The Forgotten Cowboy. Kara Lennox
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arms and kissing her, he guided her out the hatch and onto the deck.
The deck was almost deserted. They found a secluded portion of railing and leaned against it, watching the shoreline slip by as the flaming sun settled behind a distant hill.
“It’s so pretty out here,” Willow said on a sigh. “I tend to take the lake for granted. I know it’s here, I cross over the bridge every time I go to my parents’ house. But I don’t think much about it.”
“It’d be nice to have a little sailboat out here,” Hank said. “With just the sound of the wind and the lapping water, you could really think. Clear all the junk out of your head.”
“And what sort of junk would a man like you have to clear out?”
“Oh, you know. Baggage. Bad habits. Regrets.”
“Surely you don’t have many of those.”
“Only one, darlin’.” And then he kissed her, and she didn’t resist at all.
This really wasn’t like her, she thought yet again as she returned his kiss in full measure, their tongues dancing, her breath rising and falling in tandem with his. His hand brushed against her breast, almost as if by accident. He did it again, turning the incidental contact into a tender caress. Her nipples hardened, thrusting against the silk and lace of her bra, the sensation so intense it was almost painful.
The assault on her senses was so overwhelming she had to put a stop to the embrace. If she didn’t, she was afraid what might happen. With determination, she pulled away, pushing slightly against his shoulders for good measure.
The effect was like a bucket of cold water. Hank looked so crestfallen, she wanted to take it back, to return to his embrace and just let him do whatever he wanted.
“Willow, I’m sorry. Please, don’t be mad. You’re just so beautiful tonight, I can’t hardly control myself.” His words came in an urgent whisper, even huskier than usual. “I’ll be good. I will. The last—the very last thing I want to do is rush you.”
Good heavens, didn’t he get it? She wanted to be rushed. She wasn’t upset about his behavior, only a bit bewildered by her own. The last thing she needed was an apology. How could a man apologize for making her feel so special, so excited, like a top just before someone pulled the string and sent it spinning out of control?
“Will the cruise be over soon?” Her own voice sounded a bit hoarse.
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Guess that means you are mad.”
“No. I just—I’d like to be alone. With you, I mean. Alone with you.”
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