Powerhouse. Rebecca York
the snap at her waist, pulled down her zipper and dragged the pants down her legs.
“You’re undressing me,” she murmured, her lips curving in a silly grin.
“We need to get you warm and dry,” he answered, peeling down her thermal underwear and discarding it along with her jeans, struggling to ignore his reaction to her slim legs, feminine thighs and the triangle of dark hair he could see through the thin fabric of her panties.
Luckily, her shirt was still dry, so he dragged the sheet and blanket over her, covering the tempting image of her lying in bed.
“You need to sleep.” “I need you.”
Her arms whipped out and circled his neck, pulling him down so that he flopped on top of her. “Shelley.”
“I need you, Matt,” she whispered, her voice quavery. “For what? Why did you come here?” She made a muffled sound.
When he lifted his head to gaze down at her, she still looked dazed and confused, and he knew he should climb off the bed and beat a retreat into the other room.
As he hesitated, she cupped the back of his head and brought his mouth to hers, and he couldn’t make himself pull away. When his lips touched down on hers, a jolt of sensation shot through him.
Somewhere in his mind, he knew none of this should be happening. He shouldn’t be in a bed with her—holding her—for so many reasons.
Yet at this moment in time, none of the reasons mattered. The only thing his brain had room for was that she was lying in his embrace.
He broke the kiss and lifted his head. Her lips were parted now, her breath shallow, her eyes full of hope—and, he thought, pain.
“What is it?”
“Just be with me.”
Unable to deny the invitation, he maneuvered to the side, gathering her close, and it was the most natural thing in the world to bring his mouth back to hers, nibbling, sliding, taking her lower lip into his mouth the way he’d always liked to do.
She tasted wonderful, as sweet as he remembered, but the best part was her response to him. The returned pressure of her lips against his and the way she moved restlessly on the bed fueled a hot, frantic burst of sensation inside him.
Not just him. He could feel needs zinging back and forth between them.
He was on top of the covers. She was underneath. He knew he should keep her warm, so he slipped off the bed—just long enough to pull the blanket and sheet aside and slide in next to her, so he could gather her close.
When she made a small sound of approval, he ran his hands up and down her back, then cupped her bottom, pulling her against the erection straining at the front of his jeans.
He had missed her so much. Needed her so much, and now here she was, right where he wanted her—warm and cozy with him in bed. He heard a sound well up in her throat. Or perhaps it was from his throat. He couldn’t even be sure.
Her hands began to move too, roving restlessly over his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer.
They clung together, rocking slightly in the bed, as the kiss turned more urgent—more hungry—driving every thought from his mind but one. Against all reason, she had come back to him, and he must make love to her before she slipped away from him again.
Was this reality or a fantasy? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. The taste and feel of Shelley Young was the only reality in his universe.
His mouth moved over hers, feasting on her, his tongue sliding along the rigid line of her teeth, then beyond.
It was all so familiar. So precious. It was as though they had never been apart, as though the past five years had never happened.
As he kissed her, he eased far enough away to slide one hand between them so that he could cup her breast and stroke his fingers over the tip. He remembered how sweetly she responded to him, how she gave him as much as he took. And when he reached under her sweater to unhook her bra, she made a small sound of approval, then sighed in pleasure as he took her nipples between his thumbs and fingers, twisting and pulling, doing the things he remembered that she liked.
“Shelley.”
She answered with his name, and somehow that brought a dose of reality into the fantasy world he had created in the warmth of the bed.
“Oh, Shelley.”
When he put some space between them, her eyes snapped open, questioning his.
“We can’t do this,” he said in a gritty voice. “Why not?”
“Because I just brought you in out of the snow, and you’re not in any condition to be making sexual decisions.”
“Sexual decisions,” she repeated.
“Get some rest. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about why you drove through a snowstorm to come here.”
A look that was part desperation, part regret, part passion passed over her face, reflecting his own feelings with an aching intensity. He could take what he wanted. Right now.
And then what? He’d hate himself for a long time afterward.
Unwilling to prolong the moment, he climbed out of the bed and stood looking down at her.
“Matt?”
“Shelley, go to sleep,” he said softly. Her green eyes looked confused. “I … don’t want to sleep. I have to talk to you.”
“Not now. Go to sleep,” he repeated. “For me.”
She blinked. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“All … right,” she said in a barely audible voice.
As her eyes fluttered closed, he stood looking down at her, thankful that he could influence her decision, yet wondering how he was going to cope with having her in the house again. As soon as he’d taken her in his arms, all the need and longing he’d repressed for years had flared up. It was as though the two of them had never been apart.
He cursed softly under his breath, angry at his own weakness. He wanted to be angry with her, too. She’d come here unannounced and tempted him beyond endurance.
Why hadn’t she just called him on the phone?
A shiver went through him. A phone call was a perfectly logical means of communication. Instead she’d driven here through a dangerous storm. Which led to the conclusion that she was afraid someone might be monitoring her calls. Or that she had some news that could only be said face-to-face. What could that be?
He took a step toward the bed and reached out, then stopped himself before he could grab her arm and shake her awake again.
He had to talk to her, but his previous judgment had been correct. She needed to sleep—so she’d be in good enough shape to tell him the bad news straight up. Because he sensed that whatever she was going to say would be like a punch in the gut.
Chapter Two
Shelley moved restlessly on the bed. She didn’t want to wake up, but she couldn’t stay hiding here forever. Hiding from what?
Deliberately, she opened her eyes and looked around the unfamiliar room.
Panic gripped her as she struggled to remember where she was. Then the past few terrible days came zinging back to her. And the past few hours—when she’d gotten into her car and started driving east—to Matt’s ranch. Because she simply didn’t know what else to do.
She’d turned in at the gate and gotten stuck in the snow and started walking to the ranch house. She’d still be out there if Matt hadn’t come down the road and found her.
How had he even known she