Skin Deep

  He hungrily took what she offered. There had to be a thousand different ways to kiss a woman, a thousand different ways for lips and tongues to meet, caress, tease. He wanted to find every single one of them.

  He kissed her slow and deep, then drew away, nipping her lips with the sharp edges of his teeth, teasing the places he’d nipped with his tongue, before taking her mouth hard, exploring the softness of her inner cheeks, the slick velvet of her tongue.

  She shifted in his arms, straddling him, holding his face between her palms, her lips leaving a trail of fire across his forehead, down his left cheek, over the bridge of his nose to the disfigured side of his face. And there she stayed, pressing soft kisses against scars that had no nerve endings.

  He tried to turn his face away, not wanting to subject her to that ugliness, but she stopped him, their gazes colliding for one brief moment.

  “Let me.” She took up where she’d left off, kissing him with a tenderness that stunned him.

  His heart gave a thud, a single hammer stroke of shock, then picked up, beating so hard he thought it might burst through his chest. Some part of him had hoped that a woman might one day see beyond his scars to the man he was inside. But Megan was doing far more than just ignoring his ugliness. She was accepting it with a woman’s gentleness, her touch soothing memories of savage pain, grief, loneliness.

  Christ!

  He fought to breathe as she kissed her way down his cheek to the scarred side of his throat, his battered body able to feel only pressure, not the soft heat of her lips or their wetness. But it was enough. It was more than enough.

  He recaptured her mouth, hunger for her surging inside him. His instinct was to get horizontal with her, to draw her beneath him so that he could kiss her and touch her everywhere. But afraid that would kindle memories of violence—and determined to do nothing more tonight than kiss her mouth—he lay back, taking her with him, letting her stretch out on top of him. She came without a hint of reluctance, not even breaking the kiss. He cupped her face between his palms, lifting his head off the arm of the sofa to better meet her lips, his tongue curling with hers, her hair spilling around him in a cascade of scented silk.

  He lost all sense of time after that, nothing in his world beyond her breath, her hair, her skin. Drunk on the taste of her, he kissed her until his lips ached, until his body burned for her, until they were both breathless, her whimpers and the soft writhing of her body against his driving him crazy, making him want her in all the sweet ways he couldn’t have her. And then he could take it no longer, desire shaking him apart.

  He broke the kiss, raising them both into a sitting position. Eyes closed, he simply held her, aware only of the rush of his pulse, the mingled sound of their breathing, the sweet feel of her in his arms. Bit by bit, the world returned around him. The crackling of the fire. The distant roar of the wind. The bite of his zipper cutting into his still-hard cock.

  He kissed her hair, shifted, tried to adjust himself without being obvious, refusing to relinquish his hold on her. He was pretty certain he knew the answer to this question, but he asked it anyway. “So, did I make you queasy?”

  She looked up at him through wide eyes, her lips swollen and wet. “I never imagined it could be like that.”

  He felt a surge of protectiveness—and a primal desire to crush all the men who had ever hurt her. “It’s always supposed to be like that.”

  She looked away, then met his gaze once more, seeming to hesitate. “Can we try that experiment again?”

  # # #

  They tried the experiment again the next morning when they ran into each other in the hallway on their way down to breakfast. They tried it when Jack was busy showing Emily what put the waffling in waffles. They tried it when Jack and Emily were occupied feeding Buckwheat bits of a sliced apple. They tried it when Emily left them alone for a moment in the snow fort Nate had built in the back yard. They tried it sitting in front of the fireplace in the library after Megan put Emily down for her afternoon nap.

  Quick kisses. Covert kisses. Slow, deep kisses. Tongue. No tongue.

  They tried it all, and every time, the result was the same. Never once, not even for a second, did Megan feel queasy or repulsed. Instead, her pulse raced, her knees went weak, and her blood ran hot.

  For the first time in her twenty-eight years, Megan felt desire for a man.

