Stand-In Mom. Megan Kelly

the floor, then ran his hands over her bare shoulders. He bent to taste the freckles there, then kissed his way up her neck, smiling as she shivered. His hands trailed up her ribs, fingers making lazy circles. Ginger pressed against him, her breasts prodding his chest. He let his thumbs trace slowly upward as his lips captured hers, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth. He wanted to savor her, to slow down and relish every second. Lick every inch of her warm skin until she burned as hot as he did already.

      He ran the pad of his thumb across her nipple, and she moaned his name. His erection jutted against her abdomen like a heat-seeking missile. He caressed her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, his hands restless over her, learning her shape as he listened for the catch of her breath to discern what she liked. His fingers unhooked the clasp at her neck, and the top of her dress loosened. One shift had it dropping to her waist, trapped by the press of their hips. His breath caught at the sight of her breasts, all creamy skin and feminine curves, and he lowered his head to savor her.

      “Scott,” she moaned, pushing her hips against him.

      He bent her backward, one hand supporting her shoulders, one cupping her bottom, the lushness there enticing him to caress. The soft warmth of her skin filled his mouth; his tongue flicked over her nipple. Her perfume blended with her natural womanly scent, stirring him. Little noises in her throat urged him on.

      She opened his shirt and pushed it down his shoulders. Scott shrugged free of it so she could touch him, then shuddered when she did. Desire burned him. He walked her toward the king-size bed, not letting any space fall between them.

      “Let’s get this off,” he said, peeling the dress over her hips. Tearing it off was more likely, but he called on his years of experience to slow down. Despite feeling like a teenager with his first girl in the backseat, he was a man who knew how to please a woman, and he desperately wanted to make this pleasurable for Ginger. To thank her for reminding him how good sex felt, for helping him feel alive again.

      He’d been wrong; she wasn’t naked under the dress. His hands revealed a tiny flesh-colored thong, sexier than bare skin. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers moving on their own to his zipper as she shimmied—there was no other word for the wiggle of her body—out of the thong. Bending slightly without losing eye contact, she slipped off her high heels, then stood before him wearing only a small smile and earrings. Naked and alluring; a goddess with a most devoted worshipper.

      He kicked out of his pants and his shoes, all patience gone. Heat, need, urgency took control of him. He couldn’t form a coherent thought, but he knew women liked words.

      “Y’all are so beautiful. I’ve lost my breath.” His knees quivered so much, he could barely stand. His arms shook as he pulled her close again, but restrained his impulses and reined in his desire. He yearned to thrust into her, bury himself deep and hold her to him until neither could endure another moment without moving.

      He encountered a bobby pin in her hair and gently removed it, then set to work on its companions. The barrette baffled him, and after a clumsy attempt, he broke the kiss. “You’ll have to do it. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

      Her mouth twisted briefly before her hands rose, drawing his gaze to the outthrust of her breasts. He forgot to question her odd expression as waves of apricot hair fell to her shoulders.

      She set the barrette on the table, then lay back, not taking her eyes from his, inching upward on the bed to make room. He yanked off his boxers and her gaze flickered down. Her tongue came out to lick her lips as though her mouth were as dry as his. He swelled with masculine pride, glad he could make a woman this gorgeous want him. Eyes locked on her, he slid his body over her.

      He took, and she gave. She took, and he gave. He formed words, but mostly he showed his appreciation in physical ways—ways Ginger approved of with gasps and groans. She moaned when he nipped at the curve of her hip, sighed when he licked her navel, and fisted her hands in his hair when he sucked at her lush breasts.

      Despite her slender body and porcelain skin, she was no china doll needing his restraint. She drew her hands and mouth over him, lingering and enjoying. When she encircled him to guide him into her, he nearly came apart. It had been a long time since he’d been touched this intimately.

      She pushed at his shoulder, and he rolled with her, delighted to have her atop him with his hands free to explore. He groaned as she rode him, gritting his teeth against the intense pleasure. It almost killed him, waiting to reach his own climax until he’d satisfied her. When she shattered, he barely had a second to congratulate himself before his next thrust pushed him over the edge.

      When his heart calmed and his breathing smoothed out, he rolled to the side, pulling her with him. She cuddled close, limp, and he smiled, sated and content that he’d brought her pleasure, as well.

      As he drifted, lazy thoughts floated in and out of his grasp. His mind replayed the softness of her body, the textures and scents of her, the sounds of her moans. Great sex, lovely woman.

      It wasn’t until later that the fragments formed a cohesive thought. He’d just had the most incredible, hair-catching-on-fire sex of his life.

      And he didn’t know the woman’s last name.

       Chapter Two

      Ginger came awake slowly, aware of a soft prickle against her face and a crick in her neck. What had she slept on?

      Realization hit and she stilled. Scott. Her eyes fluttered open. Definitely a chest under her head and curly male hair tickling her nose.

      She gave an inaudible groan. She hadn’t meant to actually sleep with him. Sex, sure, that was no problem, but she never spent the night. That led to entanglements. She must have slept like the dead not to have woken up by now. Being in his arms felt natural. A bad sign.

      The slender opening in the drapes showed a black sky, but in late December that could mean midnight or nearly dawn. Light from the desk lamp she’d turned on the night before illuminated Scott’s face, serene in slumber.

      His arm lay under her head but didn’t encircle her. Although snuggled against him, she could probably steal out of bed without his notice. Testing the theory, she inched her behind backward, then stealthily slid one foot toward the edge, watching his face for a reaction. His eyelids remained closed and his body still. She hated to wrench away from his warmth and considered waking him for a little good morning sex instead.

      But the debate lasted only for a moment. She had to get away. Just wanting to stay longer warned her he’d breached her defenses already. He was too nice and his loneliness too touching. A guy like him—fun and kind and attentive—threatened her peace of mind.

      Ginger lifted her head from his arm, freezing at a noise from him. Assured he slept on, she slid off the bed and grabbed her belongings from the floor. The bathroom provided a safe haven as she yanked on her clothes. She washed her face, grimacing at the remnants of cosmetics she left on the washcloth. Remembering why she’d gone to bed in her makeup, she smiled. Scott was a heck of a guy, seduction-wise. She scraped wet fingers through her curls, fluffing up or patting down as needed to alleviate her bed-head.

      She had to skedaddle before he woke. Never had a morning-after felt so sordid, especially when the night before had been so lovely. Although they were strangers, having sex with him had been powerful and moving. Now it felt as though she’d done something to run from. She couldn’t face him.

      So, of course, he woke when she opened the bathroom door. The disoriented expression on his face made him look rumpled and cuddly and dangerously adorable.

      “What—?” He cleared his throat. “Where are y’all going?”

      “Home.” She kept to the shadows of the room. His accent came thicker in his half-awake state. Why’d he have to be even cuter now? She was supposed to be leaving, firmly walking out the door without a backward glance. Had-a-great-time-thanks-see-you-around, not oh-my-stars-I-want-you-again.

      “I’ll drive y’all home. Hold on a minute.” He threw off the covers, revealing