the one man who could fill her was a man she had no right to have. But how would he feel in her hand, inside her body? She ached for the knowledge.
Her hand drifted down from his chest, and he shifted, parting his legs farther, giving her access.
She stopped.
"I can't." Her chest heaved with a sob she contained. "Forgive me, Grant. I can't. And... oh, God, what are we doing?"
"More than just this." His finger grazed over her in a slow, erotic, and loving caress. "So much more than this, Cammie. Enough that there's nothing to forgive if you can't touch me. I can wait. You shared yourself and I love you for that, for more reasons than I could ever name."
When she would have given in to the melting, in to the sensation of him anchored in the harbor of her heart, he squeezed her once before gently letting her go, tugging the zipper back up and refastening her jeans. He embraced her and held her so close, she thought her skin would become his.
"I'd better see you inside before I lose a grip on my good intentions," he whispered into her ear.
"You're a very special man, Grant."
She rubbed her cheek against his, loving the feel of his late-night beard abrading her soft skin.
"I'm glad you think so. But I'm also very human. Too human when it comes to you."
His voice held an undercurrent of warning she couldn't mistake, and she quickly drew away. His eyes met hers, and even in the shadows she saw just how human he really was. The fire of unappeased hunger washed over her, almost staggering in its intensity.
Without another word, he opened the car door and drew her out with him. She reached for her purse while he unlatched the small trunk to retrieve her dress and a bag of leftovers Dorothy had sent along.
At the front door, she fumbled awkwardly with her keys, afraid he would try to kiss her—a fear that seemed pretty ridiculous after what had just transpired.
"I'll get it." He already had his own key in the lock. He opened the door, and she thought for the first time that their having keys to each other's houses was not a good idea in light of the intimacy they had shared.
As if reading her thoughts, Grant flipped on the porch light and held his set of keys between them, the yellow glow glinting off the metal. His eyes meeting hers in challenge, he slowly returned the keys to his pocket.
Want to make an issue of it, Cammie? his gaze silently asked. You'll have to dig for it if you want it back, and I wouldn't advise that at the moment.
"Wait here," he said when she didn't move or speak. "I'll go check out the house to make sure you're safe."
"Really, Grant, you don't have to—"
"Wait here."
She watched his retreating back as he strode down the front hall of her quaint, old-fashioned home, flipping lights on, then off again. His shoulders had always been broad, but now they seemed far broader. And his walk had always been something she liked about Grant, but now she saw it as even more assured, as though he could forge a trail where no one else could see past the wilderness.
She dropped her purse beside the couch where Grant had left her dress and the paper sack filled with food. The scent of home cooking wafted through the room. She couldn't smell the aroma without thinking of Mom stirring something at the stove while she hummed, or looking up from the oven, her face flushed from the heat, and, after letting them lick the bowl of batter, setting out a plate of hot chocolate chip cookies and telling her and Grant that it was their job to sample them.
Cammie stared at the bag, the memories creeping insidiously through her mind to rob her of the wrongful joy she had so weakly succumbed to.
She couldn't take it back. And it was too wonderful to want to, the womanly part of her nature cherishing an experience that had made her feel more than human, and yet the most human she had ever been.
Only it was tainted now by reality, the staggering repercussions that could reach far beyond the present.
"All's clear."
She
Her hand drifted down from his chest, and he shifted, parting his legs farther, giving her access.
She stopped.
"I can't." Her chest heaved with a sob she contained. "Forgive me, Grant. I can't. And... oh, God, what are we doing?"
"More than just this." His finger grazed over her in a slow, erotic, and loving caress. "So much more than this, Cammie. Enough that there's nothing to forgive if you can't touch me. I can wait. You shared yourself and I love you for that, for more reasons than I could ever name."
When she would have given in to the melting, in to the sensation of him anchored in the harbor of her heart, he squeezed her once before gently letting her go, tugging the zipper back up and refastening her jeans. He embraced her and held her so close, she thought her skin would become his.
"I'd better see you inside before I lose a grip on my good intentions," he whispered into her ear.
"You're a very special man, Grant."
She rubbed her cheek against his, loving the feel of his late-night beard abrading her soft skin.
"I'm glad you think so. But I'm also very human. Too human when it comes to you."
His voice held an undercurrent of warning she couldn't mistake, and she quickly drew away. His eyes met hers, and even in the shadows she saw just how human he really was. The fire of unappeased hunger washed over her, almost staggering in its intensity.
Without another word, he opened the car door and drew her out with him. She reached for her purse while he unlatched the small trunk to retrieve her dress and a bag of leftovers Dorothy had sent along.
At the front door, she fumbled awkwardly with her keys, afraid he would try to kiss her—a fear that seemed pretty ridiculous after what had just transpired.
"I'll get it." He already had his own key in the lock. He opened the door, and she thought for the first time that their having keys to each other's houses was not a good idea in light of the intimacy they had shared.
As if reading her thoughts, Grant flipped on the porch light and held his set of keys between them, the yellow glow glinting off the metal. His eyes meeting hers in challenge, he slowly returned the keys to his pocket.
Want to make an issue of it, Cammie? his gaze silently asked. You'll have to dig for it if you want it back, and I wouldn't advise that at the moment.
"Wait here," he said when she didn't move or speak. "I'll go check out the house to make sure you're safe."
"Really, Grant, you don't have to—"
"Wait here."
She watched his retreating back as he strode down the front hall of her quaint, old-fashioned home, flipping lights on, then off again. His shoulders had always been broad, but now they seemed far broader. And his walk had always been something she liked about Grant, but now she saw it as even more assured, as though he could forge a trail where no one else could see past the wilderness.
She dropped her purse beside the couch where Grant had left her dress and the paper sack filled with food. The scent of home cooking wafted through the room. She couldn't smell the aroma without thinking of Mom stirring something at the stove while she hummed, or looking up from the oven, her face flushed from the heat, and, after letting them lick the bowl of batter, setting out a plate of hot chocolate chip cookies and telling her and Grant that it was their job to sample them.
Cammie stared at the bag, the memories creeping insidiously through her mind to rob her of the wrongful joy she had so weakly succumbed to.
She couldn't take it back. And it was too wonderful to want to, the womanly part of her nature cherishing an experience that had made her feel more than human, and yet the most human she had ever been.
Only it was tainted now by reality, the staggering repercussions that could reach far beyond the present.
"All's clear."
She
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