Page 41 of Falling for the Cowgirl
He loosened his hold. And as he started to take a step back, she grabbed his hand. “Reckon you should finish what you started.” She lifted her long lashes and met his gaze with a dare, her brown eyes a dark melted molasses, hot and sticky.
His stomach flipped. And when she started to turn again to continue unwinding the linen, he gently guided her, unable to do anything else. She moved slowly, pausing when she faced the opposite direction.
He had a perfect view of her neck and part of her back, and he knew he’d never seen anything in his entire life more elegant. He couldn’t keep from reaching up and skimming the lacey top hem of her chemise and brushing away a few tendrils of her dark hair that had come loose from the knot at the top of her head.
She stilled. But didn’t protest.
He spun her around again. This time, the unraveled linen fell away altogether, completely undone. Just like him.
Her breathing was rapid and shallow. And when she looked up at him again, her eyes were even darker. Welcoming. Even beckoning him.
Did she want him to kiss her?
Her attention shifted to his mouth, almost as if she’d heard his question.
Oh, blazing smoke. He almost closed his eyes to block her out so he could regain his sanity. But her fingers lifted to graze the arm still holding the linen strip. At the caress, heat sparked along his nerve endings so that he dropped the long cloth and reached for her.
He only meant to touch her arm in return, but somehow his hand slipped behind her to the small of her back. As soon as his hand landed there, he guided her closer. The touch was light. A part of him was giving her the opportunity to put an end to this sudden madness between them.
But she came to him all too willingly, which only fanned the growing need inside him—the need to taste her, kiss her, have her.
When he bent closer and angled in, he paused, giving her another chance to break free. But she tilted her head as though readying herself. The slight movement was a summons he couldn’t ignore.
He swooped down and captured her mouth with all the power and decisiveness of a cowhand roping a steer. He knotted them together, tightly, tautly, with no room to breathe.
When her arms slipped around his shoulders and she pressed into him, a dangerous jolt rocked him, warning him to let go, not to take this any further. But her mouth moved against his with a passion and fervor that rivaled his. And it only tied the knot more firmly, wedging them together so that he couldn’t let go of her.
As his mouth tangled with hers, he knew this was where he’d wanted to be for a long time. Maybe even before he’d come back to South Park. The Lord knew he’d tried for years to deny his feelings for her. He’d done everything within his strength and power to resist the pull. But somehow, inevitably, he’d ended up here.
Did she feel the same way? Had she been waiting for this moment forever? Or was she toying with him like she did the other men in her life?
At the opening of a door and sunlight spilling over them, Ivy broke the kiss with a startled gasp, and her eyes rounded on someone behind them.
The haze of desire clouded Jericho’s mind, and he couldn’t tear his attention from those lips that had been meshed with his. As she released him and tried to step away, he couldn’t let go, didn’t want to lose the pressure of her exquisite body against his.
But the thudding of heavy footsteps pounded a warning.
“Stop, Flynn.” Ivy’s voice wavered.
Before Jericho could make sense of what was happening, a hand clamped on his shoulder, ripped him away from Ivy, and spun him around. Then a fist smashed against his nose, and blinding pain filled his head.
Ivy screamed.
Warmth gushed from Jericho’s nose and over his lips. The metallic taste of blood touched his tongue at the same instant a second fist pummeled into his stomach and doubled him over.
“Flynn, you old goat. You stop it right now, do y’hear?” Ivy jumped onto Flynn’s back, causing him to stumble backward, giving Jericho a glimpse of the cold fury in his expression and the murder in his eyes.
Flynn was going to kill him. Even with Ivy hanging on, her arms tightening around his neck, he lunged after Jericho again.
A part of Jericho hardened with the need to defend himself. He’d learned to fight long ago and could hold his own. But another part of him knew he deserved every blow Flynn gave him.
“C’mon, Flynn!” Ivy’s shout was laced with desperation asFlynn pried her loose and then turned and barreled toward Jericho, his fist raised.
Jericho braced his shoulders for another punch.
“Hold on now, Flynn!” Wyatt’s call came as Flynn threw a fist against Jericho’s cheek.
“Stop! Please! Stop!” Ivy rounded Flynn.
