Gotta Have It. Lori Wilde

her books to her chest. Every hair was in place, her skirt ironed, understated makeup, tasteful jewelry. She’d looked like some kind of throwback to the nineteen fifties.

      Prim, proper, perfect. All except for those full, sensuous lips and the provocative way her hips rolled when she walked.

      Those lips and that walk gave away the inner woman. On the surface she might be calm, controlled and composed but underneath, oh underneath, she was just waiting to spring free.

      Fire and ice.

      But nothing had changed for her. Abby’s body was ripe with unexplored sexuality, begging for release. He could see it in the way she moistened her lips when he looked at her mouth. He could smell it in the estrogen rising up off her skin. He could hear it in her soft sneeze whenever he stared at her with open desire.

      He longed to show her that a life without passion wasn’t worth living. He yearned to teach her how to listen to her own desires and ignore the opinions of others. He hungered to ruffle her cool aplomb and show her exactly what she’d been missing.

      “What are you seeking, Abby?” he asked, searching her face.

      A part of him truly wanted to help her find herself, but another part of him couldn’t keep from thinking how tasty it would be to pull her down on top of the red sandstone, whisk those fancy white shorts over her womanly hips and show her right then and there what she’d been missing.

      His pulse thundered and his abdominal muscles tugged. What was the matter with him? If he’d wanted revenge, he should have taken it ten years ago. Too much time had passed to dredge up ancient history.

      “Passion got you scared?” he asked.

      “Excuse me?” She blinked.

      “You sneezed.”

      “So what?”

      “You used to start sneezing whenever things got too hot to handle.”

      “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”

      “Maybe because it’s true.”

      “It’s not true! I have allergies.”

      “Yeah, you’re allergic to digging too deep and finding out what’s really going on inside your heart.”

      She stared at him. He’d caught her off guard. Good. She needed to be unsettled more often. Just as he was unsettled.

      “What are you searching for?” he repeated.

      “Um…” She hesitated. “Who says I’m searching for anything?”

      “Most people come to Sedona on a quest.”

      “I’m simply on vacation.”

      “Is that true? Or are you here to lick your wounds after getting dumped at the altar by Ken Rockford?” He really hadn’t meant to get that dig in, it had just slipped out.

      Okay, I’m jealous. So sue me.

      “I’m not heartbroken over losing Ken, if that’s what you’re asking. In fact, that’s the problem. I can’t seem to feel anything monumental.”

      He wanted to ask if Ken had ever made her sneeze. Instead, he said, “I know how to cure your problem.”

      “Oh, you do?” She raised one of her cool, perfectly arched eyebrows. How well he remembered that haughty high-society-princess look. It goaded him to take action. “And how is that?”

      He meant to tell her she needed to let go and do something reckless for once in her life, but the way she held herself aloof and regal made him itch to bring her down a peg or two.

      “Like this.”

      Then before he even knew what he was intending to do, Durango yanked her into his arms and captured her lips with a kiss.

      He experienced the kiss not just with his mouth and tongue but all the way through to the very center of his body. His gut whirled and his groin tightened and even his frickin’ knees bobbled.

      Abby resisted at first, pushing against his chest with the flats of her palms. But then her jaw loosened and her tongue rushed out to meet his. Her hand fluttered upward and she skimmed her cool fingertips over the heated skin of his neck.

      She wanted this as much as he did. Even if she couldn’t admit it.

      The realization inflamed him.

      Durango deepened the kiss, splaying a hand at the small of her back, holding her steady while he poured every drop of concentration into kissing her.

      God, he’d forgotten how good she tasted. How he’d once dreamed of planting himself between her supple thighs. His old dreams came roaring back to life. Twice as big, twice as potent, twice as hungry.

      He was in dangerous territory and he thrilled to it, reveling in the daintiness of her slender arms, the press of her soft breasts against his hard chest.

      She pulled back to catch her breath. Her eyes were wide and nervous. Quickly she glanced around.

      “Durango,” she gasped, and then held a palm across her mouth and nose to stifle a sneeze.

      “There you go, clogging up that passion. Let yourself experience it, Abby, and you’ll stop sneezing.”

      “I can’t do that. We shouldn’t do this. What if someone sees us?”

      He groaned. How many times had she said that to him? How many times had he held back, respecting her wishes even though he had wanted her so badly he had thought he was going to explode from the pressure.

      But they weren’t kids anymore and she was on his turf now.

      “To hell with what we shouldn’t do,” he growled, and dragged her back into his arms.

      She stiffened and he could feel the conflict waging in her body. Physically she wanted him, but emotionally she was scared of letting herself go, terrified of embracing her sexuality.

      He had honored her wishes when they were teenagers, but not now. Not this time. He was going to make her face the situation.

      Deny this, Angel.

      Lowering his head, Durango captured her luscious lips again. He felt the zap of wildness flowing from the rocks, through his feet, up his body and into hers.

      The feminine vortex.

      They were fused into a single power source, their passion one with the cosmos. They melded with the environment. Merging, mixing, marrying the earth.

      It seemed to Durango as if they were spinning from a dizzying aerial viewpoint. Their kiss captured in the Technicolor red of the soaring pinnacle cliffs and rugged desert landscape.

      Overhead, a red-tailed hawk cried “keer, keer.” A spiny lizard skittered nearby. The air smelled of piñon pine, juniper and Abby.

      In the nine years he had been guiding Jeep tours through Sedona, Durango had experienced the enigmatic power of the vortices hundreds of times. Sometimes he felt a mild tugging. At other moments it was a strong pull. Sometimes the sensation made him emotional. Sometimes he felt centered and grounded. On occasion he found himself simply overwhelmed by the vastness of the cosmos.

      But never had he experienced what he was feeling now.

      It was magical. Surreal. Otherworldly.

      Native American lore spoke of it. This rush of incredible sensitivity. It was as if a fire hose had been turned on in his heart and he was a channel, a catalyst, a crucible.

      The phenomenon was scary as hell because it felt so damned wonderful.

      His body burned like a furnace. His skin tingled. Joy bubbled inside him, fizzy as mineral water.

      Wow.

      He let Abby go and stepped back. He could tell from the bewildered expression in her eyes that she was feeling it too.