  No one had ever made her feel the way Nate did—both completely safe and totally out of control. She wanted to touch him, wanted him to touch her. She wanted to give herself over to the heat of being with him, to see where it would carry them.

  And if they ended up having sex?

  The idea ran through Megan’s thoughts all afternoon, making her belly flutter one minute, filling her stomach with butterflies the next. She wasn’t sure whether she’d say yes or no if Nate asked her. A part of her was afraid that her fear and revulsion would return the moment they took off their clothes and got into bed together, and yet she’d give almost anything to be able to enjoy a normal sex life—whatever that was.

  Oh, she knew what it felt like to have an orgasm. She was able to do that for herself. But to have sex with a man, to share her body with him and to enjoy it…

  In her experience, that kind of sex only happened in romance novels, and she’d quit reading those because the stories only served to highlight what was missing from her own life—love, intimacy, physical pleasure. It had been a long time since she’d even allowed herself to consider the possibility of having a man in her life.

  But kissing Nate had opened that door again, made her long for things she’d given up on long ago. Did Nate even want to make love to her? And if he did, was she brave enough to say yes?

  This question was still running through her mind when Marc called, interrupting a quick kissing session in the great room.

  “No lead on Donny yet,” he told her.

  Her stomach sank. “So the men you arrested aren’t speaking.”

  “Darcangelo and I managed to get one of the assholes to talk. It seems Donny was selling meth for them and some of the money disappeared. He promised to get it from you, and when they heard about the court settlement, they decided to come after you themselves. They claim they haven’t seen Donny since the night he attacked you.”

  “God, I hope you find him.” She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.

  “Now that these gangbangers are jail, there’s a possibility that Donny will just disappear. If he attacked you for money because they were threatening him, he might decide to leave you alone and get the hell out of Denver while he can.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “That would be nice.”

  “How’s West treating you? Is everything okay? Do you feel safe?”

  “Yes. We’re fine. Nate and his dad have been wonderful to us. Emily is having the time of her life. She’s gotten to ride a horse a couple of times, and yesterday, we went sledding.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Call me if you need me.” He paused for a moment, and there was noise in the background. “Shit. One of these fuckers just tried to kick Darcangelo. I need to go before Julian kills him.”

  “Be careful!” But Marc had already ended the call.

  Nate stood, walked over to her. “They haven’t found him yet.”

  Megan shook her head, the weight of reality settling like lead in her stomach.

  “He’s gotten lucky so far. That’s all. I’m not going to let that bastard hurt you or Emily.” Nate drew her into his arms, kissed her. “Come with me. I want you to meet someone.”

  They got dressed in coats, snow boots, gloves and hats—Nate let her borrow one of his ski hats—and walked out through the garage. The day was bright and cold, a landscape of white stretched out beneath an endless cerulean sky. A frigid wind blew snow through the air, the icy little flakes stinging her cheeks. All around them, mountains stretched toward the heavens, their crystalline summits sparkling in the sunshine.

  “It’
s beautiful!”

  “My great-grandfather picked the right spot when he built this place. Watch out. It’s slick.” Nate took her hand and led her around the barn to a paddock where a single horse stood, munching hay. “This is Chinook.”

  The big stallion walked over to the fence the moment he spotted Nate, a green blanket over his golden body, his nearly white mane and tail catching in the wind. He gave a snort, his breath rising in a frosty cloud, blowing snow caught on his long, dark eyelashes.

  “Hey, boy.” Nate held out a carrot, patted the animal’s neck.

  Chinook was taller than the other horses, his neck and chest thicker and more muscular than Buckwheat’s or those of the mares Megan had seen. He seemed to ripple with vigor, all taut muscle and sinew, a tension about him she hadn’t felt with the other horses.

  “He’s huge!” She reached out, patted him on the neck. “He’s a palomino, too?”

  “A world champion.” Nate glanced over at her from beneath the brim of his black cowboy hat, pride on his face. “We charge a twelve-hundred dollar stud fee, and he’s usually booked during breeding season.”

