Sunflower Lane (18 page)

A moment later, when the old man bit out his reply and
disconnected, the stranger pocketed the cell phone. It didn’t bother him that the boss wanted to watch. He did some of his best work in front of an audience. Putting the Silverado in gear, he hit the accelerator and zoomed forward into the Montana darkness.

Treasure’s barking pierced the night when they approached the cabin. The ruckus didn’t abate until Wes unlocked the front door. Immediately the dog began jumping around in greeting, leaping back and forth between Annabelle and Wes like a crazed beast.

“Here you go, mutt.” As Wes held the door wide, the dog bounded happily out.

“He won’t run away?”

“He’s way too smart for that. Treasure knows when he’s got it good. He actually loves to sleep on the porch. Me, on the other hand—” His grin widened. “I’ve slept on the floor or in a foxhole enough, I like sleeping in a bed. Especially when there’s a beautiful woman there with me.”

“Oh, so we’re going to sleep, are we?” Stepping toward him, she tilted her head up, and slanted him a teasing smile.

“We might sleep. Eventually.” Wes caught her to him and
breathed her in. She smelled like the most delicate of flowers. Slowly kissing her lips to seal the deal, his palms cupped her curvy bottom.

Damn, if she wasn’t the sexiest woman he’d ever met. He kissed her again, a hot, tender, explosive kiss, and felt his blood surge as she trembled in his arms.

“We’ll sleep some—just not quite yet,” he promised against her lips.

With that, he scooped her up and carried her down the hall toward the bedroom, then paused on the threshold, holding her easily.

“Forgetting my manners. Would you like some wine?” His eyes glinted into hers.

“No wine. Only you—us—now.” Annabelle couldn’t tear her gaze from him. She didn’t know what in the world she was doing, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to stop.

Pulling his head down, she kissed him again, a long, yearning kiss, breathing in the scent and taste of him. She’d never felt this way before. She couldn’t get enough of him.

“There’s beer . . . and whiskey,” he muttered huskily against her lips. “I suppose I could rustle up a tea bag somewhere—”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” she begged as he crossed the threshold of the bedroom with her in his arms. Laughing, Wes plunked her down on the nearest of the two beds made up with plain red-and-brown-patterned quilts.

“Oh, believe me. I’m planning to do just that. And a hell of a lot more.”

His eyes burned into hers as she reached for him, and suddenly they were both lost—immersed in a world of wanting, a world that was dark and hot and simmering with need.

A world with space for no one else.

They began kissing and stripping off each other’s clothes with an urgency that made each breath come quick and fast.

Wes’s chest was tight as he yanked off his boots, but she was the one to reach for his belt the moment she stepped out of her heels.

He grinned as she unbuckled it slowly, her gaze rapt on his. Then she unsnapped his jeans and with single-minded determination went after the buttons of his shirt.

They kissed some more, fast, urgent kisses, before her hand slid down, desperately tugging at his zipper. He heard her draw in her breath at the size of him, and grinned as she managed to work the zipper down.

Fair was fair. The moment his jeans came off, he got her out of that lacy white dress in about five seconds. But as she reached for the green tank, he snagged her hand.

“Let me do the rest.” Eyes gleaming, he had her out of the tank in four seconds flat and flung her bra aside an instant later.

His heart pumped at the curvy, naked beauty of her. He leaned down to kiss and caress her breasts even as he eased her down on the bed beneath him.

Then he took his time with her. Kissing her throat, nibbling his way once more to her nipples, swathing them with his tongue.

In between kisses and whispers and her hands sliding over him, he remembered that she still wore that tiny peach wisp of a thong. Grinning, he stripped it down along her sleek, tanned thighs and past her pink-painted toes, tossing it across the room, then found himself rewarded by a very long, very hot, sexy kiss.

Bracing himself above her on the bed, every muscle in his body burned with hunger for her. She was slender and luscious, her creamy breasts even more gorgeous than he’d anticipated. As his tongue stroked against her nipples, their rosy peaks pebbled quickly, going hard and tight, as if straining for his mouth, his tongue, his touch. She clutched him, moaning, as he dipped his mouth to them again and again.

“My turn,” she said breathlessly, and shifted, pushing
him down with a laugh as he went along and lay flat, grinning at her, one arm resting above his head.

Oh, he was delicious, she thought, kissing and caressing him. The scars on that impossibly hard body only added to the aura of toughness that was simply part of who he was. But his keen, sharp eyes glistened with warmth as she ran her hands over him, her slender fingers and her mouth exploring every muscular inch of his body. He was big, huge, and almost intimidating in size and strength.

But she wasn’t afraid of anything about Wes. She knew he’d never hurt her.

