I Run to You (36 page)

Coy felt her tense, but he saw a brief flash
of heat in her smoky eyes.

“Why don’t you back up—instead?”

He backed up, slowly, but his hand was still
there, his eyes on her face.

She pushed his hand away.

He gave her room to stand, the heels giving
her a good height as she brushed past him and headed back.

She had nice body, a lithe and taut build
that was not skinny. Her ass in those pants made him breathe out a
“mercy” sigh as he caught up and walked inside with her.

Noise and music stole any chance to say
more.

Since they ended up with the family, Coy took
a seat and watched her accept a dance—with Rafe.

He tried, but he could not watch them
together. It was hot watching Brook move, but it was hell watching
how she did it was Rafe. He knew they had been lovers. If he had
not before, it was obvious now. He could deal with that. He just
did not want to picture it.

“Beer?” Max sat down at the table with
him.

“No thanks.” Coy glanced around the club,
would have drank something stronger— if he wasn’t driving home.

Leaning forward, to be heard over the music,
Max told him, “Why don’t you ask someone to dance?”

Coy looked out on the floor where Brook was
dancing. Glancing back at Max, he said, “The only person I care to
dance with, is obviously taken. I think I’m going to go.”

Max nodded giving him a look that said he
understood.

Before Coy got up, Jordan came over.

“Do you dance?” Max smiled at her.

“Yeah. I do.” She answered as if it were a
duh question, which seemed to amuse Max.

Coy observed the look between them. And felt
envious. He was there long enough to watch them get up and go to
the floor. They were both good dancers.

He stood and then made his way to Madeline,
reaching out and touching her shoulder before his eyes met Mitch’s,
and he started making his way out. Outside, he paused to light a
cigarette, walking slower to his truck.

He had taken several drags before he heard
foot falls.

Reaching the truck, he looked over. Brook did
too, before getting into the jeep.

Curious, not certain what it meant, he
climbed in the truck. Coy waited, and then pulled out behind her.
He drove with his arm on the rolled down window, night wind wafting
over him, and ruffling through his hair.

With the top off the jeep, he could see her,
hear the CD she played. The beat was down and dirty.

He smiled despite himself.

Her mood was sexed up.

She pulled off at her house. Since he did not
turn in the drive, she got out and walked to his truck.

“I need to change clothes.” She turned
back.

He pulled in, got out, and went past her as
she did the security code and opened the door. Still not knowing
what was going down, he stood in the living room, watching her set
the bass down, and then toss her purse on the bar.

“Make coffee, will you?” She went down the
hall.

He did that, and then went out to check on
the pup, while it brewed. The little fellow looked content. Of
course, Coy noticed Brook had given it a chew toy and a stuffed dog
to sleep with.

Coy smoked, tense—anxious, excited—but too
used to her rejection to hope too high.

After a while, he went inside, pouring two
cups.

She came to get hers, bringing a waft of
soap, perfume, and shampoo, smelling like honey and… something
utterly feminine. She had on a thin thigh-length, summer dress of
lavender, with little cross straps at the shoulders, and slip on
sandals.

Taking sips, she stared at him. He swallowed
coffee but was so cranked up inside he hardly registered the taste
of it.

She set the cup down, went back, fetched some
kind of soft leather purse, and dumped the cell and other stuff out
of the other into it.

“Let’s go.”

He followed her out.

In the driveway, she reached out her hand.
“Your keys.”

“Where we going?” He dug them out and tossed
them to her.

“Does it matter?”

Eyes going over her legs, her body, lingering
on her face, he murmured, “Hell. No.”

Coy got in the passenger’s side, propping his
elbow again. He could not take his eyes off her. Why did it seem
sexy that she was driving his truck?

Well, it didn’t hurt that once they were on
the road, the rolled down windows made wind hike her dress up
further, and kept fluttering it at the top of her thighs, did
it?.

Her own elbow on the window ledge, she
glanced at him briefly after turning off toward Copper creek. Coy
wondered if his face was as intense as the emotions tightening
inside him? Probably. Hers certainly was interesting—part tease,
partly mysterious.