  “How many mares does he, you know…?” Heat rushed to Megan’s cheeks when she realized what she was asking.

  Lips that had kissed her until she’d melted—lips she wished she could kiss right now—curved into an amused and sexy grin. “Like I said, he’s got a powerful sex drive. He could easily cover a half-dozen mares a day if we let him, but I like to keep him rested, keep the quality of his semen high, so I limit him to no more than three mares a day.”

  Chinook mated with three different mares a day?

  “He must be a happy horse.”

  Nate chuckled. “Come on, boy. Time for you to get some exercise.”

  Megan watched as Nate led the stallion into the riding arena and saddled him. Chinook was all energy, snorting and shifting impatiently as Nate took the reins and mounted, clearly eager to be ridden. Megan knew the stallion was strong enough to buck Nate off, to trample him, even to kill him, but there was no doubt as to which of them was in control as Nate urged the stallion into a walk, then a trot, and finally to a slow run, which he called a lope.

  Some feminine part of her was thrilled to watch Nate ride, to see his skill in the saddle, his command of the stallion. She was so entranced watching him that it took her by surprise when he reined Chinook to a walk and then a halt in front of her.

  “Come on.” He reached down for her.

  Unafraid, Megan took his hand and, with his help, climbed into the saddle in front of him. He gave a little cluck, and Chinook started off again at a walk. Megan could feel the horse’s power beneath her—and the mastery of the man sitting behind her, Nate’s hard thighs pressing against hers, controlling the stallion’s every movement.

  He nudged Chinook to a trot, his left arm going around her waist, drawing her back against the hard wall of his chest. “Relax, honey. Just because he’s big and aggressive doesn’t mean he’s going to hurt you.”

  And Megan understood that Nate wasn’t just talking about the horse.

  CHAPTER 10

  Nate backed Megan up against the wall, her tongue twining with his as they kissed outside the bathroom where Emily played in the bathtub. The two of them had been making out like teenagers all day. But Nate wasn’t a teenager. He was a grown man, a man who’d been celibate for four long years, and his body had some very adult ideas about where all this kissing should lead.

  He slipped his left hand beneath the soft cotton of Megan’s shirt, his palm sliding over the satiny, warm skin of her belly. He moved slowly, giving her time to take in the sensation, to decide whether she liked it. Her eyes flew open, then drifted shut again, the muscles of her belly jerking at his touch, her body shivering, her reaction giving him the answer he needed.

  His fingers found the bottom edge of her bra, traced a line where hard underwire met tender skin. Gratified by her quick intake of breath, he cupped her breast, squeezing gently, a layer of rough lace separating his hand from the hard little bud of her nipple. She arched her back, pressing her breast deeper into his palm, her fingers digging into his back.

  God, he was on fire for her. He didn’t think he’d ever been this aware of a woman’s response, his senses fixed entirely on Megan, her every breath, every sound, every tremor. His blood burned for her, his mind buzzing with lust, his cock aching with what was probably his fiftieth erection of the day.

  He tugged her bra down, took her naked breast in his hand, the soft, lush feel of it sending a jolt of heat to his groin, making him moan. He fought the urge to push against her with his hips, willing himself to focus on the velvety texture of her pebbled nipples, the silken weight of her breast, the thrum of her heartbeat beneath his hand.

  “Nate.” She sighed his name, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parted.

  And Nate wondered if he would survive the night.

  No one ever died from a hard-on, jarhead.

  He wanted to peel off her clothes and make love to her with his hands, his mouth, his cock. He wanted to make her come again and again, wanted to lose himself inside her. He wanted to make her forget the men who’d hurt her, to replace memories of pain, violation, and fear with memories of shared pleasure, to give back to her every bit of herself that those bastards had stolen.