Once or twice, she drew in her breath with a little wince of sympathy as she touched the four-inch scar on his chest or kissed one of the many smaller scars and nicks on his arms and thighs and flat, hard belly.

When he surged up over her again, pushing her back down on the bed, he braced his arms on either side of her. He soothed her shock over his old injuries with his warm mouth and deep kisses, then slid his hands and his lips slowly down her skin once more, working his way lower, lower still, to her thighs, then parting them, exploring all of her.

He stroked her inside and out, his fingers gentle, persistent, while he kissed her thighs and then licked all her sweet hidden places until she quivered, until her skin was moist, her heart racing, and her entire body trembling for release.

“You’re delicious . . . beautiful . . .” he rasped, lifting his head.

“Look . . . who’s talking. I want you, Wes. Now.”

“Not yet. Let me savor you a little longer, honey. There’s no rush.”

“Yes, there is,” she murmured. “Trust me!”

“You need to trust me.” He grinned and stroked her some more with his tongue, taking his sweet, torturous time.

“Wes!”

“Soon, baby, real soon.” He slowed things down, his hands
stroking her some more, then dipping his mouth to her again, wanting to tease her and please her in every way, until she tugged at him, urged him up to face her, and wrapped those long legs around him.

“Wes, don’t make me hurt you,” she half gasped and half laughed.

His mouth closed over her nipple. “I’m trying to go faster, but I just can’t get enough of you.”

“I want more of you—right now.”

“Likewise, baby.” Hell, his body hummed and ached with raw, almost painful need. God, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any other woman. Wanted to be inside her, joined with her, one with her. This woman was so damned beautiful in every conceivable way.

So soft and giving. Trusting. He knew she’d been hurt before—physically hurt by her bastard ex-husband, and emotionally hurt by his bullying. The thought nearly killed him.

“You okay, honey?”

“Much . . . better than okay and don’t you know it.” She let out a breathless laugh that was partly a moan. “Wes . . . in case you haven’t noticed, I’m . . . I’m . . . going to pieces here,” she managed to pant. As she wrapped her legs more tightly around him, he grinned, and snagged a condom from the pocket of his discarded jeans.

“Damned if you’re not the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, manning up.

“I’m sure you . . . say that to all the girls.”

“Never. Never said it to any girl before.” He stared into her eyes and felt something quake inside him, in a place he hadn’t even known existed.

Then she arched her back and kissed him with a furious heat that could have set the brown and red quilt on fire.

She smelled like spring and the first day of summer. Her eyes were golden stars in the darkness. Hungry for her in a way he’d never been hungry for any other woman, he pushed
deep inside her, cradling her, kissing her sweet lips, hanging on to his sanity as the small room and the bed and the darkness fled, as they rocked together and stroked each other and the mews of pleasure she made drove him deeper inside her, made him hold her tighter, and want her longer.

“Annabelle,” he groaned, lost in her, in the softness and beauty of her, in the candle glow of her eyes, and in the feel of her slender fingers gripping him so tightly she stirred emotions and sensations he’d never felt before.

The old cabin drifted away into a far-off blur, and so did the wind outside in the trees. There was only this room, this bed, this incredible, sweet, and fantastic woman clinging to him, welcoming him, bucking and shuddering and coming joyfully in his arms.

Moments or hours ticked by.

Annabelle had no idea exactly how much time. She gasped for breath and for sanity. She’d been almost crazed when he finally slid into her. He was so big. So thick. Her eyes had widened and her knees gripped him. Her arms encircled him with all of her strength. He smelled of leather and soap. He was all rock and sinew and
man
and he’d driven her nearly insane with pleasure.

But he was Wes, and he was gentle—careful not to hurt her. Controlling his needs, seeing to hers. His kiss had been gentle at first but had soon scorched her mouth, and their tongues danced again and again as they came together in a swift, vivid storm that felt like lightning and thunder and heaven rolled into one.

Annabelle didn’t remember the last time she’d felt such joy and release and pleasure.

Such a sense of being wanted. Cherished.

“Wes, that was . . . incredible,” she managed to murmur afterward, curling into his arms.

“You all right?” His deep voice soothed her into a blissful daze.

“You could . . . say that. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.”

With a grin, he rolled to his side, realizing they’d been making love for a couple of hours. A prelude, he thought, settling himself beside her, holding her close against his still-pounding heart.

She fit against him perfectly, his arm encircling her waist. As if they were made for each other.

Suddenly she lifted her head, smiled sexily at him, in a way that made him crazy with lust—but an odd tenderness also rushed through him. That was something new.

“Wes, let’s do it all again. Everything. Before morning.”

