Love in Bloom (19 page)

Clay was oblivious to his surroundings.  His face was etched with concentration, telling her he was more than upset.  He looked angry enough to fell a tree with his bare hands.  His expression was taut, strained, filled with pain.

He didn't hear her approach as he split another log, then another.  Closer now, Paige waited.  When he lowered the ax and paused for a second, she moved.  He saw her the same moment her fingers went around his forearm.  The damp heat emanating from him was hot enough to burn her alive.  The look on his face should have made her run for cover.  But she didn't.  She couldn't.

She loved him.

The sweat on Clay's skin trickled into black curling hair.  At the lake, she'd wanted to touch it, to touch him.

As she did so now, he pulled back, his voice gravelly.  "Go away, Paige."

"No."

Green fire blazed in his eyes, and his gaze settled on her mouth with a fierceness that stole the air from her lungs.

His jaw was tense, the nerve on the right pulsing as she watched him closely.  "You're asking for trouble," he bit out.

"No, I'm asking you to let me in."

He swore viciously, dropped the ax, and took her by the shoulders.  "You don't know what you're asking."

She didn't waver.  "Maybe not.  I only know I want to get closer to you."

His mouth came down hard on hers.  She could feel his anger, she could feel his frustration, and under it all she knew he'd never hurt her.  He was fighting, and it was the fighting that made the kiss harsh.  He didn't give her time to breathe, but pushed his tongue between her lips.  She didn't pull away; she didn't fight back.

Her acquiescence seemed to make him angrier.  His hands left her shoulders and he held her face, angling it so he could take more, go deeper.  She felt him shudder when her tongue stroked his.  The tension in his body surrounded her but didn't invade her.

Roughly, he tore his mouth from hers.  "Damn it, Paige.  You shouldn't be here."  His voice was coarse and filled with pain, his breathing ragged.

She reached up and stroked his face.  "But I am here because that's exactly where I want to be."

With a low groan, he took her mouth again.  The fierce passion was still there.  The anger wasn't.  She wrapped her arms around his back and held on tight.

CHAPTER NINE

Clay's second kiss was pure fire.  Streams of it zipped through Paige, weakening her arms and legs.  She sought to get her strength back by touching him, by filling her hands with the heat of his back, the texture of his slick skin.  She stroked, and he dragged her closer.  His large hands caressed her back, found her bottom, and cupped her.

She felt his hard need through his jeans, through her skirt.  It scared her but excited her, too.  She'd never wanted a man this way; she'd never needed a man this way.  Her inexperience didn't seem to matter because her body knew exactly what her emotions had already realized.  She wanted to be one with this man.  She wanted to fall into his soul, surround herself with him, and find fulfillment.  It had nothing to do with experience, everything to do with feeling and being.

Need licked inside her as her tongue dueled with his and she arched into him.

Frantically, he pulled at her blouse.  The silky material slid above her skirt.  He unfastened her bra.  Not taking his mouth from hers, he tried to undo the buttons.  First one, then another, until she felt his hands on her stomach.  He caressed with his thumbs, his rough skin making each stroke more sensual.  He became impatient when he couldn't touch enough.  Buttons popped.  His hand closed over her full breast.  He circled it with his open hand, then closed over it again.

She pressed into his hand, needing more.

He understood her need.  He slid his open fingers back and forth over her nipple, creating an exquisite friction that created fiery desire within her.  All strength seemed to seep out of her.  She clung to Clay, immobilized by his seductive caress.  Until he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Too many erotic sensations barraged Paige, sensations that were primitive, awe-inspiring, frightening in their newness.  She pressed into Clay and rocked her hips against his.

He groaned, broke their kiss, and pulled her down to the ground.  His eyes were wild with hunger, desperate with need.  She knew because she felt it, too.

His kisses were hot, open-mouthed, as he tasted her neck, throat, the valley between her breasts.  The grass was soft under her, the sun's heat still warming it.  Dusk, earth, the scents of passion went to her head, making her world spin.

He touched her nipple with his thumb again and she cried out.  The sensation was so consuming, so erotic, so unlike anything she'd ever felt, she didn't know whether to embrace it or escape it.  But when his lips instead of his finger touched the nipple, her hands closed around blades of grass and squeezed from the sheer sensation of spiraling pleasure.

His tongue was rough, soft, teasing, merciless.  Her broken gasp was almost a sob.  Never had she known anything like this.

Clay lifted his head, saw the need on her face, then lowered his mouth to her other breast.  Paige laced her fingers in his hair and held him to her.  His lips surrounded her, his tongue rasped over her, his scorching breath taunted her.

She grabbed his shoulders, aware of the power in his muscles, his strength, his maleness.  He shuddered as her fingers kneaded.  He came to her mouth again and sheathed her body under his, then pressed his knee between her legs.  The stimulation was almost more than she could assimilate as he probed her mouth, palmed her breast, and pressed where she wanted to feel pressure most.