  But things were moving so fast, maybe too fast. They’d known each other for a week, had spent a little more than forty-eight hours in one another’s company. And not only was Nate about to suffer a testosterone meltdown, he’d also cared for her.

  She seemed to want him as much as he wanted her, responding to every touch, every caress, every kiss as if she, too, wanted to get naked and put his mattress to good use. But making out with him was one thing. Out-and-out sex was something else.

  The only solution as far as Nate could see was to keep kissing her, keep touching her for as long as it took until she was truly ready for more.

  And if that day never comes?

  Well, there were always cold showers.

  He lowered his mouth to her exposed throat, licking and nibbling the spot where she was most sensitive, his left hand busy teasing her nipple. Her fingers curled in his hair, her head turning to give him access, her breathing ragged.

  “Mommy?”

  Megan stiffened, gave a little moan. “Y-yes, sweet pea?”

  “Can I come out now?”

  Nate withdrew his hand from Megan’s shirt and rested his forehead against hers, struggling to rein himself in.

  “Okay. I’ll be right there.” Megan looked up at him, her pupils dark, an expression like pain on her face. She adjusted her bra, then reached up, cupped his scarred cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  He could barely walk with this much wood in his jeans, but he didn’t say that. He smoothed his hands down her slender arms. “Hey, we have all the time in the world.”

  As he watched her disappear into the bathroom, he found himself hoping what he’d just said was true.

  # # #

  Megan lay in the dark beside Emily, her body burning with arousal from the hour she and Nate had spent making out in his bedroom. Oh, but the man was good with his hands! He’d brought her to the brink of orgasm without even getting inside her jeans, the way he’d teased her nipples, driving her to the very edge. Now she was wet and aching—and several rooms down the hall from him.

  How are you ever going to get to sleep?

  She tried to force her mind off the throb between her thighs, turning onto her side to watch her daughter sleep. Emily looked so peaceful, not a worry in her little world, the sight of her making Megan’s heart swell. Her life was so different from Megan’s—and for that Megan was grateful. She never wanted Emily to know the loneliness, fear, or violence that she’d grown up with, never wanted Emily to doubt for a moment that her mother loved her, never wanted her to view every man as a predator.

  That’s how it had been for Megan—never trusting, never being able to let down her guard. A man was a
threat simply by virtue of being a man. Until Marc had come back into her life, it hadn’t occurred to her that some men might be good people. It was a terrible thing to say, but given what she’d been through…

  And now there was Nate. Not only was he a good man—a decorated veteran who donated thousands of dollars of meat to Denver’s hungry—he also knew everything there was to know about her and accepted her. She couldn’t say why, exactly, but she trusted him. More than that, she wanted him.

  She’d never imagined that any man would make her feel the way he made her feel—her blood hot and alive, her skin craving his touch, her body so aroused that she actually wanted him inside her. The only thing she’d ever longed for this intensely was heroin, but this wasn’t the dark, desperate craving of addiction.

  This felt pure and bright and clean.

  Megan rolled onto her back and clenched her thighs together, wishing the ache inside her would go away. She’d already taken a hot bath, hoping it would make her drowsy, but it hadn’t. She closed her eyes, tried to clear her mind, drew slow, even breaths. But she was no closer to drifting off ten minutes later.

  Did Nate want her, too? He certainly seemed to. If the way he kissed and touched her wasn’t enough to prove that, the hard bulge he’d had in his jeans was. But rather than asking her to sleep with him tonight, he’d walked her to her room, kissed her—and left her to sleep alone. Maybe he wasn’t as interested as he seemed.

  What would he do if she went to him—knocked on his door, walked inside and asked him to make love to her? Not that she would or even could do any such thing. She hadn’t known Nate for very long. She wasn’t on the pill. She couldn’t even be sure she’d enjoy having sex. If she ended up hating it, she would embarrass both of them and perhaps ruin her relationship with Nate. And the last thing she needed was an unplanned pregnancy or a messy relationship to complicate her life.