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coming quick enough to be audible. She tried to pull away, but his fingers slid quietly under the bra
and found bare, vulnerable skin, and she moaned aloud.
Her nails bit into his chest. "Rett!" she gasped, on fire with hunger and frightened and embarrassed
that he could see and feel her reaction to him.
"Shh," he whispered at her mouth, gentling her. "It's al right. It's all right to let me see. You're so
sweet, Jenny Wren. Like a bright new penny without a single finger-print except mine." His mouth
touched her closed eyelids, her forehead. His fingers contracted gently, his palm feeling the exquisite
tautening of her body as she clung to him and shuddered. "Yes, you like that, don't you?" he breathed.
His mouth brushed her eyelids again, her nose, her mouth. "Jenny, put your hand inside my shirt."
His voice was deep and low and tender. She obeyed him blindly, on fire with reckless hunger,
needing to touch and taste and feel him. Her hands slid under his shirt and flattened on hair and warm
muscle, and he tautened.
' 'Does that... make you feel the way... I feel?" she whispered shakily, looking up at him.
"Exactly," he whispered back. He moved his hand from her breast to her neck and pressed her face
slowly against his bare chest.
She seemed to sense what he wanted. Her mouth touched him there tentatively, shyly, and he moaned.
He smelled of faint cologne and tobacco, and she liked the way his hard muscles contracted where
she touched them with her hands and her lips. He was al man.
All man. And her world was suddenly narrowed to her senses, and Everett.
He took her face in his hands and tilted it, bending to kiss her with a hungry ferocity that would have
frightened her minutes before. But she went on tiptoe and linked her arms around his neck and gave
him back the kiss, opening her mouth under his to incite him to further intimacy, shivering wildly
when he accepted the invitation and his tongue went into the sweet darkness in a slow, hungry tasting.
When he finally released her, he was shaking too. His eyes burned with frustrated desire, his hands
framed her face, hot and hard.
"We have to stop. Now."
She took a slow, steadying breath. "Yes."
He took his hands away and moved toward the house, lighting a cigarette eventually after two
fumbles.
She followed him, drunk on sensual pleasure, awed by what she'd felt with him, by what she'd let him
do. She felt shy when they got into the house, into the light, and she couldn't quite meet his eyes.
"I'll get supper on the table," she said.
He didn't even reply. He followed her into the kitchen, and with brooding dark eyes watched her
move around.
She poured coffee and he sat down, still watching her.
Her hands trembled as she put the cream pitcher beside his cup. He caught her fingers, looking up at
her with a dark, unsmiling stare.
"Don't start getting self-conscious with me," he said quietly. "I know you've never let another man
touch you like that. I'm proud that you let me."
She stared at him, eyes widening. Of all the things she'd expected he might say, that wasn't one of
them.
His nostrils flared and his hand contracted. "After supper," he said slowly, holding her eyes, "I'm
going to carry you into the living room and lay you down on the sofa.
And I'm going to make love to you, in every way I know. And when I get through, you'll shudder at the
thought of another man's hands on you."
His eyes were blazing, and her own kindled. Her lips parted. "Rett, I can't.. .you know."
He nodded. "We won't go that far." His fingers caressed her wrist and his face hardened. "How
hungry are you?" he asked under his breath.
Her heart was beating wildly. She looked at him and it was suicide. She felt shaky to her toes.
"Make love to me," she whispered blindly as she reached for him.
He twisted her down across his lap and found her mouth in a single motion. He groaned as he kissed
her, his breath sighing out raggedly.
"Oh, God, I need you," he ground out, standing with her in his arms. "I need you so much!"
He turned, still kissing her, and carried her through into the living room, putting her gently down on
the worn couch. After giving her a hot stare, he turned and methodically drew all the curtains and
closed and locked the door. Then he came back, sitting down so that he was facing her.
"Now," he whispered, bending with trembling hands to the bodice of her dress. '
'Now, let's see how much damage we can do to each other's self-control, Jenny Wren. I want to look
at you until I ache to my toes!"
He unbuttoned it and she sank back against the pillows, watching unprotest-ingly.
He half lifted her and slipped the dress down her arms. Her bra followed it. And then he leaned over
her, just looking at the soft mounds he'd uncovered.
His fingers stroked one perfect breast, lingering on the tip until she cried out.
"Does that hurt?" he whispered, looking into her eyes.
She was trembling, and it was hard to talk. "No," she breathed.
He smiled slowly, in a tender, purely masculine way, and repeated the brushing caress. She arched
up, and his eyes blazed like dark fires.
"Jenny!" he growled. His fingers held her breasts up to his hard mouth. He took her by surprise, and
she moaned wildly as she felt the warm moistness envelop her. Her hands dug into his hair and she
dragged his head closer, whimpering as if she were being tortured.
"Not so hard, baby," he whispered raggedly, lifting his head. "You're too delicate for that, Jenny."
"Rett," she moaned, her eyes wild.
"Like
this,
then,"
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