“You got it, baby.” He laughed. “Anything you want. As many times as you want. And as many ways as you want.”

She pressed a searching kiss to his mouth that heated his blood all over again and made him grip her tighter.

“I’m going to hold you to that, cowboy.”

“Likewise.” He touched his lips to hers—a soft promise.

They lay curled together for a while. Entwined. At peace. Sleep slid over her like feathery lace as she rested her head against his chest.

“I really like you, cowboy,” she mumbled.

“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that,” he drawled with a grin; then as she went quiet, he drew back and gazed down. Her eyes were closed, her skin dewy and flushed, her breathing slow and even.

She was smiling, glowing, sated.

And fast asleep.

“Wes McPhee, you are such a liar.”

Annabelle’s eyes danced as she refilled both of their coffee cups the next morning in the cabin’s kitchen.

He was bare-chested, wearing only jeans and a bod of pure, sculpted muscle. He’d rustled up toasted English muffins and half an orange for breakfast. Near the kitchen door, Treasure was crunching on dog food from a big plastic bowl.

“You got me here under false pretenses. You claimed you had something to show me.”

“I did show you things—quite a few things.”

Grinning, he braced his hands on a kitchen chair, eyeing her with such a sexy, purely male grin, her entire body instantly came alive with need. The need for him.

“You know what I mean.” Her lips twitched as she raised her coffee cup and took a sip.

“Honey, you’re about to eat those words. I can prove I wasn’t lying.”

Striding over to the lone bookshelf in the tiny living room, he seized a couple of slim children’s picture books and a DVD she hadn’t even noticed the night before, and brought them over, set them down in front of her.

“What’s this?
Lassie
?” She stared in surprise at the DVD cover, at the picture books, then shot him a questioning glance.

“Yep. Two seasons’ worth of episodes. And the librarian recommended some books. Just look at those photos.”

She turned the pages of the slenderest book. Color photos of dogs, big dogs, small dogs, medium dogs. Full-breeds and mutts of every variety. All adorable and friendly looking, all playing with children, or cuddled against children, or licking children’s happy faces.

“I did some research on ways people can overcome a fear of dogs, and one way is familiarity. Lots of safe, comfortable familiarity. It takes time, but if you go through these books with Megan, let her study the photos, and keep things light, it might help. Play the
Lassie
episodes on DVD, let her watch. Actually, the kids might all want to watch together. That little Timmy was about Ethan’s age.”

“Lassie rescued someone almost every week,” Annabelle murmured. A smile bloomed across her face. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re brilliant?”

“Happens all the time.” He chuckled. “Seriously, it’s not too hard to figure out. Who doesn’t love
Lassie
? There’s no guarantees, though,” he added, more seriously. “But according to everything I’ve read, it might help. It
has
helped.”

“It’s definitely worth a real good try.” Annabelle scooped out some blueberry jam and spread it on the second half of her muffin, suddenly feeling happier than she could remember in a very long time. Oh, she’d been plenty happy last night—in Wes McPhee’s bed, in his arms—but this morning was a different kind of happy.

It felt so right being here with him. Just the two of them—comfortable together, a warmth flowing between them. There was no pressure, no watching her words, as she’d had to do with Zack. No worrying that she didn’t have a lick of makeup on or that she wore only one of his chambray shirts that fell nearly to her knees—and nothing else. He looked at her with warmth and affection and a keen pleasure in his eyes, and she knew he felt the same irresistible pull she did.

And it was simply the two of them on a sunlit June morning. It was simply fresh coffee in big blue mugs, English muffins and jam, and Treasure beneath her chair now, quiet and calm for a change, snoring gently.

Not a bad way to wake up,
she thought dreamily.
Close to Wes, his eyes warm on hers.

For a moment she imagined what it would be like to wake up like this every day.
But that isn’t going to happen,
she reminded herself quickly, caution flooding back. The friction of reality setting in had her choking a little on her next sip of coffee.

“Too hot?”

She shook her head at him, still coughing, and set down the mug. “It’s perfect,” she managed to choke out at last.

But she was lying to herself if she thought everything, not just the coffee, was perfect. She had to keep ahold of things here. To remember that this was . . . a fling. A break from her real life. Not something forever, only something short-lived, totally unexpected, and wonderful.

The fact was, she had three growing kids who needed to be her top priority. She had a job at the community center and dances to choreograph, a parade to help coordinate, and a bridal shower to plan. She had responsibilities and a busy schedule and a small candy business to try to launch so she could keep making ends meet for the kids. . . .

And as for Wes . . .

The truth burned into her heart. Wes was moving on in a matter of weeks.

July Fourth would be here before she knew it, and then, just like the fireworks, he’d be gone.

