Desire Collection: August 2017 Books 1 - 4. Rachel Bailey
tiny butterfly kisses along his jaw, up and over his cheekbone, onto his temple. She rested her forehead against his and looked into his smoky eyes. “Is it wrong to want you, knowing that she is—”
Linc tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Us enjoying each other isn’t going to change what she is going through. Do you want me, honey?”
Tate sighed, her breath sweet on his lips. “I do. So much.” She had to work to keep her words of love from passing her lips. He didn’t need that from her; he just needed to lose himself in her. And she loved him enough to give him exactly what he needed.
Linc pushed his hips up so that his erection pushed into her. “Then let me make you mine.” He closed his eyes as if he were facing a wave of pain. Or pleasure. “I need this, we need this. Here. Now.”
“The pilots?” Tate asked, sending an anxious glance at the closed door.
“The do-not-disturb light is on. They’ll leave us alone.” Linc pulled up her jersey to stroke her sides, his fingers on her ribs just below her breasts. “You feel amazing.”
Tate dropped her mouth on his, and their hot, frenzied kiss went on and on, two mouths desperate to mate. Tate pulled his sweater and shirt up his chest, desperate to get her hands on Linc’s skin, and they broke their kiss for him to pull the garments over his head. Linc, impatient and demanding, helped her peel her sweater off and then held her away from him to look down at her sheer bra that did nothing to conceal her pointed nipples.
“You are so damn sexy,” Linc muttered, bending his head to suck her through the lace. She held the back of his head and arched up into him, lost in his touch, in how incredibly feminine and powerful he made her feel. This was the ultimate aphrodisiac, she thought, having an incredibly sexy man want you with every fiber of his being.
This was what being alive felt like.
Without warning, Linc banded a strong arm around her back and lifted her up, surging to his feet as he did so. Letting her stand, his hands went to the band of her jeans, flipping open the button and pulling down the zipper.
“Take your bra off,” he commanded and Tate did as he asked. When her torso was free of the lace, she dragged her breasts across his chest, enjoying the rough hair, the sinewy muscle underneath his skin.
“I want you.” She panted, reaching down to palm his erection now throbbing beneath her touch. Linc groaned, pushed her panties and jeans down her hips and steadied her as she kicked off her ballet flats and stepped out of her jeans. Linc pulled her to him, making sure that her most sensitive parts were intimately connected with his fabric-covered erection.
“Get naked,” Tate breathed after pulling her mouth off his to speak.
“Shh, baby, slow it down,” Linc told her. “We have a couple of hours.”
Tate shook her head, and, holding his head in her hands so that he had to look at her, she spoke. “Now.”
Breaking their contact, Linc pulled off his socks and shoes, stepped out of his pants and groaned when her hand encircled his long, steel-hard length. He felt amazing, all harnessed power. Linc muttered something about a condom and pushed her hand away to slap his against a small cupboard above his head. Ducking his hand inside, he pulled out a strip of foil packets.
Tate grabbed the foil packet from him, tore it open and pulled out the latex sheath. Rolling it onto Linc—accompanied by his grateful groans—she pressed her lips into his chest, holding him with both hands. She didn’t like how much she loved making love to him, how much she loved him.
She wished he could love her back, that he could heal her fears, convince her that he’d never hurt her, that he’d never leave her. That there was some way for them to be together.
Linc’s hand stilled between her legs. “Tate, honey? You okay?”
Tate flashed him a smile. “I’m grand, why?”
“You tensed and you had a strange look on your face.”
Yeah, that’s my how-the-hell-am-I-going-to-survive-loving-you face. Tate forced a smile and moved against his hand. She linked her arms around his neck, and when he boosted her up his body, she buried her face in his neck. “Make love to me, Linc.”
“That would be my absolute pleasure,” he growled, pulling her down to the settee, where he stretched out on top of her, her legs opening to allow him inside. He surged inside her and he filled up every hollow, dark, shadowed part of her. He was her brownstone just off Park Avenue, big and bold and so damn permanent. He was the soil she could imagine planting her roots in, the home she never thought she needed. He was her soft place to fall. He was, Tate thought as he pulled her closer and closer to oblivion, her everything.
In the administrator’s office in the hospice just north of Austin, Linc managed the introductions and guided Tate to one of the visitors’ chairs, watching Kari’s doctor as she moved to sit behind her large, paper-strewn desk.
Linc took the chair next to Tate and flicked a glance at her worried face. Her mouth, the amazing mouth he’d kissed with ferocious abandon earlier, was pulled tight, and her body was taut with tension. Dammit, Kari, sick or not, why couldn’t you have just had a conversation like a normal person?
Why did everything have to be a drama?
Linc listened with half an ear as Dr. Mitchell made small talk with Tate, asking about her childhood with Kari and inquiring about Ellie.
Drama, Kari excelled at it. And that was the difference between the sisters; Tate was a straight shooter, someone who looked at life the way it was and not how she wanted it to be. Was she perfect? No, but he didn’t expect her to be. She carried more emotional baggage than she did real luggage. She was wary and insecure but she wasn’t flighty, selfish or dramatic, and he...
He loved her.
Linc gripped the arms of his chair and stared down at the carpet below his feet. He’d never expected this, not with Tate, but, yeah, he loved her and it felt nothing like he’d expected it to. He’d thought that if he ever fell in love again the feeling would be accompanied by angels singing or African drums. That he’d feel swamped, drowning under the rush of emotion, but he felt none of that. It just felt right.
It felt as if his soul had found its warm spot to curl up in, like he’d found a safe place to shelter from the storm outside. He felt as if he had another source of strength to draw upon, an alternate source of wisdom that was now accessible to him.
This love he felt, this was deep and real and nothing like he’d ever experienced before. It was the phone calls they shared during the day, the silly text messages that got him through those endlessly long, tedious meetings. It was how he felt at the end of the day walking into his house and seeing her there, filling his home with her warmth, her laughter and her perfume. It was the fantastic, mind-blowing sex that always left him aching for more, and it was that indescribable feeling like she was in his corner, utterly and absolutely on his side. He’d started off not trusting her because she was a Harper, but now he trusted her because she was Tate, a fascinating and unique product of her Harper past.
Linc sucked in a deep breath as the realization rolled in that, while he might be in love, she might not be feeling the same. Tate had set objectives for her life, and love and a partnership—in whatever form that took—wasn’t something she was looking for. So many people had disappointed her; the people who were supposed to love her best never had, and as a result, she had enormous trust issues. Tate wouldn’t easily believe that he was in it for the long haul, that he was prepared to love her and Ellie, for the rest of his life.
He knew that she felt something for him—so he’d just have to take it slow, get her used to the idea that she was exactly where she was meant to be.
And they’d have to find a way to work around her need to be independent, her