger along her jaw. “I don’t want to apologize. Because I liked it and I think you did, too. Should I take that back?”

Her eyes slid away. When she moved, he thought she was getting up. It’d been intense, yes, but maybe he’d offended her. He’d gotten caught up in the scalding heat of the moment, and he hadn’t thought about what it might mean to her. To have a man she barely knew take her as if he’d die if he didn’t get deep enough.

Shit. But that’s exactly what it had felt like. He should’ve—

She shifted one last time, and then stopped moving. She faced away from him now, but she was still lying down, still pressed to his body. Her ass snug against his hips. Her back to his chest. God, he wished they were naked.

“No,” she said to the space in front of her. “I don’t want you to apologize.”

Cole let out the breath he’d been holding, exhaling as slowly as possible so she wouldn’t be aware.

“I was just surprised,” she added.

“Me, too.”

She turned her head enough to shoot him an inscrutable look, then settled back down with her head on her arm. He wanted to curl his own arm under her and pull her tighter against him, but he had the feeling she might bolt if he did that. She’d barely let herself be kissed, which struck him as odd. After all, she’d just come twice for him.

Shit.

Twice.

But regardless of her prickly nature, Cole needed to touch her, so he put his hand to her waist, his fingers resting against the stark black lines of her tattoo. “When did you get this?”

“The tat? A few years ago.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

She shrugged. “What’s to tell? It’s a tree.”

“A dead tree?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s bare for the winter.”

“Come on. You must know. Tell me what it means.”

Her laugh was just a humorless huff of impatience. “It means I dated a tattoo artist when I was twenty-three. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you. If that’s all it was, you’d have a Celtic cross on your shoulder or a unicorn on your ass.”

That got a real laugh out of her, at least. He didn’t realize she’d gone stiff against him until she relaxed. “So you checked for unicorns when you were back there?”

“I did. That’s one more horn than I’m comfortable with in these situations.” He could practically feel her smile.

“You’re funny, you know that? You have any tattoos? Maybe a lucky horseshoe or a spur?”

“A heart with ‘Ma’ written in elaborate script?”

“Something like that.”