One Night Scandal. Joanne Rock
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When he set her on her feet, he edged back to look at her, his breath coming fast.
She knew it was wise of him to separate them. To break the mesmerizing contact. To give them a moment to think about this. But there in the endless dark, with only the horse and the wind as her witnesses, she couldn’t scavenge any reason to deny herself this heat. This connection. This kind of intense pleasure she’d never experienced before. Perhaps it was the inky blackness of the night that made it feel surreal, like a dream she didn’t want to wake up from.
All Hannah knew was that her body went to his like a magnet drawn to a more powerful one.
A raw sound rose up in his throat as she found his lips and kissed him again. Brock wrapped his hands around her, this time with more intent and purpose. She could feel the difference in how he flexed his fingers against her, the added pressure tantalizing her all the more.
“Hannah.” He breathed her name against her mouth. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She gripped his biceps, wanting him inside where she could take his clothes off.
Straightening, she withdrew the keycard for the door from the small hip pocket sewn into her leggings. Her fingers were unsteady as she slid it through the reader.
“I don’t have protection with me, but my house is just through the woods.”
“I have something.” An old habit inspired by a college friend’s pregnancy. A good thing, because she wasn’t willing to wait for him to make a trip to his place.
As she pushed open the door, she knew stepping over the threshold was a point of no return. But she had no reservations about this. It was a moment of pleasure in a year of hell. The only things she felt now were hunger and need, the desire for him so stark she couldn’t begin to account for it. Her gaze met his in the dim light cast by two cast-iron sconces that flanked the stone fireplace mantel.
Extending her hand to him, she threaded her fingers through his. “Please. Come in.”
* * *
Something had happened on that shared horseback ride.
A switch had been thrown. A blaze had started, and there was no putting it out now.
Brock told himself he’d given her every out. Every option of changing her mind. And she’d refused. He couldn’t fight himself and her, too. Not when he’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. Not when the stress of being a McNeill was at an all-time high. He felt like the whole damn world around him was poised to collapse when the blackmailer went public.
How could he refuse a night to forget about that, just for a little while, and lose himself in the promise of what Hannah was offering?
So, stepping into her two-bedroom cabin, he closed and locked the door behind him. Gave himself a moment to try to muster some scrap of restraint, if only to ensure they made it to a bed instead of tearing off their clothes in the middle of the living area.
But Hannah was having none of it. With the same certainty she’d shown when she slid off his horse and into his arms, she came to him now. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself into him. This time, he didn’t hold back, allowing the full impact of those sweetly feminine curves to work their seductive magic.
Purely potent. Totally intoxicating.
The chemistry was intense, the heat so strong he thought they might combust right there. He cupped her cheek, angling her chin higher to taste her more thoroughly. She tipped off his Stetson, winging it to an empty ladder-back chair near the door. Her ball cap had already fallen away, her silky blond waves tickling his arm, teasing along his skin.
He walked her backward, toward the dark hallway where the bedrooms were. He’d helped build this place with his brothers long ago—now it was a guest residence for visitors. Hannah let herself be led, moving with him, pausing near the kitchen bar long enough to pluck a leather handbag from the counter. She brought it with them into the darkened bedroom.
He flicked the switch by the door that lit a small gas fireplace on one wall opposite the bed, the low flames the only light in the room as he toed the door closed behind them. Hannah had already peeled off her shirt, and the sight of her creamy skin, breasts cradled in blue lace, nearly undid him.
Pulse thrumming hard, he reached for her, needing his hands on her. Her skin was incredibly soft as he drew her to him, the scent of her—something sweet and heady like orange blossoms—making him desperate to taste her. He kissed his way down her neck, searching for the source of the scent, taking his time on the journey to lick along her collarbone, nip her shoulder and ear.
She gripped the hem of his T-shirt and hauled it up his back and over his head. The pace was too fast but the hunger too keen to slow down as they undressed each other, tasting and touching as they unveiled themselves. Her creamy skin was rosy in the firelight, her hair turning from platinum to strawberry blond as it fell along her shoulder. He slid a finger beneath one bra strap, tugging it off, tracing the scalloped edge of lace before the fabric fell away.
She arched into him, the taut, pebbled peaks of her breasts almost close enough to taste. Bending to take her in his mouth, he circled the tip of one and then the other, unfastening the hook to free her and cupping the soft weights in his hands. Her moan was a sexy siren’s song in his ear.
“Please, please, please,” she chanted, one hand on his belt, a fingertip tracing the top edge of the leather.
Grazing his abs. Making him impossibly harder.
Torching all restraint.
She took a condom packet from her purse and put it on the bed. He eyed it before helping her with the belt. Quickly his pants were gone, his boots were gone, boxers gone.
His undressing was faster than hers, since she tangled her feet in the leggings while she watched him disrobe, her attention so damn flattering.
Brock lifted her in his arms, skimming off the scrap of blue lace around her hips before he pulled her down to the white duvet with him. She made soft, sexy sounds of approval in his ear as she speared her fingers into his hair and drew him down to kiss her. Shadows flickered across the bed beside them in the firelight, the need for her—for this—ratcheting higher.
He’d never bedded a woman so fast. Never imagined a night like this where desire smoked away reason and sensual hunger roared with predatory demand. But Hannah was right there with him, her hands shifting lower to smooth down his chest, back up his arms. All the while she urged him faster, whispering soft commands to touch her. Taste her.
He couldn’t get enough of her.
When she placed the condom packet in his hands, he tore it open like a man who’d been deprived for years. He wanted to take his time. See the way she looked when pleasure overtook her.
But this thing—whatever it was between them—was beyond that. It was a fever in the blood, driving hotter and faster with every breath.
Rolling the condom into place, he met her gaze. Her gray eyes watched him, her lips parted as her breath came in fast pants. He captured her mouth, kissing her as he positioned himself between her thighs. Edged his way inside.
He caught her cry of pleasure before she arched her neck and back. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her body went still at last. When he started to move, he took his time, building the pleasure while she adjusted to him. Her foot pinned his calf for a moment, then slid higher, an ankle hooking around his waist. He gripped her thigh and angled her body. Nearly died of how damn good she felt.
Brock waited, trying like hell to slow down. To temper the need. But then, Hannah breathed in his ear, nipping the lobe and licking his neck just beneath it. Somehow that pushed things higher, and started the banked tension building again. He reached between them to touch her, teasing out the pleasure for her, too.
He could feel that same tension in her. Her head tossed from side to side, the rest of her going still. He kissed her again, taking her lips just as