“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Neil slid his hand under the satiny sheet and over the inside of Candy McCrae’s thigh. He was a rascal in the morning, and Candy was tired and could still feel the effects of being well loved the night before.
She rubbed her knuckles over her tired eyes and pressed into the corners, wiping the sleep away, then shoved her long, dark hair back. She hissed when he slid his hand higher and then pressed a kiss into her bare shoulder. “Neil, oh my God. I’m tired. What are you doing?” She gasped as his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through her.
He moved under the covers, touching her skin to skin, his hand skimming over her rounded cheeks and then across her flat stomach, up over her breasts. His touch was like a brand, saying to her without uttering one sound, “You’re mine, my woman, and every part of you is mine alone to touch.” She loved it! What woman wouldn’t?
Candy tried to roll over to face Neil, but he stopped her with his body as he cupped her breast and pulled her against him. She slid her hand over the flexed muscles of his thighs, rubbing hair that was a mix of soft and masculine. He wouldn’t let her turn to face him.
“Neil, I don’t know if I can stand this. Let me touch you,” she said, gasping when he nipped the back of her neck.
“Soon enough, but I mean to have you and taste every part of you,” he murmured before running his tongue over her earlobe and nipping it with his teeth. Before she knew it, he’d rolled her over and draped her legs over his shoulder, sliding into her. The light from the morning sun highlighted gold flecks in the deep brown of his short hair, which was amazingly neat for a man who had spent most of the night inside Candy, doing all kinds of things to her that had her screaming out his name half a dozen times. It was a wonder she could still walk; the man was insatiable, and she stared into his brown eyes, which appeared to simmer the color of whiskey and burned into her as if he could read everything she tried to hide.
He held her head between his hands, pinning her down to have his way with her again. She couldn’t move as he slid in and out, holding himself just above her, watching her, and she knew he could do anything to her and she’d let him. He loved it when she called out his name, and he’d wait until he knew she was nearly breaking apart before he’d tell her, “Say my name. Who do you belong to?”
She could never hold back. She couldn’t stop herself as she screamed out, “Neil, oh my God, I’m yours!”
He filled what felt like every part of her, possessing her in a way that made her think she’d go mad, and in that same moment she knew that if he never touched her again, something inside her would slowly die.
After a moment, maybe two, they lay together; he was still inside her, his heartbeat matching the rhythm of hers and their breathing synchronized as one. She thought she heard voices outside, the sound of a car door slamming, but Neil didn’t move. She ran her hands over his back, smoothing his tanned skin and taut, sculpted muscles with her fingertips. Still he didn’t move, and she realized by his deep, relaxed breathing that he’d fallen asleep.
Candy glanced up at the window behind the bed and listened to the familiar voice of Maria, Neil’s housekeeper, and two voices she’d never heard before. When Maria said, “How was your flight back, Señor Friessen, Señora?” Candy couldn’t make out anything else, because she went into a full-blown panic. Neil’s parents were here—now! A knot tightened in her stomach, a building anxiety, as she worried about what they would think of her. After all, she had nothing, and she wasn’t sophisticated or worldly. Maybe they’d hate her, look down on her. She’d never said one word to Neil about her worries, because she knew he wouldn’t have taken them seriously, but she couldn’t help it. She stopped herself from waking Neil. Avoidance was sometimes a good thing. She decided she’d just hide out there and avoid them for as long as possible.
A loud, squeaky, braying and a crash as if something had shattered outside made Candy’s blood turn to ice, and she shut her eyes. “Oh no, Ambrose,” she muttered. Neil stirred, blinking just as a shout sounded below:
“What the hell is a donkey doing in my garden?”
The worst thing possible had just happened, and Candy widened her eyes in horror. She’d accomplished the one thing she had never wanted to do—start out on the wrong foot with Neil’s mother.
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