Long Summer Nights. Kathleen O'Reilly
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from one shore to the other, his arms stretching as far as they could. He didn’t know anything about her. Only knew she was a reporter and that she was here to write the story of her life. A story, she so candidly admitted, about which she had no subject or no plan. No, she expected her story to hit her between her curious eyes, or perhaps, even more serendipitously, she wanted the damn story to squander itself between her creamy thighs like some sordid porn flick, exploding in his face like old history.
A reporter?
And stupid moron that he was, all he could do was flutter around her like a mindless moth, risking his existence for the light of the flame. He’d nearly cracked open his head, and did he stop touching her? Shouldn’t he have been smart enough to walk away? Oh, hell no. Instead, she ended up being the one lecturing him on the problems of a liaison. Liaison. Such a pompous word for such a basic need. A man’s insane compulsion to spend a moment with a woman in exchange for his soul.
His arms cut through the water, his legs pumping until his muscles were on fire. Much smarter to work himself into exhaustion.
All he could think about was her splayed on the rock, nude, her arms reaching for him like some goddess of the earth. She, who worshipped at the altar of communication and technology, instead of the pleasures of the flesh.
Dammit.
The cold water was killer on his skin, completely useless on his dick. As he neared the shore of his cabin, Aaron dove under the water, then came up, before his feet settled on the unsteady shallows. He shook out his hair like a mongrel dog, and stalked toward the grass, feeling his head throb with every step and not caring. A concussion would be preferable to life-altering lust.
When he got to the dirt path, his still-tormented body stopped and turned to face the woman nearly hidden in the trees. Slim, with moonstruck hair and starlight eyes.
Aaron felt his body swell, his mouth dry, and he idiotically imagined that he could hear the shallow rasp of her breath.
His curse was loud and intended to chase her away, but she didn’t move, as if she expected him to run to her, to plunder her, ludicrously believing that he was incapable of restraint.
In spite of everything he knew, every mistake he’d learned from, every calculated step that he prided himself on, still, still he wanted to taste her again, absorb her undaunted breath, and gulp in great, greedy gulps of her being. She, with the bright, eloquent eyes that desired him, that mocked him, that dared him.
Right, he assured himself, while his merry cock gave truth to the lie. Still lying to himself, still believing himself completely in command, he took one hungry step toward her, toward the siren’s whisper of her allure, but then, because he wouldn’t go back to that life, sanity resumed. He stopped himself, putting his well-tended restraint back firmly in its place.
Her swollen mouth curved, twitched, because she knew what it cost him to walk away. But no matter.
Soulless, heartless, he made his way back to his cabin, pride and self-control precisely back in place.
JENN STAGGERED BACK against the trunk of the nearest tree, because she needed to stay standing, and she needed to breathe.
She’d never seen a man more beautifully built, more perfectly arranged. He had no accordion abs sculpted from a love affair with weights. He had no bowling-ball biceps artfully crafted from tedious curls. No, he was lean and loose-limbed and heavily aroused.
Oh, that was the worst. He was thick and powerful, and she could feel him between her thighs, inside her, and she wanted that, wanted him.
She rubbed her arms, feeling the night breeze on her skin, warm and damp. The air had hovered around him, steamed with his desire.
In the city, men didn’t want like that, they didn’t ache with it. They didn’t suffer with the very thought of it. Something out here stripped away the polish from the surface, or maybe it wasn’t this place. Maybe it was only him.
Aaron.
She’d come to his cabin to apologize, at least that was the story she’d invented, but then she heard the sounds from the lake. Safe behind the cover of the trees, she watched him swim, watching all that untapped energy.
It was unnerving. It was arousing.
She was in such big trouble. Instinctively she knew he was a mistake. Yes, she’d had more than her share of them.
Even when she tried for safe and easy, it was still a mistake. For example, the senior financial analyst from Tribeca, with the great apartment and nervous smile. There was no women’s magazine that would call him a Dating Don’t—unless it was Playgirl. To the uneducated eye, he appeared completely normal and tending to boring. Two dates later she learned that the nervous smile was due to a compulsive tendency to shoplift. He’d stopped in a drugstore for aspirin, and she’d nearly been arrested in the process.
Oh, sure, the cop had been very nice and understanding with flirty eyes. In fact, the cop was so nice that he’d let Jenn off with only her promise to call him. If she hadn’t been careful she wouldn’t have noticed the wedding ring on his finger.
Jerk.
But the cop was different from the man she’d met today. Aaron wasn’t flirty, wasn’t fun and would never pretend. Hide, yes, but there was something that drew her to him….
Still not being smart, her eyes searched out cabin number three, nearly hidden in the woods, a dim light in the window. Not an invitation. Not even close. She heard a furious clacking sound, fingers attacking the typewriter keys.
A typewriter?
Unable to resist, she smiled.
The torture of it suited him, with no room for mistakes or edits. No. Whatever words he allowed on the page would have to be perfection.
Feeling far from perfection herself, she went back to her lonely cabin number five. There she pulled on her favorite T-shirt, falling back on her uncomfortable mattress, still feeling the hard fingers on her breast, the burn of his kiss.
That night, she didn’t worry about mice or snakes. Instead she dreamed of a man with passion-fogged eyes.
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