Long after she had turned back to watching
the road, he guessed where they were headed. They passed his house
after turning off toward the lake. She took the dirt road turn off,
down to the area they picnicked. Pulling slowly toward the
weathered pier, at the edge of the water, she shut the engine.

Sitting there while the sound of frogs and
night birds poured in, the smells of water and mown grass mingled
on a warm breeze, Coy’s heart thudded unmercifully behind his
ribs.

The truck engine made little ping, cooling
sounds. He watched Brook unhook the seatbelt. Instead of getting
out, she leaned up and folded her arms at the top of the steering
wheel, forehead against them.

She said roughly, “This is not the beginning
of anything. This is the finishing of something that was supposed
to be ours. Can you handle that?”

His legs were trembling slightly. “Yes.”

She rolled her head to look at him. “I mean
that.”

“I know.” It hurt, made him ache in his
heart. And yet—

Brook sat back, gradually letting her hands
fall from the wheel. Rolling her lips, she stared then at the
dock.

“Wait here. I’ll come back for you,” Coy said
quietly, then got out. He went to the back and unsnapped the bed
cover, finding one of the sleeping bags and two of the insect
repellant lamps.

He carried them to the weathered pier and
spread the sleeping bag out, hanging the lamps a bit back, on
posts, the nails there for that purpose, their purplish glow not
diffusing the softer warm shade of night.

He took off his shoes and socks, his shirt,
and walked barefoot to the driver’s side. Opening the door, he
reached for her.

She had kicked off her shoes. She turned in
the seat, and reached for his hand. They walked to the pier, bodies
close, hands clasped, Coy feeling a surreal sensation, wanting to
burn every second in his brain, and yet almost afraid he was
dreaming it all.

She released his hand, leaving him by the
blanket while she stood a moment peering out at the water. He
seared the image of her there, bare feet, beautiful legs, that
dress fluttering. When she turned to meet his gaze, her shimmering
violet eyes pierced him somewhere deep. Her classic face was a
picture of both vulnerable anxiety, and the same helpless need he
was all too familiar with.

Coy took those few steps and dipped his head
to kiss her.

The second their mouths touched, it was like
a fiery combustion. Breathing deepened, heated, labored. Opening to
taste each other again brought a whimper from her, a groan from
him.

The flavor of sweet desperation merged.

Her arms went around him. He embraced her,
lifted her to him, his head moving, tongue driving and rolling
sexually with hers. He didn’t know who trembled harder. He was
caught up in a ravenous hunger, so intertwined with the submerging
feeling of the love he felt for this woman.

Somewhere in the onslaught, he turned and lay
down with her, her body wonderfully straining toward him, hands
moving over his bare back and sides.

Her shapely leg between his, Coy leaned a
little, rolling her to her back. His hand cupped her cheek, then
the side of her neck, and caressed down her shoulder. Parting only
enough to refill their lungs, he played at her mouth with his
tongue, sensually teasing but seriously giving her back the nips
and laves she rendered to his mouth.

Palm moving, skimming, Coy touched, caressed
her; arm, side, across her quivering stomach.

Heart thundering in his ears with the harsh
pump of hot blood, he remained conscious somehow of her feminine
build compared his brawn, despite how firm she touched him, how her
nails bit into his upper arms, Coy tempered his hunger.

With breath wafting arduous between his
parted and damp lips, he raised more, watching her face while he
languidly felt his way to unlatching the buttons on the front of
her dress. Her face was flushed, lips swollen. Despite her
half-mast lashes, he could discern the haze of hungers there. Her
breathing shuddered, and there were faint tremors running through
her frame.

He wanted to say, I love you. However, the
whisper of, ‘You’re so beautiful…” had to carry that meaning for
him.

Her hand slid up his arm, up further, to
touch his cheek. Moments before he parted the dress, her whisper
came faint and breathless, “Make love to me.”

Coy kissed her delicately, whisper soft,
letting his tongue tease hers before he pulled back again. Staring
down, he pushed the dress wide, stilled inside by the image of her
nude body. Her nipples were rigid on the shallow mounds, the slope
of tender skin from her ribs to her lower stomach, sensual. Her
legs shifted restlessly, betraying her arousal, and drawing his
attention to that sexy strip of hair between them.

