Captured by You (One Night of Passion 1.60)

Sherona gave the older woman a dry glance. “I expect that’s your subtle way of telling me I have flour in my hair or spinach on my face.”

Olive laughed. “Nope. I may be old, but I’m still a woman. I know what a female wants to do before she goes out on a date with a guy who looks like Chance Hathoway.”

“It’s not a date,” Sherona mumbled, turning away so that Olive wouldn’t see her flaming cheeks. She’d known Olive for her entire life. Sure, Olive was an aged hippie, but even with her freethinking ways, she was bound to think Sherona was out of her mind for allowing Chance to do what he was going to be doing up in that meadow in a half hour.

She followed Olive’s advice nonetheless, hurrying to the bathroom and combing her hair until it shone, then slicking on some lip gloss. She hadn’t seen Chance since this morning when they both rose early, Sherona to race to the diner for the breakfast crowd and Chance to go back to the Pierce guesthouse and prepare for his day of photography at the farm and co-op. He’d asked her to call him on his cell phone if she was able to get someone to take her place at the diner that evening in order to finish their photography session.

And to spend his last night together before he leaves Vulture’s Canyon, she reminded herself with a sinking feeling. Several times he’d alluded to the fact that he’d like to pursue the cookbook idea as they’d spent a long, idyllic, erotic night together, but Sherona was purposefully downplaying the likelihood of that happening in her mind. Chance was a man who likely had big dreams and made grand plans all the time. If only a small percentage of them came true for him, he still led a vastly more rich and full life than the majority of people on the planet. She couldn’t put too much stock in his bedroom talk.

She’d just focus on the present. Tonight was all she’d likely ever have again with Chance Hathoway. She was going to appreciate every moment of it to its fullest while she could.

When she walked out into the main room of the diner several minutes later, he was just walking in. He looked windblown, tanned and very sexy after his photo shoot. Sherona paused at the back of the counter, staring at him, recalling hundreds of details from last night, some sweet, some funny, some so smoking hot she felt her body go into a steamy simmer. He did a double take when he saw her and let the door crash into his elbow. The chimes rattled.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he said, wincing.

“Hi, graceful,” she teased, walking around the counter. She approached him with what she hoped was calm aplomb, all of which went straight to hell when he cupped the side of her head and swooped down to kiss her. Hard.

“You two have a nice time!” Olive called, a sparkle in her eyes. “Don’t worry about a thing here at the diner.”

Sherona blinked as Chance took her hand and led her out the door. Chance’s kiss had made her temporarily forget she was at the diner, let alone left room for her to worry about it.

She told herself that she should be less anxious than she’d been yesterday as they drove to the remote forest preserve entrance and hiked through the woods. By the time they finally broke through the canopy of the woods into the green, white and gold meadow, however, she admitted that she was more nervous.

This time, she knew precisely how powerful the experience could be.

The black nylon rope felt more erotic this evening as it wound around her naked limbs, binding her . . . freeing her. Today, he didn’t fasten her wrists together at the front of her body, but at the small of her back. She lay with her belly on the blanket. The position made her feel even more vulnerable than she had yesterday. Chance’s occasional caresses as he tied her up struck her as not only pleasurable, but entirely possessive. Yesterday she would have thought it was impossible, but his face looked even more rigid and focused as he bound her.

“How do you want me?” she asked when he’d finished and she lay on her stomach, her cheek on the blanket.

“Every way conceivable,” she thought she heard him mutter grimly as he stood and walked over to his camera.

“I mean how do you want me positioned.”

“I know,” he said, framing her up. Just the simple action of him studying her through the camera lens sent a jolt of arousal through her sex. It sobered her a little—amazed her—to realize she had such a dirty, flagrantly sexy side to her character buried so deep for so long.

Chance started clicking off photo after photo. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing. Keep looking right at me,” he said, his tense order alerting her to the fact that he’d caught something he considered special.

It was like the camera was some kind of magical instrument, joining them somehow. She studied him through the lens, he chronicled her, and all the while their palpable connection caused things to grow wet and slippery between her thighs. The evening summer sun warmed her naked skin, but on the inside, Sherona heated to a low boil.

Chance straightened after a moment, wiping some sweat off his brow. He came over to her on the blanket. Sherona noticed his obvious erection.

“I want you up on your knees, your shoulders on the blanket,” he said.

He helped her, as it was a little awkward with her hands tied behind her back. By the time he returned to his camera tripod, she was feeling very vulnerable indeed. Her bottom stuck up in the air, her shoulders and cheek pressed against the blanket. The sides of her breasts were fully exposed, the nipples stiffening as they brushed against the soft fabric.

Chance peered at her through the camera, jerked slightly and then fleetin

gly grabbed his swollen cock. A small moan flew past her lips at the erotic sight. The air seemed to tease the wet tissues of her sex, but her thighs were clamped tight from the restraints. She longed to spread her thighs and feel the air licking at her pussy . . .

. . . to feel Chance licking at it. Heat flooded her at the memory of his exceptional talent doing just that.

“You doing okay?” he asked her as he continued to photograph her.

“Yes.”

“You were looking a little uncomfortable there for a second.”

“I was just thinking about something,” she murmured, watching him. She’d been thinking about something that made her uncomfortable, all right: the fact that Chance’s tongue wasn’t laving her tingling, burning clit.