So don’t start telling yourself lies. Making up fairy tales.

Life wasn’t a fairy tale. And Wes wasn’t some fairy-tale prince. He was a very tough man, a man of action and restlessness, a man who walked toward danger and challenges—and away from connections and commitments.

Get it together,
she commanded herself, taking one last bite of the muffin, the way she’d take one last glimpse of him in a matter of weeks as he drove away down Sunflower Lane.

Keep this simple. Nothing’s going on here except fun and flirtation—and mind-blowing sex. Start thinking like a real grown-up woman.

Like those women on all the
Sex and the City
reruns she used to watch with her roommate back in Philly. She needed to enjoy one day, one night at a time while it lasted, and not pretend this was anything more than what it was—having a lot of fun and incredible sex with a gorgeous ex-lawman who’d be moving on in a matter of weeks.

Who’d actually helped her get over Zack, and what he’d done to her. Despite Wes’s imposing size and presence, despite what he’d done for a living and dealt with on the job all these years in an underworld of danger, not to mention the aura of toughness that defined him, she wasn’t afraid of him in any way.

That was a miracle in itself.

After Zack, she’d practically jumped out of her skin at the prospect of a first date with a man, always assessing him, looking for signs of jealousy or control-freak anger . . . or . . . anything that could signal trouble.

With Wes, right from the beginning, she’d felt safe. Safe
enough that she hadn’t even brought her Mace along to dinner last night. She almost always had it on her or in her purse at all times, but last night she hadn’t even thought to bring it. She’d felt utterly safe the entire evening alone with him, never once even stopping to watch what she said or did.

But don’t get in over your head—he’s got one foot out the door,
a tiny voice inside her warned as she pushed back her chair. Very soon she’d need to deal head-on with the fact of his leaving. But for today . . . for now . . . he was here. . . .

“This may have been the nicest breakfast of my life.” She gathered both of their plates and washed them in the kitchen sink. “Still, unlike some of us,” she added with a smile—aiming for offhand and casual and normal, as if she had wild, crazy-intense sex with men once or twice a week and not . . . Well, she didn’t want to think how long it had been since she’d even invited a man to step inside her house after a date. . . .

“I have some work to get to and it can’t wait any longer.”

“Would that be chocolate-making kind of work?” Wes watched her sail down the cabin’s short hall toward his bedroom door—no doubt to dress in her scattered clothes from the night before. Right now she looked fresh and delicious as a strawberry sundae in one of his clean work shirts and nothing else. He realized he was hungry for her all over again.

“If you need a taste tester—” he offered, but she cut him off with a smile.

“Tempting, but what I need is to
work
. Seriously. Today I need to nail down a new ending to the choreography my tap students are performing after the parade. I’ll have to test it out on Megan and Michelle later—if they can handle it, the other tappers should be able to learn it quickly, too.”

“What music are they dancing to?” Coffee mug in hand,
he followed her down the hall. For some reason he didn’t want her to disappear into the bedroom, to take off that shirt, climb into her own clothes, and leave his cabin. He was stalling, trying to keep her talking, and there—and he wondered whether she knew it.

“‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’—of course. What else?” She laughed, and in that instant he was sure it was the most appealing sound he’d ever heard. He almost ached with need just looking at her. She was so pretty. Those long gorgeous legs, totally bare, and those delicately pink-polished toenails.

He fought a strong urge to bundle her up in his arms and drop her back into his bed, to tangle his hands in those wild blond curls and feel her long legs wrapped around him again.

But it was the third week in June—and July Fourth was looming fast. Too fast. He had to keep a handle on this . . . whatever
this
was. Had to fight the almost irresistible urge to convince her to spend the entire day with him . . . to have amazing sex again this afternoon . . . and tonight—and first thing tomorrow morning. To take her on a damned picnic at Sage Creek, of all things, and maybe have sex with her on that thick grass, then take a dip with her in the creek . . . preferably a naked dip . . .

What the hell was wrong with him? He must be loco.

He suddenly remembered he had a session with the kids staying at Jake’s retreat today.
Shit,
he thought, glancing at his watch. He needed to be there in less than an hour.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he told her when she finished pulling on the dress and tank and low-heeled shoes she’d worn last night. “That track is too rough and uneven for heels.”

Treasure rode along with them.

“You should go with her, boy,” he told the dog as they both watched her dash up her porch steps and give a little wave before she slipped into the house.

“You’re better off with her and those kids. Not with me. You need a home. And love. I need to move on.”

Treasure licked his hand.

“Remember the rules, mutt. Don’t get attached.”

He said it in his sternest tone, but the dog just wagged his tail.