Rolling Like Thunder. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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are you okay?”
“No.” His voice rasped in the stillness.
“What’s the matter?”
“I...” He stopped to clear the huskiness from his throat. “I want you so much I can’t breathe.”
“Oh.” Her beautiful mouth curved in a smile and she stepped back from the door. “Would you like to come in?”
“God, yes, but I...I didn’t anticipate this.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
Hope dawned. “Did you?”
“No, of course not.”
He groaned. “Then we can’t—”
“Maybe not that, but there are alternatives.”
Alternatives. The word stood out in flashing neon in his frazzled brain.
Curling her fingers into the front of his shirt, she pulled him slowly inside her room. “You haven’t dated since Alison. I haven’t dated since I asked you out. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Swallowing, he nodded.
“Good.” She took off his hat and laid it on the dresser. “Because I can hardly wait to get my hands on you, Finn O’Roarke.”
He had the presence of mind to kick the door shut before his brain shut down completely.
CHELSEA HAD TRIED to be good. She really had tried, except for her earlier remark about the foot rub. When they’d had their hot moment on the dance floor, she hadn’t teased him about the hard ridge she’d felt pressed against her belly before he’d backed away.
He wanted to keep his distance, and she had vowed to honor that. She would have suffered the cold air on the walk home in silence because it was her own fault for not bringing a jacket. But then he’d wrapped his arm around her. The moment she’d felt his touch and the delicious heat of his body, a fantasy movie had started rolling in her head.
And now—against all odds—fantasy had become reality. Flattening her palms against his chest, she absorbed the wild beating of his heart as he combed his fingers through her hair and tilted her head back. His gaze moved hungrily over her face and settled on her mouth. He groaned. “Chelsea...” And then he was there, his velvet lips covering hers.
At last. Joy surged through her at the urgent pressure of his mouth and the deliberate thrust of his tongue. Oh, yes, this was good, and right, and ahhh...he could kiss better than any man she’d ever known.
He angled his head and went deeper, inspiring shocking thoughts about where else she wanted that talented mouth. He obviously knew what she’d meant when she’d suggested alternatives. They had all night, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t get started on that program ASAP.
She wrenched apart the snaps of his shirt, desperate to touch him. When she laid both hands against his muscled chest and stroked him there, he shuddered and lifted his mouth from hers. “I’m going crazy.” He gulped for air. “I have zero control.”
“That’s okay.” Pulse hammering, she slid her hand down to his zipper. Oh, my. What she’d felt on the dance floor had been a mere prelude. “I’ll just—”
“No, it’s not okay.” He caught her hand and brought it up to his mouth. His breathing ragged, he kissed her fingertips one by one. “We’re changing focus.”
“To what?”
His blue eyes glowed with intensity. “You.”
She gasped as a fresh wave of lust crashed over her. Her attention shifted to his mouth and her imagination kicked into high gear. She began to tremble. “I could live with that.”
His soft laughter gave her goose bumps. “Ah, Chels. You’re one of a kind.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
He held her gaze. “I never have.” Then he stepped back and looked her up and down, as if evaluating his next move. His attention settled on the belt circling her hips. “How does that come off?”
“Easy.” But eagerness made her clumsy and she messed it up somehow. She swore softly and kept working at the clasp.
“Let me see.” He knelt in front of her, moved her hands aside and had the belt undone in two seconds. As it slithered to the floor he slipped both hands under the hem of her tunic and before she could take a breath he’d unbuttoned her jeans.
As he started pulling them down, panties and all, her heart beat so fast she grew dizzy. “My...my shoes.”
“You get the blouse.” His voice rasped in the stillness. “I’ll get the shoes.” He unbuckled the straps and slipped off one shoe at a time, taking care that she didn’t lose her balance. His touch was nimble, practiced and incredibly erotic.
“You’re...” She paused to gulp in air. “You’re good at that.”
“Cowboy stuff.”
At first she didn’t get it and then she understood. Bridles, halters, harnesses—leather and buckles were no challenge to a man with cowboy skills.
He tenderly divested her of her jeans and panties, too. Still on his knees, he caressed her calves and gradually made his way up her quaking thighs. His questing fingers drew closer to the spot where she ached so fiercely that she barely contained a whimper of longing. She closed her eyes to savor his touch.
Then he paused.
She moaned softly. “Don’t stop.”
“Your blouse.”
“Oh.” He’d mesmerized her so completely that she’d forgotten her assignment. Grabbing the hem, she whipped the shirt over her head, then took off her bra and flung it after the blouse. Her breasts ached for his touch, too.
With a sharp intake of breath, he rose and stepped back.
She watched him and was thrilled by his awestruck reaction. Lifting her chin, she looked him in the eye. “See what you’ve been missing?”
His gaze roved over her. “Yes.” His chest heaved. “And I’m a damned fool.”
“Not tonight.”
“No, not tonight. Thank God for alternatives.” And with a swiftness that made her squeal, he swept her up in his arms and laid her on the bed. Then he pulled off his clothes with utter disregard for where they landed. That was so unlike Finn.
Her tidy little Victorian room took on the appearance of a ravishing. She was more than ready to be ravished, even if his options for accomplishing that were limited. But when she had her first unobstructed view of his package, she cursed the lack of condoms.
She’d thought fleetingly about bringing them, but that had seemed like tempting fate. If she’d brought them and then had taken the box home unopened, she would have needed more than a few bottles of O’Roarke’s Pale Ale to get over her disappointment.
But, oh, how she yearned for what he had to offer. “O’Roarke, I have one thing to say.”
“Only one?”
“Yes.” Viewing that kind of male beauty and knowing there were restrictions on enjoying it made her impatient. “Before tomorrow night, we’ll obtain a box of condoms.”
“It’s a small town, don’t forget. Word spreads.”
“I don’t care.”
He grinned. “You know what? Neither do I.”
If there was ever a more stirring sight than Finn naked and smiling, she’d never seen it. Her fantasies of him paled in comparison to the real