Her legs were shapely. She had a narrow,
taut, waist, and the sweetest small breasts that he had thought he
remembered perfectly, but now seemed even lovelier.

He watched while his hand covered her breast,
seeing the jolt of pleasure, feeling it in her body. He touched and
rubbed each, using his thumb to play over her nipples. Coy leaned
down, kissed her; deeper, harder, then slid downward, and put his
mouth in place of his hand on her breast.

Immediately, her hands tangled in his hair,
body arching, a gasp coming from her throat. His hand splayed on
her ribs. He caressed the nipples with the flat of his tongue,
teased with his teeth, and relished the arching, and sexy sounds
she made. He felt intoxicated by the taste of her and the smell of
her skin—the passion in her.

He moved down, laving, suckling her skin,
nibbling over her ribs and stomach. His hands wanted to feel her,
needed to. Coy rose further, positioning so he could touch her
everywhere, knead her hips, her thighs, and skim over her lower
belly.

Her head arched back, palms on the fabric
under her; he heard her soft moan of, “Please….”

Coy eased his hand between her legs. She was
wet, hot, and silken. Fingers gliding between the folds, testing,
he watched her nipples tighten, her body clenched tight When he
finally rubbed the entry of her sex, he could not help the husk of,
“Oh—Brook…” Just feeling her desire was killing him.

Whatever he meant to do, his instincts and
hungers overrode it. He pushed her thighs wide and lowered himself
between them, burying his mouth against her.

~*~

Brook shivered, her teeth set as the chills
and fire mingled and raced over her skin. Coy’s masculine hands
were under her ass, kneading, lifting her. He suckled her, thrust
his tongue in her, and aggressively drove her crazy with
pleasure.

She reached for him, getting his attention,
looking down, meeting his glittering tiger’s eyes, she achieved a
throaty, “Please…Now.”

He eyed her expression a split second before
getting to his feet, working the buttons on his trousers, and then
skimming them off.

Her lust-hazed gaze was clear enough to
register the amazing image of his frame, the sheer beauty of his
muscular thighs and calves.

He went to his knee. Brook realized he was
fumbling in the back pocket of the trousers for a condom. He
finally extracted it and sat down by her hip to fit it on.

Brook sat up, her hand skimming up his back,
her lips, and tongue playing at his round shoulder muscle. Slanting
a look down, though the skin was lighter on his hips. It was
obvious he was in the sun, nude, often enough to tan there though.
Veins were full among the sinew of his ridged lower stomach; sinew
was tight down to each defined thigh.

She moved one hand to feel the light curls
around his sex, while tasting his skin, the tendons at the side of
his neck, then dipping down to lick at his distended nipple.

His hand brushed against hers as he sheathed
his thick sex. She bit his nipple, suckled it, and then raised her
head, meeting his aroused gaze. His hand lifted hers to let her
feel him, fist him.

His lips, as kiss swollen as hers, his face
intense, Coy uttered, “This isn’t going to be as long either of us
wants it to be. I have waited forever. I’m so damn turned on, I can
almost promise you, I’ll be begging for one more time before I’m
half inside.”

She tried to smile, but was too aroused.

She began to lie back, pulling him with her,
over her. Brook whispered, “It’s all right.”

She made room for his frame between her legs,
holding tight to his upper arms, staring up as he braced on his
forearms.

“God… You feel so good. Your skin is so
warm.” Her lashes closing for a moment, savoring the masculine
power of him—how wonderful his skin felt.

“You too. So good.”

He sucked in a breath as she reached down to
guide his sex to the entry of hers.

His hips flexed, Brook moved her own, taking
as he gave, feeling him fill her in a delicious and incredibly
complete way.

“Jesus…” He panted somewhere above her.
“Brook…Brook…” He sounded like his teeth were grit.

She felt him shaking; his big frame had
tremors running through it too. He sank deeper, reaching down to
lift her hips higher for his down stoke. Her soft cry was followed
by a low moan. Her hands going to his hard sides, Brook lost her
breath on his first out and in, thrust.