Seducing Savannah (Southern Scandals 1)

ade was part groan, part jubilant laugh. “I don’t intend to waste a minute,” he assured her, and lifted her against his chest to crush her mouth beneath his.

Savannah felt Kit tremble when he reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. She was trembling, too.

Her dress parted, exposing her back to the cool night air. A moment later, it pooled around her feet, leaving her wearing only a lacy red bra and tiny, matching panties with her high-heeled black sandals. She felt a blush rise on her cheeks.

This was a man who’d once considered marriage to a professional model, she remembered unwillingly. Savannah didn’t have the skinny, willowy figure she saw on fashion runways. Her curves were fuller, more mature. She was a thirty-year-old woman who had borne twins, and wore a few thin, white stretch marks as evidence. She wasn’t ashamed of those marks—how could she be when they were physical reminders of the children she loved so very much?—but she was aware of them, particularly now.

Kit looked at her for a long time. “You’re so very beautiful,” he murmured. “In sunlight, or moonlight, or candlelight—you’re exquisite.”

That carping little voice of reason inside her reminded her that he was a writer. Pretty words were the tools of his trade. It would be incredibly foolish of her to take him seriously.

Well, tonight she wanted to be foolish.

“Thank you,” she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

Kit shrugged out of his shirt, and tossed it aside. He broke away from her only long enough to pull the puffy cushion from the chaise longue and drop it on the flagstone patio. And then he reached for her again, lowered her carefully to the long, soft cushion and followed her eagerly down.

He kissed her mouth, her chin, her throat. Kissed her breasts through the red lace of her bra until her skin tingled beneath the fabric, aching for his touch. Only then did he release the clasp and toss the skimpy garment aside, exposing her tightened nipples.

And then he lowered his mouth again, at the same time sliding his hand down her stomach and beneath the waistband of her rapidly dampening red panties.

She nearly arched right off the cushion in reaction.

Kit murmured soothingly against her breasts, then moved up to nibble at her mouth. His fingertips slid through the thatch of curls between her thighs and pressed deeper, making her ache for him. She clutched at his shoulders with trembling hands, urging her to him.

He refused to be rushed.

He explored every contour of her face with his lips, while his fingers continued their thorough, intimate investigation.

She was intensely aware of the cool night air on her bare flesh, the heat of Kit’s body where it covered hers. She wore only the tiny red panties, but Kit was still wearing his slacks. She wanted to feel more of him.

She reached between them to fumble for his zipper, and her hand brushed against the hard shaft beneath.

Kit groaned. “I’m trying to make this last,”’ he muttered, his voice rough. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

She tugged again at the fastening of his slacks. “I want to feel you.”

He pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, then lifted himself away from her just long enough to strip off the remainder of his clothing.

She couldn’t help thinking again of that magazine article he’d told her about as he stood before her wearing nothing but moonlight. As far as Savannah was concerned, Kit was the most beautiful man in the world. And for tonight, at least, he was hers.

She held out her arms.

Kit came down to her in a rush, his mouth and hands all over her. He removed her panties and tossed them heedlessly away, neither of them caring where they landed. And then he moved slowly down her body as if he was memorizing every quivering inch of her, until her breath was catching in ragged sobs in her throat, until she begged him incoherently to satisfy the desperate need he’d built in her.

When she thought she could take no more without shattering into a zillion aching pieces, Kit reached out and fumbled for his slacks. Muttering apologies for his clumsiness, he plunged his hand into one pocket and then the other, finally pulling out a small, square foil packet.

“Don’t hate me for this,” he said a bit ruefully, then ripped open the package with his teeth. “I thought it best to be prepared…just in case.”

How could she hate him for being prepared to protect her? Savannah wanted very badly to believe that she would have thought of protection herself in a moment, particularly given her history of recklessness. She would have called a halt before she took that particular risk again, she assured herself. But she was pleased that Kit had thought of it first.

He leaned over her and his eyes met hers. He brushed a strand of hair away from her perspirationdamp face. “If you don’t want this, tell me now,” he said.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” she answered simply. “I have wanted you from the first time I danced with you.”

“Savannah.” Her name was an exultant exclamation on his lips. And then he brought his mouth down on hers as he claimed her body. She cried out, a muffled sound of shock, delight, and then an almost overwhelming surge of pleasure.

Kit didn’t make love to her gently. Savannah didn’t want him to be gentle. She was no shy, frightened girl, but a woman, with a woman’s needs. Savannah was an active participant in their lovemaking, making it very clear that this was what she wanted. That she knew exactly what she was doing.