She might be a virgin, but she was also a doctor, and she understood what her body craved.  Nothing seemed more important.  Not the future, not Clay's secret, not her confusion about the direction of her life.  She and Clay were here, now, that was all that mattered.

She clutched at him.  She wanted more and didn't know how to get it.  His chest was steamy hot, silky slick, and roughly textured by hair.  She rubbed her shoulder against him since she couldn't move much else.  At the same time, she roamed her hands down his sides until she met the waistband of his jeans.  She slid along it until she reached the snap in front.

He still drugged her with kisses, long and deep, until she was dizzy.  Feeling her hand at his waist, he shifted until she cupped him in her palm through his jeans.  He shuddered again as she held him, then stroked up and down as best she could between them.

Clay was gone, so far gone.  From the first touch of her fingers on his arm, her refusal to leave, the hungry need in her eyes.  Her lips were sweet, the inside of her mouth food and drink for a hungry and thirsty man.  He wanted to devour her, assuage the need she'd incited from the first time he'd seen her.  He'd given her the chance to leave; he'd given her the chance to run.  But she'd chosen to stay.  And that, even more than his ferocious desire for her, had broken his control.

The first touch of her tongue had made him more aroused than he ever imagined he could be.  And when he'd taken the rosy velvet tip of her breast into his mouth, he thought he'd die from the throbbing ache of needing her.  Her keening moans inflamed him further until he wanted his hands all over her, his tongue deep in her mouth, his hunger appeased any way he could accomplish it.

She had eased the hunger but also made it worse.  Her fingers in his hair, her hands on his back, her skin against his chest created desire like he'd never known it.  He was on fire and didn't know if he wanted to put it out.

Paige twisted beneath him and he realized she was trying to undo his fly.  The thought of her soft warm hands on him made him break off the kiss and raggedly gulp in air.

She murmured a protest and moved restlessly.  Then she turned her head, searching for his mouth.  When she couldn't find it, she opened her eyes.  "I want you, Clay.  Please make love to me."

Want.  Love.  Paige.  Reality splashed him, as cold as the lake water in December.  What in God's name was he doing?  The blue of her eyes, the softness of her hands, the tremendous caring within her had stripped his defenses until he'd forgotten restraint and let frustration and need take over.  They were on the grass in his backyard.  What had happened to him?

He rolled away from her and pushed himself up to an upright position, not trusting himself to look at her naked breasts or gaze into her dazed blue eyes.  His urgent arousal abated somewhat as he took deep, full breaths to maintain some type of control.

She reached for him.  "Clay, what's wrong?"

When her fingers closed around his arm, he snapped, "Don't touch me, Paige.  Don't make me regret this more than I do."

She didn't let go.  "I want you, Clay."

His eyes met hers then, and he couldn't deal with the depth of feeling he found there.  He lifted her hand from his arm and held her by the wrist.  "You don't know me."

She searched his face, then pulled her hand from his grasp.  All the emotion he'd seen in her eyes coalesced into anger as she levered herself up.  "And whose fault is that?"

When he didn't respond, she made a soft noise of frustration.  Fastening her bra, she pulled her blouse around her and realized buttons were missing.  Her already flushed cheeks turned redder.  With an attempt at modesty, she took the ends of the blouse and tied them together at her waist.  The result was deep cleavage but adequate coverage.

She scrambled to her feet and attempted to swipe the grass from her skirt.  Giving up, she started across the yard and left Clay sitting there.  She didn't look back.

****

Paige opened her eyes the next morning and groaned.  She might have gotten about two hours of sleep.  All because of Clay Reynolds.  He was stubborn, frustrating, sexy, strong...and she loved him.  Tears pricked her eyes.  How stupid for this to happen now.

When would be any better, though, since she was constantly picking up and moving on?  What kind of personal life could she have?  Her work meant everything to her, didn't it?

Maybe Clay was right to push her away.  If she gave him her heart, what would happen if she left?

The phone rang and her heart lurched.  Ten to one she knew who it was.  She lifted the handset on her nightstand.

Clay's voice was low and morning-husky.  "Paige?"

She came to a sitting position and put the phone on her lap.  "Yes?"

"If you have more important things to do today, I can go to Westminster and get what we need for the Fourth."

She knew he expected her to jump at the chance not to be with him, to escape the awkwardness last night had caused.  Well, she wouldn't give him that satisfaction.  Awkwardness wouldn't kill her.  "Actually, I saved other shopping for today, too.  I haven't been to the mall in a couple of weeks."

"I see."

She doubted it.  She decided to offer him an escape route if he wanted it.  "I suppose I could get what we need, but you know more about it.  Unless you want to give me the sizes, the amounts--"

"No.  I'm not going to heap that on your shoulders.  What time should I pick you up?"  He sounded as if it was the last thing on earth he wanted to do.

"I should finish at the hospital about two.  Is two thirty all right?"