Making It Right. Kathy Altman
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on hers. Now.
She moaned with impatience and he chuckled against her skin. But he didn’t move on to her lips. His fingers, on the other hand—on both hands—never hesitated to get up close and personal. They roved and squeezed, roved and squeezed, from her butt to her hips to her ribs. He had her shoulder blades pinned to the refrigerator and her pelvis pressed to his.
She couldn’t help swiveling against him. He hissed in a breath, yanked his glasses from his face and set them on top of the fridge.
“I need your hands on me,” he gritted. He bent his knees and whipped the jacket from her wrists, then straightened and dropped his mouth to hers.
Finally.
He kissed her deeply, earnestly, stealing her breath along with coherent thought as hot ripples of pleasure hijacked every muscle. He tasted like malt and smelled like early morning on the lake and every last one of her nerve endings writhed with need.
And warning.
The warning part she chose to ignore. The need part she embraced wholeheartedly. She dug her fingers into his back and dragged them all the way up to his neck. He gave his blessing with a groan, tightening his hold on her hips. She gripped his shoulders, reveling in the feel of solid muscle as he plundered her mouth.
When his hands slid over her ribs and cupped the sides of her breasts, she bucked against him. His grip faltered momentarily, and a sliver of common sense wormed its way between them.
She ripped her mouth away from his and took deep, gulping inhalations. She clutched his wrists. “Are we really doing this?”
He shuddered as he fought to catch his own breath. He swallowed then rested his chin on the crown of her head.
“Yes?” he answered hopefully.
Her nerves jangled with anticipation.
“But if you’re having second thoughts, we should have that drink you offered and talk about it.”
She laughed unsteadily. “Because alcohol will clear our heads?”
Slowly Gil pulled his arms away and moved back. “Juice, then.”
She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist. Why had she opened her mouth?
“I don’t make a habit of this,” she said.
“Neither do I. Which explains why we’re feeling awkward.”
“Let’s revisit the drinks idea, then.” She pushed away from the fridge and opened the door. A jug of tea, a half gallon of milk and five bottles of beer.
Her father’s brand.
Bottles rattled as she swung the door shut again. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He ran a hand through his hair and it gave her pause. He looked younger without his glasses. Or maybe she was feeling older. Having a sense of adventure used to be so much more appealing.
A year ago she’d learned how terrifying the consequences of that could be.
Gil continued to back to the far side of the kitchen until he leaned against the counter. He curled his fingers over the edge. “Adding milk to my coffee without checking the expiration date this morning was not a good idea. Climbing a ladder with a stack of weed whacker spools in one hand and a hot cup of coffee in the other was nowhere near a good idea. This right here, with you and me...this is the best damned idea I’ve had in months.”
“It’s been a while for me, too,” she said softly.
“The hug pretty much gave that away.” He gave a graceless sort of one-shoulder shrug. “I’m happy to help you brush up. You know, so next time you don’t embarrass yourself.”
“Yes, please,” she said.
He blinked and pushed upright.
This time she met him halfway. He folded her against him, swung her around and laid her carefully on the kitchen table. She begged him not to be gentle with her again, and he wasn’t. Not on the table, or against the dining room wall, or even when he had her bent over the back of the living room sofa.
If she’d been looking for punishment, she hadn’t found it. Never had she climaxed so hard, or so loudly. Never had she laughed so often, or given so much pleasure.
The punishment came when he finally left the bed, and she knew he wouldn’t be back.
* * *
WITH A GROAN, Gil sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. He recognized that ringtone and was tempted to ignore it. Especially since he’d managed maybe two hours of sleep the night before.
Images of why he hadn’t managed much sleep flickered through his mind, like someone thumbing through a deck of X-rated playing cards. Damn, he’d had fun. Kerry had been sweet and giving, and once they’d gotten that first furious coupling behind them, she’d relaxed, and revealed a ready, husky laugh that had charmed him, and a relentless hunger that had flattered him.
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