Page 41 of Rescued By the Mountain Man Cowboy
"Luke."
"Yeah."
"Make me forget."
"Anna."
"Just for tonight. Make me feel something that isn't this." Another tear cuts loose. She doesn't wipe it. "Please. I want to feel something good. I want to feel something that's mine."
I look at her. I take a long count of two. Maybe three. Long enough to know my answer is yes and long enough to know I'm not letting this be quick or rough or anything she'll wake up from tomorrow and feel small about.
I bring my forehead to hers.
"Okay, Brown Eyes."
Her breath shudders out.
"I'm gonna take care of you."
"I know you will."
"Slow."
"Yes."
"You stop me. Any second. Anywhere. We stop."
"I won't stop you."
I kiss her.
It's not the lean-to kiss. The lean-to kiss was a question with an answer. This one's a promise. Slow. Deep. My hand on her jaw, thumb under the wet of her cheekbone, mouth opening hers, tongue sliding in unhurried because we have all night and she has nowhere she has to be except here, on me, getting taken care of.
She makes a sound against my lips that breaks me.
I shift her off my lap and lay her back against the pillows. Move over her, one knee between her thighs, weight braced on my forearm so I'm not crushing her. Look at her in the firelight.
"Look at you."
"Luke."
"I mean it. Look at you. I have known you eight days. Eight days, and I've spent every one of them trying not to look at this face the way I'm looking right now."
She covers her face with her hand. I take her wrist and move it.
"No. Eyes on me."
She lets her hand fall to the pillow. Her cheeks are pink under the tears.
"There she is. Christ, Anna."
I bend and kiss her cheekbone. The corner of her mouth. Her jaw. The line of her throat where her pulse is hammering. She tips her head back to give me more, and I take it, slow open kisses down to the hollow at the base of her neck, the place where her shoulder dips into her collarbone, where her skin is warm and salt-wet.
"You smell like rain still."
"It's been a day."
"Good day for it."
