Wild Revenge. Sandra Marton

glistened on his skin.

      “Now,” he said, and she came, sobbing his name, her legs locked around him, her hands clutching his shoulders.

      He gave one long, rough groan.

      Then he flew with her into a rainbow of color and light.

      He lay sprawled over her.

      His body was solid. Hard. He outweighed her by who knew how many dozen pounds.

      His weight pinned her to the mattress….

      And, oh, it was a lovely feeling.

      When he moved, she gave a little mmm of protest.

      “I’m too heavy for you,” he whispered.

      “No,” she whispered back. “You’re not.”

      She felt his lips curve against her throat.

      “I am,” he said.

      She sighed. “I don’t care.”

      No. Neither did he. He could stay exactly where he was, forever.

      Still, after a minute or two, he rolled off her, wrapped her in his arms, drew her against him so that her head was on his shoulder and kissed her.

      A pleased sigh eased from her lips. She felt his mouth curve against hers in response.

      “Yeah,” he said, his voice low, a little hoarse. “I think so, too.”

      Was sex supposed to be like this?

      She couldn’t ask him; no way would she expose her ignorance but the truth was that even though she had a reputation that would have given Salome a run for her money, this was all new.

      She’d had only three prior lovers. One had been a virgin, like her. It had happened in college. The other two had been when she was in law school.

      Nice guys, all of them.

      But the sex …

      It hadn’t been memorable.

      This—this experience with Jacob … Okay. Both experiences with Jacob …

      Memorable.

      Incredibly memorable.

      Although today might even have been better, Addison thought, repressing a little shiver of delight.

      For one thing, the rain had stopped. Daylight was streaming through the windows.

      She could see Jacob.

      He could see her.

      She tried not to blush at the thought.

      Plus, last night, escaping his arms, putting space between them, had been what she’d longed for.

      Not today.

      She wanted to lie here forever. Just like this. Her head pillowed on his shoulder. With his hand stroking the length of her body.

      He was doing it in a way that sent just the tips of his fingers over her breast, over her nipple …

      She was blushing now. She could feel the rise of heat in her face.

      And he knew it. Just look at how he was grinning.

      “Whatever you’re thinking,” he said, “how about sharing it with me?”

      “That was …” She cleared her throat. “It was … nice.”

      “Nice? Nice?” He scowled, rose up on one elbow and looked down at her. “You know how to hurt a guy, McDowell.”

      He was teasing her. And she loved it.

      Who’d have thought sex could involve laughter?

      He grinned. Rolled her on her back. Caught her wrists, pinned her hands high over her head.

      “Admit it.”

      Oh, the feel of him against her. All that hard, lean muscle …

      “Admit what?” she said breathlessly.

      “Admit this was better than nice.”

      “Maybe,” she said, teasing him back.

      “Maybe, the woman says.” He shifted a little. She bit back a moan. He was becoming aroused. She could feel him against her belly.

      “Lots better than nice,” he said in a low, sexy whisper.

      She wanted to say something clever, but all she could manage was a soft moan.

      He kissed her mouth. She returned the kiss.

      He moved. She did, too.

      The engorged head of his erection was between her thighs. It brushed against her sensitized flesh.

      “Please,” she said.

      “Please, what?” he said, and then he was inside her, moving inside her, and the world tilted and spun away.

      This time, after he withdrew, he wrapped them both in the duvet.

      Then he drew her into the warm shelter of his arms and kissed her temple.

      “Sleep,” he said softly.

      She couldn’t. She was lying on her right side, and she never—she never—

      When she woke, there were long shadows in the room, and a fire leaping in the hearth.

      Jake, wearing only his jeans, squatted beside it, feeding wood to the flames.

      Addison sat up, the duvet clutched to her chin.

      He looked around, smiled when he saw her.

      “Hey,” he said softly.

      She shoved her hair back from her face.

      “What time—” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, started again. “What time is it?”

      He looked at his watch.

      “Almost five.”

      Her eyes widened. “Almost …”

      Jake rose. His beauty made her heartbeat quicken. His skin was tanned, his muscles the kind a man got from hard work, not from a gym. His jeans were zipped but unbuttoned; she couldn’t keep her gaze from going to the arrow of dark, silky hair that disappeared behind his fly.

      “Don’t tell me,” he said, as he came slowly toward her. “You have an appointment with a can of paint.”

      “A can of …” She laughed. “You can still smell it.”

      “Uh-huh.” He sat down next to her, leaned in, gave her a long, lingering kiss. “You painted this room all by yourself?”

      “I’m a painting expert. Do you have any idea what painters charge in New York?”

      “A frugal woman.” He clapped a hand to his chest. “Be still, my heart.”

      “A broke woman. Tuition loans. A condo mortgage.”

      “According to Caleb, all lawyers are rich.”

      “I’m an indentured servant, in my second year at Kalich, Kalich and Kalich.”

      He grinned. “An imaginative name for a law firm.”

      “Especially,” Addison said, “when you consider that the last Kalich toddled off this mortal plane twenty years ago.”

      Jake laughed, leaned in and kissed her again. This time, she sighed and sank into the kiss.

      “So,” he said, curving a hand around the side of her face, “you went to Home Depot—”

      “Sears. They had paint and stuff for the floor and all the other things I needed.”

      He shook his head. “Old man Chambers would be horrified.”