Page 50 of Brant
"Oh, so this is what's happening?" he growled, shaking his head to remove the ice from his watch cap. "I hope you know that I was a pitcher in high school, and my aim is dead on."
He grinned when she squealed and started running in the opposite direction.
In the next few minutes, they were pelting each other, tumbling around in the powdery substance, and laughing like hyenas.
Mistakenly thinking he had defeated her, he rolled over and was about to gallantly help her up when he was met with a face full of ice.
"Sneaky," he sputtered, his face freezing.
"And you deserve to be paid back in full."
Before he could gather his arsenal, she was up and running, laughing and looking back to gauge the distance between them. That was her downfall, literally. Because she wasn't paying attention, she tripped over a tree root hidden beneath piles of snow and fell flat on her face.
He was about to dump what he had on top of her when he realized she wasn't moving. His mirth turned into alarm and had him dropping down at her head. "Baby?" Taking her shoulders, he carefully turned her over and saw that her eyes were closed. "Sweetheart, are you hurt?"
Panic had him looking for any signs of blood or a tear in the skin. He was about to unzip her jacket when she opened her eyes. He saw the mischief in them, but it was too late. She had already smashed a handful of snow directly on his face and was off like a shot.
Sitting back, he shook his head and grinned as he watched her head for the house.
"I hope you know that you're going to pay big time for what you did," he announced as he stepped into the foyer after stripping off his soaking wet jacket and boots. His warning was met with silence. Stalking into the kitchen, thinking she was in there, he stood staring at the empty room. His search of the downstairs area netted him nothing. Bounding up the stairs, he strode into the bedroom to see her trail of wet clothing on the floor near the bathroom.
"What took you so long?" Her voice was throaty as she looked up from where she was trailing her fingers in the suds at the lip of the oversized tub. Two glasses of wine were on the table next to it, and the robe she had on was as clear as glass. He could see every seductive curve. The lapel was hanging open, revealing a nipple.
"This does not make up for the fact that I owe you one for the stunt you pulled out in the yard." He was already rock hard. Christ! But the woman had a power over him that was staggering.
"Strip." Rising slowly, she untied the sash of her robe and shrugged it off before stepping into the suds.
He needed no further bidding. With his eyes holding hers, he dragged off his sodden clothes and stepped in behind her.
"What have we here?" she murmured. Turning to face him, water sloshing over the rim, she took hold of him and sent his blood pressure straight through the roof. "Am I forgiven?"
"What?"
She smiled when he blinked at her. "Am I forgiven for beating you in the snow battle?"
"Is that what it was?" he grunted when she slid her fisted hand up and down his very stiff member.
"So, am I?" Her thumb was rubbing over the very tip of him and sending him soaring.
"Yes." He would have agreed to anything.
"How about the wine?" She nodded to the glasses, and he handed her one, picking up the other and taking a sip.
"A very good vintage."
"It sure is."
She downed the excellent Cabernet and put away the glass. Before he could take another sip, she was straddling him.
He went in deep and was lost. The glass bobbled, and he had to put it away. Her body arched, inviting him to cup her breasts. Scooping up suds, he slathered them over the nipples, circling, circling, circling, his eyes holding hers.
Her teeth captured her bottom lip as heat spun inside her, making her dizzy.
"I need your mouth," she gasped.
"Impatient, are we?" He pulled at the nipples, his eyes still holding hers.
"Very, Brant."
